Saturday, September 30, 2006

The Terrell Owens Drinking Game: It Was Only a Matter of Time

The doctors told me I have an "addictive personality with obsessive-compulsive tendencies." Apparently the brain mechanism that allows other people to enjoy vices in moderation is broken in my noggin. So as enthusiastic as I am about gambling, I don't let myself bet on sports online. It's also why I can't play fantasy football or go to Las Vegas without supervision or let women sleep in my apartment overnight.

Say what you will about Lauren -- I'm getting too old to get turned on by edgy dye jobs, and the mere mention of "Terrell Owens" gives me a vague nausea -- but if such a thing as the perfect storm of legal-yet-addictive vice exists, it would have to be a tattooed, bisexual chick from a sports gambling website telling me how to play a drinking game while I watch football.

Well, friends, such a thing exists.

If anyone needs me I'll be in the gutter.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Cheerleaders of the Week: Bob Whitfield Edition

You'll have to excuse me; I'm a little introspective today. It's nice; taking stock of my thoughts helps rid me of the little demons in my conscience. Unfortunately, it totally fucks up my joke-making mechanism.

So let me walk you through my dilemma. I've got two cheerleaders I want to feature today, both attractive, both bringing up certain discussion points relative to the greater narrative in NFL fandom. But can I post two? Am I allowed to do that? Are there going to be enough cheerleaders to cover the entire year if I post two today? Well, friends, it's a risk I'm willing to take.

I took this photo from, which labeled this lovely woman as "a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader." Really? No shit. What tipped you off, Sherlock?

Well, the wire services may not care about cheerleaders, but WE do. This is Becca Gambel. She's 21, owns a chocolate lab named Milton, and claims that her best trait is her "easy-going personality." Feel free to disagree.

Becca most definitely did NOT try to kill herself with a prescription overdose this week, not with that dark wavy sex hair and those blue eyes. Rawr! But the real reason she's getting our attention today is that -- for the distorted physical expectations of an NFL cheerleader -- she appears to be a little thick in the britches. And delightfully so, if you ask me. Even a white boy's got to shout: She's got a great saddle.

This lass is our runner-up. Another anonymous hottie, and I'm having trouble verifying this one: I think she's Amanda, but deep down I'd rather she be Crystal. Whatever, all blondes with big racks look the same to me: fucking sexy.

I singled out Crys-anda because this is what I imagine all Redskins cheerleaders should look like: a beautiful straight-toothed smile in keeping with her profession, but a vacant, faraway look that says Weren't the Redskins supposed to be good this year?

Mom, Where Do Overrated Football Players Come From?

Thanks to JE Skeets of The Basketball Jones for sending us this Nike ad. I work in advertising, so let me predict what the creative brief was for this Nike assignment:

What are we selling?
We're not sure. Limbs?

Who are we selling to?
Football fans! Definitely, football fans. And perhaps fans of Small Wonder.

What is the core message we want to relay?
Lots of people think pro football players come from big football factories like Virginia Tech. Let's make that metaphor literal and spend lots of money on it. That way, the customer will also want to be a non-thinking automaton with no individual qualities or throwing ability.

What is the key benefit for the consumer?
To walk away knowing that Nike produces its football players strictly with robots. Nike does not stitch players together with the help of small Malaysian child wage slaves/prostitutes.

How can we support this claim?
-Nike apparel is the tightest in the world
-Nike athletes are very good and standing still and not emoting
-If Nike spends lots of money on an ad with no real message, people won't particularly give a shit

What's worth doing is worth doing for money...

Welcome to the Week 4 edition of our weekly feature Always Be Covering. The following is a small sampling of the games I'll be investing in when I stumble home drunk on Saturday night...really, I'm an expert.

While I may appear startlingly brilliant (or possibly not) you must remember that this is a humor site. If you take me too seriously you're likely to end up coaching little league in the ghetto to pay your debt.

Tom Brady on SNL?
Cincinnati -6.5 vs. New England

As long as Tom Brady is going to act like Adam Sandler on the Denise Show I see no reason to bet on them (but wouldn't Phil Hartman be perfect as Belichick?). If he can't establish a better relationship with his receivers the Patriots won't be able to keep up with premium competition. Clearly Coach Belichick is trying to motivate Captain America, not only did he spill his guts about Matt Cassell, now he's working out VINNY?

Unless Brady gets pregame flowers from Deion Branch his mood isn't going to improve anytime soon. Chad's probably going to get knocked silly for calling out Rodney Harrison and his fellow dbacks. That should free up even more room for Housh, Henry, and Washington to audition for Dancing With the Stars.

Houston +4 vs. Miami

Houston is probably the worst team in the league...but give me four points against Miami and I can't help myself. If you've got real balls you'll take the points and Miami on the moneyline...but you don't. Pussy.


Philadephia -11 vs. Green Bay (MNF)

Let's all give Roger Goodell a big round of applause for turning Sunday Night Football into Monday Night Football (and vice versa). I liked it when we could use Sunday night as a time to decompress after watching all the real action. Then we'd spend all day Monday anticipating a great matchup awaiting us at home.

Now they expect me to stay awake all night after a Sunday of drinking? Then I'm supposed to look forward to a piece of shit game like this after a Monday of fasting? That's bullshit. As for the, let's just say it's not going to show up on ESPN Classic anytime soon. Philly should go up big, hopefully this week's game won't be fixed (joking!...a little).

After two profitable weekends I hit a bit of a pothole last time out.
I'm going to have to start playing it safe this week. If this keeps up I might have to start buying cheaper liquor. That means it's time to start picking off weak teams playing on the road...which brings me to our first special teaser of the season; for obvious reasons, I call it the...

Shy-lock of the Week

Atlanta -1.5 vs. University of Phoenix
After a terrible game there's nothing better than going up against the Arizona defense. The case of the Fubling Gentile is really killing them right now; teams with quarterback controversies don't tend to win road games against playoff contenders. Hey Atl, try not to fuck up my shit this week.

Carolina -1 vs. New Orleans
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. And you thought nothing you learned in physics class could help your degenerate gambling problems. It's going to be difficult for the Saints to come back from the emotional charge of last week on short notice. Couple that with a solid opponent heading in the right direction, and you're looking at some sad Orleanians (or the happy white people they show on tv).

KSK will be here for some Sunday afternoon updates...then I shall take my leave. Check back Monday night when I'll be 50% less Jewy.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Two Players With No Surnames, One Burgery Rumph

There were few bright spots for Pittsburgh fans Sunday during the comedy of errors that was the Steelers depantsing by the Bengals. One of the highlights, aside from that series where Carson Palmer fumbled twice and threw a pick on consecutive plays, was Ryan Clark, late of the Washington Indigenous Peoples, arresting the progress of the jailingest of the Jail Bengals, Chris Henry, with the force of three sobriety checkpoints. A shame he was knocked on his ass, because all the weed in his shoes would have cushioned the fall.

Henry was so shaken up, he was unable even to drunkenly drive himself home, relying instead on Brother Odell to be his shepherd through the valley of the sober. Once back in Cincinnati, he did sing praise (crossed himself and said HUGH!!) and spread the gospel of his liquid dinner all over the pavement when questioned by the cops.

