When I witness women engaging in competitive sport, a smile will usually sweep across my face, as if I just saw a baby wearing a sombrero or something. And when I see women fighting, a pulse of adrenaline shoots through me, like when I win ten bucks from a scratch off. Naturally, when I heard about this thing where women race on skates and fight each other, I was heartily amused. When I found out they were coming to my town, I was determined. Determined to make sure my eyes saw this fabled spectacle and those images would be burned into my brain forever, giving me endless joy whenever recollected.

I was a little apprehensive about how my community would receive this venue. I mean, we don’t welcome anything foreign or accept anything new. When Wal-Mart installed the self checkout machines, it almost shut down commerce completely. Many of us elected to steal, as to avoid interacting with these new machines from Futureland. And the few brave souls who decided to use them were often made fools of. I’ve seen some people tapping on them the way you would smack around a TV on the fritz. Some shouted at them. Some dickishly pushed all the buttons, like you would while drunk in an elevator. A few of us would even talk to the machine in a robot voice, “Computer. I. Want. To. Check. Out.” we’d would say.

When I found out the price to see the Cajun Roller Girls battle the Hattiesburg Hooligans was fifteen bucks, I was shocked. Then, I realized that they were trying to keep all the riff raff out, catering to my town’s affluent populous (a group that could fit inside an entire Chili’s, and usually did). When I showed up, a crowd of a few hundred was already seated, waiting patiently with beers in hand. I was shocked that this sport has such interest, but I quickly realized most seats were occupied by perverts hoping a titty would pop out. I then realized I was one of those perverts.

I’ll try to break this down the best I can:

The Game: Basically, I had no idea what I was looking at the whole time. A bunch of women skating around in a circle. Sometimes they would push each other down. Sometimes one would skate really fast, faster than the others even. Sometimes they would stop and rest. Sometimes they would swap out players. But a titty never ever popped out. I realized I didn’t know what was going on and never would, but that was ok. Watching these girls skate and try at something was its own reward. If women, inferior to men in almost every physical aspect, could skate that fast, hit that hard, or could dust themselves off after taking a nasty tumble, what was I capable of? Imagine my own potential! The whole thing was pretty inspiring. I loved how their little faces would get all serious when skating super fast or how they’d frown up after being pushed down. You could tell this meant something to them. And that made it mean something to me, even though I had no idea what was going on. I just cheered on in blind excitement. In south Louisiana, you have a better chance at meeting a real life Jew than a woman with a bona fide hobby. Overall, It was refreshing seeing women do this, act this way.

Halftime: While the skaters took a break, we were treated to a belly dancing routine. With all this exotic entertainment, I started feeling like a cultured noble, residing in some ancient, Neapolitan city. But every sip of my canned beer in the same auditorium I bought my first handgun in slowly brought me back down to reality, a reality where all the belly dancers have day jobs at Home Depot and Rome might as well be on Jupiter. Anyway, I always thought belly dancers were supposed to be skinny and hot, like in the movies. This wasn’t a movie, and most of the dancers were about two, maybe two-twenty on the hoof. Personally, I liked it. I think the bigger the belly you have the better belly dancer you are. Watching a big squishy tummy gyrate around like some electocuted jellyfish was kind of sexy, mostly because it takes extreme confidence for a woman of that size not only to display her midsection, but flaunt it, bounce it around in your face even. I’m not sure how human stomach fat factors in to sexuality, but it does somehow. I’m convinced if I’d watched them shake for five more minutes, I would be downloading a fat people porno right now instead of writing this review.

The Skaters themselves: With names like, Alpha Bitch, Derby Gibson, and F.N. Trouble, you have to admire the creativity. They really do keep it interesting and can be as animated and theatrical as their names suggest. There was even one named Trigger, a crowd favorite, who wore raccoon makeup and went around shooting cap guns into the air. Later that night, she would wrestle some hefty woman on the dirty floor of a pool hall, creating cheers and half boners everywhere. The after party was held at a local sports bar often frequented by biker gangs and neck tattoo dropouts, and both teams attended. I have to say there is a dark underbelly to roller derby (and I‘m not talking about the halftime dancers). I’d say most of these girls really know how to party: They drink like fish, curse like sailors, dance like skanks, smoke like chimneys, fight like men, and shoot pool like hustlers.

The Elephant in the Room: I know what most of you are thinking, “Are they all a bunch of lesbians!?” Well, I’m not sure. I’m not good at interpreting sexuality. I don’t even know what gender my pets are because I refuse to look at their dick/pussy parts. I usually make somebody else do that and then describe it to me in detail. I’m not some kind of sick weirdo. But if I had to guess about the Roller Girls, I’d say they all had vaginas, and I’d say all were at least a little lesbian in the same way all MMA fighters are somewhat gay. You don’t pursue a hobby/career slamming into members of the same sex without having some kind of homosexual tendencies. However, I doubt the locker room after a game/match/contest/whatever they call it turns into a giant dungeon dike dildo orgy with an endless coochie buffet. From all I can gather, they’re just normal people doing abnormal things.

Would I ever go back: If I do, I’m sneaking in my flask. Fifteen bucks is kind of pricey, especially since they charge three freaking bucks for a canned beer. I’m not made out of money. I’m made out of atoms…which money is coincidentally made out of; however, different atoms. Money atoms. I’m made out of people atoms, and I won’t even spend fifteen bucks on a good steak or doctor visit. If they want me to part with an Abe lincoln and whoever is on the ten dollar bill (Christopher Columbus?) then I’m going to need to be assured I’ll see a full out brawl or a titty pop out. However, I’m very glad I went, and I’m very glad Roller Derby exists. The world is a better place because of it.

We’ve all been had. Spotted as marks and taken advantage of. The salesman saw you a mile away. A woman led you on to make her boyfriend jealous. Your employer promised a raise if you did A, B and C and the moment you completed C, there was a “change in company policy.” It stings because someone harmed you, but it will gnaw at you endlessly because you facilitated it. Hell, you were an active participant and often an enthusiastic one, grinning idiotically as you were picked clean. More often than not, rather than face the humiliation we just live in denial. “Yeah, the bigger engine costs more and uses more gas and I don’t really have any use for it, but I think it was a good value.” We’ve all been there more often than we care to admit, even to ourselves. Especially if we are Dodger fans.

For decades now, the Dodgers have intentionally offered a mediocre product and charged a premium price. That is simply how they do business and with a foolish enough customer base, it’s effective. The Dodger’s fan cost index is $100 more than the Angels, but The Angels have a higher payroll. When they got Vlad we got Furcal. When they had a team that were unlucky to win only one World Series, we were fortunate to win a couple of first round series. The Dodgers see their fans as suckers who will turn up, grinning idiotically because there is a beautiful stadium, a proud tradition, many transplant fans of the opposition and many other fans who just see “A Dodger Game” as a generic outing. The McCourts, as we’ve learned in court documents, bought the team specifically because they saw the opportunity in this. If the Dodger fans will pay for anything, why not cut back team salary even more than usual, up the cost of everything else and really rip off the fans? Lord knows they’ll happily bite the pillow and take it.

It’s as if there was a make of car that was favored by a few million consumers who would buy it no matter what. Let’s call it the Dodgermobile. It breaks down and never gets you where you want to be? You buy another one. It’s slow and powerless, but only takes premium and gets 10 MPG? You buy another one. It’s boring to look at and drive? It’s uncomfortable? You buy another one. And the Dodgermobile is an $80,000 car. Who wouldn’t want to own a dealership?

BBQ at Camden Yards

Look at something as simple as the food. I remember Camden Yards in Baltimore opening nearly 20 years ago. One of the things people loved about it was that it served delicious Barbecue instead of the cheapest crap imaginable. Teams across the country quickly followed suit, offering patrons quality food to enhance fan experience. Yes, the food was overpriced, but at least it was good and often unique to the stadium. Even many minor league teams have jumped on this trend and found it profitable and rewarding for the fans.

Various Stuff At Citi Field

The Dodger’s did come up with an innovation in the spirit of the Dodgermobile. They would let Pizza Hut and Carl’s Junior into the stadium, where they would sell their product for about triple price. What a unique, Dodger fan experience! Of course, the food is not exactly the same stuff you could buy anywhere in LA. An actual Carl’s or Pizza Hut makes food specific to your order, while at the stadium you chose from one of two or three pre-made options and they pull one out of the pile. Also, if the product at a fast food joint outside of the stadium sat drying out under a heat lamp for as long as the food at the stadium, they would throw it out and make something fresher. Even at the normal prices, if a Carl’s or Pizza Hut outside the stadium sold this product, it would go out of business in a month. If it charged the stadium prices, it would be gone in a week. Possibly burned down. The operation can only be pulled off if your customers are sweet, gullible Dodgers fans.

Crap you can buy for a few cents each at Vons

What about Dodger Dogs? I used to believe there was something special about them. Again, I’ve been as big a sucker as anyone. But they’re just grocery store dogs, marked up through the roof. We learned that when Farmer John started, well, selling them in grocery stores. I worked in a small movie theater as a kid and we did the exact same thing. We were adjacent to a Vons where we would send someone over to buy the cheapest hot dogs and buns that they carried. Then we’d pop them in the microwave and sell them for several times what we paid. People loved them. Some even asked where we gott them, so they might enjoy them at home.

Minute Maid Park's Fish Tacos

I can live with the traditional crappy popcorn, “malts” and peanuts. The grumpy old man in me kind of digs it. “We ate rock hard ice cream with a tongue depressor. And we liked it just fine. We loved it!” But it’s hilarious that the Dodgers successfully market the “all you can eat” pavilion as some kind of great value. The actual product costs them almost nothing. Joey Chestnut would have to smuggle Kobayashi into the stadium on a single ticket for them to eat $40 worth of that slop. The point is to extract a maximum amount of money from the fan, and it doesn’t matter that much if they sell you three grocery store hot dogs for the $20 or if they sell you four of them for the same price. Imagine you came across a sucker who really liked pennies and had a $100 dollar penny budget. Would you really care if he gave you the $100 for 20 pennies, or if he got to pay $100 to stick his hand in a jar and pull out as many pennies as he could hold? That’s the idea behind the all you can eat pavilion.

Stuffed Sandwiches at PNC Park

Yes, yes the Garlic Fries are OK. But they still aren’t fresh and it’s still just a marked up chain offering. They just seem great by comparison to the other stuff.

What really matters is the product on the field, right? Unfortunately, yes. I remember being in my car eight years ago and hearing some guy on the radio say the words, “Vladimir Gurerro is coming to Los Angeles!” I was shocked and elated. After years of frustration and boredom, the Dodgers had finally brought an MVP caliber player onto the team. I actually pumped my fist and made some retarded noise, sitting alone in the garage, which is pretty out of character for me. Seconds later, of course, it was clarified that “Los Angeles” meant “Anaheim.” It was just deflating. Like a dunce, I soldiered on through eight more years of second and third tier signings. Having to listen to people on that station claim that guys like Furcal and Ted Lilly are major additions for the Dodgers, while the MVP seasons and championships were enjoyed in New York, Boston, Philadelphia… man, it sure would have been fun to watch Vlad for that stretch. Instead I willfully chose to consume an inferior product and pay more money to do so.

