Among other assorted derring-do. Randy Moss caught a 50-yard touchdown pass yesterday. Actually to be precise, Randy Moss' right elbow caught a 50-yard touchdown pass yesterday. Right fucking elbow-- I shit you not. In double coverage. Elbow. 50 yards. Randy Moss' elbow by itself is better 75% of the receivers in the league. Right now, the Jaguars are trying to put together a trade offer for the elbow.
Is there any thing that Brady can't heave wildly into the horizon that Moss can't go up and get? The Brady-Moss connection has now evolved from a formidable offensive stratagem to a free-wheeling, barnstorming daredevil circus act. Next week, I fully expect to see a blindfolded Brady chucking passes two at a time across a minefield while a straight-jacketed Moss catches them nonchalantly with his feet as Stars and Stripes Forever blares in the background. Or Brady winging exploding pineapples instead of footballs. At this point, I'm willing to believe anything.
“They shall have stars at elbow and foot.” - Corey Dillon Thomas
Since early this season, I've tried valiantly to avoid Bill Simmons, he of the puffy jowls, the nasally voice and the inept game predictions. His work this season is an unremitting stream of recycled jokes and ramped up Patriots gloating that is devoid of reason or the faintest whiff of shame. Punter summed it up nicely in a recent e-mail thread, "He's gone from openly insightful (though somewhat dated) to a fact-bending homer."
This weekend, I had to spend Saturday night working the cops beat for the paper. This is okay because you get the occasional gem like this one: 6500 BLK, 12TH ST. MALE ATTACKED BY FAMILY DOG WHILE STABBING HIS WIFE. ANIMAL IS ON THE LOOSE IN THE AREA.
But it also involves long stretches of inactivity, with which I must fill with football-related reading. Running through enough of it (or churning up enough masochistic urges) I eventually got to Simmons' Friday picks column and came upon this stretch of mind-boggling retardery:
For instance, 0-6 Miami knows the '07 Pats could knock the '72 Dolphins out of the record books in three months. But what could they do to stop them? They're not beating them in a game. If they made a fishy trade to help out one of New England's rivals -- like, giving away Chris Chambers to San Diego for a late second-round pick, for example -- everyone would find it fishy and the league would crack down, because, after all, you're not supposed to cheat in the National Football League. They're helpless to stop it. In fantasy, fishy trades happen all the time and you can't stop them unless you have a commissioner who's stronger and more powerful than David Stern at his peak. Unfortunately, 98 percent of fantasy football leagues have a Gary Bettman type.
(Note: Thank God the NFL doesn't work like fantasy and San Diego couldn't steal Chambers away for a measly second-round pick simply because Miami wanted to take a dump on their fans, tank their season and preserve the legacy of the '72 Dolphins. Because that would suck.)
Put simply, this is the dumbest fucking thing I've read all year from any writer. Take a million supermikes writing on a million Etch-A-Sketches for a million years and you wouldn't come up with anything half as fucking asinine.
Really? We're supposed to believe a team like the Dolphins, a winless team obviously in need of unloading big money players for value while they still can in advance of overhauling their roster, is dumping their no. 1 receiver for no other reason than to fuck the Pats chances at an unbeaten season? Taking that logic, maybe they might have shipped him to a team that the Pats HAVEN'T ALREADY BEATEN! Why? To protect a 36-year-old record?
We're also to ignore the fact that Chris Chambers for a second-round pick isn't actually that lop-sided of a trade?
One of the stupidest aspects of being a blogger -- and believe me, there's a long list of stupid aspects -- is copyright law. Granted, most of the time it's not a problem. Google Image Search, right-click, "save as..." and you've got a nice little picture for your post.
Every now and again, though, I get a nastygram from some photographer or lawyer or underage girl's lawyer: "Wah wah wah, the image you have used is blah blah blah... remove it immediately or face me annoying you some more."
And it's like, "Shit, man. That photo was left in a public forum, and/or I linked to your website to credit your awesome photo-snapping skills. I'm giving you free publicity. I'm trying to make you a FUCKING STAR!"
But no, this is how we're thanked. With angry emails and threats of legal action. Oh, I'm supposed to PAY to look at your precious photo? How about YOU pay ME to read my fantabulous writing, and we'll call it even. We're all in this Internet Bohemia together, man. Quit harshin' my buzz.
