A Jagged Gorgeous Offseason

It's that time of year again. The first wave of NFL free agency has come to a close and it is time to look back, not in anger, but as an Eagles fan with abject rage and blinding hatred. You may or may not know the drill.

Again I will start with the Eagles; the wretched, misguided Eagles whose wreckage I cling to in these troubled times.

Philadelphia Eagles - Failed to resign Brian Dawkins, left tackle Tra Thomas, and running back Correll Buckhalter.
Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac

Buckhalter, okay. He's blown his knees out three times. Tra Thomas? He's a pretty old dude and not nearly the run blocker he once was. Plus, we have a modicum of offensive line depth. But Dawkins? Weapon X? The heart and soul of the Philadelphia Eagles? No one I have talked to has thought that this was a good idea. It's true that the Eagles have made similar moves in the past and come out smelling like roses; dumping Jeremiah Trotter, cutting Hugh Douglas, releasing Troy Vincent, even parting company with Duce Staley. All of these guys had career years with the Eagles, went to another team and promptly shat the proverbial bed. Something about the Dawkins move just smells different though. I can see this ending one of two ways: the cobbled together Broncos defense struggles mightily and Dawkins realizes that most of his success was due to Jim Johnson's schemes and Dawkins chemistry with his teammates, or Dawkins has a Pro Bowl season taking one of the worst defenses in the NFL to the top in the span of one season.

Washnigton Redskins - Signed defensive tackle Albert Haynesworth to a record-breaking 7-year, $100 million contract.
Psycho Killer by Talking Heads

Who can forget this beauty? There can be little doubt that Albert Haynesworth is a mountain of a man in the middle of the line and that his presence on a defense can certainly change things for all of the players around him. However, he has to show up to work in order for that to transpire and this little snapshot indicates that he's just as likely to be up in a clock tower with a high-powered rifle or facing off against The Thing as playing football on any given Sunday.

"Mr. Gurode, don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry..."

Seattle Seahawks - Signed wide receiver T.J. Houshmandzadeh to a 5-year, $40 million contract.
Panic Attack by Dream Theater

The title here is my preferred explanation of how this move occurred. I can see the interaction in the Seahawks front office right now.
Guy #1: "Remember what happened last year when we had no wide receivers and everyone got injured and we lost the easiest division in the NFL to the Cardinals? I sure am glad we did something to fix that problem in the offseason."
Guy #2: "Umm, are you feeling okay... Maybe you should take a look at the depth chart."
Guy #1: "Wha? Hrmm, okay let's see... Deion Branch, okay... Nate Burleson... Wait, Koren Robinson? Are you sure this is this year's depth chart and not the 2001 depth chart?
Guy #2: "Pretty sure."
Guy#1: "Michael Bumpus? That's not even a real person! You made that name up!"
Guy #2: "I wish I had..."
Guy #1: "... ..."
Guy #2: "Are you alright?"
Guy #1: "Yeah... Yeah I'm fine, I just stroked out a little bit there... Hey, remember what happened last year when we had no wide receivers and everyone got injured and we lost the easiest division in the NFL to the Cardinals? I sure am glad we did something to fix that problem in the offseason."

Koren Robinson on one of his numerous "breaks" from football.

Buffalo Bills - Signed wide receiver Terrell Owens to a 1-year, $6.5 million contract.
Bad Reputation by Joan Jett

"And I'm only doing good when I'm having fun \ And I don't have to please no one." Getcha popcorn ready, Bills fans. As if Trent Edwards wasn't under enough pressure. First, he gets the Bill Walsh seal of approval which is tantamount to getting the dreaded Joe Montana comparison. Now he has to deal with this. A 1-year flyer is probably worth it for the Bills, who desperately need a big red zone target who isn't named Robert Royal. But between Marshawn Lynch and Terrell Owens, I can't wait to see what kind of hijinks come out of Buffalo next season. Golf carts and crunches and sharpies, oh my! There's going to be a standing reservation for two at Applebees every week, that's all I know.


Kansas City Chiefs - Trade 2nd round pick to Patriots for quarterback Matt Cassel and linebacker Mike Vrabel.
Give It Away by Red Hot Chili Peppers

In a move that has been met with great suspicion from just about everyone, The Patriots dumped a starting NFL quarterback, a veteran linebacker, and a ton of salary in exchange for one second round pick. Some may point to the fact that former Patriots personnel man Scott Pioli now runs the Chiefs and insist that there is some back-scratching going on. However, I prefer to think that the Patriots knew what they had in Cassel and that was an A.J. Feeley/Billy Volek type who looks good replacing a good quarterback in a good offense, but is no Tom Brady. Although, outplaying Tyler Thigpen shouldn't prove to be a huge challenge.

Who would you rather have throwing you the ball?

Arizona Cardinals - Resign quarterback Kurt Warner to a 2-year, $23 million contract.
Ramblin' Man by The Allman Brothers Band

This is dedicated more to Warner's agent Mark Bartelstein than to the former MVP himself, but they have both looked like jackasses in this recent episode. Throughout the highly publicized and drawn out negotiations between the Cardinals and the quarterback who led them to their first Super Bowl in... well... ever, Bartelstein came out with such rambling, bullshit gems as

People assume things are being done to create leverage and that's not true. Anyone who knows Kurt Warner knows that's not the moral plane he operates under. He would never do something to create leverage.

just to then turn around and pull out

He really had a great visit [to the 49ers]. It really went well and it has really open[ed] his eyes. But Kurt’s heart is still here [in Arizona].

