If You’re Reading This…
Uncategorized September 7th, 2008
… then you are awesome. And you should probably scoot over to our new place of business, Jockish.com.
Gilbertology Volume 0
Arenas, Gilbert September 28th, 2007
Hey there people, it’s your boy Gilbert “Agent Zero” Arenas. Everybody thinks of me as just an All-Star basketball player and world-class blogger, and frankly I don’t blame people for that. But I am also a big fan of other sports. You probably already know about my Halo team Final Boss and my interest in training with DC United — but did you know that I’m also a huge football fan? Well, I am; football is almost as cool as basketball. Maybe someday, after my NBA career is through, I’ll go try out for the Redskins…. Well, maybe not. But maybe. With me, you never know!
Anyway, here are my picks for this weekend’s football games. Remember, kids, you can trust your Uncle Gil.
St. Louis 0, Dallas 42
I used to root for the Rams when they were in L.A., but I didn’t want any part of them once they moved to St. Louis. A lot of you are probably too young to even remember that there was ever any football in L.A., but I’m kind of like a historian. Plus they had Eric Dickerson, who was the awesomest running back ever. Everyone wants to talk about Stephen Jackson, but he has been pretty horrible this year, and now he’s injured. Without him, I don’t think the Rams can score at all. On the other hand, Dallas has T.O., who is my close personal friend, and Tony Romo, who I hung out with at a Spoon concert a few months ago. So the Cowboys are definitely going to win by a lot.
CLEVELAND 51, Baltimore 50
Some people want to talk about Baltimore’s defense and how great it is. We hear a lot about that in my area. But come on, outside of Ray Lewis and Ed Reed they really aren’t much of a thing. I’m more about Air McNair, who is on the comeback trail after no one believed in him. But if you don’t think my guy Jamal Lewis doesn’t want some payback then you have another think coming. The Browns have already put up 51 once, so watch ‘em do it again.
Chicago 21, DETROIT 30
I’m sorry, getting rid of Rex Grossman was the wrong thing to do. I don’t know why, because he sucks. But come on, he’s the leader of the team, you just want to bench him to make your fans feel better or something? If Brian Griese is so great, how come he’s never been able to hold on to a starting job anywhere he’s ever been? Man, I should have been a quarterback. Anyway, Detroit is going to ring up 30 straight points on Chicago and then Griese will throw three touchdown passes in garbage time and everyone will be all like “HOORAY SAVIOR” but come on, you know that ain’t no thing.
BUFFALO 39, New York Jets 2
Can a football score even be 39-2? Well, that’s what I’m predicting here. I have family in western New York state, and those dudes are crazy up there with all the snow and it’s all bleak there like back in caveman times and stuff. Hey, did you see that they’re doing a show about those caveman dudes from the Geico commercials? Man, that’s gonna be one great show — those cavemen always crack me up. They’re so emo about everything! Furthermore, I really don’t like the Jets for some reason. Sorry, that’s how I see it.
ATLANTA 44, Houston 37
Come on, Atlanta can’t go all year losing every single game. And Houston is missing about half its team. This is gonna be a boring game, so now is a great time for me to mention my new shoe, the GilIIZero. Doesn’t that look like a great shoe? I’m rolling out a different design and color scheme in every single city in America, most of which I must admit I haven’t even really seen yet. I think my Atlanta shoe comes with a playable sound card of an unreleased OutKast track, and my Houston shoe has chaser lights and my name on it in old-fashioned English lettering like it was a Mexican guy’s car, in honor of my chico de casa Chingo Bling. So there’s that.
GREEN BAY 60, Minnesota 6
No question about this one, it’s my Agent Zero Iron Cast Stone Cold Lock of the Week. Put your money on Brett Favre, because he’s a gangster, and because he was in “There’s Something About Mary,” which was a funny movie for real. Anyone in Minnesota ever in a movie? Uh, no. This is going to be a long year in Minneapolis, because of the Twins blowing it and because the Timberwolves have just traded away the only good player they’ll ever have. Do they have a hockey team anymore? If so, they’re gonna suck too.
MIAMI 62, Oakland 51
As you know, I got kinda famous for yelling “Hibachi!” after draining my threes last year. Because of this, I have a special exclusive deal with Benihana, where I can pretty much eat for free there any time I want. The Benihana on Miami Beach is one of the best in the whole world, and Yasushi Fujita always hooks me up proper when I go there. But Oaktown doesn’t even HAVE a Benihana — you have to go all the way to Concord or to Frisco to get all smoothed out with yummy sliced-up Japanese food. So I gotta go with that, out of brand loyalty. Ronnie Brown will score every single touchdown and three two-point conversions.
SAN FRANCISCO 49, Seattle like 40 or something
Wouldn’t it be amazing if the 49ers scored 49 points? Come on, admit it, that would be dopeness personified. I don’t really think they will score that many but I’m rooting for it so maybe by predicting it I will make it happen. I like Seattle because of their logo, and if Matt Hasselbeck decided to give me a jersey that would be cool, but Shaun Alexander is not exactly as good as he used to be and their coach is, excuse me for saying it, a pretty bad coach.
Tampa Bay 10, CAROLINA 55
Yeah, that’s right, Panthers are on the prowl. Doesn’t matter who they have at QB. You know why? Julius Peppers, is why. He’s got great length, a tremendous amount of upside, and dude can ball, straight up. I don’t know what position he plays, probably defense or something. But seriously, we could use him on the Wizz, cause our big guys keep beating each other up and then whining about each other and then getting hurt or writing poetry or something. With Julius Peppers in the middle, we’d be NBA champs. Hey, throw Steve Smith in there too, he has ups for days. We’re talking dynasty here — seriously, who else do we have on our team? I have to go look at our roster, brb.
