Thursday, October 23, 2008
Why do people always hype up “steel cut” when they’re selling oatmeal? Why does this matter? Does anyone really care about the apparatus used to cut (not cook, or even serve, both of which seem much more important) their breakfast? “Turkey Sandwich with dirt-grown tomatoes.” “127 beers on tap, all served in water-washed glasses.” “Horny secretaries covered in testicle-generated spunk.”
The NFL playing a game in Europe is the most obvious, self-aggrandizing since Michael Jackson named his son Prince Michael. Do the Brits really care about the NFL? Are we bringing over announces too? We’re not leaving this in English hands are we? “LaDainian Tomlinson just wholly whocked that defenseman, he made him look he was two tassels short of a tassel collection.” Viability of that aside, I’ll tell you one thing, when England returns the favor and hosts an unimportant regular season matchup of two very average cricket teams at the Rose Bowl, I will fucking WALK there if I have to!
Honestly, is there anything more moronic than the graphic ESPN showed during MNF comparing Brady’s first six starts to Cassel’s? There’s a certain “it” factor to NFL quarterbacks, a swagger, a confidence that when you walk into that huddle all 10 guys know, not think, know they’re going to win. Brady has it. Peyton has it. Jeff fucking Garcia has it. Young guys like Trent Edwards and Matt Ryan have it. Cassel does not. You can’t teach it, you can’t coach it, like big, beautiful natural C cups. You can fake it, you can work out and get great legs and a great ass, but if you ain’t born w/ beautiful, naturals Cs, you ain’t gettin em. The most telling play happened at the 3 minute mark in the 2nd quarter – 3rd and 10 from NE’s own 12 – Cassel drops back, throws a duck and then is absolutely raped by the OLB. Roughing the passer, 15 yards. The thing is, when that happened, I looked at Cassel and thought, “you lucky fuck.” If that were Brady, I would’ve been thinking, “man, how good is Brady, he totally drew that flag.” You see the difference?
Let me ask you this, if you’re Larry Johnson, why wouldn’t you be spitting on bitches? I mean, name me one woman who has ran for over 1,500 yards in an NFL season? Exactly. Here was Herm’s response when asked about the situation, “You spit on bitches to prove a point! Hello! You spit to prove a point! You don’t spit to just spit! That’s the great thing about spitting. You spit they listen. I don’t care if she’s not listening, you spit to make her listen!”
How long until we see Brett Favre in a tuff guy cell phone commercial? I mean, has anyone’s cell phone been more scrutinized over the last year than this guy’s? So Brett’s in the huddle, waiting for the play to be called in but his helmet mike isn’t working, he’s tapping it repeatedly, looking to the sidelines for help. Close up shot of Eric Mangini with one of his patented “my bologna has a first name it’s O S C A R” facial expressions. Then Brett’s face breaks into a crooked smile and you can see him thinking “hey wait a minute, I’m Brett Favre, I can do whatever I want without any kind of reproach and reprimand” – so he takes a cell phone out of his belt and calls the offensive coordinator in the booth. “Hey, Jim, it’s Brett. I was thinking about a Z post, what do you think?” The offensive coordinator starts to object, but Brett just smiles and hangs up. Brett turns back to the huddle but before he calls the play he fires off a quick text message to Peter King. “Petey, thanks again for the rim job last night. Hope the bruise from my nuts slapping against your forehead gets better. B” Brett puts the phone back in his belt, calls the play and breaks the huddle. Once the ball is snapped, Brett avoids the rush, steps up in the pocket and throws a laser across the middle that is picked off by the safety and returned 87 yards for a touchdown. We fade to black as the announcers praise Brett’s approach to the game and scold the receivers for not being within 25 yards of the throw.
Wade Phillips doesn’t have the hair to win a Super Bowl. He looks like a guy you’d buy stamps from. For non-baseball watchers like me, here’s a quick guide to how you can tell which team is going to win the World Series: always pick the team with the most disheveled looking manager. The Rays’ manager is way to put together after 180 games; he looks like a history professor at a community college. But the Phillies’ guy? That fat tub of shit is exactly what you want in the World Series. High School Musical 3: Senior Year, much more crowd-friendly than the original title: School Musical 3: Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha. Anyone seen the new 90210? Jenny Garth and Lori Laughlin on the same show? Are you kidding me? That’s like Tony Danza fucking Alan Thicke! Hey, why stop at 18 games, NFL? Let’s make it 20! Wait, 25! Let’s play all year round! Come on, dickweeds, you know what the correct answer here is, don’t you? Adding more games to the most violent sport in history that doesn’t involve a tiger or the words “Pam Anderson” and “fisting” (very popular sport in Finland, although it's called "pfisting" there) is like getting an incredible blowjob and then asking the chick to dance and blow bubbles with your milkshake. Just enjoy your success and watch Seinfeld.