Steve Irwin Memorial Meast of the Week - Week 3

This week's meast is no surprise. It's the Carolina Panthers defense, which I again remind you hit the spleen out of Chris Simms, which is badass.

Of course, losing one's spleen isn't a time for joking. You have to be sensitive when someone gets the shit kicked out of them so thoroughly, or when someone may or may not have committed suicide, or when Bill Simmons hosts a chat. Or maybe everything is just fun and games with you people. Well, there's nothing funny about life! The Kids in the Hall taught us that:

Life is short
Life is shit
And soon, it will be OVER!

Then again, there is this clip of Norm MacDonald making fun of the Crocodile Hunter dying:

Sippin' On Some Sizzurp

Lost in the wake of TO's busy day was the arrest of San Diego Chargers safety Terrence Kiel. Like TO his story involves the excessive use of powerful painkillers. Unlike TO it seems as if the fourth year veteran was just trying to scratch up some supplemental income. Kiel was allegedly shipping Codeine cough syrup back to his boys in Houston where purple drank is the downer of choice...just don't get it mixed up with the other purple drink or you might find yourself wandering around Africa.

Surprisingly Kiel won't be playing this weekend, instead he can look forward to further interrigation from the DEA (although I've heard they go easy on some drug distributors. After being arrested this week during practice the agents were able to find quite a bit of evidence to strengthen their case.

According to an affidavit for a search warrant made public Wednesday, FedEx managers searched a package Kiel mailed with his FedEx account in June and found 15 bottles of Prometh prescription cough syrup in the box. A boarding pass found inside the box led DEA agents to an address Kiel used to register a car. Three bottles of Prometh were seized last week at that address.
Oh've got to be the worst drug dealer in California. You know you're fucked when you're shipping product via a FedEx account (it's called cash, look into it). As if that's not bad enough they were able to track down a paper trail on all of his means of travel. Some criminals watch too much tv, maybe this guy should have watched more Law and Order.

Kiel paid cash to send a second package to Texas last Thursday, prompting a FedEx manager to contact the DEA, according to the affidavit.
Yeah, that only works when they don't already know who you are.

Despite his low salary (by NFL standards) of $500,000 Kiel seems to have a serious need for additional income. Can somebody get this in a mutual fund before he winds up in a cell a la Mike Sellers and Jamal Lewis? Maybe it's already too late for that but I'm sure the Chargers are going to have a sitdown with all of their players; if they pick up a few more arrests this season the Bengals may have some serious competition.

Cheers Terrence, here's to messing up a good thing. Keep it on the lean.

Sip Sip Sippin on some sizzurp...

For another take, check out MJD's post over at the Fanhouse (even if he does go the Mike Jones/Paul Wall angle...I prefer the Triple Six).

excerpts from the AP

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Manic depression is a frustrating mess...Well, I think I'll go turn myself off

A Little Bit Attention-You Got It
Need Some Affection-You Got It
-Freddie Mercury

Wow, crazy times. We're less than a quarter of the way through the NFL season and the circus is already in post season form. Some people compete in suicide pools, some people compete in TO media circus pools. Apparently the time has come to merge the two into the most controversial inter-office activity since the Dundies.

I'm not sure what we're supposed to think of the situation; it's not often that we're confronted with a story as surreal as David Lynch on acid. At first we were told it was an allergic reaction...odd, but not quite enough to whet our morbidcuriosity. Then came the reports of attempted suicide trickling out of Dallas like so many uncomfortable American Airlines connections. Once people heard about attempted suicide they could only think one thing, "how'd he fuck that up?"...well maybe not everybody.

We were forwarded this inspirational
message from an unknown internet artiste.

At first I wasn't at all surprised, nor was I sure that the comedic value of the story could come close to matching the sobering news. TO is clearly a troubled person who seemed to fit the criteria for a serious mood disorder (in case you weren't sure you may want to watch SportsCenter PTI, Around the Horn, Outside the Lines, and the NFL Live sometime in the next 72 hours). After a few minutes of inspired commentary with my KSK compatriots I was able to look accept the bleakness while embracing the funny...then came the publi-cyst (it's paronomasio, deal with it!). Even though she's clearly without soul (it's in the job description) I'm guessing she did the right thing for TO when she dialed 911. Conversely, I'd love to see which three numbers she dialed subsequently.

Around this time I was confronted by equal sensations of confusion and curiosity.

There were so many options to consider: attempted suicide, accidental overdose (vicodin makes your hair feel good), stupidity, and allergy (which has to be bullshit because every football gets exposed to vicodin before they're veterans). Frankly, I'm still grasping a bit here. I'm stuck somewhere between accidental od and stupidity (although I've always thought vicodin makes me smarter). Unfortunately I've been unable to rule out the possibility of severe depression. TO has made a career out of crying out for help, it's just too bad they've always manifested themselves as arrogance and entitlement.

All I'm left with is the feeling that TO has succeeded in a perverse fashion. Once again the four letter network has become the Ed Werder Hour. Granted we here at KSK have provided a vast supply of commentary on the subject, but we're an NFL humor site...this is our essence (existence precedes essence). They still have to find time to pander to Nascar fans and cover the race for the pennant race.

All I know is that TO should probably undergo a phsychiatric evaluation before he takes the field. If he really does want to hurt himself (as we were led to believe) we'll see him going over the middle in Philly.

In the meantime I'll be anticipating his Nov. 5th return to FedEx, I know Sean Taylor will be.

Good luck Mr. Owens, and stay safe.

Bill Simmons - The Kurt Warner Of Boston Sports/Reality Show Writing

I'd be lying if said that, at least up until now, I wasn't a huge Bill Simmons fan. He was the first sportswriter that had more than basic literacy in pop culture and actively made me laugh when I read his stuff. Even if all he did was talk about some stupid fucking Boston team, he was so unique that I didn't even mind. He even occasionally dropped subtle complaints about ESPN, and that was fucking sneaky! In many ways, he was the original sports blogger, even if he would never deign to use that term.

Those days are over now. The rest of the Internet took Simmons' lead and ran with it. Even surpassed it. Now every blog compares some sports team to some other popular culture grouping (Lord knows we've probably done it). Plus, now we (thankfully) have entire sites set up to prove that Bill Maas is a complete retard. Simmons helped pioneer a lot of this, and that's pretty cool.

But even in years past, I had a sneaking feeling that, while Simmons was an entertaining writer, there was a great possibility that in real life he was a smug, arrogant douchebag. He bragged about playing sports instead of watching the Star Wars movies (even though he's seen The Karate Kid roughly 4 million times). He once taunted Colts fans by saying he was going to sleep with his Pats Super Bowl DVD under his pillow (or something to that effect. I don't have Insider.). And, of course, there was the endless name-dropping. Carolla. Kimmel. Uh... J-Bug. It all sent off the aura of someone far too pleased with himself.

But I still read him. Even if the shit wasn't as funny, and even if Deadspin had overtaken Simmons' page as the go to place for sports humor on the Web, without worrying about all the stupid Boston dogshit.

Well, that's over now. Today's chat with Simmons offered proof positive that the guy is a full-on fuckstick of the highest order. The evidence:

I'm happy to chat about that but we're not going to be posting any jokey/offensive questions about (TO), especially when we don't know all the facts yet.