Next time there is a major free agent, listen to the discussions of pundits. You’ll hear that the only major market team consistently omitted is the Dodgers. Carl Crawford was looking at the Yankees, Red Sox and Angels. If Pujols was to leave Saint Louis, pundits figured the Yankees and Red Sox would be uninterested, since they are set at first base. That left the Cubs and The Angels. But the Dodgers, who are weak at first base and who are the second biggest team in the sport? Not even worth mentioning. Not that I think big contracts for superstars are always good moves, but sometimes they are. And wouldn’t it be fun to see a future hall of famer play for your team? Is it too much to expect that it would happen once? There was Piazza, practically born a Dodger, but he’ll go in as a Met. Rest assured, if Kemp or any of the other young Dodgers pan out as hall of fame caliber, much of their primes will be spent somewhere else. Make a list of the most exciting young players in baseball. McCutchen, Votto, Santana, Heyward. That will also be a list of players who will never be Dodgers. Unless, perhaps, their career crashes or they limp into LA in their twighlights, like faded soccer stars playing in the MLS. In other words, if the value of their names can be marketed to dupes, even though the product is inferior, then they will be perfect Dodgers. But if they live up to their potential, contribute to championships and make a run at The Hall, they will come at full market price and play for organizations that give a shit if they win.

Manny? The Dodgers got him for free and were practically forced to bring him back when fans were shocked to discover that baseball can be entertaining. I’m sure they are delighted that it didn’t work out. They got a discount on his salary and can point to the bad contract for another ten years, like they did with Kevin Brown and Darryl Strawberry in the past. “Well, we tried signing a big free agent once, though it was with a guy past his prime. And it didn’t work out that one time, so that proves we shouldn’t ever do it.” But remember how fun Mannywood was, however briefly? Even though the rest of the talent wasn’t on par with what they have in New York, Boston or Philly,  and even though it was obviously the last hurrah of his career, it was exhilarating to have an elite hitter and a superstar smashing the ball all over the park. If you remain a Dodger fan, don’t expect to enjoy another experience like that in the foreseeable future. Again, if Kemp goes off like that, kiss him goodbye. If you think that maybe this time The Dodgers will do the right thing, I’d like to invite you over to my house. I have a jar of pennies and I’ll let you grab as many as you can for only $100.

The most recent shame is the beating of Bryan Stow by a couple of the Dodger’s many gang banging fans. The team has, of course, done nothing to resist its incorporation into gang culture. And forget the “what are they going to do, ban everyone with baggy pants?” straw man. Off the top of my head, they could 1)have knowledgeable, plain clothes security in the stands waiting for fans to “represent” gang affiliations. Do it once, banned for life. 2) Ban any fan who is turned over to the police 3)Aggressively and publicly support anti-gang projects in Los Angeles. If you don’t live here, you might be surprised to learn that fewer than half of Angelinos have gang tattoos on their necks, so yeah. If you present yourself as a gangster, be prepared to show ID to check against the banned list. And no racial profiling. If you show up in a fedora, carrying a violin case, you get checked too.

You might think that, after two similar attacks in recent years, both at games against The Giants, ownership would have taken steps to prevent this entirely predictable tragedy. People have been complaining about gangs in the stadium long before this culmination. It was already a common topic on talk radio. But addressing the problem would have cost money and Frank and Jamie have really been hankering for those ivory back scratchers. That’s why, in the face of an escalating gang problem in the stadium, rather than improving their already shabby security, the Dodgers started the season with no chief of security for the first time ever. Yep, they made a conscious decision to save money at the expense of fan safety by getting rid of their chief of security and not replacing him. A penny saved is a penny earned, and Brian Stow will die, or be a shadow of himself. Either way, his family will be crippled forever. If that’s something you want to actively support with your dollar, I’m glad you’re getting such a shitty product in return.

The World's Biggest Baseball Fan!

Probably, no level of security could have prevented the blindside attack if the perpetrators were determined. Though if a couple of security guards had been within view, maybe the attackers would have withdrawn. Nobody knows. There’s really no excuse for them getting away though. It’s a fucking parking lot. An open, concrete area with only a few exits. It’s difficult to imagine a more easily monitored and policed area. The structure is about the same as that of a prison yard.

There will be more security at the games now, courtesy of the LAPD. They’ll be working over time. Tax dollars will pay for it, if not immediately, after the story dies down. The McCourts can’t be bothered or trusted to offer suffecient security for the patrons they gouge, as LAPD Chief Batch strongly implied, saying “We try to let venues take care of their own security. If they can’t, I step in. I’m going to do what it takes.”

Obviously, ownership’s negligence is not equivalent to the malice of the criminals.  But most media are letting them off the hook far too easily. They chose gamble on fan safety to save a relatively small amount of money. ‘Gamble’ isn’t quite the right word, because they “lost” and the reward money they put up is still far less than they saved pinching pennies. And as a result, they now get to dip into your paycheck to cover their business expenses. So neglecting security while knowing that the stadium was becoming more dangerous was more of a win/win proposition than a gamble, but it was a calculated decision and it’s already paying off. But I’m sure the next owners turn down free security, paid for with tax money.

The Dodgers response to the beating has been an embarrassment to everyone remotely associated with the team. Some guy who hates baseball and accidentally turned into the stadium parking lot during the off season in 1987 is ashamed to be so closely associated with the Dodgers. They finally squeezed out a few grand for the reward money on the case after several other parties had contributed, including LAs taxpayers, again, through the city council. They’ve done nothing to reach out to the family. Remember when they dedicated .00001%of hot dog sales to set up a college fund for Stow’s kids? That’s because it didn’t happen and it won’t happen. Even if Frank and Jamie were actual psychopaths, you’d think that they would understand the necessity of such a gesture from a PR perspective. At the moment, the PR staff must be grappling with the decision. So much time has passed, do we look worse helping out now and keeping the story in the news, or should we just sit tight and hope people forget about it sooner?

I mean, imagine you were a bar owner and someone was beaten into a coma in your parking lot. It might not be your fault, but how would you feel? What would you do to help? Now, imagine the attack happened after you cut back on security. How would you feel then? Now imagine you were worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Now, what would you do to help? When you answer those questions, it’s difficult to escape feeling disgust for Dodgers ownership. After years of frustration and annoyance, finally pure disgust. Are you in the habbit of voluntarily giving money to people you find repugnant? That is what it means to be a Dodger fan.

Other than crying in my e-beer at dodgerblues.com, the only consistently great part of being a Dodgers fan has been Vin Scully.  He could soothingly describe a nuclear Holocaust and make the listener feel warm and comfortable. “And there they go… it looks like missiles have been launched all the way from Russia. They should arrive in only a few minutes, if you can believe that. Of course, our ICBMs should be the first missiles to hit their targets, exterminating all human life for miles around. Funny story about the ICBM…” It wouldn’t be his fault though. In fact, if nuclear war comes, that would be the ideal way to experience it. Vin is the link between fans and the teams of our childhoods, and the intermediary between the current team and its fans. Once he steps down, which should happen after this year, the last vestiges of any nostalgia we feel for the Dodgers can finally be put aside. What remains–a cynical business scheme based on the belief that Dodger fans are an enless well of credulity and a veneer that’s become an embarrassing symbol for gang affiliation–should be discarded by fans of baseball. If you are a baseball fan, there’s nothing there for you. If you want to gang bang and still think the Dodgermobile and the penny jar sound pretty appealing, have a blast.

Otherwise, pick another team. I don’t care which one. A scrappy, small market team that tries to compete with the big boys on a tight budget. Like Oakland. Then you can still hate the Giants. Maybe you’re sick of discussing guys like Orlando Hudson and Andruw Jones as “big signings,” rather than role players. Get on board with The Mets, maybe. At least they try to put together good teams and you still get to watch guys like Wright and Reyes in down years. Plus, you can still hate the Yankees. Save yourself years of being taken for a fool, watching boring baseball and dropping twenties to eat pig shit . Stop acting like one of the biggest sports teams in the world winning the occasional first round playoff series is something to be proud of.

Watch some games in other stadiums this year. Even if you are gullible enough to remain a Dodgers fan, make a special point to take a day trip to see them down in San Diego, where the fan experience is vastly superior, and to see at least one less game at Dodger Stadium. You’ll have a better day and you can think of it as a hit of a few hundred bucks to the Dodgers for cutting back on security and putting your life at risk. It’s not like they’d have used the money to sign Prince Fielder or something. Not to mention the fact that the Padres are one of the cheapest teams in the fan cost index, while the Dodgers are one of the expensive. You’ll save enough to cover your gas and pay for a very nice dinner or a substantial bar tab in San Diego, instead of giving the money to Frank and Jamie or whichever sleazy opportunist follow them in marketing the Dodgermibile.

If you do it once, you’ll probably do it again. If you can make it to SF, catch the Dodgers play there, where the fan experience is also superior and, though expensive, still cheaper than The Dodgers. You can have a conversation about the Stow beating and how ashamed it made you. It’ll be a great opportunity to come up with another piece of perverted logic for not abandoning the Dodgers, who abandoned you so long ago.

I’m not sure who I’ll support after this year. Possibly The Tigers, as my family has roots in Detroit. They have their own problems, but at least they have Cabrerra and Verlander. It’s another team with a higher payroll than the Dodgers, in spite of being located in the third world.  More importantly, I’ll get to wear the same hat as Magnum. In any case, I do hope the Dodgers win it all this year. It will a great way to end my fandom. Plus, if they luck out with a mediocre team like they did in ‘88, I know that they’ll trade on that single, chance victory to justify screwing over the remaining fans for another 25 years and I’ll be somewhere else, laughing at the suckers.

1.) STEELERS: You like rape without real consequences? You like football? This is your team! Their defense gives more concussions than a redneck’s 4-wheeler. Mendenhall and Mike Wallace are future superstars in this league. They’re also disciplined and well-coached by the black guy from House. No one on the team stepped up to defend their rapist QB after he got bitchslapped, but it’s okay, they’re one big happy family!

