KSK 2007 NFL Season Prekkake: New York Giants

Yep, this is your quarterback.
(photo courtesy of the AP)

A Random Number of Fast Facts About the Giants

-Eli Manning is such a pussy that team trainers give him a precautionary Feline AIDS test bi-weekly
-Shocking but true: Defensive back Aaron Ross has two first names
-Steve Smith isn't that Steve Smith, he's the other Steve Smith
-Amani Toomer is benign; dressed in rags
-Osi Umenyiora is Nigerian for, "Expires After Contract Year"
-Michael Strahan videotaped his wife's sister getting naked but he really had his eye on her boyfriend
-Tom Coughlin refuses to deny the rumors surrounding his affiliation with the Fourth Reich
-Steve Mara once castrated a five year-old for wearing an Eagles jersey in his presence
-Wellington Mara is producing Biggie and Pac's new duets album
-Ernie Accorsi tried to tag along with Tiki Barber at Good Morning America but the producers felt he was more "ugly" ugly than "tv" ugly.
-Brandon Jacobs and Ruben Droughns take bites of Ahmad Bradshaw when they need a snack between meals.
-Chris Snee is cheating on Tom Coughlin's daughter with Tom Coughlin's wife and the whole family is secretly dating Jeremy Shockey

If you are one of those contemptible "fans" of the Giants you might want to check out Roger Director's upcoming book I Dream In Blue: Life, Death, and the New York Giants. It offers a unique look at the intersection of obsessive fanaticism, family, and career. If you have an unhealthy love of the Giants you're bound to commiserate with Director as he follows the team throughout the tortuous and occasional tragic 2006 season. And as a Redskins fan I have a whole new book full of reasons to hate those blue-clad ass-clowns. It's easily the second best thing Director has written; he's also responsible "The Client's Best Interest" which was one of the truly great episodes of Arli$$.

Robert Wuhl is a national treasure and fuck you for saying otherwise!

Good news everyone, I don’t have to watch Big Love on Sunday night this week

If you’re like us, you have been jonesin’ for real football for months now. The real shit, the kind, not that Europa or arena crap. We need the genuine article-- nothing but mainlining some uncut NFL will do. Starting Sunday, the fiends can get their fix.

Steelers and Saints. NFL Network. Prayers will be answered.

We are so starved for football that we will ignore the fact that these games are less than meaningless and possess merely the verisimilitude of an actual athletic competition. We know that EMTs probably scraped more of Ben Roethlisberger off that windshield than we will actually see on the field Sunday... and we are fine with that.

Because we are so freaking starved for NFL action, we will sit through the dog-and-pony show of undrafted rookies who have no shot of making a team south of the Canadian border with big, stupid grins on our faces. We pretend that what some scout team defensive tackle does will have implications stretching into the playoffs. We ignore the fact it is hotter than dogcrotch right now, and no one in their right mind should be playing football in that stuff. As long as we can watch.

KSK is often (rightfully) accused of being negative and snarky. But this week, motivated by the return of the game we love, we’ve made an effort to extend olive branches to former enemies. In that vein, one of our favorite whipping boys has long been Baltimore. Our observations on Charm City have, on occasion, been less than flattering. In that spirit, we want to say something nice about Baltimore. Namely, they have a couple of fine-ass cheerleaders. Enjoy the weekend.

This Week’s KSK Commenter Draft: Movie Settings Where You Would Like To Go On Vacation

I’ll be on vacation next week. And frankly, it’s well deserved. You might think it’s easy to come up with all these 8th-Grade level dick jokes. Well, it is. But still, I gotta punch all these keys to write them, and that can be tiring. So it’s off to the beach with me. I’ll be packed into a house with my parents, my wife, my daughter, my sister, my sister’s husband and child, my brother, and my brother’s wife and child. We may try and squeeze in a Japanese exchange student just for the hell of it. All with no air conditioning. Should be fucking AWESOME.