Sounding a little like a tightass, but I'll let it slide.

Brent (South Dakota): As a media person, what are your feelings on Jason Whitlock's departure? Did he destroy himself, or should a media person be allowed to criticize his work associates without fear of retribution?

Bill Simmons: (12:41 PM ET ) I like Jason a lot, I've enjoyed exchanging emails with him and I liked having his column on Page 2, so I'm disappointed in what happened. But I don't see what he had to gain by venting to a blog. What's the benefit? So you win the respect of the 3,000 people who spend 8 hours a day posting on sports journalism message boards and blogs because you were "shooting from the hip"? Congratulations. What is this, wrestling? I just feel like there was a better way to handle it. I will really miss having him on the website, I always enjoyed his perspectives on things. And I still plan on reading him at AOL. But I'm disappointed with how everything went down.

Given that Simmons has made fun of Jim Caple (fair enough) and Dan Shanoff (upcoming) on his site, that's fairly hypocritical. But you know what's really fucking hypocritical? Trying to categorize people who read other sports blogs as losers. Oh, I already know I'm a loser. No arguments here. But what fucking right do you have, you stupid Masshole fuck, to rip on the same kind of people that support your goddamn site and your original site, which most people would characterize as a blog? Are you fucking kidding me?

Millions of people, maybe more, check out blogs like Deadspin, MJD, and the Big Lead every day. Are these people more loserish than your audience? Oh, you keep on believing that.

You've written all the time about how you wish you could rip on other ESPN personalities. Now Whitlock does it and he's a dipshit for it? Let me write you a prescription from TO's pharmacist, you fucking asshat. We move on:

Luke (Nashville): How many more years do you see yourself being the Sports Guy if you do leave the Disney family are you going to set up a blog similar to what Shanoff has done?

Bill Simmons: (2:39 PM ET ) Who's Shanoff?

Pretty fucking arrogant. But wait...

Shanoff (NY): That. Hurts.

Bill Simmons: (2:41 PM ET ) Just. Kidding. Although I wish you had worked as hard on the Quickie as you do on the blog.

Really? Because he wrote that shit every day and you write two fucking articles (one of which may or may not be a mail-in Tiger Woods piece) every week. Nice feedback, you fucking dick.

Matt (Getting Marriedville, PA): Planning a Bachelor Party in Vegas for Final Four weekend. Where should we stay? Which casino has the best sports book?

Bill Simmons: (3:14 PM ET ) You're crazy. Vegas is done. Go to New Orleans, go to Montreal, go to Toronto...

That's odd, because you've reveled in your trips to Vegas in print roughly 5,000 times over the years. Didn't know Vegas is "done", even if it's the same exact town as it was a couple years ago. Finally, someone has combined with assholishness of a Bostonian with the haughty douchebaggery of an Angeleno. I'm ecstatic.

But let's go back and find even more ridiculousness. How about a quote from Simmons' talk with Chris Ballard at SI?

I think back to 1998, when I had my own column, and it was dismissive, like, "Oh, he's on the Internet." It was an old guard/new guard thing.

Isn't that exactly what you're doing to the people who got the Whitlock interview? You complain about newspapers never letting you write or paying you anything. Now you get paid hundreds of thousands of dollars and somehow those who would emulate you aren't worthy?

Shanoff can't say this, so allow me: FUCK. YOU.

I'm here to tell you your services are no longer required. I can find my sports-related humor without a reference to Larry Bird every five goddamn lines, and I can take comfort in the fact that it wasn't written by that one asshole in the pickup game who insists on being point guard and shouting out coaching instructions. YOU are the old guard now, my friend. You write for a Disney site that won't let you say anything. You can't even say fuck. I can. Fuck fuck fuckkity fuck. It's fun. Try it. Oh wait, sorry. Your editor says you can't do that. Too bad.

But I hope that 5,000 word essay you wrote on Dennis Johnson turns out really nicely. Fucktard.

PS - Your book sucked, douche.

NOTE: This rant generated some pretty interesting comments down below, including thoughtful defenses of Simmons from commenters Mike Futia, Friz and gladwell (clearly slumming).

Here's my take: We rip on our favorite athletes all the time. I don't understand why ripping on broadcasters and sportswriters is any different. Does that cross some sort of line? What's the difference between me making fun of Bill Simmons and Simmons calling for Doc Rivers' head? Do the vast majority of sports fans give a shit either way about any of this? Probably not. But some of us like arguing and making juvenile dick jokes about it. I'm not fighting any greater war. It's like a sports bar argument. The argument is the sport.

Frankly, I think this whole "bloggers think everything sucks" viewpoint is dumb. I take the rest of my life seriously enough. The blog exists so I can make all the tasteless TO suicide jokes I please. I'm not some fucking nihilist. This is a satire site. That means everyone gets made fun of. Including, and especially me. There's no grand master scheme to get Deadspin links and then take over the sports blogging gay mafia. It's for fun. 8-year-old fun, but fun nonetheless. Hey, that dog has a puffy tail!

Point / Counterpoint: TO- suicide attempt or blatant attention whoring?

This story is not about Terrell Owens. It is about "TO". I don't know Terrell Owens and neither, I assume, do you. "TO", on the other hand is the public persona/cash cow contrived by Messrs. Owens and Rosenhaus. I am quite acquainted with "TO", owing in large part to ESPN's dedicated coverage to all things related to this singular athlete with an insatiable need to adored.

Anyway, to the jokes...

What drives someone, who has a life with all the earmarks of what we have been taught is "success" to throw it all away? An analysis of the final words of some suicide victims may yield some insight; perhaps even more so when compared to the circumstances surrounding "TO".
Point: Hunter S. Thompson preferred death to becoming an elderly, broken and irrelevant version of the iconoclastic journalist he spent his life creating.

Counterpoint: TO was distraught because the ice sculptor he commissioned failed to accurately capture TO's true nature as a poet/warlord in his work's frozen visage.

Point: Despairing over the latest World War, Virginia Woolf filled her pockets with stones and cast herself into the River Ouse because she could not bear the effects another battle with her mental illness would have on her beloved husband.

Counterpoint:TO was despondent because his assistant once again failed to adequately vet his lunch salad for all traces of pine nuts. TO really hates pine nuts.

Point: Kurt Cobain was fatally disenchanted with the commoditization of his work and felt there was a gulf between his adult self and his childhood ideal that could not be reconciled as long as he was still alive.

Counterpoint: TO was upset because Fred "Rerun" Berry couldn't appear at his birthday party.

This afternoon, he flatly denied attempting suicide -- despite overwhelming independent evidence to the contrary. With his camp in full spin mode, it appears "TO" has survived this little episode unscathed, but was Terrell Owens as lucky? Who knows? I'm starting to think he died years ago.

The Timeline for our Darkest Day

Disclaimer: I recognize the severity of suicide. I have very personal reservations telling jokes about it. But this is an NFL humor site, and we have work to do. When I found out how T.O.'s day went yesterday, I had to share it. My apologies for the military time. And for the poor taste. But mostly just the military time.

0730: Alarm goes off, snooze.

0739: Alarm goes off, snooze.

0748: Alarm goes off, snooze.

0757: Alarm goes off, snooze.

0806: Alarm goes off, snooze.