He and Warner also claimed to be willing to "give up" $1 million a year in salary if the Cardinals would resign Anquan Boldin, but then claimed on the Dan Patrick Show that the offer "didn't come up at all" in negotiations with the Cardinals. All the while, the 49ers have claimed that "no real offer" was made to the veteran quarterback, even though Warner and his agent insist that he was super, super cereal about joining the San Francisco franchise.

"I'm super cereal, you guys"

New York Jets - Signed linebacker Bart Scott to a 6-year, $48 million contract.
Painkiller by Judas Priest

Have you heard this man talk?

Oh, the collisions are beautiful, man. It's car wrecks. And it's about our wills, man, and joints are shifted, bones are broke, bones are sprained, ligaments are hurt, and I think it's the most beautiful thing in the world. It's music to me. . . . It's an art. And I think we're entertainers, and everybody loves the blood-and-guts movies.

Is it that much of a stretch to go from that to this?

Faster than a bullet
Terrifying scream
Enraged and full of anger
He's half man and half machine

Rides the Metal Monster
Breathing smoke and fire
Closing in with vengeance soaring high

HE... IS... THE... PAINKILLER!

I am really looking for an excuse to use Aqualung in this post, but I think that's nothing but a pipe dream. Anyway, hopefully I didn't miss anything super huge, but if I did, please leave a comment and I'll try to wedge the story into this contrived mess somehow.

Uncertain Advice for Uncertain Times

2,500 Words on the Current Economic Crisis from a Guy who Knows Nothing About Economics.



Many of the good people who bring you this sordid little blog happen to traffic in the world of economics. One guy is an economist. Another guy is working toward his PhD in economics. Others work—or have worked—as economic consultants.

So in these uncertain economic times, to whom in the Isphony family should you turn for guidance and advice? You’re probably leaning toward the economist or the PhD guy, right? Well, they're busy doing economic-type things—supplying stuff and demanding stuff and so forth—so you're stuck with me, a guy with an English degree who never took an econ course; a guy who remains far more-familiar with the exploits of Milton Bradley than Milton Friedman; a guy who giggles whenever he hears someone say “Bernanke.” I may have the same surname as Adam Smith, but aside from a shared love of pure, uncut Peruvian blow, the famed Glaswegian and I have little else in common. But have no fear, my fiscally frightened friends. I may not be able to explain the causes of the current economic crisis—in this bear market, I blame Rex Grossman—but I can give you some advice on how to handle the difficult times ahead. I’ll answer your questions and address your concerns below:

When did you first come to the realization that the economy was going through a meltdown? What were some of the road signs?

Back in aught-eight (or was it aught-seven?), when Wall Street’s vast ocean of liquidity got spiked with a dose of Ice-Nine, politicians and financial observers lined up to try to explain what happened, how it happened, and--most importantly--why it was someone else’s fault. Presidential candidates John McCain and Barack Obama traded barbs over who caused the mess and whose hastily compiled plan could most-effectively fix it. (Ralph Nader, meanwhile, claimed that his soup was too hot before falling asleep in his chair). Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke (hee hee!) made a few rare TV appearances, where he was often seen pensively stroking his playoff beard, furrowing his brow, and calling for at least six more weeks of winter. Jim Cramer yelled a lot and threw chairs at his Bloomberg terminal, hoping in vain that he could punish the stock market into reversing its precipitous decline. And the handful of economists and investors who managed to avoid the bloodbath stepped to the forefront to rightly claim their place in the pantheon of Those Who Saw It Coming.

I, on the other hand, most certainly did not see it coming. In fact, I hardly noticed it when it actually came. And it took me even more time to discover just how bad things actually were. The extent of the damage was not revealed to me after I stole a hands-over-the-eyes peek at my IRA statement (I refuse to read missives from terrorist organizations). It was not revealed to me when I checked on my stock portfolio, either—mostly because I do not have a stock portfolio. No, I suspected that we were in real trouble when Lehman Brothers—which was not a Jewish plumbing business, as I understood it to be, but rather a giant investment bank—just disappeared. One day, Lehman Brothers was investing stuff and making deals and doing whatever else it is that investment banks do, and the next day they were gone, faster than you can say Crystal Pepsi. Banks holding billions of dollars in assets are not supposed to just implode like some sort of run-down Vegas casino on demolition day, right?


But I failed to realize just how deep the shit was until I watched Lehman ex-CEO Dick Fuld testify before Congress on C-SPAN. Fuld, the once-venerable ruler of a once-venerable firm, sat there sweating like Moses Malone as he tried to explain where all the money had gone. He looked small and defenseless. He sounded uncertain and angry. He had the visage of death on him, and by the end of the session, his bones had been picked clean. His was an ignominious and shockingly abrupt demise, proving the adage that it’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the sudden stop.