2.) PATRIOTS: This team is like a jigsaw puzzle where all the pieces are squares, and the puzzle is of a big blank sheet of paper. You can just put any piece anywhere and it works. Deion Branch fills in for Randy Moss, no prob. Tom Brady gets hurt a few years back and Matt Cassell wins like 11 games. A few weeks ago a 5 and a half foot white dude (Danny Woodhead) got over 100 yards playing all the positions. Reminds me of that time I created myself as a character on Techmo Super Bowl. I bet Danny did that shit in the mid 90′s and somehow got infused with the game and crossed through the space time continuum. I’m guessing if you shot him with a crossbow, he would turn into a ball of electricity and disappear back to a time when Tupac was alive and everybody had a beeper. [Disclaimer: If Danny Woodhead is shot with a crossbow, I was only making an internet joke]

3.) SAINTS: The best fucking team ever in the history of the NFL. Yeah, motherfuckers talking about superbowl hangover and playing down to our competition, whatever bitches. I still think we’re gonna facefuck the NFC come December. I’m not even going to pretend to be objective here. The only reason I didn’t rank us number one is that we are too much like Stephen Hawking: we are constantly dumbing it down and we can’t kick. We will fix those things by season’s end, trust me.

4.) JETS: The coach is fat and likes to curse, just in case nobody knew that yet. Anyway, until Sanchez grows a thin mustache to honor his surname, I just don’t believe in him. You can clearly tell he has the ability to grow decent facial hair, but elects against it, which is a crime. And LT is looking like Campbell Soup Commercial LT! Let’s just see if Sanchez can “manage” playoff games against B-more and Pitts in the postseason.

5.) EAGLES: People say if you have two quarterbacks, you don’t have any. That’s bullshit. Having two QB’s is like being born with two dicks: it’s unorthodox, fascinating, and usually seems funner than it is; however, I feel like the situation in Philly is like Tori Lane in a DP flick: primed for a two dick situation. The Eagles DP their way to win the division!

6.) RAVENS: Solid team from top to bottom, but the Defense is a little old, the QB a little young, and no way they get a first round bye, which means they’ll be playing an extra game come playoff time, which sucks for old teams. Ray Lewis’ deodorant commercials are on par with Method Man’s, so they have that going for them.

7.) COLTS: Peyton and his mongoloid forehead terrorize the shit out of teams. My theory is that he was born with two brains, one stacked on top the other. The upper brain reads the defense and the lower brain concentrates on mechanics. It’s like Master Blaster from Thunderdome, inside his own fucking head! That’s crazy! And somebody tell me why Austin Collie wears a wave cap under his helmet? That’s like Seabiscuit buying a mountain bike. What’s he doing, waving up his Mormon locks of hair so he can hit the club later with Santonio Holmes? Fuckoutahere! That’s why Joseph Smith smote him via concussion, for being a douchebag.

8.) PACKERS: Some of their fans wear giant blocks of cheese on their heads, as if it’s a big ol Nordic Sombrero. Can you seriously see some guy in a green jersey with a giant piece of cheese on his head strutting into some night club and just tearing up the pussy? No, I can’t either. Those fans seem like simple, booger-eating, hot-farting, snow-dwelling folk, and as nice as they might be, they don’t have what it takes stand out on a national level, just like their team.

9.) FALCONS: Leave it to the blackest city in the US to play the most vanilla. What a bunch of dorks. I guess they’re good. I hate to say that. Don’t get me wrong, they don’t blow you away, but they don’t exactly make mistakes either. What a boringly good team. These guys are the San Antonio Spurs of the league. I hate this stupid team. They are not a contender, trust me! Roddy White is the only guy who can be fun to watch. Tony Gonzales is just a washed up route-runner. Turner is an overachieving fat wuss. Matt Ryan is a gay nerd. That is all.

10.) TITANS: Chris Johnson and that defensive front line are legit. That could get them a win first round of the playoffs. However, this team isn’t built to play from behind, oh wait… they just picked up Randy Moss. And I was just thinking Kenny Britt needed a positive new role model. Their real weakness is quarterback. Vince went psycho, again, and this week they start a guy named Rusty Smith, which sounds like the kind of name you give at the free clinic. Is this even a real dude? Maybe it’s really Jeff George with botox?

11.) DOLPHINS: Yeah, they have some losses, but they lost to the Jets, Steelers, Ravens, Pats, and Bears (yes the Bears are good, trust me). Also, they are great on the road. They’re scrappy, talented, and pretty well coached. And props to them for turning a gimmick (The Wildcat) into a viable offensive weapon. Pennington tried to start a game, and then got hurt quicker than Michael Cera in the Kumate. Henne is hurt too. The fate of this team rests in the capable hands of Tyler Thigpen. I still have a good feeling about them, but maybe it’s because I really like dolphins.

12.) CHIEFS: They’re a landlocked, Midwestern mirror image of the Dolphins, except a little younger. They have a weak-armed, mediocre quarterback, two good running backs and one decent receiver. They get by with being crafty, focused, and lucky. However, they get the luxury of playing in the AFC west, which is about as competitive as co-ed intramural softball.

13.) BEARS: Call me crazy, I believe in Cutler! Sure he gets sacked more than a (I know there is a ball sack metaphor here but I just can’t think of it) and his favorite receiver is DeAngelo Hall, but he’s got something unique in an NFL quarterback: Diabetes…and a short memory. For being a whinny arrogant prick, he’s fucking tough. Plus, he has the arm of Kenny Powers, the fuck-yall swagger of Joran Vandersloot, and the bravery of General Custer! 10-6, just watch!

14.) GIANTS: I’m just not really a believer. Their secondary is nowhere as good as people think. The D-line just bails them out by getting an awesome pass rush. Once some of them wear down or get injured late in the season, which always happens, teams will pass all over them. Plus Eli is still Fredo. He had his lucky day in the sun a few years ago. Bradshaw fumbles too much, Brandon Jacobs is actually borderline retarded (seriously he went to school up the bayou from me and took all his classes in the modular buildings in back of the real school and got to go home like two hours early) and Eli is always capable of Farve-level decision making in crucial games.

15.) RAIDERS: Darren McFadden is who we thought he was…when he played at Arkansas. Campbell/Gradkoski makes a pretty decent two-dick system too at times. Nine wins! Plus, I like how Al Davis dresses like Kim Jong Il. Best Korea takes second place in the AFC West!

16.) BUCS: With no running game, an inexperienced coach/QB, and no real talent on defense, they managed to win some games. I have no idea what’s going on, but I think this whole team is a sham. I’m sorry LaGarett Blount, but the NFL isn’t one of those youtube videos of Chinese congress, you can’t punch your way to victory here. Also, can we please stop calling him Cadillac. It’s Pontiac now, I think he’s earned it.

17.) TEXANS: What a bunch of goldbricking phonies! Opened up the season by taking a huge dump all over Peyton Manning’s squad. Then, they got exposed for the over-rated, non-defending Jabronis that they really are. Seriously, you know how in the stands at every game there is one chronic masturbater holding up a sign that says “D” and his fart smelling buddy is on side of him holding up a cardboard fence, well, the Texans secondary should take those signs onto the field with them and break into a Bollywood dance number in the hopes of distracting opposing quarterbacks. That would be more affective than whatever they’re doing now. Also, Schaub is finally playing like Vick’s backup. It’s about time.

18.) CHARGERS Leave it to the bolts to put the “special” in special teams. It’s like they put a helmet on a pot roast and told it to return a punt. Seriously, those guys are so retarded the mascot for the special teams should be Norv Turner’s hair. Also, Philip Rivers has the most punchable face I’ve ever seen. It’s like Nancy Grace and Jay Cutler had a baby. Gates is the only consummate professional amongst the whole lot, and you can tell in interviews he’s ashamed to be playing with them. He speaks with the detached embarrassment of Justin Timberlake in those old NSYNC interviews.

19.) REDSKINS: If this power rankings were about offensive nicknames, they’d be number one, with the Browns and Packers tied for second. Sure the latter two are about dogs and cheese somehow, but everybody really just thinks of Mexicans and gays. McNabb deserves better than these guys. Can’t believe Shanny pulled Donovan for Grossman the other week. If there is trouble with the offense, it’s probably because of the no names they have playing the skill positions. The depth chart at WR and RB reads like a playbill for a community theater production of some Tyler Perry adaptation.

20.) RAMS: It’s cool because Sam Bradford looks like the guy from Burn Notice, which made them jump a few spots in my rankings. I’m just glad Rush Limbaugh wasn’t allowed to buy this team. If he would have, the 2012 roster would look like this: Sam Bradford, Peyton Hillis, Toby Gehart, Wes Welker, Austin Collie, and he would have even talked Jason Sehorn out of retirement. Arian Foster would probably even be on the team, only because of his name though. Announcers would constantly be talking about how they have great “character” and “good work ethic, ” which we all know are just euphemisms for “slow” and “clumsy.” However, the coolest part would be all the botched high fives and Linkin Park music in the locker room.

21.) BRONCOS: The Sacramento Kings of the Divac/B Jackson/White Chocolate era. Orton is Divac (same neck breard) B Jackson is B Lloyd (overachieving breakout in mid career) and White Chocolate is Tim Tebow (running qb and super religious…that’s a black man’s game). They’ll be fun to watch, but they’ll never be taken seriously…just like women’s tennis.

22.) BROWNS: Art Modell tried to wipe this miserable shit-stained franchise out of existence, but like Steven Segal, it just won’t die, no matter how laughable or embarrassing things become. It’s turned into a freak show of trick plays and dumb luck of late, but this serendipitous twist of fate is doomed to end as abruptly as Derek Anderson’s bout with competency did. Ben Watson is their leading reciever, and if he would have stayed with New England, he would be their third string TE.

23.) JAGUARS: If the fans won’t pay to watch this group, then I’m not going to use the brain power thinking of jokes about them. Every win they’ve had they didn’t deserve, except for the Dallas spanking.

24.) BENGALS: Aw man, such high hopes for these guys, and they screwed it all up. It’s basically Carson’s fault. And Marvin’s too. And as for the WR divas, T.O. is having the better football year, but Chad’s reality show was more entertaining.

25.) VIKINGS: When I heard about Farve cheating on Deeana, I thought about how disappointed she must have been, but when I saw his weener pic on the internet, I figured she must be used to disappointment, so it’s not that big a deal. I’m pretty sure this thing will just blow over in the Farve household and he’ll be right back to his old self, throwing stupid pics and pretending to be hurt all the time. It’s funny, I think I’m the only guy who likes Brad Childress. Moss was a jerk, Farve is a sack of shit, and nobody on the team plays with a set of brass ones. I’d hate to coach this group. I’d start Tavaris next game, give AD 35 touches, run at least 4 reverses with Harvin, throw 2 bombs to Rice or Berrian, and pepper Visanthe with at least 8 targets. No way they lose playing like that.

26.) 49ERS: Steve Young isn’t walking through that door. The best yall can do is draft another left handed Mormon quarterback and pray to Pioneer Jesus for some luck. Even though you guys are way better and more talented than the juggernaut that is the St. Louis Rams, yall won’t catch them. Maybe when you play Arizona at the bottom of that shit-hole that is the NFC west, the football Gods will be so offended that lightning bolts will descend upon Frisco, destroying this present day Gomorrah. Problem is all the Evangelicals will think it was because of all the gays.