San Diego 68, KANSAS CITY 74
Now this will be a fun game, MY kind of football. None of this punting stuff. Actually, I’m a real good punter, I should totally do that. Remember Punt Pass & Kick? Man, I loved that stuff. I was completely on the path to a national championship in that as a kid. Then my dad broke salty on me about my commitment to basketball, and we had this big yelling fight, and we played HORSE for it, and he won because he cheated. So I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. Still, man, I’d love to get in the game and go all Reggie Roby on someone’s ass. But not in this game. No punts here, just a whole lot of touchdowns, field goals, laterals, statue of liberty plays, hidden ball tricks, et cetera. It’s gonna be real street.
INDIANAPOLIS 82, Denver 7
Honestly, until I looked it up, I forgot the Colts won the Super Bowl last year. I mean, yeah, I knew it, I was there, I won $25,000 on the game. (Oops! Just kidding, Mr. Stern.) But then I forgot, because this is the most boring Super Bowl winner in history. They’re crazy efficient, just grind it out and put points on the board. Coach Tony D. is great on defense, even if he is a little obseski about other stuff I can’t really get with. So they’re gonna go apefire all over Denver, and no one will care, and maybe they’ll win another Super Bowl and still no one will care. No style, no flair. Glad I’m a baller.
PITTSBURGH 82, Arizona 7
Whoa, same score! What a coincidence…or is it? Only Agent Zero knows for sure. Mwah hah hah hah hah!
NY Giants 73, PHILADELPHIA 106
Blowout for my boy Donovan. Hey, a lot of people got all upset about those uniforms last week, mostly (no offense) white guys. But I thought they were all that and a can of Pringles. Great color scheme, nice detailing, very smooth. I wish all teams would wear different uniforms every single week. That’s pretty much what happens with us on the Wizz. Gold, black, white, all combinations thereof, we never know what we’re wearing until we get on the court. All I know is that I get to wear the big zero on my back.
Cincinnati 13, NEW ENGLAND 226
You know who the real pimps are? White dudes from Boston. Oh, and black guys from West Virginia. It’s all over.
Gilbert Arenas plays basketball for the Washington Wizards.
Thursday Afternoon Quarterback
King, Peter September 27th, 2007
Here’s what I know about the NFL after three great action-packed weeks….
ITEM: This Favre kid? Up in the Bay of Greenness? He’s gonna work out okay after all. I was headed up to Historic Lambeau Field (gotta include the “Historic” in there, dontcha kinda gotta?) to see the game, but I missed my plane, thanks to a late driver and an insanely long line at my local Starbuck’s Coffee establishment. The airport was nuts with delays and cancellations, the actual flight up to Green Bay was a cattle car, and by the time I finally landed there was nothing I could do except watch the game on TV at the airport. But one heck of a game from the 37-years-young Favre, who tossed his NFL-record-tying 420th touchdown pass. Anyone wanna take me up on a bet that he throws at least one more touchdown? Anyone? Bueller?
ITEM: I highly recommend the TD Brat at the Austin Straubel International Airport, and the whole gang at Curly’s Sports Bar there. I know that wolfing down a bratwurst piled high with cheese and condiments doesn’t exactly fit in with anyone’s diet plans…but two or three of those babies sure help take the edge off when you’ve been in Airport Lambeau — oops, I mean Limbo. I would especially like to thank my waitress, the lovely Jessica Phu, who helped keep the cold ones coming.
ITEM: Did you know that Green Bay is home to an increasingly large Hmong population? Hmong, it turns out, are one of the many people of Southeast Asia who have found a happy home right here in the U.S.A. I learned all this from Jessica, who out of the goodness of her heart stayed to talk with me after the game. More fun facts about the Hmong people? Well, they do not really have a traditional written language, because they communicate primarily through art and the oral tradition. Interesting, huh? After the game, I hoped to learn more about this “oral tradition” thing by accepting Jessica’s invitation to visit her at her apartment. What I learned there was…well, let’s get back to football, shall we?
ITEM: LaDanian Tomlinson is a whiner and a baby, but really it looked like there was nothing he could do against Nick Barnett and the swarming green horde that is the Packers’ defense. Something’s going on in Green Bay…and I think I like it.
ITEM: Turns out that Donovan McNabb ain’t too shabby either, huh? Boy, our Walter Mercado really blew it on that one. Of course, it would have helped if Detroit had actually shown up to the game. Which they didn’t. I mean, they were there, but they weren’t really there, if you catch my drift. What I’m saying is, they played very poorly. Probably why they lost.
ITEM: Watching the New England / Buffalo game on SportsCenter (Jessica — or rather her family, they all live together in a charmingly cramped bungalow near the lake — has a great Panasonic large-screen TV), it was clear that the Patriots are the best team in the NFL. I’m not really sure why anyone else even tries. They will definitely go to the Super Bowl this year and most likely win the whole thing, unless there is some kind of Belichek Meltdown Situation. Which could happen. Anyone remember a little video incident thingie? Not after the Patriots’ dismantling of the Bills, they don’t.
ITEM: Hmong people are very family oriented. Her great-grandmother, whose name I didn’t quite catch so I just called her Granny, was a charming, spritely lady with a penchant for country music and sweet-smelling cigars. Jessica’s younger brother Jimmy showed me some of his hottest breakdance moves, and her older brother, Heavy, had some of the most extensive tattoo work I’ve ever seen on a young man. Of course, there was a lot to work with — Heavy was only about 5′7″ but I’m pretty sure he can bench-press more than 350 pounds, and displayed a facility with at least three different kinds of mixed martial arts. He demonstrated these techniques after a slight misunderstanding about my intentions with Jessica, which I blame on a language gap and on my fourth Leinenkugel of the afternoon.