And while we’re here, I’m calling for a thousand-year ban on the use of the phrase “Master of the Universe” to describe a member of the financial world’s ruling elite. Sorry, Tom Wolfe. Those white suits of yours are cash money, but I’m not part of the Bonfire of the Vanities generation. I’m part of the He-Man generation, and whenever I hear that phrase—“Master of the Universe”—I do not think a wealthy banker manipulating the markets in a plush office high atop some New York City skyscraper. No, I think of a vaguely Aryan dude who wore a fur Speedo, rode around on a giant cat, and fought epic battles against a skeleton with blue skin. Maybe if Dick Fuld had the Power of Grayskull behind him—instead of a board full of sycophants and a balance sheet full of hot garbage—he could’ve avoided this mess.



What should I do with my money? What are some smart investments to make in the midst of all this uncertainty?

If it’s investment advice you’re seeking, then you’ve come to the right place. I know a little something about personal finance. I have literally dozens of dollars in stock. I know a little something about long-term value, too. Four words: Kevin. Maas. Rookie. Cards.

Here are a few suggestions on what to do with your money right now:


1. Acquire land. Lots of it. Land always increases in value—much like a Kevin Maas rookie card. If you can’t afford to buy any land, then you’ll need to conquer some. Be ambitious—and ruthless. Conquer swaths of the stuff. (Land, it should be noted, can only be conquered in Swaths. 1 Swath = 20 Hogsheads, or 473 Wadlows laid end-to-end).

To conquer these swaths of land, you’ll need an army. Armies are expensive, however, and in these uncertain economic times, a ragtag militia may have to suffice. Don’t worry if you can’t afford to pay your militia. They’ll usually work for a cut of the spoils. Just remind them to pillage before they burn. I cannot stress this enough. Pillage, then burn.


2. Emulate one of the world’s great investors. Warren Buffett recently floated Goldman Sachs $5 billion in order to prop up their sagging balance sheet and kickstart investor confidence. This little “infusion of capital” was also designed, in large part, to eventually give Warren Buffett a boatload of money. (Many of the things that Warren Buffet does are structured with this end goal in mind. He would be a highly devious Secret Santa, I think). With this particular deal, Warren placed a massive bet that Goldman’s stock price will, at some point, go up. By giving them $5 billion, Warren made Goldman’s stock price go up. It has since gone down, but Warren ain’t scared. Warren Buffett moves markets. It’s what he does. He's the John-John Mackey of investors. He pulls his money out and he’s like “What’s up, markets?” and the markets are all like “Not much, Sir” and Warren’s like “Get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich, bitches.” And they do. The world’s financial markets make Warren Buffett a sandwich.


But you are not Warren Buffet. Hell, you’re not even Warren Sapp (let’s be honest—your sack dance needs work). You don’t have millions—or billions—of dollars to throw around, and Byron Trott stopped taking your phone calls after the Haywood Jablome incident in 2007.

Byron Trott never did like you. Remember when you got really drunk at the Goldman company picnic and you kept calling him Byron Scott? No? Well, Byron does.

So how can you be like Buffett? How can you Buy Low and Sell High and rake in the cash? Isn’t investing in the stock market a rich man’s game, like Baccarat or cognac pong? Not at all. The stock market is tanking, and stuff is really cheap right now. You don’t need to be swimming in dollars to find some great bargains. And so, without further ado, here are a few surefire stock tips, brought to you by the guy who traded for Josh Hamilton in a fantasy baseball league back when Hamilton was on pace to hit 50 home runs and drive in 170 runs (Final stats):



General Electric (current price: $13.96): When Jack Donaghy finally takes over, this baby will rise. Believe it.

Diageo (current price: $54.13): Diageo is the largest booze company in the world. In uncertain times, people often turn to alcohol to help them cope. People do this in decidedly certain times, too. What I’m trying to say is: Whiskey is delicious.

General Mills (current price: $60.58): General Mills owns Nature Valley, maker of the exceedingly delicious Sweet and Salty Nut Granola Bars. If you have not tried these culinary masterpieces, you need to do so right away. They consist of nothing more than nuts and granola, lovingly compressed into bar form and enrobed in icing. I had three of them this morning. It’s about time Big Granola latched onto the deliciousness of contrasting flavors. When the rest of the world gets on board, the sky’s the limit.

You’re welcome. Share those dividends.



This financial mess sounds like it’s going to get a whole lot worse before it gets any better. How can I prepare for the lean times ahead?

You’re right. The next few months—years, even—could be pretty rough. And if you’re looking for some advice on how to weather the coming storm, then you’ve once again come to the right place. I’m no stranger to lean times. I was frugal before it was cool. How frugal am I, you ask? Well, I make my own gas. (It’s an old family recipe: 4 parts, gas siphoned from neighbor's car; 2 parts, gas stolen from nearby gas station. "Pay Inside"? Don't mind if I do!). I steal bread from pigeons—and sell it to seagulls. I save all of my cans and bottles and then, once a year, I take a trip to Michigan to get that ten-cent deposit. I’m frugal because I have known poverty. I have known it well. During my junior year in college, I blew all of my savings on the finer things in life—malt liquor and public intoxication fines—and I reached a point where I had just $5 in my bank account. After briefly consulting with my financial advisor—my roommate Jon—I withdrew that money to buy a sandwich. (My financial advisor and I were hungry). The sandwich, I’m happy to report, was good. Nevertheless, buying it left me broke, and I was forced to sling rock and prostitute myself in order to survive the rest of the semester. (Actually, I was forced to get off my lazy, perpetually hungover ass and get a job at a local hotel).