0815: T.O. gets out of bed, puts on a sweatsuit, and drives to the Cowboys practice facility in his car that cost over $100,000. A little depressed that his broken finger still isn't making headlines, he listens to Ryan Adams's Heartbreaker during his drive.

0900: Practice. Mostly just riding the stationary bike by himself. At one point he notices Jason Whitten look at him then say something quietly to a group of teammates. Everybody laughs.

1200: Lunch. In the cafeteria, T.O. holds his tray and looks for a friendly face and an open seat. No one makes eye contact with him. When he tries to sit with Drew Bledsoe, Bledsoe puts his helmet on the chair and says, "Seat's taken."

1318: Parcells calls T.O. "Mary."

1620: T.O. drives home in his expensive car. He takes out Heartbreaker and puts in Love is Hell, Part 2. Sits in his driveway listening to "Please Do Not Let Me Go" on repeat four times.

1700: T.O. checks his email. Only two e-cards from Drew Rosenhaus telling him how great he is (usually he sends five a day). And Jason Rosenhaus didn't send him his daily apology for misquoting T.O. Sales for the book T.O. are way down, and the user reviews on Amazon are brutal.

1730: His mood spiraling ever downward, T.O. Googles himself, only to discover what people have been saying about him in the blogosphere (In retrospect, I feel bad for starting up

1925 Desperate to get away from the blogosphere's negativity, T.O. turns on the TV. Vh1 Classic is playing Lionel Richie's "Hello". He changes the channel. HBO has Leaving Las Vegas.

1930: And heeeeeeerrrrrre come the children's chewable Vicodin.

1947: T.O.'s publicist calls 911, hangs up, then makes an anonymous tip to a Dallas TV station, then calls the local bureau AP just to be sure. Thank God for speed dial!

2330: Skip Bayless learns of the incident, begins writing column for his new employer (the Camden Free Press) about how T.O. is setting a bad example for 16-year-old girls with image problems. His take: eating disorders are the best way to look prettier, and real men end it with guns.

Ten Yards Of Awkwardness With: Drew Rosenhaus

In light of TO's recent suicide attempt (which I think probably isn't a first for him, just like I think Paris Hilton is on her 345th abortion), I had a chance to sit down EXCLUSIVELY and "chat" with Drew Rosenhaus, TO's agent and minion of both Satan and Elton John.

Big Daddy Drew: So, he's gay, right? You don't just swallow 40 of anything without a little practice.
Drew Rosenhaus: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: One pill makes you larger. And one pill makes you small. Why didn't 40 pills make TO dead?
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: I haven't been this disappointed at a failed suicide since Natalie Portman cut her wrists in Heat. Why does TO insist on aggravating the general public like this?
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: Do you find it shady that white pills were used to potentially kill a black man? Scoop Jackson does.
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: Your book is called A Shark Never Sleeps. Were you sleeping during the suicide attempt? I bet you were.
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: More gratifying potential suicide: TO or the U. of Miami football program?
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: Do you think this will inspire copycat suicides by other selfish assholes?
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: Has Gary Smith been contacted to write the follow up article on this yet?
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: How often do you expect the word "demons" to be used by Mike Greenberg this month? 70,000? A million?
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: The ghost of Marshall Applewhite says TO isn't a team player. Agree or disagree?
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: Okay, so TO isn't dead. But what if we were to bag and kill Mike Lupica to make up for it? Wouldn't that be a good idea? I fucking hate Mike Lupica.
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: Do you think TO did it because his Dad told him he was going to Harvard and becoming a doctor?
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: Or because Stanley Kowalski raped him?
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: Michael Irvin say heesa like da TO so whyy people be makin funny bout it?
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Evil Drew #1: Drew, thanks for taking time out to not talk to us.
Evil Drew #2: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.

Terrell Owens Bukkake And The Infinite Sadness

"In depression, this faith in deliverance, in ultimate restoration, is absent. The pain is unrelenting, and what makes the condition intolerable is the foreknowledge that no remedy will come - not in a day, an hour, a month or a minute. If there is mild relief, one knows that it is only temporary; more pain will follow. It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul. So the decision-making of daily life involves not, as in normal affairs, shifting from one annoying situation to another less annoying - or from discomfort to relative comfort, or from boredom to activity - but moving from pain to pain. One does not abandon, even briefly, one's bed of nails, but is attracted to it wherever one goes."
- William Styron, "Darkness Visible"

In the immediate aftermath of T.O.'s suicide attempt, a collective incredulous cry went up from the football blogosphere wondering how someone so physically gifted, so exorbitantly paid, so thoroughly in a Drew Rosenhaus-imposed fugue could do ill unto himself. I'm no psycho-pharmacologist, but the wiring in Terrell Owens' brain is a tangled, jumbled skein of black licorice Twizzlers that no amount of driveway sit-ups can set right. Even Joey Porter worries for this guy. That's why he's lending him his dog's bumblebee toy as soon as Owens leaves the hospital, unless Parker Posey takes it first.

The extent of his sickness is immediately clear; famous ballplayers don't reveal deep-seated psychological issues by attempting suicide. They sloppily hit on sideline reporters or not-so-sloppily hit their significant others. Bad form, T.O., bad form.

Beyond the camera mugging and the overbearing narcissism, the warning signs ran deeper. At the time it seemed the bumptious demand of a prissy prima donna receiver, but now, we know for certain why T.O. refused to play for the Baltimore Ravens. Why would anyone, facing the demons he does, want to playwith that loser Kyle Boller and the Ravens' inept offense? under the spectre of a team named for a purveyor of the macabre whose own death is marked by mystery and opprobrium?

This is a clarion call not only to the NFL and its fans, but humanity at large, and maybe even a few species of animal. In the coming days, weeks and months, as suicide denials are issued, passes are dropped, and Cowboys losses are piled high, it is incumbent on us to give this man our rapt, breathless, unwavering attention. Wars, elections, poverty, racism and porn, you say? T. O., T.O., T.O., T.O., T.O., say we. One wandering thought, one straying eyeball could drive this man over the edge. You want that on your conscience?

It's Mr. Mischief With a Trick Up His Sleeve

Terrell Owens wants to be loved. He knows you admire his skill on the field and his asphalt calisthenics. He doesn't just want to be revered, he wants to be embraced, and he wants to be an American hero.

Terrell Owens wants to be Brett Favre and there's no easier way to be Brett than to start eating Vicodin out of a customized Pez dispenser.

We all know how TO feels about Brett, if he'd been the Eagles' quarterback they'd all be wearing shiny rings. Like everybody else in football TO sat by and watched people flood Favre with praise and well wishes even while dependant on painkillers. All TO wanted was a piece of that action, now he's got it.

In TO's confused mind he equates tragic drug use with heroism...silly TO, that only applies to movie stars (I love you RDJ). If he really wanted the media to show him some love he should have tried to do all the other things Favre has done in this league (like throwing interceptions or being white).

Buck up TO, being Brett Favre isn't that great anyways (just ask his family), we'll love you more if you just be your own whacky self. There's no need to down a handful of painkillers just because people don't like you...that's what Xanax is for dumbass!

If you want to stay off the pharm all together (good idea) you should just go out and pick up a nice Dutch and a bag of'll cure what ails you.