ITEM: You know who’s almost as helpful and cheery as the staff at Curly’s? The emergency room technicians at St. Vincent’s Hospital. Not only do they re-set one heck of a dislocated jawbone, they also brew pretty good coffee, even if it does have to be iced down so it can be sucked through a straw. Special shout-outs to Marge, LaHelen, and Indira!
Peter King is a senior editor at Sports Illustrated, and has written a lot of books.
Let the Astral Stars Be Your Guide to Week 3!
Mercado, Walter September 22nd, 2007
The universe is a very large place, and most of it is very cold. But when we look up, we do not look at the dark parts, do we, lovely friends? No, we do not. Instead, we look to the stars, those burning balls of gas that give us all life. That is why people turn to fabulous seers like me — I have been reading the stars since I was eleven years old, when they called me “Walter of Miracles” and I decided to grow up to be the Liberace of Puerto Rican astrologers.
This weekend, millions of Americans will pay attention to NFL football games. Why? What are they looking for? Will they be watching the play of the linemen, those burly bearded behemoths who are the dark matter of the universe? I think not, chickens. Neither will they be pointing out the coverage flaws of obscure third-year weak side linebackers or uninspired decisions by agéd bepaunchéd offensive coordinators. Who will all these hard-working Americans be watching? Why, the stars, of course: Quarterbacks! Running backs! Wide receivers! Sackers, thieves, the ones who kick!
So come with me now on a mystical voyage through the zodiac of the NFL. (Note: prognostications are for entertainment purposes only.)
Arizona vs. BALTIMORE: The league’s second-best-known Great Impregnator, a Taurus, is overdue for some cosmic payback. Justice will be served…in purple. (Magic numbers: 7, 20, 52; Sacred word: Interceptor.)
San Diego vs. GREEN BAY: The leader of the hosts is a Rabbit with Water rising, which goes well with his quarterback’s Rooster/Earth combination. Rivers cannot rise in the Bay. (Magic numbers: 4, 21, 10; Sacred word: Renaissance.)
MINNESOTA vs. Kansas City: No humans will be watching this contest, but perhaps the gods have set a little wager. Although the Red Runner will resurface, Scandinavia crashes the party. (Magic numbers: 27, 24, 28; Sacred word: Horde.)
Miami vs. NEW YORK JETS: The swampdwellers have no leadership and no bloodlust, but they have a secret weapon. Delphinidae, warriorless, must watch out for a former waterfowl. (Magic numbers: 11, 87, 54; Sacred word: Capitalize.)
DETROIT vs. Philadelphia: The embattled archer has feathered arrows left in his quiver, but watch for the Leos — led by a Pisces — to open up a can of soup-ernatural whoopass. (Magic numbers: 25, 11, 5; Sacred word: Throwback.)
SAN FRANCISCO vs. Pittsburgh: Rough day for the curtain, as a new wind blows from the west. There might not be any blood spilled, but there will be gore galore. (Magic numbers: 21, 27, 86; Sacred word: Snare.)
BUFFALO vs. New England: Karma is a goddess — a bitchy, bitchy goddess. She sneers at predictions, she abhors a cheat, and she gathers no moss. Zenophobes, prepare to be lynched. (Magic numbers: 85, 85, 85; Sacred word: Stand.)
TAMPA BAY vs. St. Louis: We were going to call this one for los Capricornios, but one last flip revealed the Two of Wands, so: boldness! I’m sorry, Mr. Jackson, this is for real. (Magic numbers: 20, 55, 21; Sacred word: Keelhaul.)
Indianapolis vs. HOUSTON: Thundering hooves echo in the minds and ears of most pundits…but the turtle holding up the world sings a different, defensive song. (Magic numbers: 90, 28, 87; Sacred word: Comeuppance.)
CLEVELAND vs. Oakland: Unexpectedly, everyone loves black and silver these days. But we learned last week that persimmon is just so much more autumnal…and prolific. (Magic numbers: 51-45, 17, 34; Sacred word: Feng shui.)
JACKSONVILLE vs. Denver: When in doubt, rely on the spirit avatars. Look for the slavering predators to feast on the majestic, yet stolid, herbivore. (Magic numbers: 9, 51, 6; Sacred word: Unpredictability.)
Cincinnati vs. SEATTLE: Every week, Walter gazes into the bloodshot eye of the universe, seeking answers and truth. But sometimes nothing can be divined, so Walter flips a coin. (Magic numbers: 3, 51, Ocho Cinco; Sacred word: Aerodynamic.)
NEW YORK GIANTS vs. Washington: They say los Gigantes are obnoxious, overhyped ladyboys commanded by a mad Captain Bligh, and they’re right. But my 20-sided die says they’re due. (Magic numbers: 72, 81, 82; Sacred word: Pigment.)
DALLAS vs. Chicago: The I Ching revealed Hexagram 54: 歸妹, “Converting the Maiden.” Saucy stuff for Sexy Rexy! Confidently, we call an upset in the field of soldiers. (Magic numbers: 9, 81, 23; Sacred word: “Damages.”)
Tennessee vs. NEW ORLEANS: Sainthood is not granted; it must be earned. Watch this game to see a young-ster feel the brees from a burning bush, and drop a deuce. (Magic numbers: 8/29/2005; Sacred word: FEMA.)
CAROLINA vs. Atlanta: Walter has Jake Delhomme on his fantasy football team, so that pasty m-f better come through. Plus, Walter is a dog lover, K9 4EVAH FALCONS NEVAH. (Magic numbers: 17, 90, 7; Sacred phrase: Don’t tase me, Breaux.)