Then, after I graduated from college, I worked as a staff writer for a magazine that was, in hindsight, doomed to fail. It was a start-up that never got started, and after approximately six months of unpaid labor, my bank account had dwindled until I had $20 to my name. Thankfully, I had a support network. My gainfully employed friend Jeff kept me knee-deep in booze whenever we went out drinking, and my then-girlfriend (now wife) covered the rent on the apartment we shared until I got back on my feet (she’s still waiting). My point is, I’ve managed to procure booze, food, and shelter in even the leanest of times. If you follow my advice, you can, too.


1. Let’s get this out of the way first: Never empty your bank account to buy a sandwich. I don’t care how hungry you are. The salty deliciousness of lunch meats is but fleeting. Trust me.



2. If you have expensive tastes, now is the time to cheapen them. Do you spend a few bucks everyday on Coke, Pepsi, or any of those other fancy name-brand sodas? Well, Rockefeller J. Moneypants, please allow me to introduce you to Messrs. Nehi and Shasta. (Note: RC Cola is for the truly desperate. Go down that road only if you must).



Other suggestions:

• Steak is expensive. Try Salisbury Steak. Or, if Salisbury Steak is too pricey—the cost of brown gravy tends to rise in times of economic uncertainty—try Salisbury Steak’s less-selective cousin, Frostburg Steak (Maryland humor!).
• Try Pop Rocks as an inexpensive alternative to caviar.
• Champagne? Champale.
• Wine? Cheerwine.


3. Ask yourself: What would Jesus do? As far as I can tell, the Prince of Peace never had a job—and yet he always had robes to wear and food to eat. How did he do it? Simple: He had magical powers. He could turn water into wine, thereby saving tons of money on alcohol. And the good news is, you don’t need to be a major religious figure to perform your own booze-related miracles. You, too, can crank out the homemade hooch. I brewed my own beer a few years ago, and it was a tremendously cost-effective way for my friends and me to get unfathomably drunk.

I brewed my beer using the Mr. Beer home brewing kit. The beers are easy to make—alarmingly easy, actually—and the stout recipe, in particular, produced a potent and toothsome brew that afforded me a powerful, Jager-esque buzz. I should note, however, that the consumption of homebrew can have some rather mysterious side effects, including (but by no means limited to): Invisibility; intense feelings of vulnerability followed closely by an overwhelming urge to subvert the dominant paradigm; temporary homelessness; and superhuman strength. Hand to god: after consuming a two-liter bottle of my homemade elixir, I was able to kill Ganon without using the silver arrow. (I also killed Rich Gannon, but that was a separate incident). As a warning, I should also note that after we drank my entire supply in a single night, the resulting Homebrew Hangover left three of my friends dead and the rest of us wishing we were. But it was a small sacrifice to make in order to save a few bucks on our buzz. I think Jesus would’ve approved.


And if you take one thing away from this lengthy screed, let it be this: Desperate times do not call for desperate measures; they call for resourcefulness. And just remember, as FDR famously said, that even in the worst of times, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself. And alligators. And the total collapse of the world’s financial markets. And crocodiles, which are kind of like alligators, only meaner and faster. But if you follow my advice, you’ll be ready for whatever the next few months (or years) bring. Or, if you simply follow my last bit of advice and load up on homebrew, you’ll be too drunk to care. Just make sure you save some for Adam Smith. Dude gets awfully ornery if there’s no booze around.

He-Man Looks Back in Anger

Reflections and Regrets From a Former Master of the Universe

Part I: The Early Years


Look, I’ve made some mistakes. I’ve put some hard miles on this body, and when you’ve lived like I’ve lived, you’re bound to have a few things on the ol’ resume that you aren’t too proud of. But there’s one thing you should know about me: I put it all on the line, every goddamn day. I rolled the dice. I never played it safe. You know what I want on my tombstone? Balls-Out. That’s it. No “Here Lies He-Man” or any of that shit. Just Balls-Out. Balls. Out. What’s that old saying? The rolling stone gathers no moss? Well, I’ve rolled all over the goddamn world. And I was moss-free, baby. Moss-fucking-free. But now? I’m covered in the stuff. Just covered in it.

My counselor keeps telling me that I’m too trusting, that I make myself too vulnerable. He’s always like, “You can’t keep putting yourself in these situations, He-Man,” like I fucking asked to get robbed by that hooker in Carson City. Like I was wearing a goddamn sign that said, “Please stab me and rob me and roll my unconscious body into a ditch.” My counselor’s like, “He-Man, you make bad decisions.” Fuck you. You make bad decisions. You know what was a bad decision, Doc? Paying $175 an hour just to listen to you talk bullshit all day long. That was a fucking terrible decision. Give me a goddamn break. I’m He-Man. I don’t make bad decisions. I don’t even make decisions at all. Decisions are for pussies. I act. I go with the gut. And when you go with the gut, you’re gonna get stabbed and robbed by a few hooker hitchhikers every now and then. It happens. Cost of doin’ business, as they say. And I got a question for you: If this court-appointed counselor guy is a real doctor, then why can’t he prescribe medicine? I go up to him the other day and I’m like, “Hey Doc, it hurts when I sleep. Write me a note for some Oxy, will ya?” And he’s like, “Sorry He-Man. That’s not what you need. And I can’t write a prescription for you, anyway.” Fucking useless.