Anyway, to celebrate my week off, I‘m gonna try and pull off this rather tricky draft. These are movie locales or settings where you would like to have a few days to explore on your own. A good movie, of course, takes you to a whole new gay world, one you’d like to hang around in for a week or two. So let’s give this a shot. The rules. Pick ONE film and ONE specific setting. NO PORN. This can be any movie, and any time in history. It can also be fictional. Let’s assume you have money to spend in the location. But otherwise, your access to medical care and what not is the same as any other character in the film. Now, of course, some movies have multiple settings, and some do not. But once a film has been taken, no other setting can be taken from that movie. Once you pick a place, you must wait until 10 other places have been chosen.

Boy, that’s simple! Anyway, my choice is the Castle Anthrax from “Monty Python and the Holy Grail”


Eightscore young blondes, all between sixteen and nineteen and a half? All of whom are in need of a good spanking? Giggity. I’ll take Zoot first, then Dingo. Should be fun.

Yours in the comments.

A Metaphorical Representation Of Trent Green’s Pass Protection

Tiger Shark Destroys Turtle - Watch more free videos

As you probably already know, it’s Shark Week this week, and thank God for that, because there ain’t shit else on TV this month. I just wish they’d stop trying to make every shark-related special educational. Is there a more overly researched animal in the universe than the shark? Listen, there’s only so much we can learn from sharks. I’m pretty sure over $2 billion in federal grant research has been spent on studying sharks, and that they’ve only learned three things:

1. Sharks never sleep
2. Sometimes sharks feel like eating humans, and sometimes they do not
3. Sharks are fucking badass

That’s it, really. There isn’t much more to them. Sharks don’t hold the key to finding cold fusion or the cure for AIDS. Scientists just like studying them because they fucking rule, and it beats studying algae. Oooh, what are their mating habits? Oooh, how far will they swim in one year? Who fucking cares? You're not getting us any closer to a flying car worrying about pointless minutiae like this, scienticians. Quit wasting my tax money lounging around in a boat. 700 other TV crews are already there at Seal Island. They've got it covered, okay? Get your nerdy ass back in the lab and do some real work.

The other night I watched Les Stroud feed a group of sharks a turkey, a ham, and a side of ribs. He said he did it to give us clues as to how sharks feed. Bullshit. I say he did it to watch ol’ Jaws throw down some baby backs, because that is crazy fun. And no one can tell me otherwise. Drop the facade, Discovery Channel. Quit with the marine biologists and expensive re-enactments. Just start airing a special called, "Sharks Fucking Shit Up Because They're Awesome."

Oh, and the above video? It’s a shark devouring a turtle. Oooh, what amazing new discoveries will be made from this video? None. Only that it sucks to be you, turtle. Adios, fucko.

Thanks to reader Sean H. for the link.

KSK and Peter King Agree: Brady Quinn Is a Jackass

Recently, there's been much some ado about Brady Quinn's preposterous holdout, in which the draft's #22 pick has yet to report to training camp because he and agent Tom Condon feel that Quinn deserves top-ten money.

And I think we can all say in unison: Fuck Brady Quinn. I feel like carrying a claw hammer around in my bag so I can brutally murder people on the subway. I feel like my taste and judgment should be respected to the point where I could euthanize freely without prosecution. But guess what? The world isn't run by the way I feel about things, so the people who cut in line at clubs because they think they're fucking special get to enjoy another day without their skulls turned inside out.

And you know who's on board with me here? Our main man Peter King:

It isn't just the front office that's frustrated with Quinn. Players are usually business-will-be-business guys, but I got a sense a few of his teammates think Quinn is out of mind for not being in camp. And he shouldn't expect a welcome mat whenever he arrives...

