Jets & Jersey Tell Me I Can't Have a Beer @ Sunday's Game: Agree to Disagree

Nothing About Being a Jets Fan is Easy

Let's get right to it. There will be no alcohol sold at Sunday's Jets/Bengals game at the Meadowlands. Jets brass along with the New Jersey Sports & Exposition Authority have decreed such. I will be attending Sunday night's contest. I would like to call bulls%$t on this decision.

A few things. First off, I get where they are coming from. I really do. It doesn't mean I agree with it. The Jets have done this before. They've pulled the plug on beers for Monday night Dolphins games and even in the 2007 home finale in response to the "Gate D" neanderthals. On those occasions, I didn't put up much of a fuss. This Sunday is a bit different. This Sunday it will be in the 20s and snowing and fans will be coming out in force to brave the elements. Why? Because this Sunday is the last Jets game in the Meadowlands. This Sunday the green-and-white can go to the playoffs with a win. So, this Sunday I don't think it's too much to ask for beers at $6 and change to be available -- at least until halftime.

I'm 32 years old. Sunday night will be a late one (yes, getting old), and I'll be returning to work the following Monday morning after a holiday break. I've got enough brain cells not to pound a dozen beers in four hours. I realize that the same doesn't apply for the entire crowd that will show up on Sunday. But, despite the hype, this tends to be a fairly small minority (who are usually quickly tossed).

Tickets to a Jets game are not cheap. Home games with Sunday's "significance" (historical and with postseason implications) don't come along often for this squad. Is it that much to ask for the Meadowlands to make a bit more beer money off its fans for another hour and a half before shutting its doors? C'mon folks, we're talking playoffs. Playoffs!

I blame these guys...

Trimming the Absurd Gristle of Bowl Season: A Simple Guide

Those who frequent this blog are aware I love college football. Yet, as I took in some lukewarm bowl
"action" this weekend, something happened for the first time in the course of my long love affair with collegiate pigskin. When my dad dropped his familiar (annual) "is this the who cares bowl?" refrain, I found myself quietly acquiescing. Not laughing mind you, but, in my lack of response, I was tacitly agreeing that the bowl bonanza has finally -- officially -- spiraled out of control.

This is not about a playoff debate. This is about preserving some bowl game integrity. It's about how these games can retain (or regain) some pageantry. It's about getting back to bowl games that fill stadiums, and feature premiere teams from standout conferences. This is about real bowls that are nouns and often represent common household products - like cotton, sugar and orange.

Point is, I've had it. In thinking more on the topic, I think the solution is simple (ignoring all the real issues, money and all that nonsense). With only a few simple guidelines, I think we can immediately reduce the number of bowl games (34 this "season") and, in so doing, dramatically increase the quality and integrity of the bowl season. Did I mention I've only got three rules? Wanna hear 'em? OK, here goes. Keep track as we quickly reduce the current slate and vastly improve the roster simultaneously. I'll provide updates on the "master counter" as we proceed. Shall we?

34 (number of current bowl games; 2009-10)

Rule #1: Eliminate all Bowl Games Named After Cities or States
Seriously, if you've got to name a bowl after a city or state what the hell does it say about that bowl game? Aren't these things supposed to be about football and not giant ads for tourism authorities? I'm cool with showing off the venue city once teams roll into town, but c'mon.

Put rule #1 into effect immediately and say peace out to the New Mexico Bowl, St. Petersburg Bowl (which even with next year's name change would still get the axe under one of my other rules to come), New Orleans Bowl, Hawaii Bowl, Music City Bowl and Texas Bowl.

Bowl Games Eliminated Under Rule #1: 6
Bowl Game Slate Down to: 28


Rule #2: Eliminate All Bowl Games Where Sponsor Has Become THE Name of Bowl
I have no problem with Chick-Fil-A wielding their massive fried chicken superpowers to slap their name alongside the always-fine Peach Bowl. They've got some nerve, though, taking it over altogether. Same goes for a whole slew of even more sordid characters -- from pizza titans to auto care giants. Under my rule, they're all getting the boot. That means uh-oh for the Maaco Bowl, thanks for playing Little Caesar's Pizza Bowl, tough nuts Emerald Bowl, why don't you not go to Meineke Car Care Bowl and adios to the Eaglebank, Champs Sports, Insight, Chick-Fil-A, Outback, Capital One, GMAC and Papajohns.com (the no .com bowl is an unwritten and imperative sub-clause of this rule).