Jones: TO Wanted Out

A statement from Cowboys owner/GM Jerry Jones to KSK reveals that TO wasn't happy in Dallas, and wanted out. I spoke briefly with Jones earlier this morning.

MMP: You might think what he's done is shocking.

Jones: Yeah, um, to me though suicide is the natural answer to the myriad of problems that life has given him.

MMP: That's good, but TO would never use the word "myriad."

Jones: This is the last thing he'll ever do. He's going to want to cash in on as many 50 cent words as possible.

MMP: Yeah, but he missed myriad on the vocab test two weeks ago.

Jones: That only proves my point more. The word is a badge of his failures at this school.

Life It Seems To Fade Away...

In case you weren't already aware, Cowboys wideout Terrell Owens has apparently tried to kill himself. Is it fair to make fun of a man who may be in his darkest hour and in need of serious mental counseling?

I say yup.

TO has long been someone who desperately desires attention, negative or otherwise. So I think TO (who is not dead) would have wanted it this way, with people brutally flaying him with rapturous glee. That way, other people can step in and say, "Hey, he's a person too, assbag!", thus causing TO be viewed in a highly sympathetic light, leading up to Pontius Pilate's swift execution order.

In other words, we at KSK plan on giving TO exactly what he wants. Stay tuned today for our numerous theories on why TO decided to try and half-assedly knock himself off. Seriously, has anyone died from attempting suicide by ingesting pills (cue random commenter who has a loved one that actually did)? TO didn't want to die. He just wanted a $5 million advance for his memoirs. What a tactician.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Why he had to go I don't know, he wouldn't say. I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Cardinals name Leinart starter, Warner blames Jesus

Since his brief glory days with the St. Lunatics, Kurt Warner has handled more clipboards than Office Depot. Sadly, Kurt is making yet another trip to the supply closet. Denny Green has tapped 2-guard impregnator Matt Leinart to be the new starting QB for the Arizona Cardinals. The move was widely anticipated after Warner was booed off the field Sunday. Seriously, how bad do you have to suck to disappoint fans whose expectations are already lower than Vince Young's Wonderlic?

The Cardinals have finally realized that, their best hopes notwithstanding, Warner has nothing left in the tank. After this season, Warner, a two-time NFL MVP, Super Bowl MVP and Cedar Falls' Hy-Vee April 1994 Employee of the Month, can expect Arizona to give him a pink slip-- which he will promptly mishandle and drop.

"I wonder if the Amsterdam Admirals are still around?"
(Photo: Lyle Whitworth)

Update: Apparently, Chris Mortenson's snitch is feeding his some bad information. Warner is still the starter. For now. The sound you hear is Will Leitch banging his head against the wall screaming "THIS BUZZSAW NEEDS A NEW BLADE!!!"

Monday, September 25, 2006

Everyone Please Remain Calm, I'm Not Going to Kill Myself

Say what you will about Shaun Alexander's slow start, you can't really dismiss the fact that he's a somewhat important component of the Seahawks offense. And now he's out indefinitely with a broken foot. The doctors aren't calling it a broken foot; they're calling it a "non-displaced fracture of the foot," which, of course, is a fucking broken foot.

Strangely, as one of the five or so people who represent Seattle Seahawk fandom on the Internet, I'm not actually all that upset. You want to see upset? Unsilent Majority has Alexander on his fantasy team. He barely got to enjoy the Redskins victory before this news broke. Let's just say he isn't handling this well.

Some people are inevitably going to bring up that fat fuck's curse, but I actually blame Mike Holmgren. He has secretly resented having a premier running back for years. You know he's jealous of how many passing plays Andy Reid calls. Well, with four semi-top tier receivers and Maurice Morris as the #1 running option, Bill Walsh's legacy is sure to live on.

Note: By "Bill Walsh's legacy" I mean the West Coast offense, not George Seifert. Just felt I should make that clear.

Mission Accomplished!

Well, we did it! We fixed the stadium! Whew! Thank God we got that done! Looks great, everybody! Only took $160 million to spruce it up! I think it's safe to say that our work rebuilding this city is finally done. We even got that preening asswipe Bono to play a few songs to make it official. Sure, his band hasn't tried to do anything remotely adventurous since Pop, but that's all right. Peter King will eat that shit up!

What's that? Portions of the city still lay in ruins? Pfft. I don't wanna hear about that. This city is completely rebuilt, you hear me?! I already got a guarantee from Theismann that he'll say, "The Saints mean so much to this city..." at least 376 times tonight, and Kornheiser's too much of a pussy to stop him!

So don't talk to me about homeless black people. It could be worse for them, you know. They could have moved to Houston and then been stuck with the Texans! So many of the people in this town were underprivileged anyway. So this is working very well for them.

See you at the game! I reserved one of the rape-history-free luxury boxes!

NOTE: You can still donate to the Salvation Army's Katrina Fund by calling 1-800-SAL-ARMY. Oh, and read this.

And, Dude, China Bowl Is Not The Preferred Nomenclature

I'm sitting at home last night seething and incoherently muttering to myself about death fantasies involving Richardo Colclough, Verron Haynes and a log splitter. And how Roethlisberger has 5 picks and no touchs in two starts. And how I had no weed. Even watching the Patriots get their Cotchery pounded in prime time provided little solace.

A clearing temporarily lifts from the fog of hate and, lo, bright, capsule-headed figures fill my screen and start gamboling around the field of Gillette Stadium. I thought it possible that I was having some anger-fuelled fever dream or that I had accidentally turned on Katamari Damacy, a frightening development because I don't own the game. Instead, it was the NFL's bemusing way of announcing that the league will hold an exhibition game next summer in Peking Bombay Mumbai Beijing between the Patriots and the Seahawks.

There have been 40 international preseason games and one Mexico outsourced regular season game since 1986. So it's gotten to a Simpsons level of pointless travel in foreign lands. I'm still waiting for the game in Rand McNally, frankly. I'm not entirely sure why it is that other countries would go apeshit over the first of several meaningless preseason games, but then I don't know why people here do either. But then I suppose it's the easiest way to get a display of American might in your country without being invaded.

Lest the 1 billion potential consumers, the ones the NFL is trying to lift from their benighted, one-baby ways, are unfamilar with the two teams that they'll get to see take five first-team snaps, tells us, "CCTV is broadcasting the NFL's schedule of Sunday Night Football games live in China throughout the 2006 season, culminating with an on-site telecast of Super Bowl XLI. Seattle and New England each will appear on Sunday night at least twice this season."

That only leaves China a full year to learn the proper respect for the Patriots (last night may not have been the best start), getting just the right tea ceremony hoodie for Belichick, and letting the Seahawks install extra noise-pumping speakers into the stadium. This could also be the first meeting between Deion Branch and his former team. He's, I think, their second or third receiver and he used to be one member of the nameless passel of targets for Tom Brady. Isn't that exciting? China? China?

Odell Thurman Is One Stupid Drunk

You remember Odell Thurman; he was the starting middle linebacker for the Bengals. He was one of the leaders on a young but talented defense that just had to try and keep up with the offense. He's also the guy who hasn't played a down this season because of a suspension. You'd think that after skipping a drug test a guy would learn how to act like a competent professional...but these are the fucking Bungles! They might not embarrass themselves on the field anymore but they certainly make up for that in the wee hours.