Walter Mercado presents his horoscopos todos los dias on “Primer Impacto.” Dig it.
ClandestineSurveillanceGate: A Roundtable
Uncategorized September 15th, 2007
Like everyone in the NFL blogosphere, we have our jockstrap all up in a bunch over this whole New-England-Patriots-cheating-for-many-years scandal. Well, we’re rebels around here, so we’re gonna avoid saying the same old tired crapola that all the other places are squeezing out like so much purple hair in the Fuzzy Pumper Barber Shop of the football punditry. (That’s right, we just dropped a Fisher Price reference. THAT’S HOW WE ROLL Y’ALL.)
Face it, we need some new perspective on this issue. Instead, we have assembled top experts to weigh in with their thoughts. Hang on, babies — it’s gonna be a bumpy column.
Bill Buchanan, former head of the CIA’s Counter Terrorist Unit, Los Angeles division
We have a situation here…but it’s not a very serious one. If you had told me even a few months ago that the whole country would be mesmerized by a Patriot spying scandal, I would have been hunting down leaks like Mario and Luigi. Instead, we are apparently talking about a football team called the New England Patriots, and a low-level (albeit long-running) videotaping event. So let’s just take the threat level down a notch, here, can’t we?
Look, if I’ve learned anything from my career in CTU — which, judging from my track record, I really apparently haven’t, LOL — I’ve learned that all surveillance should be meticulously planned and use only the latest and best technology. It also never actually prevents any tragedy or embarrassing international incident. In this regard, Bill Belichek has failed — his team has actually done very well over the years. Because of the gap between this situation and my own personal experience, I must recuse myself from the conversation. I’m busy trying to get reinstated in the domestic federal hierarchy and save my crumbling marriage.
Carmelo Anthony, basketball player, Denver Nuggets
Hey, it’s your boy Carm. I don’t know why I’m writing for this corny-ass website but my consultants say I have to raise my public profile and NBA.com is even cornier and Yardbarker won’t return my emails. 
So my basic take on this is this: Mangina is a straight-up punk who got his bitch-ass beat and then flipped on his boy. (I’m not the only one who feels this way.) But I got in trouble the last time I said something like that — no one in Denver who can afford season tickets can handle the realness, big surprise. You know how hardcore I am; remember how I took on the entire Knicks team and stood my ground like a man that night in the Garden?
But I’m on this mission to increase my Q Score in middle America, so let me officially say that I condemn this horrible act of skullduggery, and I fully support Eric Mangini’s brave whistleblowing. It’s about time this kind of thing was removed from football, and all sports in general. I love fair play, freedom, and the U.S.A.
Creepy dude from “Peeping Tom”
Imagine… someone coming towards you… who wants to take video of your offensive schemes… regardless of the consequences. Doesn’t that sound like the scariest thing in the world?
Well, it would be if that man was working for Bill Belichek. He is the current “big daddy” of NFL coaches — and if Father chooses to tape us, aren’t we supposed to just lay back and enjoy it? After all, Father always knows best. On the other hand, the unblinking gaze of the videocamera always records us at our most vulnerable: when we are terrified, when we are weeping uncontrollably, when we are trying to implement a system to cover Donté Stallworth on a quick-out. Being photographed during these times can make a person unsettled, or even upset. Perhaps even a little bit angry.
So if Eric Mangini chose to react the way he did against the Father, with a blinding flash of red in his eye and a touch of hatred in his heart, I for one cannot condemn him. On the other hand, if Bill Belichek tried to gain a competitive advantage over another coach, is that not his job? Listen to the media messages out there, and the culture of football itself: Winning Isn’t Everything, It’s the Only Thing; Just Do It; Ayo Technology. If you think coaches aren’t influenced by the world around them, you are crazy. I would know.
But ultimately this is really not a football issue, but a philosophical one. After all, which football sites get more hits, the ones with serious analysis or those with girls on the front covers and no front covers on the girls? Actually, I don’t know the answer, but let’s assume the latter. Football makes us into voyeurs. We sit in the stadium, or more likely in our man-caves, watching other people’s lives. It is the bargain football strikes with us, although most commentators are too well-behaved to mention it. What we are talking about is not two coaches locked into a daddy/son cycle involving stolen images, deadly intent, and ill-fitting clothing. We are really talking about our own relationship with the media monster we have created.
We click on every upskirt shot link, knowing very well that we are giving away a little bit of our soul every time. We embrace the camera lens, staring into it longingly while is killing us.
Plus, the Patriots suck. Fuck those guys.
The NFL: Back, and Better Than Ever!
Goodell, Roger September 7th, 2007
Hello, fellow football fans. Now that the NFL season has “kicked off,” I thought I would just write up a quick little memo praising America for its continued support of NFL Football. Baseball may have the numbers (thanks to playing 90% more games), but we know the NFL is the true #1 sport in the U.S., and our fans are one of the largest parts of that. So thanks, fans! We here in the front office are convinced that this will be the greatest year in the history of the league, and we know a lot of coaches and players agree.
Sadly, however, there are a lot of “nattering nabobs of negativity” out there, by which I mostly just mean journalists — and, of course, by “journalists” I mean sad little creatures that might once have been human bent on dragging our league down into the gutter where they scramble for life among tufts of hair and discarded Pringles cans. These ghoulish morlocks focus relentlessly on everything that they deem wrong with the NFL, grateful for the opportunity to tear down another national institution to feed their bloodlust.
