Preach it Neil Sedaka, break-ups suck. Always. They're sad and they're messy... but there are classy ways to break someone's heart and then there is an EMAIL!!!
Brett Favre, grow a pair! You retire every year, and every year we pretend to believe you. We cry at your cheesy goodbye Superbowl commercials, we put you on the cover of Madden and then, like lovesick puppies, we welcome you back with open arms. Now all we get is an email??
Maybe you thought you could sneak this behind all the MLB drama, but you've been caught with your wranglers down and we are pissed. There are fire sales all over Jersey selling number 4 jerseys for ten cents on the dollar. I mean, were you really that ashamed to retire as a Jet? You just had to act like the 2008 season never even happened. Well we want our own tearful press conference and some version of "it's not you, it's me"! Hell, A-Rod even mustered up an "If I can't be honest with myself, how could I be honest with Katie Couric."
It hurts Brett. It really hurts.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
February is the Cruelest Month
With 216 days to go until the 2009 NFL season begins, I find myself, as I do every February, suffering from football withdrawal. Chills, cold sweats, angry outbursts, stomach pains, extreme fatigue and total lack of motivation will be my future unless I quickly find a new hobby or a crack pipe.
My first activity will be to challenge Bill Simmons. Calling the first three quarters of Superbowl XLII a "snooze fest" totally blows my mind. Sure, there was a stretch of painstaking penalties that made you wonder which referee on the way to the stadium had run into Nicki the Icepick, a 250 lb horse of a man with a ticket in his hand that spelled 'Pittsburgh -7' in blood... but Billy were you even watching the game? Did you see Darnell Dockett's blowout performance, Warner's arm rocket its way through an 83 yard touchdown drive or any of Big Ben Balboa's third down conversions, so perfectly pitched under pressure they almost looked choreographed? And where were you for the last minutes of the first half when Roethlisberger's would be game blowing interception was followed by Warner's actually game blowing interception in the end zone as Harrison ran the ball back 100 yards for a Steelers touchdown??? Billy, I generally heart your BS report, but this one was truly, well, BS. You really lost all credibility when you knocked the Troy Polamalu/Joe Greene throwback commercial. It was genius - I laughed, I cried, I would have shattered a glass bra.
Still I wonder what will be become of me. It's too late for me to become an amateur porn star for my ten seconds of fourth quarter fame. For those of you out-of-the-know salty sports fans, this Sunday it was actually acceptable to wish you lived outside New York, specifically in the Tucson area, where after a Fitzgerald TD, cable rewarded its local fans by accidentally airing thirty seconds of hard core porn. They even threw in some full frontal male nudity for the bored girlfriends and wives that had spent the evening cooing over Bruce Springsteen and refilling the cheese dip.
But adult entertainment aspirations aside, I ask please for advice on how to make it through the winter. No suggestion is too ridiculous. Right now all the future seems to hold for me is sitting on the couch with Michael Phelps as we get blazed, munch out on what remains of Mike Holmgren since Ed Reed ate him, and watch LT paralyze an unsuspecting Lisa Rinna on Dancing with the Stars. For the love of god, your country and all that is holy, will somebody please make sure she knows who Joe Theisman is!
Meanwhile... send suggestions, send blankets, send kind words... let us brace the cold winter together.
My first activity will be to challenge Bill Simmons. Calling the first three quarters of Superbowl XLII a "snooze fest" totally blows my mind. Sure, there was a stretch of painstaking penalties that made you wonder which referee on the way to the stadium had run into Nicki the Icepick, a 250 lb horse of a man with a ticket in his hand that spelled 'Pittsburgh -7' in blood... but Billy were you even watching the game? Did you see Darnell Dockett's blowout performance, Warner's arm rocket its way through an 83 yard touchdown drive or any of Big Ben Balboa's third down conversions, so perfectly pitched under pressure they almost looked choreographed? And where were you for the last minutes of the first half when Roethlisberger's would be game blowing interception was followed by Warner's actually game blowing interception in the end zone as Harrison ran the ball back 100 yards for a Steelers touchdown??? Billy, I generally heart your BS report, but this one was truly, well, BS. You really lost all credibility when you knocked the Troy Polamalu/Joe Greene throwback commercial. It was genius - I laughed, I cried, I would have shattered a glass bra.
Still I wonder what will be become of me. It's too late for me to become an amateur porn star for my ten seconds of fourth quarter fame. For those of you out-of-the-know salty sports fans, this Sunday it was actually acceptable to wish you lived outside New York, specifically in the Tucson area, where after a Fitzgerald TD, cable rewarded its local fans by accidentally airing thirty seconds of hard core porn. They even threw in some full frontal male nudity for the bored girlfriends and wives that had spent the evening cooing over Bruce Springsteen and refilling the cheese dip.
But adult entertainment aspirations aside, I ask please for advice on how to make it through the winter. No suggestion is too ridiculous. Right now all the future seems to hold for me is sitting on the couch with Michael Phelps as we get blazed, munch out on what remains of Mike Holmgren since Ed Reed ate him, and watch LT paralyze an unsuspecting Lisa Rinna on Dancing with the Stars. For the love of god, your country and all that is holy, will somebody please make sure she knows who Joe Theisman is!
Meanwhile... send suggestions, send blankets, send kind words... let us brace the cold winter together.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The Carpet Bowl
Go Cards! While sports fans complain that tonight might be the most boring blowout Superbowl ever, and rumors fly that the Terrible Towel waivers down in Tampa outnumber the Cards' fans ten to one, I am busting open my piggy bank to put my money on the underdogs. Zona has a seasoned QB who can handle the Blitzburg pressure and some stellar wide receivers. They should put some points on the board so long as Warner wasn't up all night taking hits with Michael Phelps from the Olympic megabong and starts to confuse Troy Polamalu's curls with Larry Fitzgerald's dreadlocks... or a giant purple lizard.
The real x-factor tonight will be Big Ben's performance. To quote TSN.com's NFL editor, "Bruises tell stories", and Ben's been sacked by jacked defensive ends almost as many times as Kim Kardashian. The last time Ben faced the Cardinals he threw two interceptions and lost by a touchdown. Still, the kid's got an arm, and he keeps the play going. So pop the tray of mini hotdogs into the oven, break out of the first of too many Coors cans and let the game begin. Maybe the beat-up QB can pull a Rocky IV and make Warner look like the Russian.
The real x-factor tonight will be Big Ben's performance. To quote TSN.com's NFL editor, "Bruises tell stories", and Ben's been sacked by jacked defensive ends almost as many times as Kim Kardashian. The last time Ben faced the Cardinals he threw two interceptions and lost by a touchdown. Still, the kid's got an arm, and he keeps the play going. So pop the tray of mini hotdogs into the oven, break out of the first of too many Coors cans and let the game begin. Maybe the beat-up QB can pull a Rocky IV and make Warner look like the Russian.
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