Scouts at Georgia know how to motivate Odell,
there's a fifth of Uncle Jemima at the finish line

This morning Odell was stopped by Cincinnati Police at a checkpoint designed to catch drunken morons (i.e. the Bengals) in action. After being stopped the linebacker blew a .17 on the trusty breathalyzer, more than double the legal limit in Ohio. What's most important/disturbing/funny about the whole situation is that Odell was in a car full of teammates who had returned from Pittsburgh earlier in the night. Seeing as how Odell was released to a sober driver it's clear that somebody else could have been driving the car the entire time.

Leave it to the Bengals to celebrate a monumental victory by piling into the car with a drunk and suspended teammate for a long night of driving. How stupid can one car of assholes truly be? Marvin Lewis has been quick to come up with a punishment, he sent everybody home without stopping for ice cream. Didn't this guy used to be a disciplinarian? Now he's like the world's worst probation officer; next week we can all look forward to a jailhouse style raping of Tom Brady, both on and off the field.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Chris Simms Loses Spleen, Ordered Off Anal Intercourse For At Least One Month

I thought I had a shitty day. The Vikings have apparently adopted the Ravens' offensive philosophy of never scoring touchdowns. And my two fantasy teams each got a nine-minute, Monica Belucci-style ass-raping. Fuck.

And then I found out that Chris Simms got the gay tattoos knocked the fuck off of his body by the Carolina Panthers. Simms was rushed to a Tampa hospital to have his freaking spleen removed after Tampa's last-second loss. Simms even required blood transfusions. I was going to make a gay joke here about Simms swapping bodily fluids with another man, until I considered the fact that Simms likely played the entire fourth quarter of Sunday's game with a major organ inside his body cavity bleeding profusely. And that is pretty fucking badass.

But even more badass than that is the fact that Panthers' defense hit a man so hard and so often that he had to have his spleen removed. Usually a sentence like that is written as comedic hyperbole. But the Panthers, in this case, literally did it. Fucking sweet. That's why football beats all the other pussy sports. I think the Panthers should be allowed keep the spleen as a trophy, and that they should be allowed to roast and eat the spleen family-style, in a curry sauce with basmati rice and naan. Maybe some daal on the side.

I don't know about you, but I'm extremely concerned with the rash of NFL QB's who are losing vital organs. Big Ben had his appendix removed. Daunte Culpepper had his brain removed. And now Chris Simms loses his spleen. Holy shit. Get these men a flak jacket and a spare digestive lining. Otherwise, these games are going to end up like the money scene in "Hamburger Hill", where the dude's clothing is the only thing holding his innards in. War, what is it good for? Some pretty awesome violence, I'd say.

So I had a bad day. But at least it wasn't as bad as Chris Simms' day. Or his spleen's. And for that, I am grateful to both.

Now we sip champagne when we thirst-ay

We're on the board! Suck on that Big Daddy Drew!!! The champagne tastes sweet and the view is gooood!

New Mantra: It's just Houston
Brunell played a good game but he's not off the hook until he does that to a varsity squad.

Note: If the Falcons cover tommorow night I might be able to buy an actual camera

Friday, September 22, 2006

Always Be Covering...Week 3

Welcome to the latest edition of the ABC’s of Degenerate Gambling. Are you interested? I know you are, because it's fuck or walk. You cover or you hit the bricks. Each week I’ll highlight a selection of games that I find particularly enticing for some reason.

While I may (or may not) be a confirmed genius this remains a humor site. Anybody that takes my advice too seriously deserves the fate of Tessie Hutchinson.

What a turnaround this should be from Week 2. Last Sunday was all about double digit lines and generally crappy football games. This week should test our mettle, lots of tight lines a shitload of early must wins. You won't see me risking my money on games like Carolina/Tampa because I have no idea which one "wants it more" (unless the "it" in question is a backrub from Ronde...then I'd take Simms and co.). Instead I'm sticking with what I know to be true.

Chicago -3 @ Minnesota
If you haven't been betting heavily on the Bears already you're already playing from behind. However it's not too late (seriously...stop crying and get that bookie on the phone). The Vikings are destined for fall akin to Roy Anderson after Pam dumped his box-hauling ass.

St. Lou +4.5 @ Buzzsaw
I'm not a huge fan of this game but that line just feels like it's off by two points. How is Arizona going to stop Stephen Jackson? I'd be surprised if they could contain Latoya. I'll probably end up teasing this with the over when it's all said and done.

Denver @ New England -6.5
We've got three great things going for us in this game. As you may remember I have an affinity for 6.5 point lines. Throw in other variables like "Patriots playing at home" and "Jake Plummer " and it becomes pretty clear. The Pats are going to wax Shanny's bitches before they can sweep the leg. (this is all void if Shanny grows a pair and yanks Plummer before halftime).

Crackmore -6.5 @ Cleveland
Is Vegas serious? If I were a bookie (I'M NOT) I wouldn't even take action on this game. Cleveland hasn't been able to move the ball with consistency and the Ravens D is back at their peak. I know Ed Reed and Ray Lewis have to show love to Winslow because of the U connection but I'm sure they'll leave him searching for...HUGH!!!

Philly -6 @ San Fran
They've gotta stop giving these spunky road dogs so much damn credit. After last week's debacle I fully expect Donovan to "pick up every stitch" and finish off these Nazis before halftime (and this time they'll stay finished off). After watching Frank Gore rise out of the ashes like a Phoenix I expect to see him fall back to Earth faster than the Challenger against Philly's front seven.

Atlanta -3 @ New Orleans (IN NEW ORLEANS!!!!)
Even Ray Nagin thinks this line is a bit soft. Yeah the Saints have been awesome and it's great to see them playing well. I can't wait to see them take the piss-soaked field and play their hearts out for the faithful fans (even that shithead Archie "Joseph of Nazareth" Manning). None of this takes away from the fact that Atlanta is far more talented all over the field. Am I really supposed to believe that Brees and Bush are going to play above themselves because the game is in New Orleans? Fuck that, this is football not fucking baseball.

Wow, I just made light of Katrina, the Challenger tragedy, and Jesus Christ in the same paragraph...I've gotta fit all these in before Yom Kippur.

That's all for me this week, I'm sure somebody will be around to entertain you on Sunday (like you need any more entertainment you greedy motherfuckers). I'll be out of contact but you'll be in my prayers (not really). Now I'm off to gorge myself on Apples and Honey!

L'Shana Tova

The Week in Cheerleader News

A couple pieces this week from the Professional Cheerleader Blog raised my eyebrows and testosterone level.

First, the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders are performing for troops in Guantanamo Bay. This combines my fantasies of NFL cheerleaders with my fantasies of secluded torture in a consequence-free environment. Well played, Cowgirls. Very well played.

And look at the guy in the picture: such military bearing while sporting the combat feather boa -- truly an essential accessory for effective camouflage in tropical climates. I'll admit, I'm a little jealous. I only ever got to wear Kevlar garter belt.