What were we talking about again? Right, right, my supposedly “reckless” habit of picking up hitchhikers. Look, if offering rides to poor strangers every now and again is wrong, then I’m never gonna be right, OK? I look out for the poor people of the world. It’s what I do. It’s my mission from God. Or Buddha, or Yoda, or whoever’s up there flipping burgers in that great Hardee’s in the sky. I know this might come across as a shock to some of you, but He-Man has a heart, ladies and gentlemen. He-Man cares. I’m sorry, but I do. I have a huge heart. Seriously, I have an enlarged heart. My doctor says it’s because of all the juice I’ve done over the years, but my old lady says it’s because I’m so full of love—and I’m inclined to believe her. Hey, did you ever see that Elephant Man movie? The one where he’s like, “Maybe my head is so big because it’s so full of dreams?” Well, maybe that’s why my heart got so big. Because it’s so full of love. And dreams. Yeah, that’s good shit right there, man. Write that down. Hey, you wanna hear something crazy? A few years ago, Michael Jackson went out and bought the Elephant Man’s bones. Now why in the world would somebody go and do something like that? This was back when he was the King of Pop, right? He had all the money in the world, and I guess he was like, “You know what I should do with all this coin? I should buy some dead freak’s bones.” And where would you even find that shit? Is there some kind of bone store out there that I don’t know about? He was an odd dude. Michael, I mean. Tito was pretty cool. We used to hang out. We cut an album together one time. Tito did his thing, and I rapped on it. Those were the early days of rap music. My name’s He-Man and I’m here to say, I’m the coolest guy in the USA. You know, real grassroots stuff.

He-Man in 2007 at the Toledo premiere of "Suplex of Love,"
a film about pro wrestling starring Mickey Rourke.
It was He-Man's directorial debut.
The film was not well-received.

‘Roids? You’re goddamn right I used ‘em. Of course I did. Everybody was juicing back then. I was playing JuCo ball down in San Jacinto—starting safety, plus I returned a few kicks and punts—and all the guys on my team were doing it, so I thought I’d give it a shot. Why not, right? But let me explain something to you: The shit we were doing back then wasn’t anything like that specialized junk you got nowadays. This stuff wasn’t gonna help you recover faster from workouts, or get more endurance or whatever. This shit was gonna get you big. And it worked. I have no idea what was in it. All I know is, this stuff was potent. You could basically shoot this shit in your ass and just sit around all day and drink beer and eat Fritos, and you’d still get huge.

Yeah, we had a pretty good team down there. Some crazy motherfuckers, that’s for sure. That’s where I met Duncan—you know, Man-At-Arms. He was a year ahead of me. Running Back. Went on to play at UT and got drafted 4th overall by the Oilers. Had a few good years in the League before he shredded his knee in a motorcycle accident. Clawful was down there in San Jacinto, too—but nobody called him Clawful back then. He was just Gary, the skinny-ass outside linebacker. He was quick and he could hit, but Coach was on his ass from day one telling him he had to get bigger, had to bulk up, had to add like 50 pounds of muscle if he ever wanted to play DI. Gary tried everything, but nothing worked. Then one of Gary’s buddies went down to Mexico and came back with some really crazy-looking stuff in a tiny little vial. It looked like clam chowder and smelled like the dumpster outside of Long John Silver’s. Turns out it was just anabolic mixed with crab juice, but Gary was desperate so he bought it. His buddy sold it to him for, like, a grand. He told him that the crab juice would make his bones harder—you know, like a crab’s shell. And I’ll be damned if that nasty-smelling shit didn’t work. Gary got big—real big. ‘Course, his hands turned into claws, but Gary didn’t care. I remember how he used to snip the tops off of beer cans. He’d snip ‘em off with that one giant claw of his and just guzzle ‘em down. I saw him snip his way through a couple of thirty-racks of Coors one night. Swear to god dude drank 60 beers. And if you think for a second that having claws prevented Gary from taking the field each week, then you don’t know JuCo football, my friend. Some of the teams we played, bro, having a crab-man on the field was the least of the ref’s concerns. I saw a guy get shot one time—and this was way before The Last Boy Scout came out. JuCo was no joke, man.

Anyway, after he got big, Gary dominated. Those claws made him impossible to block. He just tore through the line on every play. Led the league in sacks for two straight years. But after he killed that dude, the shit kinda hit the fan for ol’ Gary. Yeah, he killed a dude. You didn’t hear about it? Total accident. Some fool’s helmet came off, and he took a claw right to the dome. Frankly, I’m surprised it didn’t happen more often. Anyway, after it happened, Gary was done. None of the big DI programs would take him. Switzer tried to recruit him, but he backed off once the papers got wind of it. Something about having a half-crab with a manslaughter charge on the team just didn’t sit right with some of the folks in Oklahoma, I guess. Their loss, man. Gary was a great, great guy. Helluva linebacker, too. God damn, I miss that dude. Jesus, it’s been twenty years and I still can’t believe he’s dead.

How Will O.J. Jail?