27.) LIONS: Take away Calvin Johnson and the offense isn’t 90 percent as affective. These fakes are one player away from being the Seattle Seahawks. Matthew Stafford has a a big ol down syndrome face. Nobody’s knocking down that tree for endorsements except for maybe companies who sell electric dog collars and jogging pants.

28.) SEAHAWKS: Ever since the Refs fucked them out of the Super Bowl a few years ago, they haven’t been the same…It’s like the whole franchise got AIDS, sometimes they have good days, and sometimes they have bad days, but they’ll always be sick.

29.) CARDINALS: I’m running out of shitty metaphors for shitty things by now. The best I can muster by now is actual shit itself, not like the loose machine-gun dead body smelling shit that flies out your burning asshole in some truck stop diner after eating rancid hamburger meat (that’s the Panthers) but I’m talking about long, hard thickly packed 9 inch coiled turds that look poised to strike, like a mean water snake with corn for scales. That’s the Cards.

30.) PANTHERS: (See above description)

31.) BILLS: You know, I never understood cults, not til I understood the Bills. There were some people so desperate for joy they thought CJ Spiller was the answer. These are the kinds of people who thought David Koresh was Jesus. I think desperation and sadness breeds a kind of hopelessness so deep that reality takes on dark, vague forms. Basically, Bills season ticket holders are the Branch Dividians of the NFL. Dying in a flaming compound fire would truly be an act of a merciful God.

32.) COWBOYS: Wow, it’s like the abortion train ran into the nuclear power plant and tumbled down Broken Glass mountain into a waste-water treatment pond. Never has something so ugly been so fun to watch, not even in an ironic hipster way…more like an America’s funniest videos way. You could tape cowboy Games then dub over the sound with Benny Hill music and sell the DVD’s on late night infomercials. I’m just glad they finally put Wade Phillips out of his misery; he’s not a football coach, never was. Wade is the kind of gent who tucks his Guy Harvey fishing shirt into the elastic waistband of his khacki shorts, eats at Cracker Barrell four times a week, and collects model airplanes. And now we finally get to see the first Ginger head coach ever! This is a proud day for everybody with back freckles and scorched pubes everywhere!

Does Terrell Owens deserve bust in Canton?

Now if you’re foreign or a woman or something, the stench of stupidity might not overwhelm you instantly. Give me a few minutes, and I promise it will build. And no, this is not one of those “hot topic” blog things where the shocking headline doesn’t match the content. Cole is actually challenging TO’s Hall Of Fame credentials.

CANTON, Ohio – Terrell Owens(notes) stood next to the ticket office just inside the glass doors of the Pro Football Hall of Fame, headphones covering his ears, sunglasses on his face, and stared outside at the throng of people Saturday evening who were here for the enshrinement ceremonies.

Owens, who joined the Bengals last month after an offseason of little interest in his services, looked out of place.

Reason one Owens doesn’t deserve to be in the Hall of Fame: He doesn’t show much interest in the Hall of Fame. This is just classic sportswriting. I mean, if you write about football for a living, you should probably understand that there is no major sport in which one of the Hall of Fame criteria is “how much does the player like this museum?” Yes, it’s vaguely annoying when somebody so fortunate becomes blasé about it, and jock resentment is the engine that drives much of this type of sports writing, but you know what?

A place he may never arrive if you buy the opinions of some people in the game.

“Absolutely not,” a long-time NFL team personnel executive said recently when asked if Owens deserved a spot in the Hall of Fame. Another prominent team executive echoed that, calling Owens a “figment.”

“I think he is so overblown statistics-wise, it’s unbelievable,” the first executive said. “If you play long enough, you’re going to have stats. He’s playing long enough and he’s got stats and now he has another gig, so there are more stats coming. But he’s no more a Hall of Famer than this bottle of water.

“I’m talking about the route runner. I’m talking about the hands. All that stuff, the wide receiver skills. I just don’t see it. Big, strong, all that that? Yeah. That’s there. But Hall of Famer? Years ago I would have said he was heading in a Hall of Fame direction. But a winner? He doesn’t have any of that. We don’t even have to bring that [into the discussion]. ”

Reason 2: He is overrated. Obviously these people have some sort of resentment against Owens, which probably has more basis in personal interaction than Jason Cole’s hysteria and envy. So I guess this is the spot to lay out some facts. TO was considered, throughout his prime, to be somewhere among the top two to three players at his position by the overwhelming majority of the people watching the game. For me that’s it. If you spend a long stretch doing that, you are by definition, a Hall of Famer. The “overblown statistics?” Normally I’d pull out all kinds of stats that would show how good the player I’m arguing for “really” is. In this case, there’s no need. Third all-time receiving yards with 14,951 (very soon to be second). Third all-time in receiving touchdowns with 144. Sixth all time in in receptions with 1,006. Maybe he is overrated. With those numbers, it doesn’t matter. Devalue them by 10% and it’s still not even debatable, at least within the realm of rationality.

His game is not flawless, of course, but diminishing the stats because he used speed and power more than hands and route running is kind of like saying Warren Beatty wouldn’t have gotten laid so much if he wasn’t a movie star. It’s like saying Nolan Ryan wouldn’t have been as good if he had an 85 mph fastball. Well of course, TO is a totally unprecedented case of a guy who is good at football because he is freakishly big, strong and fast, but they don’t give you less points for a touchdown because you are too strong.

As for the asinine, “if you play long enough,” argument, the guy is not exactly George Blanda. He’s had 14 seasons. It’s the same bullshit. “Well sure, Oscar De La Hoya fought in so many bouts, of course he would eventually win multiple world titles.” “Well sure, if you jot down enough figures, of course you will eventually come up with the theory of relativity.” And though nobody was smart enough to bring it up, you could point to the fact that passing is more prevalent in recent years, which inflates passing stats. But if this is true, it also means that receivers are more important.

But look, these are obviously just some jowly old guys who work for teams (we don’t know what their jobs are or if they involve much talent evaluation) and who have some kind of gripe with TO, which is pretty understandable. To dig up the small number of NFL people who are so sour on TO that they would make such stupid arguments, and to quote them exclusively, is dog shit reporting.

Whether the 44 media members who vote on the Hall of Fame agree with that one day remains to be seen. Owens enters his 15th season with his fifth team, an impressive résumé of stats and a bad reputation even he acknowledges.

And zero concern about whether the Hall is in his future.

I hate when hacks do this, and again, pretty much every sports hack does. Figure out some way to emphasize your point other than giving one sentence its own paragraph. For example, you could try writing a better, more persuasive article.

Fuck off, you moron.

“Even when I came [to the Hall] the first time, the second time, I never really thought about it,” Owens said Sunday. “Toward the end of my career with the numbers where they are now, people tend to say, ‘You’re going to be here some day.’ Of course, from a statistics standpoint, yeah, I’ll be here.

“But there are going to be a lot of things that factor into that, probably reputation and character and things of that nature. For me, honestly, I could really care less. When I started playing in this game, football wasn’t my first love. I didn’t have that passion the way some guys who grow up have that passion for the game of football. … If I get in, I get in. If I don’t, I don’t, it’s not a big deal.”

Back to reason 1. Man this shit drives me crazy. Jason Cole thinks that TO should be really into the Hall of Fame, and, because he is very good at football, TO should be a huge fan of football. But TO doesn’t have the outlook on things that Jason Cole thinks he should. What a fucking crime against humanity. It’s a wonder that all professional athletes don’t instantly turn into Barry Bonds. Can you imagine people routinely writing articles about what your personal priorities should be, down to how interested you should be in a particular museum? Is a great salesman less great if he doesn’t read books about P.T. Barnum?  You can have the lawyer who regales you with awestruck stories about Warren and Marshall. I’ll take the one who wins all of his cases.

Cole, raging hemorrhoid though he is, certainly knows that TO grew up in severe poverty and had a very repressive and moderately abusive childhood. Maybe that’s a factor in why he sees things kind of differently than people who were privileged enough to grow up regarding sports spectating as an issue of great importance. Perhaps this is enough to forgive him, just this once, for thinking out of lockstep with the mighty sage, Jason Cole. Let him have a second chance here. If we later find out that TO’s interest in collectible sports memorabilia is not exactly equal to Jason Cole’s, then I agree: obviously he should be kept out of the Hall Of Fame and possibly imprisoned.

The 36-year-old Owens, who has 1,006 receptions and 144 receiving touchdowns, backed that up with a nearly defiant attitude Saturday as the Bengals visited the Hall prior to their preseason game with Dallas on Sunday night in the Hall of Fame game.

Owens took about 30 steps to the top of the spiral walkway that opens to the Hall’s main floor. He then spent the better part of an hour leaning back on the rail at the top of the walkway, arms crossed and saying little. He didn’t look at any of the exhibits and never wandered anywhere close to the Hall’s best display, the room filled with the busts of all the inductees.

Almost every other Bengals player took it in. Left tackle Andrew Whitworth spent almost every moment researching the offensive tackles in the Hall, including Anthony Munoz, Gary Zimmerman and Jackie Slater. Wide receiver Chad Ochocinco walked around tweeting about the things he learned.

“This is sweet, really nice,” Ochocinco said with a genuine smile.

Linebacker Dhani Jones, who had been here four times before, walked around taking it all in again.

All the while, Owens struck a disaffected pose, like a teenager forced to see an art exhibit. He said he wants to wait, his body language edgy. He said his other visits have been the same. He has never walked the halls of football’s greatest shrine.

“I didn’t even walk around [Saturday],” Owens said. “It’s not a disrespect to the people who are in the Hall of Fame. I think that I’m going to leave that up to the day when I walk away from the game that I can bring my kids and experience it with them. I want to have a full experience.”

Let me expand on the point I made earlier. I’m pretty sure it is true of all museums, not just sports museums. How much you are interested with the museum should have nothing to do with whether you are in the museum. Like, if it is discovered that Goya didn’t like to go to art museums, should all of his stuff be pulled out of the Prado? So how is his “defiant attitude” (defiant of whom? Kim Jong Cole, I guess) “backing up” his stats in any sense whatsoever? There is no connection between his stats and his interest in this museum. The fact that Cole labels a thirty-seven year old man “defiant” says everything about the state of sports punditry.

Perhaps that’s believable,

WHAT? You just spewed like nine “paragraphs” taking him to task for not liking a museum and then you present his explanation, as if one were necessary and say “Perhaps that’s believable?” Good show.

but Owens is missing the bigger point, even as it came walking past him. As he stood in the front of the Hall, the Dallas Cowboys entered a little later. His last best team strolled past him. He gave hugs to some of his old buddies and ignored those who helped force his departure.

He continues to believe that his dismissal from the Cowboys after the 2008 season wasn’t his fault. He continues to deny that his pouting, distrusting, divisive attitude (which also helped hasten his departures from San Francisco and Philadelphia) is what hurt him.