I know that most football fans are able to look beyond these hyped-up over-generalizations. But, for those who find themselves seduced by unscrupulous inkstained vampires, let’s talk about what makes the NFL great. How many of you saw the game last night? Pretty convincing performance by the Indianapolis Colts, wasn’t it? Not that the New Orleans Saints didn’t give it their all — because they sure did. But the Colts were sharp behind the precision passing of Peyton Manning, the spunky running of Joseph Addai, and the sure hands of Marvin Harrison and Reggie Wayne. And what about that defense? Coach Tony Dungy must be laughing today about all the people who said his defense wasn’t very good against the run, or the pass, or really anything.
See, that’s all the kind of drama the NFL needs: just two great football teams going at it with each other for sixty minutes. But trust the “bloggers” and “whistle-blowers” to go on and on about what one particular player might have or might not have done with or to some of his canine friends! This whole mess has made the league look bad, and I admit to certain ambiguous feelings about it myself. Yet, as a deep thinker recently pointed out, it would be wrong to blame the player in question — instead, we should show the Judeo-Christian values of forgiveness, absolution, and forgetfulness. Wipe the slate clean, that’s what I say. Not that that is official NFL policy or anything; we no longer exist in that kind of world.
Similarly, why is everyone jumping on the bandwagon and blaming certain other NFL individuals for taking illegal performance-enhancing chemicals? One rarely hears anything about baseball players who take steroids or HGH — why is everyone picking on football all of a sudden? And other writers, who aren’t even science experts, are all aflame to talk about the medical risks of repeated concussive events to the brain. Has no one ever heard about all the studies about soccer players losing brain cells by “heading” the ball all over the place their whole lives? At least our players wear helmets…and gleaming white teeth instead of snaggly orange fangs. (Sorry, couldn’t resist a cheap shot there.)
In the same vein, I’m sick of hearing about the following things, none of which are necessarily endemic to the NFL at all: alcohol and drug abuse, spousal abuse, gun ownership (strip-club-related shooting incidents included), high prices for exhibition games, high prices for regular season games, high prices for Super Bowl advertisements, Janet Jackson’s nipple on the Super Bowl halftime show, Prince’s penis-guitar on the Super Bowl halftime show, poor-quality Super Bowl games, boring Pro Bowl games, pensions for retired players — not all of whom are permanently crippled, thank you very much –, the poor quality of several franchises (especially one located in a desert), the lack of pro football in the nation’s second-largest city, instant replay as the supposed savior of NFL referees, NFL referees in general, Pink’s theme for “Football Night in America,” Tony Kornheiser, John Madden and/or his All-Madden Team, Al Davis, Lee Corso blabbering on about the supposedly unsullied game of college football which we all know is just as corrupt and money-controlled as the NFL ever was, Bill Belichek’s clothes, Bill Belichek nailing any Boston-area MILF with a pulse, Tom Brady and Matt Leinart inseminating anything that moves, Nicolette Sheridan jumping on Terrell Owens, Donovan McNabb’s mom, Matt Hasselbeck’s mom, what’s his name in San Francisco wanting to wear a suit cause he thinks it makes him look like Paul Freakin’ Brown, Paul Freakin’ Brown, the gay pirate that used to be on Tampa Bay’s helmets, projectiles thrown by Philly and Cleveland and New York fans, how nothing could ever be as great as the “frozen tundra” game ever in a million years not even if you tried ah they just don’t make ‘em like that anymore, Chris Berman, cheerleaders lezzing up in a bathroom, Brett Favre retiring or not, Deion Sanders on the NFL Network, Adam Schefter on the NFL Network, the NFL Network at all, the influence of hip-hop, “The Super Bowl Shuffle,” Rosey Grier doing needlepoint, Jim Marshall’s wrong-way run, Tom Dempsey’s half-a-foot, the “Sixth Man” trademark controversy, NFL games overseas and in Mexico, the CFL, the Arena Football League, Mark Cuban’s new football league, parity, Matt Millen, Ben Roethlisberger’s motorcycle helmet, the United Way, the new kickoff rules, Kelly Clarkson’s new album, those pictures of Vanessa Hudgens, global warming, or anything having to do with Tiki Barber.
Instead, let’s just stay focused on the great game of football itself. Can’t we just agree to do that?
Please?
Roger Goodell is the commissioner of the National Football League.
The Nuts: Week 1
Walnuts, Paulie September 6th, 2007
Hey yo! It’s your goombah, Paulie Walnuts. You probably didn’t know this about me, but along with being a handsome fuck and a great lay, I got a great record of picking games. Last five years, I finished 2nd in my pick’em league 3 times, and third twice. Fucking Christopher, may he rest in piece, that kid always stuck it in my back like that kid with the dyke. That greasy fuck had the Colts going all the way last year, no foolin. Who the fuck woulda made that pick if he weren’t tooting the rooty-tooty fresh and fruity? But yeah, you know that Hank Greenberg fuck on the ESPN, that guy with the horses and the five chins, he ain’t got shit on me and my razor-steel-trapped mind. Hey, Hank - why don’t you go get all sweaty with your fat little Schwami buddy and fuck off back to your Matzoh ball soup?
Anyway, now that the season’s right around the corner, you’re probably asking yourself, hey, Paulie, who the fuck should I bet on? Well, I’ll tell you who you should bet on. Every week, here on this thing, I’ll give you my expert analysis on who to go with, and who to avoid like they stuck their sausage in your grandma’s mortadell. Now, of course, I can’t guarantee that you’re gonna win every single time - even God took a day off, don’tcha know - but who you gonna believe? Some fat sack of fuck about ten steps away from a triple-bypass, or your uncle Paulie? Alright, let’s do this shit!