These photos of the San Diego Charger Girls were taken by the inimitable John W. McDonough of Sports Illustrated, as part of a much larger gallery featured here at SI.com. (See? Is that so bad?)
Three years ago I had the opportunity to move 150 miles to San Diego. Instead I moved 3000 miles to New York.
Welcome back for the Week 7 edition of Always Be Covering.
So it's the week every gambler dreads, the first week that he has to dip into his financial reserves. Personally, I took advantage of Drew's past generosity by cashing in a few of the barrybonds he got me last Christmas (I can overlook gentile gift-giving assuming said gift has hard cash value...or chocolate shaped money). Obviously I've been a bit reckless with some of my winnings (but I thought teasers always win) so it's time to tighten up, think conservatively, and just cover baby!
Or not.
Let's do a fuckin' teaser instead, they never lose!
The Get Rich Or Die Tryin' Was a Piece of Shit Bet of the Week
4 Team Teaser (6.5). 50 to win 125
NY Giants -2.5 vs. San Francisco Trent Dilfer? Check please.
Dallas -3.5 vs. Purple Jesus and Bald Judas That's sweeter than Cowgirl pussy, and just as hairless.
Pittsburgh +2.5 at Denver As if Shanny's boys didn't suck before, now Javon's knee is is getting cut up like a teenager's milky white thigh. You know what happens next, he'll refuse to part with the bloody bandage until he spends some time mourning his scar tissue in Vegas.
Washington -2 vs. Arizona Joe Gibbs doesn't lose to Arizona at home...ever. For a quick injury report, let's check in with CBS Sportsline's fantasy update.
Cardinals QB Kurt Warner has settled on a combination of tape and a brace to hold his injured elbow in place and says he's feeling good about being able to play Sunday at Washington.
This isn't your run-of-the-mill bad idea, it's like the time MIT girl went to the airport wearing an imitation bomb as an art project. Only that girl didn't have her left forearm torn off by Andre Carter. What do you think Larry Fitz?
"Anytime you hear `tear,' that's not good...also I was told there would be crackers."
It's a battle for supremacy in the AFC South, with the quietly powerful and workmanlike (read: boring) Jaguars hosting the Colts, the NFL's top alsoran to the Patriots, and, you know, the defending champs. Jacksonville winning would temper the next soon to be painfully hyped battle of the unbeatens in a few weeks. And we can't have that. Seriously, this week's games are abysmal. WHO YA GOT?
Sometimes we at KSK have the good fortune of having a celebrity or two drop in to offer their insight on the NFL. Today, I’m pleased to welcome Jack White and Meg White of the White Stripes. Jack and Meg call themselves brother and sister. The media reports that they are actually a former married couple. The truth, of course, is that they are both.
Jack: I don’t understand this whole NFL thing. It just feels so brutish to me. Doesn’t it, Meg?
Meg: Yes. It does.
Jack: I mean, the whole thing just feeds into this disgusting male mentality that glorifies violence and menaces women. I find the male animal to be a horrible creature: shallow, depraved, and manipulative. Don’t you think, Meg?
Meg: Yes. I do.
Jack: That said, I do like those Detroit Lions. I think they’ll win this week. Don’t you, Meg?
Meg: Yes. I do.
Jack: Meg, what’s your favorite team?
Meg: Whatever your favorite team is, Jack.
Jack: Well, like I said, I like the Lions.
Meg: Then I like the Lions.
Jack: Meg, who’s your favorite player?
Meg: Whoever your favorite player is, Jack.
Jack: Mine is Ernie Sims
Meg: Then I like Ernie Sims.
Jack: Meg, you are the last true innocent creature left on the earth. I see in you the hope and brightness of a newborn child.
Meg: I see that, too.
Jack: You are my muse. Together, this artificial world cannot infiltrate the pureness of our friendship. Now take that brick over there and bash yourself in the head with it.
Meg: Okay.
(picks up brick and bashes herself in the head with it)
Jack: Now go wander out into that busy street for me.
Meg: Okay.
(wanders into busy street and is hit by a Cadillac)
Jack: Now I want you to stick yourself with this syringe I found on the beach.