“I think about it, but it is what it is at this point,” Owens said. “There’s no turning back at this point and I still stand by the things that I said and what was done and I know, honestly, it wasn’t my fault.”

Reason number three: Owens is kind of a dick and is a poor teammate. Most people would agree with this assertion and maybe for a borderline candidate, it could nudge them the wrong way. But even in backing up an assertion everyone agrees with, Cole is petty and stupid. Oh my fucking God, TO was warm with the teammates who were his friends, and not with those who shared a mutual dislike. I mean, suppose all of the co-workers from your last job came walking by. Wouldn’t you take a minute to say hello to your friends and politely ignore the people you had problems with? What else would you do?

And even though everybody agrees that TO seems like kind of an asshole, who cares? The hall is full of felons and genuinely nasty, mean-spirited people. Now all of the sudden we are going to keep people out, not for serious crimes, not for using performance-enhancing drugs, not for point-shaving, not for anything other than the fact that TO seems kind of dickish and is a poor teammate.

You know, it’s a shame. Maybe if, instead of pulling himself from a debilitating childhood into massive success, fame and wealth, though maintaining an abrasive personality, TO had followed Ray Lewis’ example. If only he were a really great teammate, who participated in a murder and let his buddies take the fall for it, maybe then he’d be deserving of a Hall of Morality spot.

As the saying goes, denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.

No! Bad hack! Nononono NO! You are not supposed to take money for regurgitating a horrible catch phrase you heard a drag queen spew on a five year old “Maury” rerun when you could have been learning some of the elementary aspects of football. Push that, and a bag of chips, out of your brain and instead try to absorb this fact: a touchdown gives you six points.

But it is the reason that Owens is now playing his home games on a riverfront. Owens has arrived in Cincinnati – the Ellis Island of the NFL – because nobody else wanted him. He was on the market for the better part of five months and the Bengals were the only team that showed real interest. St. Louis thought about it and the New York Jets rolled the idea around, but neither made a serious offer.

That seemingly shouldn’t happen to a guy such as Owens. Unlike the men who are in the Hall, Owens has let too many things get in the way. There are moments when he gets that point. He even admitted to showing great restraint last year while he played through chaos in Buffalo. Between weird coaching moves and numerous injuries to other players, Owens said he kept his mouth shut and his attitude positive.

I officially have a headache. Does Jason Cole know what Ellis Island is and/or was? Because I cannot think of any way that his analogy makes sense. Is he confusing Ellis Island with Alcatraz? Fuck. Let’s move on with some facts. TO is thirty-seven and obviously on the downside of his career. I wonder how many of the wide receivers currently in The Hall would have found a great market for their services at age thirty-seven. Almost none? Also, it’s not like, if the Bengals were not in the league, TO would have been forced into retirement this year. That’s how Cole makes it sound because he is a disingenuous piece of shit, but I don’t think anybody seriously believes that it is actually the case. Especially since, by Cole’s own admission, TO had a positive attitude last year to go with decent statistics.

Finally, TO is still a thirty-seven-year-old man. It is troubling and even borderline creepy how, in a short piece, Cole has compared him to a petulant teenager, attempted to assert what his priorities should be, called him “defiant,” wishes to tell him how he should interact with his ex-coworkers and is only willing to praise him when he “keeps his mouth shut.” This is totally normal in the world of sportswriting. Even though if you tell an average man, “keep your mouth shut,” you’d better have health and dental, there’s some weird swirl of homoeroticism, racism and envy in which it is commonplace for sports writers to say things like this.

That brings up the obvious question: why didn’t he do that before? Why not keep your mouth shut after making the Super Bowl for the first time in Philadelphia? Why not suck it up in Dallas when you had an owner who loved you and wanted to pay you?

Why not get it before you have to finish your career on a series of one-year deals with teams that build the way some people play craps. Take a bunch of long shots and hope it works.

I don’t know. None of your fucking business, maybe? Look, I’m not saying that TO isn’t a headcase. But he is a clear cut, first ballot, hall of fame headcase and it is fucking ridiculous and pathetic for some second tier sports writer to sit back and play Saint Peter on him.

Instead, Owens has created a has-been aura. It’s to the point that football people dismiss his once overwhelming skills.

This headache keeps getting worse. Of course Owens is a “has been.” He is several years past his prime. Technically, Jerry Rice is a “has been.” So what? In fact, you must be a “has been” to get into the Hall Of Fame, so it’s hardly a disqualifier.

“I just don’t see the talent,” the first executive said. “I see a big guy, who in his heyday did damage when with other weapons. Damn right you better deal with him. But all the accolades of the ‘One-man band’ and ‘You can’t stop him,’ I never bought any of that. Just stay on him, do your job and eventually he’ll self-destruct. He’ll drop balls, lose concentration, run a [bad] route, leave the quarterback out to dry. Not in a verbal way, in route running. All those things are what he is. Add it all up and he’s not in the conversation.”

When writing a terrible article, might as well conclude with a paragraph that just quotes some idiot. If he is saying you can leave TO isolated now, well no shit. He’s entering his fifteenth season. Otherwise, great plan. If someone would only have left a prime TO in isolation all game, in the course of racking up 250 receiving yards and scoring four touchdowns, he would have run a bad route at some point. Clearly he shouldn’t even be in the conversation for the Hall of Fame.

If you’re an American, you probably don’t like kickball that much. You probably think that a bunch of guys in short shorts barely scoring is too much like your 7th grade gym class, so you’ll quickly turn the channel. I’m here to equip you with the soccer acumen that will win you the respect of even the swarthiest, neck-bearded, Slovakian bedecked in his best tracksuit.

Now, let’s break down the groups:

Group A

Mexico: Some people (Matt Cale) think they are nothing more than a festive brown race who does nothing more than mow lawns and make anchor-babies, but nothing could be farther from the truth. They’ve made vast, rich cultural strides in recent years (the Dos Equis man and George Lopez show). Anyway, they’re a team built on speed (but that goes without saying for a people that must continuously elude the border patrol), but just because they are small and fast, doesn’t mean they are weak– these little pepper-bellies are as feisty as they come and won’t submit to intimidation.

South Africa: Most people don’t know much about this country or team except that sharks frequent the beaches (thanks to Discovery Channel’s Shark Week) and they filmed District 9 there. Fucking drug-addicted aliens with badass weapons, what an awesome movie! Anyway, the South Africans have home field advantage, because ALL the games will be played here. It’s kind of unfair, but so was Apartheid, so… yeah. They have a fantastic squad of kick-stoppers, and good height, so expect them to put up a fight against pretty much anybody (except the English or the Dutch, we all know how they fare against them historically).

France: The French are great at nuclear power, cheese, and body hair; however, in the realm of competitive sport, you get the feeling that most of the players will fall victim to that classic French ennui, and quit mid-match to write a poem about a listless summer’s evening. They have players named “Sebastian” and “Florent.” In America, you know what gets named Sebastian and Florent? Fluffy Persian cats. These war-losers are one and done. Or is this thing double elimination? I have no fucking idea.

Uruguay: This country is pronounced, in American, “You’re a Gay.” Finally, a country the homosexuals can root for! Nothing wrong with being gay. I’m all for gay marriage and gays in the military. I’ve got gay friends. I even let them use the bathroom in my house. It’s no big deal to me. Anyway, let’s get to the breakdown: this team’s rear defenses are often breached, but they are known to possess superior ball control, and often use manipulation and loud colors to persuade officials.

Group B

South Korea: A quality squad with soul, who actually have an advantage in South Africa’s hot sun, as they are already squinting, and won’t have to make the large facial adjustments the roundeye westerners will. Their best player, No Nuk Mi, is famous for running so fast he burns a line down the middle of the field, which he then dares the opposition to cross.

Argentina: They’ve got a guy on the team named Lionel Messi who is like the Michael Jordan of soccer, so I’m giving this team the edge to win it all. If MJ can get a ring with the likes of Bill Winnington, then Messi can take home the cup. I don’t care if he has to play with Stephen Hawking, Air Bud, Sinbad, and Natalee Holloway’s ghost, he’s kicking circles around the fucking world to win this thing. Argentina in six!

Nigeria: I thought they were part of South Africa or something. Didn’t they shoot Blackhawk Down here? Or Hotel Rwanda. Oh right, that was in Rwanda. Is this where they cut off kids’ hands and make them work in diamond mines? How in the world can a kid mine diamonds with no hands? That makes no sense, but I’ll keep telling my girlfriend that anyway to deter me having to buy her a ring. Point is, more Americans should learn more about Africa. I’m going to google that shit right after writing this. Anyway, I give them a good chance to win some games because genocide makes a country strong and strong countries kick the ball real hard.

Greece: The inventors of democracy… and fucking little boys. I bet if Rome played Greece in a kickball game, it would just turn out to be some giant pedo orgy. Their best player, Jesse Katsopolis, is going to miss the tournament because his band, The Rippers, have a gig that weekend at a teen club. My prediction for the first game: Greece fades in the fourth quarter to get their asses handed to them in a classic 1-0 soccer blowout.

Group C

Algeria: I know nothing about this country. Where is it? It could be next to Mongolia, You’re-Gay, or Alaska, I have no idea. The flag looks a little Communistic, so that’s cool. I bet if they lose the match, all the players will have to go back to their jobs in the pants factory, because everybody in the whole fucking country wears the same pair of pants. To each according to his needs, and they all need to dress alike. I think Trotsky wrote that. I just went to their web page and saw one of their players got amnesty from FIFA. What the fuck is FIFA, do they make wind suits, like the American knock-off of FILA? Or did they just sponsor the World Cup, in the same way Tostitos sponsors the Rose Bowl?

England: I sure hope Jason Statham is on the team, and since he’s probably the biggest dude on the whole island, I’m guessing he is. I’m kidding myself, their best guy is most likely named Pip Shillingsworth and he’s slow, wears tube socks, and keeps his monocle tucked tightly in his bum during matches. Oh, I forgot about David Beckham. Nevermind, isn’t he always hurt? That classic frail English bone structure will never hold up over time. That’s why you’ve got about 6 million guys in London named Oliver who walk with a cane before they are 40 years old. However, our English brothers from across the pond are always clever, cheeky, and resourceful, so you can’t ever count them out. I think they’ll make it to the sweet sixteen.

Slovenia: Isn’t this where Vlade Divac is from? Great, a whole team of aging floppers who talk like Boris from Bullwinkle. You know the best thing Slovenia produces? Slutty porn actresses who do the most depraved, indecent things you will ever see (south of Germany). Plus, I’m pretty sure this team hates each other by now, they probably split into 3 separate teams based on ethnic division during the team’s continental breakfast in a Holiday Inn. The super-kickers are fighting with the infielders. The defensive backs are fighting with the wingmen. It’s probably complete chaos. I bet by the time they have their second match, ethnic cleansing has already taken place in their hotel suite, and five Serbians show up for the next game too tired to even jump for the tip-off.