Compounding the problem is that Quinn did an autograph show in Cleveland earlier this summer and charged $75 per autographed photo. Talk about rubbing the locals the wrong way. That, combined with this ill-advised holdout, led one Browns insider to tell me the team wouldn't be surprised when Quinn finally reported to training camp. There would probably be a segment of fans on hand that would boo him...

Bottom line: The Browns would love to serve up on a silver platter the quarterback job to this Ohio golden boy, but he's probably within two or three days of getting so far behind, it would be hard for him to catch up and earn the starting job before midseason.

And you know what that means, NFL fans? It means several more weeks of THE CHARLIE FRYE EXPERIENCE.

"Aw man, I'm gonna have to go back out there soon."

In other words, bookies are already scrambling to find new numbers large enough to set the spread in Browns games. Can they cover eleventy? Doubt it.

But hey, outside of that autograph signing thing and missing his chance to become the starter right away, Brady's at least a home-grown boy winning over the locals, right? Right?

Well, according to Cleveland native and longtime Browns fan Brian... no. Brian wrote us last weekend (July 27th, to be precise) to tell us of his encounter with Quinn (the veracity of which we of course cannot verify). But in the true spirit of Internet rumor-mongering, I include Brian's lengthy email in near-entirety below, partially because it sounds plausible, but at least partly because I felt we should reward the first person to ever send us an email that was free from rampant grammatical errors, misspellings, and incoherent thought.

Having just turned 21 in February, this summer has been my first real exposure to the Cleveland bar scene. In a word: not that sweet. Regardless, last weekend I was at a popular place in the Warehouse District called the Blind Pig. My friend and I were checking out the skirt population (which was not that sweet either) when out of the corner of my eye I notice a pretty big dude with beautiful brown locks.

"Holy shit," I tell my friend, "That's Brady Quinn"

I walk towards him, politely stick out my hand and say "You're Brady Quinn. Nice to meet you, man."

Brady: "Uhhh, I don't know what you're talking about."
Me: "Dude...you're Brady Quinn."
Brady (laughing awkwardly): "Oh yeah well, uh, I get that all the time."
Me: "Yeah, you get that all the time BECAUSE you're Brady Quinn."

Brady and his posse of Irish Catholic friends then walk away without saying another word. I don't have even the slightest inkling of a doubt that it was Brady and that he's a lying sack of 85 dollar per autograph signing piece of shit. My brother went to Notre Dame. My roommate is obsessed with the football team. I had been subject to more Brady Quinn stories/stats/info than I had ever desired, and that was BEFORE the Browns squandered a probable 2008 top-10 pick on him. The guy was about 6'4" and visibly jacked under a loose fitting navy, gold and white Adidas tshirt (ND colors; Adidas also sponsors the football team). It was him.

I said this at the time of the draft, and this anecdote only reinforces that belief: Brady Quinn belongs in Cleveland as much as Michael Vick belongs in an animal hospital. The guy is a snobby pretty boy asshole with no concern for his fans or the town. Joe Thomas? The guy who gutted a fucking trout on ESPN during the draft? He's a Cleveland Brown.

Also a Cleveland Brown? Charlie Frye. He exudes the quiet crappiness that the team and city have come to represent. Have fun this season, Cleveland.

(Thanks to reader Dan V. for the Photoshop.)

KSK 2007 NFL Season Prekkake: Pittsburgh Steelers

There goes Hines Ward, inviting his Asian friend, Richard Nixon, to training camp.

Five Fast Facts About The Steelers:

* Quarterback Ben Roethlisberger disappointed to discover that among the 237 reasons people have sex, "to impress my buddy, Donald Trump" was only listed in the low 190s.
* In a nod to tradition, Hines Ward disposes of underpeforming fighting dogs by sauteeing them in sesame oil and serving them with a side of kimchi.
* Like his predecessor, Chris Gardocki, rookie punter Daniel Sepulveda has never had a punt blocked. Sure, it's only by default. But that shouldn't stop announcers from continuing to belabor the point and mentioning it every time the team gets a 4th down on their own end of the field, SHOULD IT?!
* LaMarr Woodley's limp-wristed throwing style helpful at javelin, less so at linebacker.
* Growing up, Willie Parker used to race pit bulls in his hometown of Clinton, N.C. But who provided those dogs? I don't know - some local guy. It wasn't Bad Newz Kennels. What? Not everything has to do with Ookie, okay?