Bowls Eliminated Under Rule #2: 12
Bowl Game Slate Down to: 16


Rule #3: Eliminate All "Adjective Bowls"
Just because it makes no sense. It just doesn't. Don't ask me why, but they feel weird Admit it, you feel the same way too. Yes, humanitarian can be a noun, but let's just say so long to the Humanitarian Bowl and International Bowl (plus, the latter is played in Canada which is just ridiculous).

Bowls Eliminated Under Rule #3: 2
Bowl Game Slate Down to: 14

With the following rules implemented, the total number of bowls is decreased by more than half. The remaining bowls make complete and utter sense, at least to me. You've got the five big BCS games (never mind that whole deal) with the title game, Orange, Fiesta, Sugar and Rose. Add to those fellow solid, traditional noun bowls like the Sun, Holiday, Independence, Liberty, Gator, Cotton and Alamo. That's 12. 12 old-school bowl games that have been around the block. Good, strong, American bowls. The only two left? Pointsettia and Armed Forces.

Granted, the Armed Forces Bowl may seem a bit stupid, but whom am I to be unpatriotic. The Pointsettia Bowl? Hey, it doesn't violate any of the three major tenets above, so I guess it can stay. Plus, it sure is festive.

Whaddya think? Is anybody going to miss the MAC/Conf USA duel in the Little Caesar's Pizza Bowl? Or for that matter the four-loss Wildcats and Tigers matching up at the Music City Bowl? How 'bout Middle Tennesee and Southern Miss in the New Orleans Bowl? Exactly. Someone get me Senator Hatch on the phone.

Remembering Sports X-Mas Gifts Past: Top 10 of Yesteryear

A Christmas Day Lock for Years

Happy holidays, all. As we approach the eve of Christmas, it seemed time to get all nostalgic up in this piece. I'm 32 and lucky enough that I can't legitimately claim there are tons of things (OK, anything) I desperately need for the holidays.The case wasn't that different back in the day, but, hey, I was a "kid." Kids get mad gifts, and my mom does gift-giving like nobody's business.

Fortunately for her, when I was a young buck, "unlocking the mystery" behind my holiday gift desires was as hard as kindergarten algebra. Between the ages of say 6-16, you were safe giving me any sort of officially-licensed NCAA or pro sports apparel. Depending on the exact age there were slight deviations in the formula, but going the sports route was pretty safe in those years before I passed into shirts, sweaters and ties territory.

Here's a rundown of top 10 "sporting gifts" from my youth that consistently generated fits of giddiness (at least most of them). Let me know if you're feeling me, and hit me your recollections in the comments.


10. Topps "Traded"/Rookie Sets: For more years then I'll admit, the Topps "Traded" set under the tree was LOCK CITY. Hell, I could pick out that small rectangular box of 100 or so cards of recently-moved and just-called-up goodness quicker than a Vince Coleman stolen base. Donruss's "The Rookies" sets were also frequently in the mix. Speaking of which, what's the general consensus on what do with all those cards? I've got easily 50 full sets of everything from baseball to hoops to the USFL. Part of me has delusional visions of sitting and taking some future offspring through those cards as he looks on in wide-eyed wonder. The other part thinks mortgage.

9.Costacos Bros. Posters: We've been down this path a few times before, but it doesn't make these pieces of ART any less relevant or take away from their gift awesomeness quotient. Did I mention Mom made me put these things in the basement? Curious why she didn't let me have free reign with the hammer or fun tack on the ole bedroom walls? Hmmm...


8. "Basement Games": Can't come up with a better name for this genre. In my family, there was always one "big" gift that came at the very end of the x-mas morning extravaganza and was usually hidden in some sneaky location. The basement games fell into this category a few times. Although my model was not as fine as the one pictured above, the air hockey set-up was a memorable winner. Knock hockey just couldn't compete. Wooden sticks versus aerodynamic saucers with that luscious air poking through those holes? Can you hear it? Can you feel it? No. Contest.


7. Caricature T-Shirts: Is this not an idea whose time needs to come again? I friggin' LOVED these tees. Sure, looking back they're potentially a bit politically incorrect (Straw does have a big schnoz, but c'mon folks). Isn't that fun though once in awhile? I had Doc, Straw, 'Nique, and I'm sure others. For a tremendous walk down caricature t-shirt memory lane, check out The Sports Hernia's multi-part series -- phenomenal work.