United States: I, like most Americans, can tell you who is 5th on the depth chart in the Buffalo Bills receiving corps, but I can’t tell you the best soccer player on our team. All I know is we will probably win the whole fucking shit! I’m an American, that means I have confidence without reason. I think I can beat all of you up. I think my dick is the biggest here. I think I’m smarter than every person to walk the earth before me. Oh hell, I think I could probably fly a plane if left alone in one for about ten minutes. Even if we lose, we’ll probably just take another bite out of our cheeseburgers and not give a shit. That alone makes us winners. You know what happens when Ghana loses? A few buildings get burned down and the players all get beheaded. I can’t even comprehend getting that sad about soccer. It’s just kicking a ball! It’s like the oldest game ever! How is that even popular? You don’t see Atari having Pong tournaments popping up all over the world! There are way better games invented, get with it! In football, we’ve got the play action pass, the corner blitz, the double reverse…these are complex strategic plays implemented with the greatest precision by the greatest athletes in the history of the world. How could we care if a guy named Alexi kicks a ball in a net? You know what the best thing a soccer ball ever did? I’ll tell you– it was keeping Tom Hanks company on that deserted island.

And I know there are some other teams, but as a soccer expert, I feel pretty confident that I’ve covered all the relevant ones.

Now, on with the show. And the winners are…

RUTHLESS PLAYER OF THE YEAR: DARIUS VASSELL

This year, Lionel Messi was busy winning everything by redefining what can be done with a ball at your feet – alright, he basically dribbled past everyone who tried to tackle him and scored lots, but he did it really well – and Wayne Rooney dragged an ailing Manchester United team to within a point of the Premier League title, artificially inflating every gullible Englishman’s hopes for the World Cup in the process.

This year, Darius Vassell moved to Turkey. A top flight squad player for Manchester City and Aston Villa best known for putting in a couple of decent international shifts for Sven Goran Eriksson, except for that one where he shanked the penalty that led to their elimination from Euro 2004. Still, you can’t criticise English footballers for missing penalties: that’s like criticising them for being thick, racist and/or rapists. It’s just who they are.

Somehow, Vassell is still only 29. It turns out that’s when the midlife crisis alarm goes off if you’re a footballer. So, rather than start the slide into moving from one top flight relegation candidate to another during his autumn years, Vassell packed his bags and left for Ankaragücü, who no one knows anything about – him included, it turns out. They’re a Turkish side who aren’t Fenerbahçe, Galatasaray or Beşiktaş, basically. Yeah, we were surprised to remember three teams we’d actually vaguely heard of, too.

What followed was the kind of existential breakdown a normal person might read about in novels by depressed Frenchmen when they’re at university, or involuntarily suffers when they try to watch reality TV. He kept a blog, which contained such revelations as them speaking Turkish in Turkey, no one running a football club knowing what the hell they are doing and him living out of a hotel, from which he was summarily evicted after the club didn’t pay his rent. He arrived to a hero’s welcome and became a fan favourite, for those obvious but slightly demented reasons. Last time we checked he was hoping to stick around, but for a different club. Because that still beats earning £20k a week and living in the Midlands, apparently.

RUNNER UP

Michael Owen, for throwing away what little credibility he had left by signing for Liverpool’s biggest rivals, looking out of his depth in top-two side and getting injured. The footballing equivalent of holding a hand grenade in your mouth and pulling the pin, he somehow managed to make even that look boring.

THE PFA AWARD FOR BEING A CUNT EVEN BY THEIR STANDARDS: JOHN TERRY

In undoubtedly the most fiercely contested award, it takes a special kind of obliviousness and arrogance – in place of drive and determination – to take the prize. John Terry managed it by shagging his teammate’s gold digging whore baby-momma, giving her 20 grand to cheer herself up after he made her get an abortion and accepting Fabio Capello’s subsequent decision to strip him of the England captaincy with no dispute only so as not to lose his place entirely. Then lifting the Premier League and FA Cup trophies by playing in a back four with three players markedly better than him.

Granted, if you give anyone with no functioning left side brain cells millions of pounds and blow smoke up their arse for having very well co-ordinated feet their entire adult life, you’re going to end up with at least a few physically fit and very rich psychopaths on your hands. Still, Terry continues to bring a little extra to the table: accused by everyone who could lip read and everyone in the press with a pair of bollocks (that’ll be no one, then) of being sent off for racially abusing Ledley King two seasons ago, he now gets to partner King in defence for the duration of the World Cup, with everybody acting like it never happened.

His other victim, Wayne Bridge, refused to do the honourable thing and deck him, preferring not to shake his hand when he lined up against him for Man City and withdrawing from the England squad until further notice. Still, at least Terry apologised to him in writing, even if he didn’t realise it.

THE LIVERPOOL AWARD FOR SHITTING THE BED: LIVERPOOL

Following last year’s award for throwing away the title, Liverpool improved on it the only way they knew how: finishing seventh.

The trouble arguably started last year, when now-sacked manager Rafael Benitez tried to replace one half of their midfield fulcrum, crack long-ball passer and German substitute teacher lookalike Xabi Alonso, for the older and shitter Gareth Barry, on account of the fact that their narcissistic loon of a captain quite liked Barry and, well, he’s the second-best defensive English midfielder in the world right now, provided you don’t count Owen Hargreaves – easy not to, really, seeing how he’s actually Canadian – and the aforementioned Steven Gerrard, who wouldn’t do anything as uncouth as hold the line or put in a few tackles these days, now that he can race down the middle and punt shots, passes or whatever the fuck they’re supposed to be over Fernando Torres’ head and into the stands.

Anyway, Alonso was sold to Real Madrid for £30m last summer, Barry went to Manchester City and Liverpool fans spent this season implicitly empathising with Arsenal supporters by trying to delude themselves that whatever lightweight replacement trotted out in place of their talisman would come good any day now, as soon as he learned to pass, run and tackle better and gain 20lbs.

Add to the mix two clueless owners who hate each other and have saddled the club in unmanageable debt, some decent players aging past the point of effectiveness and David Ngog and you’ve got the inevitable trainwreck of this season. The low point was arguably them getting dumped out of the FA Cup by a Reading team fighting for their lives in the second tier, but in truth there were quite a few to choose from.

Still, short of getting relegated next season they probably won’t bag this award three years in a row.

THE OFFICE SPACE AWARD FOR WORKING SMART, NOT HARD: CARLO CUDICINI

A few years ago, Carlo Cudicini was one of the top three goalkeepers in the Premier League and had the Opta stats to prove it. Then Jose Mourinho took over at Chelsea, gave him and new signing Petr Cech each a blank slate and… well, it was shitty luck for Carlo that Cech turned out to be amazing, despite only being in his early 20s at the time. Typically, goalkeepers don’t peak until about 10 years after that. Or, if you’re David James… actually, we’ll get back to you on that one. Anyway, Cudicini’s response was simple: realise I’m not number one anymore, get bribed into taking millions to sit on the bench by my new billionaire boss, and stop caring or trying.

After a few years of mysteriously being injured every time Cech was ruled out, leaving Portuguese chancer Hilario to dick about in their place, he confusingly stopped the money-grubbing on the eve of his eligibility for a testimonial and moved across town to Spurs. They’d just signed a lemon in the form of Heurelho Gomes, a man who couldn’t catch a cross if you gave him a supersized lacrosse racket and all afternoon. Needless to say, this was all the incentive history needed to repeat itself and Gomes suddenly found some form. Cudicini, meanwhile, took things to a new level by crashing his motorbike, breaking both his wrists in the process. He’s expected to make a full recovery, but in all fairness he could’ve probably been declared fit with his two broken wrists for all the actual playing he does these days.

THE SPORTSWEAR GIANT AWARD FOR WORKERS’ RIGHTS: EMMANUEL ADEBAYOR

Only rich people, the mentally disabled and the very lazy have never had a job they hated. Emmanuel Adebayor just might be all three, which makes it an extra special credit to him that he’s won this award.

‘Adey’ ditched Arsenal in the summer – the club that discovered him, nurtured his talent by playing him alongside Thierry Henry in his prime and, most importantly, saved him from playing his club football in fucking France – for the mercenary revolution going on at Manchester City. He did this not because he’s an avaricious bastard, you understand – oh, wait he did. Apparently on being told he wasn’t going to get parity with Henry’s final pay day at the club – y’know, the one he got after becoming their all-time top scorer – he cried foul and stormed out in a huff.

This led to a bad-tempered reunion when Arsenal visited Man City early in the season, where he somehow managed to come off as briefly inspirational. In addition to almost scalping former team-mate Robin van Persie – he of unproven rape allegations and glass ankles fame – by trying to tackle his frontal lobe, he inevitably scored as Arsenal capitulated and Man City granned an upset. His goal celebration was to run the length of the pitch and celebrate in front of the away support, getting himself pelted with hamburgers and mobile phones and nearly sparking a mini-riot.

It doesn’t matter that he was entirely in the wrong, totally delusional and that he’ll probably be put out to pasture by City when they sign someone better this summer: who hasn’t ever wanted to stick it to a former employer like that?

THE KRAMER VS KRAMER AWARD FOR TEAMWORK: REAL MADRID

Never ones to dodge our politically correct, quota-filling duties, the last award of the night is a concessionary trinket tossed off to someone not playing their club football in the Premier League. This year it goes to the people’s fascists’ club, if you’re a Spaniard: Real Madrid.

This season, Real took a year off from being lamentable bullies who strongarm millions of taxpayers’ money out of the local government to concentrate on spunking hundreds of millions of Euros in the transfer market instead. Kaka was the most expensive player for a few days, then they signed Cristiano Ronaldo, who was followed by Xabi Alonso for £30m and some full-back from Liverpool who us and them have already forgotten. Oh, and French striker Karim Benzema for €35m, who scored eight goals. The last player Madrid had who was so blatantly surplus to their preferred starting XI, Wesley Sneijder, this year had to settle for being the heartbeat of the Inter Milan team who won every major club competition they entered.

Anyway, back to what Real Madrid did: second in the league, no Copa del Rey and dumped out of the Champions League before the quarter finals for the sixth year in a row. Ronaldo and Gonzalo Higuaín were their two top scorers, but had combined for only three goals at the time of their Champions League elimination. The owner still picks the team, the manager has no job security and the star players have their egos overinflated by the pomp and ceremony of it all. It just goes to show that if you throw enough cash at a wall, none of it will stick. Tune in this time next year for how they fucked up having Jose Mourinho as manager.

That’s all, folks!