New Orleans @ Indianapolis (-6): What the hell is this shit? Last year was a fluke, I tell ya. That Peyton Manning guy (who’s a little light in his loafers if you know what I mean) didn’t win a damn thing last year! It was the Pats and Bears giving it to him. If you pick the Colts, then I hope you’re ready to pick my foot outta your ass, because I’m gonna make some room up in there for your head! Take the Saints - that Reggie Bush, he’s a fast little guy with a dark-skinned complexion. (I’ll try not to offend the more “sensitive” “limp wristed” “wants terrorists to kill America and molest our kids” sensibilities of some of you folks out there.)
Philadelphia at Green Bay (+3): Brett Favre, that fucking guy. I tell ya, he reminds me a lot of Chrissy (God rest his soul) - total fuck-up growing up, doing drugs and all sorts of stupid shit, fucking anything that stops to take a breath, then finally straightens up and makes good. (If you didn’t see that Cleaver, do it two times - that Baldwin kid’s got it all over his brothers.) I don’t know if Favre’s got that Allah Ackbar Abdul Green guy around anymore, but it’s fucking Green Bay! Against Philly! On the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field! Fuck Philly! That Donovan McNabb, he’s like the Peyton Manning of his fucking team. If he ever wins a big game, then I’m Pat Fucking Sajak spinning Vanna White on my wheel of fortune. Take the cheese, and take the over. 43 points? Favre can drop 43 rolling out of bed shooting the ball out his ass.
And now for my BALL BUSTER PICK OF THE WEEK. This is a guaranteed lock! You can put this shit in the bank, watch it make lots of money, and then go buy yourself a steak dinner for you and your goomar every day for a month.
Detroit at Oakland (-1 1/2): SILVER AND BLACK BABY! Now that they got rid of that good for nothing Randy Moss (& he’s over in fucking New England with Vito and his fanook pals getting knocked up by Tom Brady), the pride is back! And you know they got it all over these Motor City fucks. Pickin a wideout with the first pick? What kinda strunz makes that move? Everyone knows you gotta get a QB or a running back with that pick, or you end up with stugots. I tell ya, ever since they shitcanned my guy Wayne Fontes, that town’s been shit, the team’s been shit, and every time I see those turkeys on Thanksgiving (you get it? turkeys on Thanksgiving?), it works my agita like Joe Frazier working a bag. Take the Raiders for about 3 large, and you can thank me later (when I come for the vig).
Alright, ladies - that’s all the knowledge I got for this week. This is Paulie Walnuts, saying andate tutti a fanculo with love! And remember what Uncle Paulie says: always bet responsibly, especially if it’s not with your money!
Peter Paul Gualtieri, aka Paulie Walnuts, is a former Waste Management Executive of Barone Sanitation.
Mike Tomlin, What’s On Your Bedroom Stereo When You’re Making Sweet Love To Your Woman?
Tomlin, Mike August 30th, 2007
Obviously I’m a damn fine looking guy, but folks making me out to be some smooth-talking Jamie Foxx type of cat makes me laugh. Way I see it, making love is a lot like football - it doesn’t hurt to know what you’re doing ahead of time. It takes hard work, preparation, and lots and lots of practice, sometimes by yourself. And it’s the same whether you’re making the moves on some fine thing sitting all alone at the bar, or the woman that washes your stanky-ass underwear. That being said, allow me to share with you folks how I do when it’s 1st and goal and you’re looking to go deep. Think of this as my 102-minute drill.
1. Peabo Bryson - “Can You Stop The Rain?”
I like to start things off nice and slow, and my boy Peabo is the way to go. After a long week of 2-a-days and onside kick drills, I just come home to my Kiya, slide this into my record player (because this iPod stuff is garbage when it comes to making love), pop open a couple of wine coolers, and she knows that it’s time. Peabo, my man - I heard about your tax troubles, and I’m real sorry. I hope you know that one of my assistants will be first in line to get your new CD when it comes out in October. And don’t worry, Steeler Nation - I know we’re gonna put a stop to the “rain” of the Patriots and the Colts and all those other pretenders in the AFC.
2. Maxi Priest - “Close To You”
After she checks in on the kids (since we started training camp, we leave the kids with Jeff Reed; ladies, he’s great with children, and you know what they say about kickers), it’s time to move our night of romance to the boudoir. I’ll admit it - the wife and I, we like to keep things a little freaky. Kiya, she’s always had a thing for Troy Palomalu, and I know my man Maxi looks a lot like him, so when it’s time to slip into something a little more comfortable, you know I gotta make sure she’s slippery when wet.
3. Johnny Gill - “My My My”
I always said that Johnny’s the new Teddy Pendergrass - he’s got a great smooth cocoa-butter voice, but he’s not afraid to get tough and tell a woman what she wants to hear. About this time, I start to make my move to the outside, thanks to Ben Rothleisberger’s homemade BBQ sauce. Ben was trying to tell me how he likes to get things cooking with his saucy new lady, and I wasn’t having any of that, at first. But far be it from me to discriminate against a man just because he’s too dumb to wear a helmet when riding around on a motorcycle. He came through in the clutch for me and my missus, and I know he’s going to come through for Pittsburgh when we need him most.
By the way, in case you were wondering - yes, while making sweet love I am going to the record player and changing things up every time a song ends. Changing a record is a tactile, sensual experience, and it keeps me in sync with my business. I know how to keep my woman ready on the sidelines while I’m drawing up a new play. I’d love to tell you folks how to improve your completion percentage, but there are some things that even I can’t teach.
4. Ralph Tresvant - “Sensitivity”
Speaking of New Edition, here’s a forgotten diamond in the rough by a guy I like to call Ralphie T. Akon should be sending his ill-gotten drug money over to Mr. Sensitivity, because no one would be putting up with his no-talent high-pitched nonsense if it wasn’t for RT laying pipe all those years ago. Never forget, men and would-be men - making love to your woman is all about being sensitive. You wanna get inside her sugar walls, you have to be sweet, even outside the bedroom. Listen to your woman. Empathize with her problems. Be there for her. Or just pretend to be there - knowing how and when to nod your head will win you a lot of props. And if your wingmen are FTD and Harry & David, then you’ll be Tootsie Pop licking for a long long time.