6. Insert Team-opoly: I know I'm not alone on these, right? No offense, mom, but I never really liked Monopoly to begin with. Adding decades of Jets or Mets glory moments to the board doesn't sweeten the pot. Plus, there is no "get out of jail free" card for fans of my teams. You're a lifetime prisoner.


5. Sports Toys: Pogo ball. Aerobie. Kadima. You get the gist. Although nothing come close to this icon.



4. Champion Mesh Shorts: It didn't matter the team, and it still doesn't. I think I have at least five pairs of these shorts from various teams and institutions to which I have no affiliation. They date back to the 90s. They are awesome. I will wear them until the elastic completely disintegrates. Still a viable gift.


3. Jerseys: Alright, we're making the full turn into officially-licensed apparel land. Jerseys were more of a special gift, but this was fertile ground for me for at least a decade. In keeping with the theme, "coolness" outweighed team allegiances or geographical ties. Hence, the Bad Moon Rison jersey (of course, there were others). Oh, how I loved thee.


2. Fitteds: OK, any sort of team hat really. I had a ridiculous hat addiction growing up. It was debilitating at times. Christmas was just another occasion to collect more lids. Fitted preferred. What's that, ma? Which ones? Doesn't really matter. Hit up the two-for-20 deal and make sure it's got a cool mascot logo on the back. How annoying was it when you fluctuated between sizes, by the way? 7 or 7 1/8. Really depended on the haircut for me. Always a tough call on size, but unquestionably a solid gift.


1. Starter Jacket: Perhaps the granddaddy of them all. The Starter Jacket was transcendent. Wear one and you simply oooozed cool. My UNLV Starter Jacket (as I once related to Steady Burn for his great homage-paying post) stands in the pantheon of my all-time greatest Christmas gifts. Others have also waxed proper on the mystical, magical Starter jacket, so I won't carry on in trying to explain the phenomenon. Instead, I will just fondly recall my fire-engine red Runnin' Rebs model replete with the handlebar-mustached master Rebel, six shooters holstered, ready to run-and-gun. I wore that jacket OUT. By the time it was officially retired, it was a dull orange. Its legacy, however, still shines on with great splendor.

Ahhh, those were the days. Happy holidays, folks.

The Basketball Jones Goes NBA Caroling: A+

Starting to really get in the holiday spirit. Will be coming at you in short order with a nostalgic post you'll be sure to love. In the meantime, for any real, true NBA lovers (which I am admittedly not), if you're not consistently checking out the daily podcasts from The Basketball Jones you should be ashamed of yourself. Skeets (of Yahoo! Ball Don't Lie renown) and Tas are two of the harder-working more creative dudes in the sports blog-o-sphere, Interweb-type environment.

Here's their recent caroling effort to spread some cheer - NBA style. It features classics like Bonner the Redhaired Raptor. Enjoy.

Big Red, Baby!

Let me revel for a nanosecond. It's not frequently I can speak of my alma mater and sports with any sort of relevance outside of games played with sticks on ice and grass. So, let me enjoy this for a moment. Pictured at left are your 2009 Holiday Festival champs. These is the 9-2 Cornell Big Red hoops squad.

I've got no unrealistic visions of grandeur, but it was good to see the Big Red beat Davidson at the buzzer and then go on to take down the Johnnies at the Garden last night. Kudos as well to the Big Red for their scheduling which has already taken them to Tuscaloosa (where they beat 'Bama to open the season), pitted them against big East foes in 'Cuse, the Hall and St. John's, as well as Bucknell, Vermont and St. Joe's (all wins). Coming up, a January 6th match up against the Jayhawks in Lawrence.

Here's hoping the Big Red plows through the Ivy League schedule early next year and sets up a third straight title and trip to the dance. A win in March would be my next wish. It never hurts to dream...

Phoenix Suns Go Almost Famous on "All Night Long" (sort of)

We dig this Phoenix team. Check 'em out going all Almost Famous with Lionel Richie instead of Elton John. Results are...mixed (via The Big Lead).



And just for kicks...

My Jets-Falcons Sunday: RU F-in Kidding Me? Honestly?

Seriously? This sh*t is getting re-g-d-damn-diculous. Before I go ranting and raving about this afternoon's abortion of a Jets game, I'll remind everyone (most importantly myself) that none of this is surprising. In fact, the current 7-7 mark is one most Jets fans would've signed up for in a heartbeat at season's start. Hell, only a month ago I was ready to give props to Ryan and crew if they were able to win three straight (against Carolina, Buffalo and Tampa) and "make a run at .500." Phew, glad I got that out of the way.