The Fall of Tiger Woods

Never has an athlete fallen so fast, completely, and satisfyingly. Touted at once as a history-changing black man and the whitest man on the planet, he has managed to disappoint his most ardent supporters by being, well, black in their eyes. In the course of a long weekend he went from being the bright-eyed savior and living embodiment of the game of golf to a tabloid joke sending sports writers like Rick Reilly into hissy fits and hand-wringing worthy of a neurotic Jewish grandmother. Read between the lines of the commentary and you’ll find the khaki and loafer crowd dipping their heads in disappointment as the one black guy to whom they could all relate let them down by having even worse taste in whores than they do.

Andre Agassi’s Open

Most jock books follow a basic formula of airing some dirty laundry about fucking broads on the road, telling a coach to fuck off, and doing drugs in the bullpen. Rarely do they eviscerate the essential myths that hold up the construct that being a professional athlete is a dream come true. Andre Agassi’s blistering portrayal of himself is nothing less than exhilarating and refreshing and gives me reason to enjoy the sports world again. For all the bullshit and pomp we’re subjected to, sports are not simply unscripted competitions that challenge the essence of human endurance and focus, they are entertainment for the masses. Agassi’s frank admission that he not only spent an entire year on the ATP tour smoking and snorting meth while he tanked matches, but absolutely loathed the game of tennis, is an affirmation that not only is the grass not greener on the other side, but that your neighbor’s yard hides far more bodies than you would care to imagine.

LeBron James: King of the NBA

The general conceit is that professional athletes are childish dunces incapable of making any decision that does not revolve around choosing which club trollop they want to bring home each night. LeBron James is the best and brightest hope for destroying the myth that because you can play ball you cannot make moneymen do your bidding. Shortly after entering the NBA, James fired his professional handlers and agents and replaced them with friends and associates who were deemed amateurs and rubes. Now, one year away from free agency, those same rubes and supposed hoodlums have helped put James on everything from billboards to Nike commercials while helping to put him in position for the greatest free agent contract in the history of the NBA. Make no mistake; James is the greatest business talent to enter the NBA. Michael Jordan needed David Falk. James only needed himself.

18-1

Hubris is the enemy of success and the Patriots, of all teams, should have known better. Never before had a team come so far and done so much only to lose it all when it mattered most. The New England Patriots were on the doorstep of becoming the greatest team the NFL had ever seen, but they spent the lead up to their Super Bowl match up with the New York Giants inviting them to their victory party and talking about how the trip to Arizona was more like a vacation than a business trip. Whereas John Matuzsak and the Raiders spent the week before Super Bowl XV taunting the Eagles by brandishing their cocks and drinking Jack Daniels on Bourbon Street, the Patriots spent theirs granting interviews to Sports Illustrated behaving as if greatness was owed to them and speaking as if the Giants were rejects from the USFL. When they lost, Bill Belichick didn’t even have the decency to shake Tom Caughlin’s hand proving that the character of a man is displayed best when he fails, not when he is successful. Especially when he brings it upon himself.

Kobe Fucks a White Girl in the Ass

In the summer of 2003, Kobe Bryant traveled to Colorado to undergo some routine surgery on his knee. At the time, he was as big as Tiger Woods. He was doing McDonald’s commercials in Italian and was gracing Wheaties boxes, but after he fucked Katelyn Faber in the ass after she made it clear that her pussy would suffice, he was reduced to a childish dipshit who blew his slim chance to supplant Michael Jordan as the most popular basketball player of all time. Then, after the Lakers traded for Karl Malone and Gary Payton and financed the private plane rides back and forth to Colorado to deal with the courtroom drama, Kobe had the nerve to make public comments about Shaq doing the same sort of the thing but just paying the women off. In the end, Kobe got what he wanted – being the man in Los Angeles – but he lost everything he could have been.

Barry Bonds

Oh, Barry, my old friend, every time I think of you I smile. Sometimes I think back to that magical season in 1998 when Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire were stealing your thunder. Remember how you were the best player in the game, but two piece-of-shit hitters with huge holes in their game supplanted you in the press and dominated the headlines? Remember when you literally said, “fuck it,” in 1999 and did what every other asshole in baseball was doing and decided to go on the juice? I do. I loved every page of the leaked grand jury testimony that I read. I loved every second of the BALCO scandal. And I was in absolute rapture as you broke both the single-season and career home run marks while Bud Selig sat watching helplessly. And my heart sings every time I think of you because, without you, I never would have gotten to hear some pontificating dummy named Lance Williams from the San Francisco Chronicle tell me that it is crude to think that athletes will do whatever it takes to win no matter the legal consequences or the threat to their image or legacy. Barry, you will always be my hero.

The End of The Curse

Losing is an art, and for 85 years, no one did it with more style, class, panache, and inventiveness than the Boston Red Sox. Giving up game-winning home runs to overgrown midget shortstops, bumbling managers starting an ace on two days rest, letting Bob Stanley warm up – much less pitch – in a World Series game, selling Babe Ruth, humiliating Jackie Robinson during a tryout; yes, that was the Red Sox. However, in 2004 the greatest practitioners in the art of choking, fucking up, blowing it, and shitting the bed came all the way back from a 3-0 deficit to the Yankees in the ALCS to shock every sports fan on the planet before easily winning their first World Series since 1918. In game four, after decades of bad jokes and horrendous insults, you could actually hear the baseball gods say, “Enough is enough” and swing the momentum Boston’s way. Before anyone knew it, the Yankees were on the wrong end of the greatest comeback in the history of sports leaving their fans in the Bronx depressed and physically ill. That role reversal made for easily the most tangible proof that the world is not all evil.

Charlie Weiss: Charlatan, Con Artist, Fat

Notre Dame never knew what hit them. After being part of a coaching staff that won three Super Bowls in four years, Charlie Weis parlayed devising offensive game plans for Tom Brady into running one of the crown jewels of college football. After the Irish dumped Tyrone Willingham three years into a rebuilding project, Weis was feted as though there was a bidding war for his services even though no other team in football showed the slightest interest in hiring a guy who just had bariatric surgery and needed to be driven around in a gold cart. During his first two years, using talent procured by Willingham, Weis managed to convincingly lose two BCS bowl games and secure a 10-year multi-million-dollar extension. Over the next three years he embarked on a journey of mediocrity and failure that ended with him alleging on national radio that Pete Carroll was shacking up with 20-something-year-old grad students at the beach while he, of all people, was hounded by 60 Minutes for using foul language. There’s bitter and disappointed and then there is just plain classless, untalented and dumb, with Weis illustrating perfectly that success is not dependent on saying the right things at your first press conference. Not bad for a guy who never even played Pop Warner football.

The Oakland Raiders

Warren Sapp, sage, said it best: “Al Davis knows football. 1970’s football.” The problem with historical success is that when failure comes, you think it’s not your fault. Surrounded by pathetic enablers and yes men, Davis has provided some of the finest entertainment in sports by essentially firing Jon Gruden, re-hiring Art Shell, drafting JaMarcus Russell, and gracing us with the spectacle that is Tom Cable. Davis was once an iconoclast whose instincts and willingness to gamble brought him enormous success, but his dementia and his family’s unwillingness to put him a home has reduced the Raiders to a laughingstock on par with the Clippers. It’s sort of sad to see his corpse propped up and dressed in tacky tracksuits, but there is no better window into what the future ultimately holds for Jerry Jones.

Roger Federer is a Boring God

Not since Bjorn Borg wielded a wooden racket and wore grape smugglers has a player so dominated the game of tennis the way Roger Federer has. Though he is now on the wrong side of his prime, but still formidable, there was a five-year stretch where he was simply unbeatable. While players like John McEnroe, Borg, Andre Agassi and Jimmy Connors were painfully human and easy to root for because of their respective emotional outbursts and personal foibles, Federer has cultivated a business-like persona centered around the calm perfectionism, faux class, false modesty, and rigid professionalism that oozes from his perfectly tailored warm up suits and monogrammed socks. Winning his 15th Grand Slam title rocketed him into the stratosphere of the greatest professional athletes. His game is versatile, well-rounded, effective on all surfaces, and essentially perfect, but watching him – save for his matches against Rafael Nadal – is passionless, boring, disaffecting, and devoid of soul, making Ivan Lendl look like a rock star by comparison.

Adendum: Sports Related Youtube of The Decade

Houston @ Miami -3

Tony: Nice try, Sax. Like I’m going to spend any energy trying to pick this piece of shit. Miami will win this game by 24.

Dick: Houston is talented, dynamic, and young, but also incredibly inconsistent and unreliable. Andre Johnson is making noise about bailing if the Texans don’t make the playoffs. Even though the Dolphins have been reduced to Ricky Williams and a cloud of dust, they have better coaching than the Texans and play every game as if Bill Parcells will personally castrate them if they take a play off. Dolphins.

Sax: Kubiak is done. Sparano is not. It doesn’t take a particularly perceptive imagination to figure out which team is going to bring it in week 16. Dolphins are at home, spread is low, no-brainer. Which means Houston will probably win just because God hates me, but fuck it.

Jacksonville @ New England -7.5

Tony: New England is undefeated at home this year ant they’ve won two in a row. Jacksonville is 2-4 on the road, and they’ve lost two in a row. Also … Jacksonville Jaguars. Patriots.

Dick: Aside from Maurice Jones-Drew, the Jags are outclassed at every position by the Patriots. This is the sort of trap game the Patsies have become susceptible to because, frankly, they lose their focus unless they have the press breathing down their neck. Thanks to Randy Moss having a bad game and then being accused of being a washed-up pussy and loser, they got both. Expect gore. Pats by a lot.

Sax: The Pats are still coasting on the reputation they built in seasons past. Brady is hurt and even when he was “healthy” he was kind of a mess, their O-line is the most overrated unit in the history of football, and their secondary is absolutely hopeless, which wouldn’t be that much of an issue if they had any semblance of a pass rush. Which is not to say they will lose to the Jaguars, who are terrible. I just think this spread is too high.

Baltimore @ Pittsburgh -2.5

Tony: Everyone is saying how this game is supposed to be some Boise State – Fresno State barn burner because both defenses are hobbled. I think both of these teams have given up on life and this game will be less 45-42 and more 13-10. I guess Pittsburgh should win by at least a field goal.

Dick: Pittsburgh got away with one last week against Green Bay. They caught the Packers flat-footed early on and then got flat out lucky with a touchdown on the last play of the game. Baltimore is schizophrenic and incapable of carrying any sort of momentum over from one week to the next. They are also missing Ed Reed which means Ben Roethlisberger is going to eat the Ravens for lunch if he can extend some plays. I want to take Baltimore, but the Steelers are pulling one of their patented late-season dashes in spite of having almost no chance at the playoffs. Steelers.

Sax: Hines Ward is a fucking tool, Ben Roethlisberger is fat, Troy Polamalu is injured, and 10% of the population of the greater Pittsburgh area knows how to read. They will still beat the Ravens this weekend. If they weren’t division rivals, I might be inclined to take Baltimore just because, at 8-6, they actually have something left to play for, but the Steelers still probably harbor delusions of making the playoffs and they want to play spoiler for the Ravens anyway. Because they are dicks.