The other story of note is Iowa State wide receiver Austin Flynn, who when not losing to the Texas Longhorns this weekend will be sexing up his Texans cheerleader girlfriend Janna Skrabanek. The headline to the news story: ISU’s Flynn has personal NFL cheerleader. And if there's something hotter than cheerleaders at Guantanamo Bay, it's the notion of "personal NFL cheerleader." Hey, when did these underwear get so small?

Janna likes chicken quesadillas and reading Shape and Cosmo.

How wude

The Bengals and Steelers this weekend renew the rivalry that wasn't really a rivalry until about a year ago when the former team decided to be good again after 15 seasons of NFL laughingstockery.

Much of the attention lavished upon the resurgent Bengals has focused on the Chad Johnson New Millennium Minstrel Show and the loverly Cincinnati ghetto anthem "Who Dey?" Setting aside the obvious debt the chant owes to JT Money's painful 1999 semi-hit "Who Dat," it wasn't immediately clear to what it was referring.

Was it a vaguely self-deprecating inquiry of just who these gang of upstarts are that are lifting playoffward a team with a dismal recent history? Was it an attempt to brush up on their knowledge of the history of the Ottoman Empire? Sadly, instead, the complete chant, "Who Dey, Who Dey, Who Dey, think they gonna beat them Bengals?" decodes as something to the effect of, "I say! Who are these ruffians, who, in their temerity, believe themselves capable of besting our squadron in a contest of American footballing?"

How these Bungalites took umbrage when their noble, solemn cry was co-opted by one of their arch-villains, Trap-Jaw. But, as these things go, the mocking of "Who Dey?" has turned into that most boomeranging (read: overblown) influences - bulletin board material - The Cincinnati Enquirer explains:

Cowher first borrowed the line in the postgame celebration after the
Steelers defeated the Bengals 31-17 in an AFC wild card playoff game Jan. 8 at
Paul Brown Stadium.

"Who dey?" he yelled to his players.

"We dey," they screamed back in unison.

Bengals coach Marvin Lewis, a Cowher assistant coach for four seasons in Pittsburgh, showed film of Cowher's cheer Wednesday morning to his players.

Bengals wide receiver Chad Johnson saw the video Wednesday for the first time. "I didn't like it," Johnson said. "It was very rude."

Johnson later said the actions of the Pittsburgh fans were "not cricket and rather unsporting...HUGH!!!!"

He then wandered off aimlessly to, he said, prepare an endzone celebration involving a Terrible Towel, a Segway, some parkour kids and the corpse of recently deceased Pittsburgh Mayor Bob O'Connor.

He who cannot lie does not know what the truth is

The football world is all atwitter with the burgeoning feud between Titans coach Jeff Fisher and his former Clipboard Assistant Billy Volek (wouldn't people take him seriously if he were named William?) . After shipping him out of town Fisher took place in an impromptu interview with a small gathering of local media. Firstly, I've never heard a coach speak so frankly about a player before. This just confirms my theory that if players and coaches said what they truly thought of one another through the media we'd be laughing too hard to watch any actual football.

What's important here is that Fisher claims that Volek lied to him (FOR SHAME!). Of course after spending 10 minutes ripping on Volek Fisher decided to clam up about the lie in question. Now we've learned that the mighty Chris Mortensen (FROM!: El Camino College?) knows a little secret. Yes, Mort knows full well of the lie in question but he (ESPN bosses) has decided to sit on his precious secret until he can unveil it to the world on NFL Countdown. Obviously we here at KSK don't have the patience to twiddle our thumbs until then (fuckin' ADD), instead we've decided to take an educated guess as to what could so offended the tenured coach. As always we welcome you, the loyal reader, to chime in with your own matter how homoerotic they may be.

1. Volek convinced Fisher that he was a viable starting quarterback.

2. Volek and Fisher were at the craps table in the offseason when the clipboard jockey decided to fuck with his coach. Fisher couldn't see very well (what with the sunglasses and all) so he asked Volek to call out the numbers. After rolling a hard four the quarterback told Fisher that he'd actually rolled an easy eight, $100,000 later their relationship was no more.

3. Volek told the police that Fisher took liberties with a young fan and his Flat Stanley doll.

4. Volek convinced Fisher that a mustache could never make him look like a low-rent gay pornstar

5. Volek tricked Fisher into eating a bowl of chili made from the ground up remains of his parents making him cry like a little girl.

Now we look to you, the reader. If you think you can guess the lie feel free to take a shot. If you're right you'll always have something to put on your resume.

Update: We're being told that Volek mixed lobster meat into Fisher's scrambled eggs...I didn't even know he was Jewish.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Steve Irwin Memorial Meast of the Week - Week 2

And remember, a shiny donkey to whoever brings me the head of Colonel Montoya...

...Oh! Which means it's time for the Meast of the Week! Last night I turned on Animal Planet to discover a one-hour, Irwin-free special on vicious African crocodiles. They showed a crocodile stalk a wild gazelle crossing a river. The croc snatched up the gazelle in his jaws and then preceded to swallow it whole. Holy fuck, that was sweet. Like an animal snuff film. They should have played "War Pigs" in the background.

These shows usually wrap footage like this up in some pretentious bullshit that this was the fierce beauty of nature. Well, I'm not that kind of person. It's time we glorified violence in the animal kingdom. So I found this YouTube clip of two crocs tearing a gazelle in half and then getting after it like Joey Porter's mastiff. You won't find better killing anywhere, I tell you! The only thing that would make this clip better is if the gazelle were replaced with a cat, or with Joe Theismann's leg, or with Paris Hilton and her worthless slut mother. And they should have had a demon voice laughing in the background, with fireballs exploding in the sky and shit. In any event, this is top quality stuff. Big hard crocs ahead!

Anyway, this clip is in honor of Jags' linebacker Mike Peterson, Week 2's meastiest player.

Peterson had 2 solo tackles and 5 assists in the Monday Night game with the Steelers. But the stat sheet sells him short. He was all over the field, treating Willie Parker like gazelle lunch meat and hitting oncoming guards harder than Jason Kidd hits his wife. Too bad he's still not a Colt. But I guess having Peyton Manning occupy 90% of your salary cap is worth it. Here's to your top notch Steeler-killing, Mike! Rumph! Rumph! Rumph!

A True Barometer of Sweetness

You've probably seen those other guys' bullshit power rankings, but that's just what they are. Bull. Shit. So, Seattle's better than Tampa? Way to go out on a limb there, asshole. So I set out on a quest to find a true barometer of sweetness, uninhibited by speculation or personal bias and came up with my own motherfucking Power Rankings. BY-AHHHH!!

  1. Beef
  2. Chicken
  3. The Chad Johnson Hit
  4. Any album where the name of the band/artist is composed entirely of letters
  5. Big Daddy Drew
  6. Scarlett Johannsen's upper lip
  7. Getting in the shower and the water's all cold and shit
  8. Jeff Fisher acting like he just broke up with Elton John
  9. The word "camel," when not used as a prefix
  10. Curdled Milk
Also receiving votes: Jessica Namath, Mark Brunell, Pat Morita's legacy as a "character actor."

"Shhh, it's all right, Taggart. Just a man and a horse being hung out there."