After adding Kidnapping and Armed Robbery to a resume that already included Double Homicide and a Heisman, O.J. Simpson was sentenced to 15 years in prison today after being convicted of breaking into a Vegas hotel room and holding two men hostage in order to recover some sports memorabilia that he claimed had been stolen from him. Hey, it could happen to any of us.

But with the Juice headed for the stoney lonesome, the question remains: How will O.J. jail? How will he handle being behind bars? How will the other inmates and guards treat him? Does the prison where he's headed have a football team? Is AC fitting the Bronco with a battering ram to break through the prison walls and rescue O.J.? You know who this is, god dammit.

Jeff and Ryan break it down:

Ryan: I think the Juice will jail strong at first but eventually wear down. He'll surely do something stupid in there to prolong his stay.

Jeff: I'm torn on his jailin'. I just can't see how he'll jail strong. Too many years on the golf course, plus he's been out of the killin' game. Someone's gonna set him right early. I guess the best thing going for him is his Heisman and his contacts within the force.

By the way, we need to get on the Free Juice Train early this time; you know, before it gets really unpopular.

Ryan: Agreed. We've missed so many Free _____ Trains over the years. James Brown, Darryl Strawberry, Dexter Manley... Never again.

See, I think O.J. will jail strong for two reasons:

1. Most of his fellow inmates will respect the fact that he murdered two people and got away with it. He beat the system. He's a folk hero. Like that freezer lady in Georgia.

2. The dudes who have been locked up for a long time will only know him as O.J. the star running back. They've never seen the Naked Gun movies. They may have heard about his trial, but they didn't see the cartoonish side of it. He'll surely be the first pick for every rec yard sports team.

The guards could give him trouble, though. He just needs to remember one thing: You only do two days in prison--the day you get in, and the day Lawrence Phillips sneaks up on you in the mess hall and kills you.

Jeff: Lawrence Phillips, there's a man that jails strong.

Ryan: Somewhere Lance Ito is weeping on giant piles of money. You know... this never would've happened if Johnnie Cochran was still around.

Jeff: God rest his smutty soul.

Ryan: Good night, sweet prince.

According to an AP article that I read yesterday on ESPN.com, American goalkeeper Brad Friedel recently set the record for most consecutive English Premier League appearances, with 167. Friedel, who plays for Aston Villa, set the record on Saturday in a game against Fulham. Afterward, he had this to say about his longevity:

"I have been fortunate with injuries, touch wood, and when I have got the odd knock it has always seemed to coincide with international breaks."

Over here, we say "knock on wood," Brad. Touching wood is something else entirely.

And:

"Is it nice that I have been able to get a run of games? Yes, absolutely, but I hope to have many more games ahead of me."

A "run of games"? The "odd knock"? Yes, yes, and a wicked googly to you, too, good sir. Now if you'll excuse me, I must take the lift to the loo. I'm going on holiday in a fortnight and the lorry is a tad late with me tea and crumpets. You're from OHIO, Brad. Ohio.

British-isms aside, I'd like to congratulate Friedel. It has taken years for American soccer players to earn even a modicum of respect on the international stage, so it's good to see a U.S. player stick around for so long in what is arguably the greatest league in the world.

In related news, Tony Meola has worn the same pair of sweatpants for 167 straight days.









Brad Friedel is grizzled. Also, his team's primary sponsor is a 24-hour gambling site where you can go to place bets on English Premier League matches. Pete Rose played the wrong sport.

The New Latin America?

I am not one for link posts, but this needed to be shared.

http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/08329/930453-100.stm

Leave it to the Pittsburgh Pirates to think outside the box and mine the vast untapped resource known as the subcontinent...

What Would Mo Vaughn Do?

In celebration of Ryan graduating college and finally buying a flat screen as well as the Wizard's Bullets inspired start to the season, I’ve decided I need to watch more college basketball this year.

Since Maryland is picked to finish last in the ACC (how does this happen? Isn’t that why Virginia Tech, Boston College, and Miami were added? Jerrod Mustaf must be rolling on his bench) and Penn State is one of the worst major conference teams, I’ve decided to look for a new squad to root for. Sort of like when Simmons picked an EPL league, I’ve put together some conditions to evaluate my team.

1) Troubledness: on a scale of 1 to 10 with Doug Christie as a one, Darius Miles as a 7, and Stephen Jackson as a 13 (too troubled), we're looking for a solid 9. Somewhere in the Corey Dillon-seats: troubled for sure, but not too troubled to be suspended for any real lengths of time.

2) Underappeciated Alumni. Someone like Willie McGee or the inventor of Mouse Trap.

3) At least one fat dude. Goes without saying.

4) General Elegance. Blowed out locks, slam dunk chin-ups, coach that brings a gun to practice, all huge plusses.

5) State school? Naaa, Commuter School. The Richmonds and Vanderbilts of the world need not apply.

6) Basketball team's chances. The bottomline is that I want a team that makes the tournament. Sure I'll support the terrible teams of the world (We Are Penn State!), but that's the point of this exercise, to have a horse to ride come March.

From these criterion I short-listed my list to two candidates. Let's do a tale of the tape.

Virginia Commonwealth vs. Seton Hall:

School Commonly referred to as: VCU vs. The Hall. Not a good start for the South

Famous alumni I can recite without going to Wikipedia: Gerald Henderson (ok, that required Wiki) vs. Maurce F'n Vaughn. This might not be close.