Since then, the Jets had to go ahead and do what they do. They had to work their way into a situation that made their fans think something was possible. I mean pieces were falling strangely into place. Sanchez was managing not to throw it to the other team. The defense was playing better again. The playoffs weren't completely out the realm of possibility. Right?

Wrong. That was obviously the answer. It always has been. But the Jets had to tease, it would only be right. So, this morning I bundled in 17 layers, optimistically boarded the NJ Transit bus bound for hell (ummm, I mean the Meadowlands) and settled in for what would prove to be another torturous afternoon of the green-and-white. Another live jaw-dropping experience in which my beloved green slime found new and always-innovative ways to give away a game and, in this case, playoff hopes.

This fine afternoon it was three picks, a bumbled field goal snap, a missed 38-yarder, a blocked field goal, ill-timed personal foul penalties, one porous defensive drive (in an otherwise sterling performance) and a partridge in a pear tree. No need to regurgitate the agony. Losing on fourth-and-goal was a nice, creative touch, though. On a side note, Darrelle Revis is unbelievably nasty and today was just another glorious illustration. I've never seen a corner like him, at least not in a Jets uniform that much is certain. The only bright spot.

Yes, the Same Old Jets indeed. At least my feet have finally defrosted...

Coming Next Year...The Beef 'O'Brady's Bowl!

National Icon, Bowl Sponsor

I've waxed poetic on the whole ridiculous bowl names/sponsors topic once before in these parts. So, I'll refrain this evening. Truth be known, I'd intended only to discuss the strange awfulness in that the bowl season kicked off today, December 18th, with the New Mexico and St. Petersburg bowls. There's so much wrong with that sentence that I wouldn't even know where to begin.

Instead, I was slightly distracted from that route because we've got a new bowl sponsor to look forward to next year! Beef 'O' Brady's! That's right folks. Beef 'O' Brady's (not O'Brady's) has forked over its entire marketing budget to snag naming rights for the 2010 edition of the St. Petersburg Bowl (which tonight features Rutgers and UCF). Beef's has over 260 locations with a stronghold in the Southeast.

Strangely, I've never heard of them, but you gotta love B.O.B's for throwing their name in the ring and taking a chance. Hell, I haven't come to the point in life yet where I need to shop for a weed eater. But you can be damn certain the moment I do, I'll be making a beeline to Poulan. Do you remember how many years they sponsored the Independence Bowl?! I sure do. That mean's they gotta be good?

So, best of luck to you Beef 'O' Brady's. Hopefully, your 2010 bowl naming will lead to millions more customers ummm, voting for beefs, or something. Now, finally, fine collegiate athletes will be able to exclaim with glee: "We're goin' to the Beef 'O' Brady's Bowl!" Won't that be sumpin'?




UPDATE: So far, so good for Beefs.

Can the Mets Get a New Stove, Please?

We Mets fans are a generally miserable lot. We bitch incessantly. We think we're smarter than everyone else, in particular our GM (no matter who he may be). We always want more, because, well, we think we deserve more for our immeasurable suffering. So, the hysterics of Mets fans already this off season may seem a bit overblown. They probably are, but that's what we do.

It's in this context, that I'd like to ask for a new stove. Ours is clearly broken. I want a return and a full refund. The Mets stove is not hot. It's not even tepid. I've had stadium pretzels warmer than the Mets offseason to date (which is a whole 'nother topic by the way...how hard is it to serve a hot pretzel that's actually hot? the pretzels at stadiums these days are awful...they should learn something from those guys outside the meadowlands with the charcoal and the grocery carts...anyway). Sure, there are talks of Jason Bay, and we wouldn't be mad at that. Yet, I've got no faith.

Instead, our stove has kicked into gear most noticeably on Bengie Molina and Ryota Iragashi. Bengie Molina and Ryota Iragashi!! C'mon, Omar, at least pretend. What's more is that Molina, who I once tabbed as possibly the worst cleanup hitter in history, wants a three-year deal. You don't give fat, average catchers three-year deals. You certainly don't give fat, average 35 year-old catchers those type of deals. Molina is a perfectly serviceable catcher -- for a year with a semi-platoon with Santos. It would be ludicrous to invest in any longer a contract. But this is the same team that gave a four-year, $25M deal to a 32-year old second basement who knees were falling apart and couldn't stay healthy period. That worked out well.