Meg: Okay.
(sticks herself syringe he found on the beach)
Jack: Now I want you to sit over in the corner and watch me while I have sex with my new wife. And I want you to blow this dog while I do it.
Meg: Okay.
(sits over in the corner and watches while Jack has sex with his new wife. Blows dog)
Jack: I feel so inspired by your strength and courage, Meg. Let’s spend the next five minutes cutting an album with just two good songs and a shitload of half-assed ideas.
Meg: Okay.
(Five minutes pass. Album is produced with Jack playing all instruments including drums. Album is released. Gets a 9 from NME.)
Jack: Let us now have some candy.
Meg: Okay.
Jack: Actually, I’m just gonna go get some candy for myself. I’d like you to sit here and stare at this blank wall until I get back.
Six short weeks and they've already achieved prima donna status, bitching about Comedy.com's accommodations in his fancy dancey suit and tie. Back in late August, you didn't have a pot to piss in or a green headband to wrap around it. And let me tell you: Blogger's no Swiss picnic either, pally. The cafeteria only has Sun Chips instead of Doritos. Can you fucking believe that? Might as well be working for the Iraqi Army.
However, I'm all for their "fuck you, Todd 'Shit' Heap" policy, not only as someone who has the misfortunate of having that fucker on both my fantasy teams, but also someone who hates the Ravens as a matter of course. Fuck you, Purple Whitey!
Pro Football Talk, which is always right about these things, is spreading the rumor that Matron Saint Suzy Kolber is preggers or with child, or whichever other gormless idiom you use for pregnant. I prefer germinated. It sounds less appealing that way.
See, Suzy, you start hanging around NASCAR and, before you know it, you're having kids out of wedlock. Sure, ESPN'll be cool with it at first, provided you name the kid Norby or Norba, then tighten up afterwards. They'll have the finest vaginoplaster money can buy.
PFT hears it's a girl, no doubt bound to be thick in the britches. But what of the name? JET Kolber? Turtleneckesta? Chevy Tahoe, Jr.? You decide, commenters.
This week's Kevin Everett update is the best one yet: the Bills tight end with the broken neck is now walking on his own.
Allow me to rephrase that: HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT. To recap, this is what doctors predicted:
And this is what's going on:
Yeah yeah yeah, the doctors get some credit too, but there is no denying that Kevin Everett is about as measty as a human being can be. Stay tuned for next week's Everett update, in which he does one-armed push-ups and satisfies a nurse and a candy striper simultaneously.
There was plenty of meastiness around the rest of the NFL this week, to the point that we actually felt the need to recognize several of the individual efforts we witnessed.
Third runner-up is Marion Barber, whose two-yard, two-point-saving run is reminiscent of Barry Sanders -- if Barry ran over people instead of around them:
Second runner-up: Devin Hester. With two 80-yard-plus scores, Hester reiterated that (a) all offensive plays should be designed to get him the ball until Cedric Benson can get more than two yards a carry, and (b) any special teams coach who elects to kick to him is interested in working elsewhere next year.
Our first runner-up is vintage 2006 LaDainian Tomlinson, who torched the Raiders for 198 yards and all four Chargers touchdowns. Fun fact: Dan Shanoff has LT2/LDT in our Yahoo! fantasy league, and he still lost.
Predictably, here's this week's Meast:
We needn't go over numbers or game impact here; however, I feel compelled to respond to Michael David Smith's missive (or should I say dismissive?) that asked Is Adrian Peterson Overrated?
Now, I craft my responses to fellow bloggers carefully. The person known as "Matt Ufford" is a surprisingly affable sort who rarely, if ever, publishes a negative response to a neighbor in the blogorhood.
Captain Caveman, however, is a real asshole.
And as Captain Caveman, on behalf of the KSK Gay Mafia, I can say, "Hey, MDS. Slate called. They were looking for a contrarian poindexter to stir up pointless debate." And so we respond to the Tim Duncan of blogging, FanHouse's blandly efficient MVP, thusly: No, Adrian Peterson is not overrated. He's really fucking good. He's called PURPLE JESUS for a reason.
“They shall have stars at elbow and foot.” - Corey Dillon Thomas