Projected 2007 Record:
19-0, 19 by KO.

Actual 2007 Record:
11-5, first in AFC North.

Despite being seventh in the NFL in total offense and ninth in total defense, the Steelers remained first in the league in giving me massive fucking headaches last season by committing the fourth most turnovers. There were easily at least four games they essentially gave away because of thoughtless turnovers. Given another chance and they could've been right in the thick of it. Guhhhhh.

How to combat this plague:

1. Kill Ricardo Colclough -- done.

2. Tell Santonio Holmes he's allowed to punch a woman for every four punt returns he doesn't drop.

3. Have Mike Tomlin tell the white players in his blackest voice. They won't forget.

4. Give Dan Kreider more carries. Sure, he won't gain any yards. But I'll be damned if he fumbles the ball.

5. Start Charlie Batch.

6. Threaten to send Heath Miller back to Virginia.

7. Instruct Cedric Wilson that running routes doesn't mean gluing oneself to opposing defensive backs. Even if they're sexy.

8. If Willie Parker puts the ball on the ground inside the Red Zone, Casey Hampton gets to eat three pounds of his flesh.

9. Start Charlie Batch.

10. Place a woman's shoe in the opponent's endzone for Najeh Davenport.

11. Replace Kendall Simmons' insulin shots with Flintstones chewable steriods.

12. If Jeff Reed gets a kick blocked, he only gets to drink as much as Roethlisberger.

13. Start Charlie Batch. I'm super cereal.

And, voila, that 8-8 season becomes a ... non-soul-crushing season! IIIII'VE GOT A FEEEEEELING...

PK Gets Served, And This Time, It Ain't By No Titty-Lickin' Barista

I feel like I have to say this every fucking time we talk about the man, but here goes: We love Peter King. We love his...okay, maybe we don't LOVE him. We certainly do LIKE him, but, you know, there are all these other NFL columnists running around and--No, no, Petey, come on, baby. You're the best. You're numero uno to us, man. That was Spanish, by the way. I'm bi-language-al.

So in PK's Mailbag from yesterday, he ran a message from some dude from North Carolina who has had it up to HERE with King's flaunting of his riches. Let's go to the videotape!

Um, I mean the text. Yeah, let's go to the text:

You are a great writer and I enjoy your columns on a regular basis. But I just have to ask you something. When the average American struggles on a daily basis to get by and faces real challenges daily, how is it one should look upon some of your musings?

I mean, you've spoken of what a wonderful daughter or two you have, and you probably have just as wonderful of a wife. You live the life probably any man would dream of, covering the NFL and getting paid for it all the while.

So when we see you complain about whichever Starbucks is nearby and the price of working out at a hotel gym center, and the cost of parking in Manhattan or hear any of the other rumblings which seem awfully miniscule to the average person trying to get by, what is one to think? Poor, poor pitiful Peter.

How about this Peter? Every day you awake and look in the mirror, tell us how you hit your knees and thank your maker for gracing you with such a rich life.

First of all, whichever is actually a word. No, for real.

Secondly--and some of you might call me out for being a little hypocrite bitch, and that's fine--this guy needs to tape his asshole shut (or whichever hole that diarrhea came) and move on.

I am left beside myself, well, after stopping to think that King received this, read it, saw validity in its premise, and decided to run it in his Mailbag space. "Yeah, this guy thinks I'm a pompous ass. Hey, good call! He makes the cut." I doubt the internal conversation went quite like that. King's a big time writer. One who, I'm sure, sees the value in giving the floor to a dissenting point of view. Still, that can't be done without swallowing something. King did post the message, with this reply:

I'm really glad you wrote that and knocked me down a peg or two. I need to hear stuff like that sometimes. Thanks for the wakeup call.