Who knows? Maybe Omar shrewdly worked the winter meetings and is avoiding any hasty moves that are a result of feelings of pressure from a psycho fan base. Maybe Iragashi is the real deal, Molina will come for a year and Bay will be our man in left. Or, just maybe, our stove is busted, and it's time for a completely new model. The wheels on the bus go round and round...

Your Obligatory Iragashi Preview

Lots of Sports to Write About...And, Yet...JERSEY. SHORE.

A few admissions. First, I've been slacking on the blog lately. Second, I haven't been watching that much sports action. One and two are inextricably linked. To be honest, I missed most of this Sunday's Jets game because, well, we had brunch. Yes, I'm getting old.

However, tonight I'm home and there's plenty from the world of sports to write about. The Mets stove has been tepid and fans are predictably starting to buzz. Two huge pitching names in Lee and Halladay are supposedly on the move, with another primetime starter in Lackey about to ship to a new venue. Godzilla is gone. DeSean Jackson tore up the G-Men last night. Brandon Marshall caught 21 balls in a game? I even have an excuse to cop out on "sports talk" with A-Rod and Kate Hudson goin' Splitsville. I can't even manage. Jersey Shore has rendered me speechless.

I'm not an MTV guy. I haven't been since Dial MTV had Ratt, Dangerous Toys, Winger, Bullet Boys and other infamous hair bands dominating the nightly countdowns. Sure, I watched The Real World, but it's probably been a decade. When was that Puck guy on? Anyway, point is it's been quite awhile since I sat down and watched any MTV "programming," let alone DVR'd something to view. Technically, I didn't this time either. Truth be told, after significant alcohol consumption I allowed my buddy and his wife to take control of our remote and record the series last weekend -- begrudgingly to say the least. Bless their souls. I've never seen anything like it.

I won't preach to the growing masses, but Jersey Shore is one of those indulgent so-terribly-awful it's amazing can't-miss experiences. If you're holding out, trust me, get involved. Un-freakin-real. Mouth agape. All the worst stereotypes of Italian-Americans brought to life in real human beings that one would think had to be fake, unless, like me, you've seen these creatures out in NJ in their natural habitat. Still, to see this "lifestyle" through the eyes of eight self-proclaimed guidos and guidettes produces television drama that is nothing short of stunning.

Drink in the fake tans, perfectly-gelled hair, Italian flag tattoos, silicon, inflated biceps and beer muscles. You will feel dumber, and you'll enjoy it - immensely. It has impacted me to such a degree that I'm temporarily speechless. I've got nothing else. This show has every aspect of that old expression on train wrecks. You HATE yourself for spending a minute of your life rubbernecking, but you physically CAN NOT peel your eyes away.

I'll get back to the real sports soon...

How Good is John Wall, Really?

How Great is the Wall?
AP Photo

Irregardless of the completely over the top hype, not to mention Dan Schulman and Dick Vitale pounding home just how much energy there was at MSG last night, it actually came through on the tube. Last night's UConn/Kentucky showdown felt different. While the sloppy and frenetic play gave a strong hint this was an early season affair, the competitiveness and, yes, the energy(!) was March-like. After watching him for the first time from start to finish the question is obvious: just how good is John Wall?

Well, if you listened to Dickie V. gush and Schulman relate stories from coaches across the country and NBA scouts galore, he's as good or better than Derrick Rose and Jason Kidd. Wall is the greatest college point guard we've seen in decades they say. What did I see? I saw a little bit more of what Coach Calipari talked about post-game -- a freshman with boundless talent who hasn't quite figured out how to corral or control it quite yet. A scorer? Unquestionably? Point guard? TBD.

The things that jumped out? Sick speed, a nasty handle (though, ironically, also frequently out of control) and superb quickness. Wall also has a demeanor that screams silent assassin. That's totally cliche, but there's a subtle swagger noticeable in the sense of someone who has supreme confidence in his abilities. There's not much chest-pounding (which I like), but just underneath the surface you can tell he's a ruthless competitor. Meaning, there's no hint of that aloofness that was pegged to say a Michael Beasley.

On the other hand, Wall is like a race car driver who knows he's got the fastest ride and can't wait to prove it. Unfortunately, he's so eager to burn past everyone else that he forgets about avoiding other vehicles, occasionally throttling it down and keeping his eyes open peripherally as opposed to singularly straight ahead. Those point guard qualities of orchestration, setting up teammates and dictating the flow and pace of the game were also noticeably absent last night. As Vitale pointed out, Wall (not to mention the whole team) also looked completely uncomfortable in the halfcourt set. He's going to need to learn how to do that. Games like Wednesday's at the Garden, where it seemed virtually no jumpers were taken and everything was an easy bucket or in transition, aren't going to happen every night.