First, we were totally blind-sided by news that Joey Porter owns a pack of pitbulls. He always seemed like more of a bichon frise type of guy. Our shock was only compounded when we subsequently learned that Porter's dogs escaped and killed a horse in suburban Pittsburgh yesterday. The lastest bombshell in this case is the revelation by the police that the killing was a case of mistaken identity. According to insiders familiar with the investigation, Porter trained the dogs for the express purpose of killing Shannon Sharpe.

The resemblance between the victim (above, left) and Sharpe (right) was so uncanny, that even the police arriving on the scene were initially confused. "When we got there the little fella was bellowing and grunting incoherently. It sounded just Shannon Sharpe's analysis of San Diego's pass rush from Sunday morning." Alarmed CBS executives frantically telephoned Sharpe and confirmed he was safe at home, munching on a bag of oats.

Morten Andersen ends retirement, tells kids to get off his lawn

Kicker Morten Andersen ended his two-year retirement this week, signing with the Atlanta Falcons. Following Tuesday's press conference, Andersen ordered a small group of teenagers congregating near his property to "move it along now." Andersen, the NFL's second all-time leading scorer, then drove his 1985 Buick Regal to the Town 'n' Country Buffet, for the early-bird. Mort capped of his day by feeding the ducks while humming Guy Lombardo tunes at the pond near his retirement community.

"I don't kicks when 'NCIS' is on, iffin' ya please."

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Now Let's Forget All Our Troubles With A Big Bowl Of Strawberry Ice Cream!

Imagine you're a woman. Not hard. I do this whenever my wife leaves the house and and there's a spare camisole lying around. Now imagine you're a woman who enjoys football. You're probably sick to your stomach of football being a bastion for unrepentant misogyny - the Coors Light twins, eye candy sideline reporters not named Michele Tafoya, Zeke Mowatt ready to whip his cock out in front of you at any moment. It's all pretty woman-unfriendly. You think women deserve to enjoy football as much as any man does, without being condescended to.

And then some wiseass writer gets this letter from a producer at

Hi Big Daddy Drew,
Have you seen Betsy Berns's new football blog for women, the female fan at ivillage? It might be something you're interested in writing about. It's "girl talk" about football and has interesting commentary on it from a female fan's perspective, plus it has a lot of fun stuff, like a weekly poll trying to get down to the NFL's sexiest player. I'd love for you to check it out and consider writing about it or linking to it. I'm pasting the official press release below. Thanks!

Oh, fuck. Now you get to the press release, and you suddenly see feminism set back another 50 years:

"The Female Fan" will discuss the week's big game dramas, report on celebrity romances and offer tailgating tips and mouthwatering recipes for the perfect football party.

And then you get to the blog itself, and it pretty much confirms your worst fears. It's a football site for women. And, in this case, "women" means 12-year-old girls. It doesn't even bother to assume you know much of anything about football, or even basic home ec. It just assumes you would like your football in the form of US Weekly. "Omigod! Did you know like, Matt Leinart and Nick Lachey are, like, best friends? Oh, and I heard Neutrogena apricot scrub gets your meast really clean!" This approach, of course, makes no sense because casual female football non-fans aren't going to bother reading a blog about football. Worst of all, this site was written by a woman, which makes it doubly annoying.

What will the writer do with it? Will he make endless furburger jokes at your gender's expense? Will he suggest that the blog was written by a retarded cheerleader during off hours?

No, I think he'll just let you vent in the comments.

Is It Too Early to Mourn? Is It Too Late to Ride?

Anybody who spends a fair ammount of time around here is familiar with my uncompromising love of the Washington Redskins. They are like family, they are the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems. There's no doubt that I invest far too much passion into the team, but I have my reasons. All the torture is worthwhile for the one moment when everything clicks into place and all is right in the world (just like alcoholism).

It is this passion that has driven me to write an open letter to the team that means way too much to me. Sadly i feel a bit like Jerry Maguire right now, I'm about to tell the complete truth for the very first the way, I fucking hate Tom Cruise and Danny can't change that. While this letter is directed to the team it should also resonate with fans and critics alike. Simply put, it couldn't be more "open" if it were matched up in single coverage with Kenny Wright.

To My Last Dutchess,

Gentlemen, it's time to be completely honest with ourselves, we're in trouble. I'm sick and tired of hearing the pros and cons Al Saunders' alleged 700 page playbook. The next time our friend Steve Czaban so much as mentions it on the radio I will drive my car into the Potomac (I'm scared of Anacostia). Granted it's a complex offense but it's not that great a departure from what we tried (and often failed) to do in the recent past. I have complete faith in the system as a whole, to me the problem here is trust. The coaching staff doesn't trust the quarterback and the quarterback doesn't trust himself; all of this is warranted.

Mark Brunell seems like a good guy and in the past he's been a good quarterback. That being said, he's a fucking shell of an NFL quarterback and at this point he's outlived his usefulness like a Jesus loving version of Barbaro. We knew this time was coming when Chris Berman upstaged Paul Tagliabue and Jason Campbell became one of us.

The only reason Brunell is still our quarterback is because of our playoff expectations. Obviously our chances for success aren't going to be that high with an untested de facto rookie running the team. What's recently become obvious is that we aren't doing shit with Brunell (who's beginning to remind me of a Dennis Quaid character...only less talented). No team can ever be successful with a quarterback who lacks the arm and the balls to rocket the ball over he middle (he's like the anti-Tek Jansen). Now we just need the brilliant and stubborn coaching staff to man-up and make the switch. I think we all know what last year would have been like if Coach Gibbs had let Ramsey waste another season.

Of course not everything can be placed on Brunell's decrepit shoulders. Both weeks the defense has shown flashes of the brilliance we all expected following last year's top ten ranking. It's just too bad that this unit will continue to suffer from a lack of depth, a healthy dose of stupidity, and two weak links. Our two big offseason additions to the defense were Adam Archuletta and Andre Carter. That probably could have worked out better.

Arch is measty against the run but any time he drops into coverage I feel like we're about to get Rumphed. We're gonna have to cover for his shortcomings which means Sean needs to stop decapitating people via face mask long enough to cover somebody (he's either crazy or stupid but it scares TO...and me).

Andre, you're another matter entirely. I've never seen a guy that looked more like a dominant pass rusher in my life. Sadly I've never seen such a pussy for a defensive end either. If he's going to keep letting running backs run through his arms and getting stood up by linemen I'm going to start a campaign to run him out of town Wilbon style (kir royale optional but encouraged). Gregg needs to sit his ass down, I don't care if he looks like Tyson Beckford if he's gonna tackle like a male model (even if he is really really ridiculously good looking). If we can't generate a rush without blitzing from the secondary we're going to get used to seeing the back of Kenny Wright's jersey.

If Campbell can contribute and the team can get healthy for good (we're nothing without Portis and Springs) the season doesn't have to be a loss. We've got such a dynamic group of talented players and coaches that we should be kicking the shit out of dysfunctional bitches like Dallas more often than not. Given the nature of our injuries and our crippling quarterback play it's hard to envision the playoffs. Regardless, i will remain eternally optimistic in my heart regardless of what my brain may tell me (I don't like it and it doesn't like me).

Faithfully Yours,

The Unsilent Majority

P.S. If you're as despondent as me you can find solace in this great video that was posted by our friend Chris at Saved By the Blog

Sorry for the length/relative seriousness of this post. It's my only catharsis...otherwise I'd have to kill myself.