5. Ted Nugent - “Stranglehold”
Oh you know what time it is now. Whatever’s left of my lady’s Steel Curtain just parted like the Red Sea, and we are taking it to the hole. This cracker might be some ignorant racist bear-hunting hick, but he also grew up in Hitsville USA, and you can’t say he ain’t got a little Motown mosey in his wango tango. Wouldn’t be surprised to find out he seconded that emotion with some of Berry Gordy’s sloppy seconds.
6. Babyface - “Whip Appeal”
You know, my boy Hines Ward kinda looks like Babyface. Not that I want to think about that when it’s go time. Anyway, just remember that being married doesn’t mean you have to lock it down and run out the clock. Trick plays are the key to a good offense, as long as you don’t make them the bread and butter of your game.
7. Elton John - “Tiny Dancer”
Like I just said.
8. Terence Trent D’Arby - “Sign Your Name”
Now it’s time to kick the extra point. This song takes me back to my William & Mary days, when I was dating this pretty young thing that reminded me of CCH Pounder. Girl had the sort of tight end I did not mind lining up behind, if you know what I mean. Nowadays, whenever I watch The Shield, it’s all I can do to keep my hands off myself. Yeah, maybe that’s TMI, but when you’re talking about making love to your woman, it don’t do a damn bit of good to keep quiet. This is one playbook I don’t mind leaving on the train.
9. The Bangles - “Eternal Flame”
Game’s over, but that doesn’t mean work’s done. I gotta start prepping a game plan for next week, look at tape from today’s game, take notes, talk to my boys about what went good and what went bad. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, there’s a little OT to deal with, and there’s nothing like having Susanna Hoffs’ honey of a voice having my back when I have to contend with “the coinflip.” And then, after it’s all said and done, time to hit the showers.
Pittsburgh Steelers head coach Mike Tomlin paid $3500 on eBay for an original copy of Prince’s “Black Album,” only to find out it was a 4th-generation bootleg. If LilRed_1999 is reading this, send Mike back his damn money.
Let the Healing Begin: A Short Media Statement
Harrington, Joey August 29th, 2007
Hi, everyone, thanks for coming out. This is going to be my one and only press statement about Michael Vick, and it’s gonna be quick; I have a lot of work to do, as I was pretty much just planning on a long season of clipboard-holding until a few weeks ago. So please forgive my brevity here.
I don’t really have a lot to say about this whole thing. Obviously, what Mike did cannot be condoned, and I am by no means trying to forgive what he did. Let me make this clear, once and for all: Training dogs to fight and kill each other is wrong, torturing and killing animals is wrong.
But I think we need to be as supportive as we can in this, his hour of need. I appreciate the statement Mike made after admitting his guilt in this matter. It shows that he is serious about wanting to grow up, and that he is willing to take the necessary steps to make sure that he never does this again. I am sure that his probable jail time will help him to accomplish his goal of maturity. I know that a period of incarceration — probably no longer than five years and definitely no more than ten — will help Mike look deep inside himself, and help him find the answers he seeks.
I hope Mike’s admission helps everyone get off his back. The man is a legendary talent, truly one of the most amazing athletes that the NFL has ever seen. I cannot hope to compare myself to him, nor will I even try. My style is completely different, both in football and in life; it always has been, ever since I started for good old Central Catholic back in Portland. I’m not a flashy guy like Mike — I drive a 1998 Saturn, my main hobby is jazz piano, and my favorite food is spaghetti. I’m just a humble Irish guy who loves his parents, his new wife Emily, and his cocker spaniel Cecil. Who is treated very well, thank you very much.
Let me tell you about how I got my dog. A couple of years ago, I was pretty low. I was the starting QB for the Lions, but no one thought I was doing a good job. In fact, a lot of people thought I pretty much stunk up the place. It doesn’t really matter whether it was the coach, his poorly-conceived offensive scheme, or my own failings — whatever the reason, we just weren’t getting it done. And boy, were the fans letting me know it. I even got booed when my United Way commercial came on the Jumbotron.
After one particularly brutal home loss, I was driving home, listening to some Cecil Taylor, when I saw something that made me sick. A man was standing on the side of the MacArthur Bridge, getting ready to throw a small bag into the icy river below. Now, very few things get me steamed more than litterbugs — I can’t help it, I grew up in Oregon! But what made it worse was when I realized that something in the bag was moving. I immediately pulled over and yelled at the guy to stop. This mulleted moron swore at me, told me that I was a [crappy] quarterback, and tried again to toss his tiny cargo into the water. I laid him out with one uppercut before he could carry out his evil plan, and opened the bag. Inside was the most adorable little puppy I’d ever seen. From then on, Cecil and I have been constant companions and best buddies. He’s got my back, and I’ve got his. (I hope I can rescue this fine franchise from its darkest days, just like I rescued Cecil that night!)
That’s one of the things that really eats at all of us on the team, the fear that our fans will desert us because of Mike’s troubles. In fact, a lot of us are animal-lovers. John Abraham has five dogs, and he spoils ‘em something rotten. Those dudes eat better than I do! Alge Crumpler has a dog AND a cat, and he says they get along really well. Allen Rossum has a pet boa constrictor named Jammer, who eats only these really expensive hairy rats that A.R. imports from Papua New Guinea. And I don’t know if you know this, but Todd McClure has a pet orangutan who does a perfect impression of our awesome owner, Arthur Blank. It’s a real hoot! I guess all I’m saying is that it would be a shame if we were all painted with the same brush that Mike used to paint himself into the corner he’s in, if you know what I mean.