So, what's the takeaway? Wall's not like many freshman we see in college basketball. His engine has another gear and his combination of speed, skills and size are special. He's also just like most freshmen - a bit undisciplined, mistake prone and still trying to feel at home in his new skin. Seeing where he is in March will be a story worth watching. Surely, tons of NBA scouts will have eyes affixed.

The WTF, Whudda Thunk It, Remember When Sports Decade Retrospective

Aren't you f-in sick of these decade-ending, sappy-ass sports retrospectives out there? All-decade team this. Plays of the decade that. Seriously, how damn lazy and uncreative can people get? It's a new decade. Whooptie-damn-do. Do you give a sh*t? Me neither.

So, in honor of all those dullard journalists, bloggers and anybody else with a platform from which to speak who's mindlessly perpetuating this drivel, I'm going to do the same exact thing. Yup, because I'm lazy as hell too and don't get paid nothing for this here blogging job. Looking back at the decade that was here's some of the WTF, whudda thunk it events, occurrences and moments that you may recall. Crank up the DeLorean, we're heading back to 2000, people.

Remember when in 2000...Dennis Miller on Monday Night Football was the Real Y2K Disaster
Shockingly, there is no easy-to-find video of Miller's actual commentary from his season in the Monday Night Football booth. Apparently, few felt Miller's time alongside Michaels and Fouts should be preserved for posterity. Being fair, I remember thinking back then that this wasn't the worst idea ever. Miller was his witty self at times and had a few sterling moments. Gotta give ABC some credit for taking a shot. It just didn't work. Even Jackie Broyles knows such is true.



Remember When in 2001...Jordan was Favre, Before Favre
Before all the Favre retirement ridiculousness, another sporting fella was pulling the same melodramatic crap -- his name was Michael Jordan. In 2001, he made his second comeback with the Washington Wizards. That still sounds incredibly strange to say, write or hear. The BBC, one of the preeminent news organizations in the world, covers the story with distinction. What is this "basketball" again?



Remember When in 2001...The XFL was Founded...and Died.
He Hate Me and sky cams are McMahon's legacy. The inaugural and final year's MVP? Anyone, anyone? Tommy Maddox is correct. If you got that, you should have yourself checked out. You never would've thought this league was doomed if you were to judge by its commercials. Ummm...




Remember When in 2002...the Rockets Drafted Some Massive Asian Man
That was pretty weird, right? And then it wasn't.


Remember When in 2003...Steve. Bartman.
Sorry, Cubs fans. On a side note, I'd never seen this video, but it pretty much sums it up.


Remember When in 2004..."Malice at the Palace"
Before Ron Artest was certified completely crazy, he established what will be his greatest/worst legacy (and began to convince anyone of the non-believers of his craziness). See #1 from below for a refresher.



Remember When in 2005...The Washington Nationals were Born
No, you don't recall? What's that? You have no idea what sport or league the Washington Nationals are a part of? Can't name a player? Yes, we understand. Fittingly, all I can find on the YouTube of their D.C. home opener back in '05 is this shaky video taken from the 500 level at RFK Stadium. There have been 42 views of this historic video. Go figure.


Remember When in 2006...Dennis Green Coined a Phrase for the Ages
Yes, it was three years ago now that Dennis Green ensured his place within the annals of all-time greatest coaches rants. More importantly, he inspired sports fans everywhere to use the following seven words in a wide variety of sporting and social contexts. You're damn right it is what you think it is.


Remember When in 2007...The Best Football Game I've Ever Seen was Played
Sometimes I watch clips of this game, and I shake my head in bewilderment like it's the first time I'm seeing it. Fiesta Bowl. Boise St. Oklahoma. For a second, let's put aside the fact that most college football old-schoolers didn't even buy the Broncos had a snowball's chance in hell against big bad Big 12 Sooners. Then, there was the game. Watch it again. Yes, the hook-and-lateral is ridiculous. Absolutely, the statue-of-liberty two-point conversion was insane. But did you recall that Boise St. jumped out to a 14-0 lead in this one and was up 28-10 in the third only to give up 25 unanswered to the Sooners? Yes, OU's comeback was just as absurd to take a late 35-28 lead. Do you recollect that there two ginormous fourth-down plays for the Broncos in there, one of which was a halfback pass? Before the two-point conversion decision for the win??? Reedonkulous.