Come on, Pete. You're the fuckin' man. Numero Uno, remember? So some hilljack outside of the Research Triangle has a problem hearing about the fabulous life of designer parking and airplane rides?

I believe that there are a certain set of reasons that we, as people, exert our money, time, and energy into following sports, especially the NFL. One reason would be that sports, like so few things these days, bring us together. We have our own personal biases (read: favorite teams) that, among fans, mostly, are tolerated, and even embraced. It wasn't two months ago when I went to Busch Stadium (as a Cincinnati Reds fan) and was heckled just a few rows above my team's bullpen, almost mercilessly, for three hours. And we were ahead most of that game.

I believe another reason, a deeper reason, is that sports give us hope. They provide a tangible result, in a world riddled with intangibles, that we can relate to our own personal ambitions. They provide a medium for desire. For the opportunity of becoming greater than ourselves. And for inspiration. And while we may not always prevail in the end, we had our shot. We had our struggle, our chance to gain what was, before, not ours. And whether we dream of a 60-yard Hail Mary as time expires or a double-mocha frappuccino with extra whip and chocolate and cinnamon, it's about that dream. And we need to flaunt that motherfucking dream all we can. You hear me? We need to dangle that dream in front of every crooked nose in Shitfuck, North Carolina and say, "YOU WANT THIS, YOU TOOTHLESS INBRED PRICK? Then you get your ass out of that double-wide...and come and get it." Without that dream, without that hope, we have nothing. And yes, we may wake up some mornings with that awful feeling in our souls, wondering where all the days have gone, whether the struggle was, and is, worthwhile. And when you get that feeling, you better think of that g0ddamn frappuccino with all its caffeinated glory and scream to the top of your lungs, "Fuck, yes it is! Fuck yes!"

This is all just a long way of saying, "Help yourself to a shovelful of cock, Douchebag, North Carolina." And you go, Pete. Don't you be doubting yourself anymore. That's our job.

The No Fashion League

So the League has its 2007 Sideline caps up in the online shops for the 32 teams and the big League shop (want a link? Go jam a sausage up your ass and get fucked). And, at least for me, there's always that two-week cringe period of getting used to the hat every year when these things come out. Because the hat is so fucking ugly, people. I would not want to associate with the compulsive buyer that is getting (and wearing!) these hats every year. How do you even glance in their direction? Ever date somebody with a mole? Yeah, it's kinda like that, only this mole covers your entire head, and looks like somebody wiped his ass with it.

These new "Skidmark" hats have are "fitted," and I put that in quotes because they have that fucking elastic in them. Sweet fucking Mother of Pearl, don't I have enough fucking elastic in my nuthuggers already? No? Okay then. I'm still not buying that fucking hat. Not when I can get a Deltha O'Neal replica jersey for a paltry 75 smackers. Because Leon Hall's not gonna play him out of a job or anything...

KSK 2007 NFL Season Prekkake: Minnesota Vikings

Relatively Rapid Retrospective Realities Regarding The Vikes:

-When the Detroit Lions visited the Vikes on October 11, 1964, it was the first (and only) instance where both teams took the field wearing white jerseys. The game started as scheduled and continued until the Vikes changed into their purple jerseys on the sideline in time for the second quarter. The Vikes not only lost the game, but then had to run a warm load of laundry AND a cold load that night.

-Also in 1964, Ohio State alumnus and NFL Hall of Famer Jim Marshall ran a fumble recovery 66 yards into his own end zone for a safety. This lapse in football awesomeness has largely overshadowed the fact that Marshall started at defensive end in 282 consecutive games. That consecutive games started mark still stands as the NFL record (Brett Lorenzo Favre only has 237. What a pussy).