Wikipedia alumni: VCU's alumni is shockingly unfun. I mean "Saul Krugman"?!? I wonder what vaccine he invented?! Am I right!? (Huh, apparently Hepatitis B). The only ones worth mentioning are "Several founding members of the band GWAR"- actually, that's pretty cool- and "Donwan Harrell", founder of the New York-based urban clothing company Akademiks (see, the egregious spelling makes it cool!). Seton Hall on the other hand has Mo Vaughn. Oh, and Eddie Griffin, may God bless his smutty soul. The Hall is 3 and 0.

Basketball team's chances: VCU still has some of the team that beat Duke two years ago, including Eric Maynor. The Hall upset 23rd-ranked USC last night. VCU is on the board.

Fat Dudes: VCU no one over 240. Seton Hall's starting center is a generous 265... and he's 75 pounds lighter than his backup who weighs in at nearly three and a half bills, plus the dude at 345 is named "Melvyn".

OK, the slaughter rule has been declared.

I was kind of hoping that Ben Wallace's and Charles Oakley's school, Virginia Union, was somehow the same as VCU. [An aside: you don't have to believe in God or whatever, but to say that there's no such thing as destiny is to ignore the fact that Ben Wallace and Charles Oakley went to the same tiny school in Virginia.]

The bottomline is that I'm buying a Terry Dehare throwback and cheering for Seton Hall this season.

Need more evidence including slam dunk chin-ups? Watch the highlight from last night's game.

Seriously Tim Floyd, I realize you're trying to get canned and so you're wearing an untucked polo shirt, but dog, at least comb your hair; for god's sake you're in public.

You'll Always Be the Devil Rays to Me

A few observations as I was watching the Rays hold off the Red Sox in nail-biting fashion the other night:

1. This marks the eighth time in the past eleven years that the American League representative in the World Series has come from the A.L. East—and the first time during that time frame that the A.L. East has been represented by a team other than the Yankees or the Red Sox. This makes me happy. I’d be happier if the team in question was a scrappy bunch of underachievers in orange and black, but, as my dad says, “If wishes were horses, then scientists would clone Matt Wieters and he'd be able to play every position and pitch, even, and nobody would think it was weird that the Orioles were winning a bunch of games with a roster full of cloned dudes because they’d be too busy getting their asses handed to them by an army of Wieters.”

My dad says that all the time.

2. David Price. Good at baseball. David Blaine. Bad at magic.

"For my next trick, I will attempt to dribble a football. Seriously, guys, it's not that easy."

They look kind of similar, right?

3. Rays fans don't know how to party. This is not a big surprise, I guess. Tampa is not a baseball town, after all. (I guess it’s a football town? I’m really not sure. Tampa is mysterious. They have alligators there). And I realize that, as recently as a month ago, the Rays' entire fan base consisted of 37 relatives of Dioner Navarro, the staff at Baseball Prospectus and my Uncle Wayne. And, yes, for the first ten years of their existence, the Rays were utterly, spectacularly terrible, and it’s hard to rally around a 5th place team. But none of these reasons can excuse the following transgressions of fandom that occurred during the ALCS:


a. The signs in the Tampa stands were hilariously amateurish. I (Heart) Upton! read one. Beat Those Sox! read another. And when the final out was recorded, a few fans in the upper deck dramatically unfurled a vinyl sign that read: “First Time in History.” Nevermind the fact that ten years is not a lot of "history." The sign looked like it had been lifted from a used car lot, like they had cut off the bottom part that said "Geo Prizms and Dodge Neons Priced Under $1K! No, Money Down!"

Dear Rays fans: you owe the fans from Bases Loaded royalties for those horrible signs.

Does no one in Tampa have the ability to craft an even halfway decent pun? No ‘Bring the Pena’? No ‘Rays ‘em up’? It took me two seconds to come up with those, and I'm not even drunk. Well, I'm kind of drunk.


b. The celebration music they were playing in the stadium made me envious of the deaf.

In the song “Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drum” by A Perfect Circle, there’s a moment when singer Maynard James Keenan hisses Go back to sleep in a voice that sounds like knives being sharpened. It takes place roughly three minutes into the song, and it is terrifying. When the Rays were celebrating their victory on the field, the song playing over the loudspeaker sounded like a loop of that same terrifying, sharp-edged line. It is a frighteningly awesome line, from a frighteningly awesome song. But to listen to it—or something that sounded like it—over and over was the aural equivalent of staring directly into Medusa’s eyes. After a minute, my ears started to bleed. After two minutes, I ran upstairs to grab my baby daughter from her crib, all but certain that the apocalypse was nigh. And before we reached the fourth minute, I had turned to stone. This was not celebration music. This was music to accompany great and terrible acts of violence. This was music to justify an insanity plea. And yet, it was still better than “Celebrate good times, c’mon!”*.


4. I'd like to point out that Jeff and I liked the Rays way, way before it was cool. Like, back in the days of Crime Dog and Greg Vaughn.


My Series prediction? Rays in 6. However, part of me will be rooting for the Phillies because, if they win, the city of Philadelphia will riot—and Papa needs a new Liberty Bell.