Listen, I know y’all (did I use that correctly?) are used to having a quarterback who can drop back 20 yards, casually evade the entire oncoming defensive front for ten or twenty seconds, then suddenly whip it downfield 70 yards on the fly off his back foot. Mike is a true hip-hop artist of a quarterback — bangin’ highlights, crowd-pleasing stuff all over the place…but then maybe some dull stuff too, diminishing returns, the skits get kind of boring, and nobody really needs to hear another guest spot by Andre 3000. Well, you’re not going to get much of that from me. I see myself as more of a jazz pianist type of guy — I know the basics, and I can improvise a little bit when it’s appropriate, but my main job is just to keep the song going so everyone else can shine.
All I can be is the best Joey Harrington I can be. And that doesn’t necessarily spell doom for the Atlanta Falcons, not at all. Bobby Petrino is busy whipping up some super offensive sets, and our great defense is rarin’ to go. Come on down and “get crunk” with us this year — you might just be glad you did!
Joey Harrington finished fourth in the voting for the 2001 Heisman Trophy during his days at the University of Oregon.
Hall of Fame Acceptance Speech, First Draft
Clayton, John August 27th, 2007
What up, lords and ladies?
I am honored to be elected a member of the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Honored — but not surprised. I always knew that my amazing journalistic career would be immortalized in this way. After all, I covered two different teams in two different cities for two different newspapers. In addition, I joined ESPN in 1995, and revolutionized the way professional football was covered by arguing on TV with Sean Salisbury. So when the Worldwide Leader started to carry NFL games, I knew it was just a matter of time.
Today, that time is up. You probably expect me to do some kind of speech where I’m charmingly self-deprecating about my obvious lack of first-hand football experience, and where I make fun of my own appearance as contrasted with the average ‘roided-out NFL warrior type, and all that. But fuck that shit — self-deprecation is for losers, and I’m no loser, y’all. I’ve got some dark secrets, and I get more ass than Balaam. Plus, according to this ceremony, I am officially more important to the NFL than the careers of Art Monk, Ray Guy, and L.C. Greenwood — combined. So let’s go on a little journey through the fertile valley that is my life and career.
Unlike many of my peers, and everyone else in this room, I never even once tried to play football. I saw early on, while attending school in the rough-and-tumble suburbs of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, that that was never going to happen. No, what I dreamed of was the opportunity to write about the crazy, deluded humans who are willing to sacrifice their limbs, their leisure, and their individuality for the glory of a game they see as greater than themselves.
Which, you know, is fine by me. Personally, not to put too fine a point on it, American football is a bullshit game. If I’m being honest, I much prefer the real football, the game we call “soccer” here in the U.S. The ebb, the flow, the incredible skill deployed by tiny little men both tall and small — it is truly awe-inspiring, and it is to our nation’s great shame that we have not embraced the world’s most popular game. I felt this way in 1966, when Geoff Hurst singlehandedly lifted England onto his wiry back and blasted them past Germany in the World Cup final. But while cheering madly inside my own head, my little high school self also realized that no one in Pittsburgh or anywhere else in the U.S.A. cared one little dingleberry about it. So it was “Goodbye, Beautiful Game” and “Hello, Hoi Polloi” for this ambitious young man. I started hosting my own little football show on local television while still in high school. Not to sound conceited or anything, but this program was still head and shoulders above any of the pablum being churned out by any other football show before or since.
My college years at Duquesne University were spent, I must admit, in a haze of alcohol and amphetamines. I also spent a lot of time taking dangerous psychedelic drugs and indulging every single sense I had. My friends and I used to go into the hardest ghettos in the city to score our chemicals; on one of these trips, I peeled off from the crowd and checked out some of the offerings at the radical Black Horizons Theater. There, during a performance of “The Revolution Is a Fat Funky Person,” I met my best friend and biggest writing influence, the great American playwright August Wilson. Not that any of you rockheads would know August Wilson from a Wilson football. Still, though, just so you know. Oh, I also managed to eke out a bachelor’s degree in nuclear physics.
I know I’m probably supposed to brag about how hard it was to cover the Steelers for the Pittsburgh Press and then the Seahawks for that shithole paper in Tacoma, but actually two more cake-walking writing gigs have never been had by anyone. In reality, I’m not that great a writer, nor that masterful a prose stylist. But compared to the rest of these mental midgets that masquerade as football writers in this country, I’m Dr. Wolfgang Von Bushwickin the Barbarian Mother Funky Stay High Dollar Bill Shakespeare.
And as for my ESPN career — let’s just, for today, pretend that the last 12 years never really happened. I mean, even I have some kind of shame. Pissing away my credibility gives me no pause whatsoever, but I do occasionally feel pangs for contributing to the largest sports marketing firm to have ever shambled forth like Cthulhu lurching towards Bethlehem. My ability to analyze teams’ strengths and weaknesses has allowed me to pinpoint the same damn things as every other football talking head on the face of the earth, meaning that my life has turned out just as meaningless as any character in Beckett or Camus or Jacqueline Susann. God bless cable television and its nasty little cousin, the Internet: the great leveler, the destroyer of worlds.
And yet it has all been very lucrative, both financially and sexually, and has resulted in the wonderful plaque here in Canton, which thousands of families will now be able to ignore every month on their way to another high-class meal at Denny’s.
In sum: thanks, kiss my skinny ivory-colored ass, and good night.
John Clayton is the 2007 winner of the Dick McCann Memorial Award, given annually to a football writer most people have never heard of.