-Distinguished Badass-in-Multiple-Walks-Of-Life Alan Page is one of seven Vikes--along with Marshall, four other players, a coach and a GM--to be enshrined in Canton. Page went on to earn his law degree from the University of Minnesota in 1978, the same year he was cut by the Vikes, in part because their front office believed that Page's hobby of distance running caused him to lose too much weight to be effective on the field. He was almost immediately signed by the rival Chicago Bears and played four more years in the League with that team. Page now sits as an Associate Justice of the Minnesota Supreme Court, and may be the only player in NFL history to sit through more court appearances than Chris Henry.

-Finland native/offensive lineman/taxi squad member Seppo Evwaraye was signed by the Panthers last year , but was unable to play because the processing fee for his work visa was $5 too light. He played in NFL-E this past spring, and is noted for his 40 time (< 5.0s) and his two brothers, both of whom play for the Finnish national team. He has two goldfish, Megatron and Steve.

-The Vikings made a complete uniform overhaul in 2006, including this massive transformation of their helmets (image courtesy: Wikipedia)

Holy shit, dude. They ruined it. It was so much more awesome the old way.

Projected 2007 Record: 7-9, 2nd place, NFC North (because it sucks)

Actual 2007 Record: 3-13, T-3rd place, NFC North, (because they suck)

Star-Trib Writer Michael Rand, who also does the blog RandBall, really, really likes his team's chances this fall:

Oh, it's going to be ugly. They don't have a No. 1 receiver. The might not have a No. 2 receiver. They don't have a QB who is even remotely proven. They don't have a pass-catching tight end. They do have two decent running backs.

The defense is a year older and missing the star coordinator from a year ago. They still do stupid shit off the field (see Cedric Griffin's Pants-off Dance-off), and the head coach has the trust and confidence of about 12 percent of the fan base, at best.

They open with four fairly winnable games, which should put them at 2-2 into the bye. The four coming out of the bye (at Chicago, at Dallas, Philly, San Diego) will rip them apart. From there, it will be an all too familiar shame spiral.

One time I heard this story about how this one guy was farming hookers from Minnesota and he met up with these two girls, and they were like really hot and shit. Then he goes, "Hey, let's go to Dallas." And these dumb bitches were like, "Okay!" Bad move, sisters. So anyway, dude drives 'em down and they they get there, and he's all, "Looks like we're outta gas. Guess you bitches are gonna have to sell that pussy so we can get home." Just like that, man. They were insta-huers. Seriously, dude. It was in Rolling Stone. When the Vikings rented out those boats two years ago and tried to fuck everybody, I bet that's what they were up to. That was two years ago, right?

They Managed To Sign Charles Nelson Reilly To An Offer Sheet, But Gaytown Matched The Terms

By now, you've probably heard that the Jacksonville Jaguars signed former No. 1 Draft Pick and Where The Fuck Are They Now coverboy Tim Couch to a two-year deal. Two. Twice. Two times. If he makes the team, he'll pocket the league minimum, a paltry $595k. If not, then it's back to second shift at Kinkos.

This is the NFL's equivalent of, you know, when you're out of clean underwear and you haven't done laundry, and so you're like hunting around, sniffing every dirty pair of underwear on your floor (hopefully, you're just wafting the scent of the garment to your nose, unless you have a fucking death wish). And finally you get to that striped pair of boxer briefs and you think, "This pair doesn't smell like complete shit." At that point, I'll steam iron them or pop 'em in the microwave for 40 seconds or something. They feel fresher that way.

And I have no idea where I heard this story first, so you can take your hat tip and stick it up your ass. You're like a bunch of fucking girls.

UPDATE: While we're on the subject, stop sending us baseball shit. We don't care. Next baseball link we get is earning an invitation to a Lemon Party, courtesy of twoeightnine.

UPDATE: Do not Google "Lemon Party." Please.