* Please do not read this as an indictment of Kool or any of the members of his Gang—all of whom are fine, upstanding citizens who have more Funkiness in their little fingers than I have in my entire Dockers-wearing, Double-Windsor-knotting body.

The NFC West

You know what's awesome? Having your team play in the NFC West. Seriously. You should try it. 0-2 start you say? 1-6 on the Wide Receiver depth chart out with injuries you say? Don't worry, you play the St. Louis Rams.

But seriously, thank you Redskins. Beating Arizona for us was clutch. Maybe if we meet in the playoffs again we won't beat you this time. Well, no, sorry, we'll still beat you. That is, if Matt Hasselbeck has a professional wide receiver to throw to. I think he will. In fact, I think he will by week 5. We should have Branch and Engram back by the time we play Arizona, Boldin should be injured by then, and we'll be fine. Because we play in the NFC West. And it's awesome.

So, regardless of what I titled this post, it's really just a random football ramble. These are my thoughts on the NFL after Week 3. Well, the Jets and Chargers play tonight, but seriously, who cares.

The Bills. They're good. They're the best team in the AFC East. They will win the AFC East, because Miami and NYJ still suck, and, despite what a lot of people who hate good teams say, Tom Brady actually is a very good quarterback, and replacing him with just anybody doesn't mean that O-line, that system, Bill Belichick, and Randy Moss can still mow people down.

Eli Manning. He's good??? I guess so. I mean, I thought there was a chance that winning the Super Bowl meant he'd turned a corner, but it was kind of fluky. And he hasn't looked fantastic. But I've seen a couple plays (down field to Toomer in OT with a gorgeous bomb) where he actually looks like THE Manning.

Speaking of THE Manning... Indy sucks. Oh, and Jacksonville doesn't look very good either. Who's going to win that division? Who cares? Once Tennessee gets in the mix, I stop paying attention.

You know what? The AFC sucks this year. At least so far. I know a lot can change, but really. The only bright spots I think are the Broncos, who I'm calling for the Super Bowl, and the Bills. Every other team is just disappointment. When the Chargers lost in Week 1, I heard people say that it was a surprise because they were a favorite for the Super Bowl. They were? Why? Their defense is good (or should be). Their QB is Phillip fucking douche bag Rivers, their coach is Norv "I'm actually an offensive coordinator pretending to be a head coach" Turner, and LT can only do so much. I mean, really, he can do SOOOOO MUCH, but that's not enough to beat a good Broncos team. Hell, aparently it's not enough to beat a bad Carolina team. AT HOME.

But you know what else? The NFC is pretty fucking awesome. As much as I hate to admit it, the Cowboys are good. Luckily, they play in the polar opposite of the NFC West, the NFC EAST. Holy crap that division is awesome and always has been. The Eagles look sick. The Giants look back and forth, but pretty damn good. The Cowboys will win the division and then Romo will make a bonehead play to lose in the playoffs. Seriously, I think Romo's career is going to be shadowed like this the entire way. He's going to be very good, but make boneheaded, dimple-faced, good ol' boy grinnin' mistakes when they really matter and he'll just never be awesome. In last week's game against the Eagles, when he fumbled in the end zone, recovered, turned to see 3 green monsters swarming on him, why didn't he just hurl the ball away? Can it be grounding if there's been a fumble? Anyway, Romo is like the best quarterback that sucks. I hate Romo.

The St. Louis Rams, the Kansas City Chiefs, the Detroit Lions. These teams are very bad. Like abysmal. When you've got Julius Jones and TJ Duckett combining for over 200 yds rushing, combined with a passing attack that consists of a guy named Courtney and another named Bumpus scoring on you, you are a terrible, awful, unbelievably bad football team. Thank you St. Louis Rams.

I hate watching games involving the Chicago Bears and the Baltimore Ravens. I mean, if you can assemble an entire defense as good as they have, why can't you assemble... a quarterback. What's hilarious is that Baltimore actually tries to. They love drafting them some qb's.

I miss Wide Receivers. Seriously. Last week, before the game, I was excited that we were going to have Seneca Wallace as a starting WR, because he's awesome. Our backup QB is 5th on our WR depth chart. That's cool. What's not cool is having to have your 5th WR start as your #1. Well, having to, but not being able to because HE TOO GETS INJURED. 1-6. Unbelievable. Has this ever happened before? Deion Branch, Bobby Engram, Nate Burleson (IR), Ben Obomanu (IR), Seneca Wallace, Logan Payne (IR). What? 3 on IR too! What the hell. We RE-SIGNED Koren Robinson for christ's sake! We actually traded a DRAFT PICK for Keary Colbert. We played Courtney Taylor, Michael Bumpus, and Billy McMullen???? Who are these guys? They sound like characters in a Dukes of Hazzard rip off.

Feels good to get that off my chest. Well I'm kind of done rambling. Wilson, congrats to your Bills, they look great. As do the Eagles. My Seahawks are in shambles, and I'm still fairly confident we'll make the playoffs. Teams from Ohio are awful.

I'm stoked about the season, even though I should be terrified. But my Seahawks play in the NFC West, so everything is going to be alright.

The King is Dead, Long Live the King

A post is coming on the forthcoming ascendancy of the Bills and the end of the Belichick reign of terror. I'm just so delirious with happiness that I can't really string together words complete sentences in. Post tomorrow maybe I will write.