Denver @ Philadelphia -7

Tony: Mother of fuck, Corch Irvin Majors is resigning after the Sugar Bowl, citing health issues. Apparently, Mike Shanahan is on the short list of potential replacements. For those of you too lazy to Google, Shanny was the OC at Florida from 1980-1983. All of this clearly means Denver will cover at Philly this week. CLEARLY.

Dick: Donovan McNabb could beat the Broncos by six points by himself, but if he has Brian Westbrook and his fully intact brain in the backfield, the Eagles will win by 10. Denver’s early-season run was a fluke because they kept getting incredible breaks and weird plays going their way, but the reality is that they are thin on talent on offense, their coach is not that bright, and they get to play the Raiders and Chiefs twice a year. Eagles by a lot.

Sax: Philly is going to fucking destroy Denver whether or not Brian Westbrook plays. I just like putting these games on the slate because Tony will pick Denver no matter what and he is raping me.

Standings
1. Tony (31-24) (2-2 last week)
2. Dick (27-28) (1-3 last week)
2. Sax (23-32) (1-3 last week)

Dallas @ New Orleans -7

Tony: Apparently SOMEONE went to Miami last weekend and drank 715 adult beverages and forgot to write his weekly National Football League picks. I like how my absence leaves Sax helpless to do anything. Why didn’t you write my picks for me, you bitch? Sax is New Orleans and I am Katrina. Sax is also somehow Jerry Jones. And Dick is Mike Gundy from Oklahoma State. And I am LeBron James. Saints.

Dick: Dallas is a complete mess and going through its usual December tank job. Tony Romo is back to holding kicks for some inexplicable reason and Wade Phillips will be fired unless he wins the Super Bowl. The Saints are not really cruising so much as they are winning games on flukey plays and desperation because the defense is a sieve. Saints win, but by no more than four.

Sax: I don’t understand why teams hold onto guys like Wade Phillips. You KNOW he is a bad coach, but somehow it’s immoral to fire him because he didn’t do QUITE poorly enough last year, so you’ll let him stay one more year because there’s a 5% chance the Cowboys might not fall apart like they do at the end of every season? Honestly, it wouldn’t matter if they fired Phillips and brought in a re-animated Vince Lomardi this weekend, Drew Brees is playing the best football at the quarterback position I have ever seen.

Cleveland @ Kansas City -2

Tony: Let’s see … Pittsburgh won the Super Bowl last year and Cleveland recently beat Pittsburgh. So, Cleveland is scientifically the best team in the NFL. Browns.

Dick: If they were playing for the draft rights to Ndamukong Suh we could expect to see players fumble with purpose, passes crisply thrown to defenders, and defensive backs pretending to trip to guarantee a shot at possibly the best defensive line prospect since Mean Joe Green. But that one belongs to the Rams. Instead, this piece of shit will show why Matt Cassel is really a career backup while Eric Mangini tells everyone his plan to ruin both Derek Anderson and Brady Quinn is working to perfection. Since it’s in Kansas City and they have a decent running back, I’ll take the Chiefs.

Sax: Matt Cassel actually looked really good last year. Then again, Daunte Culpepper looked really good throwing to Randy Moss. So did a 48-year-old Randall Cunningham, who, contrary to the opinion of every black football fan, was not in fact the reincarnation of Jesus Christ. Tom Brady was pretty impressive before Moss got to New England, but he was apparently getting fed plays by guys who were stealing the opposing teams’ blitz signals. Ummm… I’m going to punch myself in the face until I forget having that last thought. As for the Bowl of Shit, I’m taking the Chiefs.

Green Bay @ Pittsburgh -2

Tony: What is this, 1998? Green Bay is solid at 9-4 (they finished 11-5 in ’98), but their divisional rival, Minnesota, is a fucking powerhouse (currently 11-2, they finished ’98 at 15-2, and, I don’t know if you heard, but the purple penises scored some points that year). Pittsburgh, on the other hand, is 6-7 and getting worse. They finished 7-9 in 1998 after losing their five final regular season games. Green Bay played at Pittsburgh on November 9, 1998, and Pittsburgh won 27-20. So, there you go. Boom. I should be a fucking sports writer. Steelers.

Dick: Oh, Pittsburgh, this has to be tough because you’ve lost to the Bengals twice and the Browns at home. Now, you’re going to lose to the Packers at home by way more than two points because your best players are hurt, your team has collapsed, and the Packers are gelling. This is going to get ugly fast. Packers by at least a touchdown.

Sax: I don’t trust Aaron Rodgers, and I can’t help but thinking the Steelers have a little something left in the tank, but these feelings are based on nothing, and every rational part of my brain is telling me to pick the Packers. Then again, I am a fucking idiot and getting my ass handed to me every goddamn week. I’m still taking the Packers.

Cincinnati @ San Diego -6.5

Tony: Chris Henry Chris Henry Chris Henry Chris Henry Chris Henry Chris Henry. I choose to believe that Cincy goes into this game fully ready to throw San Diego from the back of their pickup truck. I also choose to believe that this is the week San Diego’s luck runs out. Ochocinco is going to catch touchdown passes so hard they are each going to count for 12 points. Also, nobody likes San Diego including San Diego. Bangles.

Dick: The Bengals are going to come into the game bound and determined to win one for their emotionally unstable dead teammate. Usually, slapping a commemorative number on the back of the helmet inspires grown children Garanimal uniforms to victory, but in this case it has nothing on Phillip Rivers’ personal relationship with Jesus Christ who has let him know that while Chris Henry is in His arms, the game will belong to the Chargers. Chargers cover.

Sax: These are two teams moving in opposite directions. All of a sudden, those wins over the Steelers don’t look so impressive for Ochocinco and company, and the Chargers are marching through the league like Sherman on his way to the sea. I know the Bengals will all be pumped up by the memory of their teammate who in no way bears any responsibility for his death after jumping onto a moving pickup truck as the mother of his children fled from him, but it doesn’t matter. Chargers.

Standings
1. Tony (29-22) (2-2 last week)
2. Dick (26-25) (1-3 last week)
2. Sax (22-29) (1-3 last week)

Tennessee @ Indianapolis -6.5

Tony: It’s currently after 11PM on Saturday night and I am just now typing these picks to send to Sax, which is to say, who gives a fuck about this shit anymore? Uh … Vince Young is better than Tom Collins, but neither are better than Rod Flanders. Colts.

Dick: The Vince Young Rehab Express keeps on chugging along. I don’t know if he is bipolar or suicidal or what, but it sort of seems like he finally figured out that you can’t just run around and win games and that veiled suicide threats are really dumb and childish and decided to, like, learn how to play quarterback. Yes, he carved up Arizona and looked the Blue Fairy made him a real, live quarterback, but their defense is a colander, so I am far from impressed. However, they do have Chris Johnson, and he’s fucking amazing. if Young is just competent, that guy can break the game open. The Colts… are lucky. With all the injuries they’ve suffered they should have at least one or two losses, but Houston is gutless, Baltimore simply blew it, and Flanders is as clutch as Romo is choke. The Colts win a really tough one, but by no more than four.

Sax: The Colts keep pulling close wins out of their ass, they can’t sustain that for an entire season, the Titans are hungry/desperate, and this spread is too big. On the other hand, Vince Young vindicates all practitioners of phrenology. Still, this spread is too much. Titans.

Philadelphia @ Atlanta +5.5

Tony: Mike Vick returns to Atlanta. White people are pissed. Black people are stoked. Given the injuries Atlanta is dealing with, I’m surprised this line isn’t bigger. I can’t not pick the Falcons because Arty Blank reads this site, so … Falcons.

Dick: Don McNabb is really, really good. He’s been carrying the Eagles for years while idiots in Philly boo him, fat fuck Andy Reid drafts his replacement, and Rush Limbaugh keeps intimating that he’s taking a job from some phantom white man who is infinitely more qualified. He’s going to put on a fucking clinic in Atlanta. Did I mention that I used to work with McNabb’s center at Syracuse? He said he used to fart on McNabb’s hands just before snapping the ball to lighten him up. Anyone who can handle a white men passing gas on him during a football game can handle a measly 5.5-point spread. Eagles all the way, bitches.

Sax: So Atlanta is missing their starting QB and starting running back, right? I’m not imagining that? And this spread is less than a touchdown?

Minnesota @ Arizona +3.5

Tony: Is Kurt Warner still hurt? Here, let me just look it up on … oh, fuck it. Vikings by a hundred billion.

Dick: Vegas originally set the line on this one at two and I wondered why it was not multiplied by 10. Seriously, have you seen the Vikings this year? They are shitting all over teams. Didn’t you just see the Cardinals just lose to Vince Young in the fourth quarter? Oh wait, I really think Kurt Warner (and his 18th concussion) can avoid the Vikings pass rush and keep them in the game or even win because Larry Fitzgerald is Jehova at split end. Come on. And I don’t want to hear this nonsense about Adrian Peterson fumbling too much or that the Vikings have beaten a bunch of teams with losing records. Fumbles don’t mean shit when you hang 30 points a game on teams from Green Bay to Detroit to Baltimore to, yes, Arizona. There are only three really good teams in the NFL and the Cardinals are not one of them. Take this gift from Vegas.

Sax: Normally, I would be all set to take the Vikings here, but when Dick starts describing a line as a, “gift from Vegas,” it gives me pause, since he is, after all, an idiot. Still, there’s no fucking way I can pick against the Vikes with a spread that low.

Dallas @ NY Giants +2.5

Tony: It feels like all four AFC East teams play each other every single weekend. Yawn. Giants. (Editor’s Note: I think Tony meant “NFC East,” but I’m leaving that in there as punishment for his poor effort this week.)

Dick: The Cowboys are going to destroy the Giants. Not because they are all that much better, but the Giants have been decimated by injuries and have gone from 5-0 to a massively depressing 6-5. The Cowboys are healthy and have maybe the fourth or fifth best offense in football. The Giants defense gives up 31 points-per-game, Antonio Pierce is out for the season, Eli Manning’s feet are fucked up, and Tony Romo is desperate to shed his choker/pussy label. Dallas by a lot.

Sax: Nothing makes me happier than the return to mediocrity of Eli and the Giants. I can handle one retarded Southerner who donates to Fred Thompson and is in all likelihood a creationist routinely laying waste to the entire league, but not two, especially when they are brothers. The weather does give me pause, as the Cowboys are from Texas and Tony Romo is Mexican, but Eli Manning sucks.

Standings
1. Tony (27-20) (3-0-1 last week)
2. Dick (25-22) (3-0-1 last week)
2. Sax (21-26) (2-1-1 last week)

Note: We are just ignoring the push from last week in the overall standings, because it is annoying to type out three numbers for the rest of the year.