Remember When in 2008...Plaxico Burress Shot Himself
This is surely going to be one of those funny storytelling moments we pass on to the next generation. Perhaps one we temporarily forget only to have our memories triggered, at which time we gleefully laugh and envision a glock tucked inside the waistband of a pair of sweatpants...of a mega-millionaire athlete...in a NYC club. Silly Harris Smith.


Remember When in 2009...Fill in the Blanks People
What's that random WTF sports moment we'll look back on at the end of the next decade and and recall with nostalgic bliss? Think we're living it right now? I'd tend to agree.

That's my "retrospective." Out.

Suh and Spiller Steal the Saturday Show

I thought about titling this post "The Ndomitable Suh," but it seemed just a little too easy. "Another Spiller Thriller," was also a bit too trite for the taking. Like thousands of other diehard college football fans, I eagerly anticipated Saturday's slate of games. In a season that has lacked that certain intangible quality that intrigue and excitment can combine to produce, yesterday's lineup was replete with those storylines we love to hype: the final game in the storied career of St. Tebow; #1 against #2 for the SEC title and a trip to Pasadena; stages for McCoy, Shipley, Tebow and Ingram to put a stamp on their respective Heisman resumes; the Bearcats aiming to remain in the mix.

Yet, for anyone who watched most of the action, despite the late-game heroics in Dallas and Pittsburgh and impressive individual efforts from the backfield in Crimson, two men stole the show. And, now it's going to be damn hard to convince me that Ndamukong Suh and C.J. Spiller aren't the two best college football players in the country.

Spiller and Suh turned in two of the most dominant performances of the season -- which are only made more impressive by the stage (conference championship games) and the notion that they were likely the focal point of their respective opponent's game plans. Let's start with Suh. Simply put, it's been ages since I've seen a defensive lineman dominate/control a game to the degree #93 did in Dallas last night. Suh tossed around a veteran interior Texas offensive line and was everywhere on seemingly every play. He lived on Texas's side of the line of scrimmage registering 4.5 sacks and 7 tackles for loss.

Suh finished with 12 tackles, 10 of them solo. Taken collectively, these are absurd numbers for any defensive player. For a defensive tackle playing against one of the country's top offenses, hell playing against anybody, they are unheard of. We've been brainwashed by the Heisman pose that the recipient of the award needs to be one who constantly has the ball in his hands. How about his 10 pass deflections this season? Well, if the Heisman is about "best" more than hype we should see Ndamukong in NYC.



Then, there was Spiller. While Suh was single handedly keeping the offensively-challenged Huskers (pun intended) in the game against the 'Horns, C.J. was covering Kyle Parker's pedestrian 10-17, 91-yard 2 pick effort by running over, around and through the Georgia Tech defense to the tune of over 300 all-purpose yards, including 233 rushing on 20 carries and four touchdowns. I wrote about Spiller's explosiveness a few weeks back following a similar dismantling of the Seminoles. This was like deja vu all over again. Great vision, blazing speed and (hold the vomit) a will to win that you can see just as much as any of the tear-shedding types (see: McCoy, Tebow), all despite supposedly operating at somewhere less than 100%.

Spiller's night tops a season in which he has garnered over 2,000 all-purpose yards and reached the end zone 19 times. Now, granted, his FSU and Ga. Tech showstoppers were against defenses that haven't shut down much of anything this season. However, in the one game on the schedule against a top-10 rated defensive unit (TCU, #5), Spiller put up solid numbers with 112 yards rushing, 79 receiving and a score (along with 36 yards on two punt returns). Regardless, watching this kid play he's consistently been the best player on the field week-after-week. It's not his fault he hasn't lined up against the likes of a Nebraska, Alabama or Florida defense.

If you ask me, I got to watch the two best all-around players in college football yesterday. Here's to hoping others saw enough of the same to invite Mr. Suh and Mr. Spiller to Manhattan.

D-Backs Zavada Reflects on National Mustache Honor

Back in November, Arizona Diamondbacks reliever Clay Zavada took home an award bigger than the the Rolaids Relief Award. An honor more prestigious than the Cy Young or even the MVP. In fact, Zavada's achievement transcended sports, as evidenced by the men nominated to stand alongside him. We are of course referring to his winning of the internationally-recognized "Robert Goulet Memorial Mustached American of the Year Award."

Recently, the 2009 recipient of this high honor sat down with members of the esteemed American Mustache Institute. Zavada speaks of the impact his mustache played in his dominance on the mound, its role in inspiring other mustached Americans and the avalanche of emotion he experienced after hearing his name announced as this year's winner. Compelling and rich.

Zulu Cthulu Lives!

Meet Zulu Cthulu
Photo Compliments of the Always-Delicious KSK

I ain't gonna lie. Work is getting in the way of this blogging thing of late. I'm doing my dangdest, folks. Hang with me. It'll come back around. In the meantime, as I've mentioned before, there are a plethora of folks out there penning stuff infinitely more clever than I can approach. For anyone of the uninitiated (and, honestly, you should be ashamed of yourselves if this is the case), Kissing Suzy Kolber remains one of my favorites.

It has been since day one. KSK is what every blogger wishes he or she had the cojones to be and bring to the table - great writing, wicked creativity and tons of good ole-fashioned raunch. I [heart] them. Anyway, point is times are such that I direct you to other's sterling content. In this case, KSK declares Titans superback Chris Johnson Zulu Cthulu. Go read this post for the background and this one for the explanation on the new moniker. Or if you're too damn lazy, Zulu Cthulu is part African warrior, part unstoppable cosmic terror. I say a third part awesome.

The real entertainment, as is frequently the case, is in the comments of the quite witty KSK followers. Do yourself a favor and read them. It's worth the time. Although I love the originality of Zulu Cthulu, I've got soft spots for Cop Speed, Yard Raper and Rushtoofarian. If only I were so clever...we leave you with the inspiration for Cop Speed. Regardless, fear Zulu Cthulu...and love Gus Johnson.

Anyone Else Feel Like the Sports World Has Inexplicably Turned Upside Down?

Wha-ha-happened?

WTF, people? For ree-uhl?? Anyone else feel like the sports world has temporarily slid off its axis? Like someone transported you to an alternate universe and didn't bother to share the memo? Not following me? Try.

As I sat around tonight wondering what the hell to share on this here forum, it hit me that if you'd told me half the stuff going on in the sports world today a year ago...a month ago...or a week ago...I'd be at the least taken aback and at worst highly offended that you would insult me with such absurd fantasy. Here's my top five head scratchers for this fine Tuesday evening:

5. Bobby Bowden Will Not Be the Head Football Coach at Florida State: Sure, everyone saw this coming a few seasons ago. Inevitably, it had to happen. The man is 80 years old. Still, it's Bobby F-in Bowden! He patrols the sidelines for the Seminoles. He wears straw hats! He rocks shades! He is college football. That's the way it is. Daggone, don't tell me it ain't so!

4. Brett Favre the Viking May Play in the Super Bowl: Most folks have come to grips with this by now. For me, this past Sunday's Bears game on FOX was the first time I'd watched Favre live...in purple. It was weird enough seeing him suit up for Gang Green, but it at least was clear he was done at the end of last season. Finished. Washed up. Oh, even if he wanted to come back and do his song-and-dance (which we all knew he would), he could never come close to being an elite quarterback again. What's that you say? His team is 10-1, and he's an MVP candidate? He's got a 112.1 passer rating? Surely, you jest?


3. D'Antoni's Knicks Torch Suns: This is the look of a man whose team is putrid. Before tonight, 3-14 putrid. His was a team playing the Suns, who boasted the NBA's best mark at 14-3. The 2009 Knicks do not beat the 2009 Suns. They definitively do not beat them by 27 in a laugher. It doesn't happen. I'm sorry, I don't believe you.

2. Motown Philly Back Again for A.I.?: Allen Iverson has been offered a one-year deal by the Philadelphia 76ers. The year is 2009. It has been three years since A.I. was unceremoniously dismissed from Philly -- virtually escorted out of the city of Brotherly Love. He was shipped to Denver. Earlier this year he played for the Memphis Grizzlies before announcing his retirement. I was still trying to reconcile parts of the last two sentences, and, now, he may be coming back to the franchise where he was once an icon? Tell me when any of this starts making sense.


1. The Parade of Tiger Woods Alleged Mistresses Continues: Read that one again. Could you ever believe, no matter what's true or not, that somehow we'd be at this point, with this guy? That ranks far, far above all the others on the what-planet-did-I-just-land on scale. Promises of juicy text messages and voicemails are said to be poised to capture the world's attention tomorrow courtesy of US Magazine.

As Red once said, all I want is to be back where things make sense...somebody wake me when the world has re-aligned.