Dan Morgan Is a Pantywaist

Carolina Panthers linebacker Dan Morgan is a true warrior. He’s reporting to camp bigger and stronger than ever, and he’s eager to put his history of injuries behind him. He is as tough as a man gets, an inspiration to all of us Miller High Life-drinking meatheads who have gun oil and grease in the cracks of our calloused hands. That’s why he got himself a hyperbaric chamber.

The Charlotte Observer reports:

Morgan has less space in his Wofford College dorm room than ever. Instead of rooming with Will Witherspoon, he’s sharing space with a portable hyperbaric chamber… With best friend Witherspoon signing as a free agent with the St. Louis Rams, Morgan finally took advantage of his right as a veteran to have room for himself. He has come to rely on the chamber as much as he did on Witherspoon, who spent the past four years lining up next to him.

Yes, who needs an All-Pro linebacker next to you when you’ve got Tupperware for humans? Oh, but it gets better:

Morgan said he decided to try the chamber… after conversations with agent Drew Rosenhaus. Wide receiver Terrell Owens, another Rosenhaus client, brought attention to hyperbaric chambers when he used one to during his recovery from a broken ankle two seasons ago.

Yep. Well, if there’s a lesson to be learned here, it’s that you should always take Drew Rosenhaus’s advice if you want to look like a douchebag.

Morgan went on to say that he loved the way the hyperbaric chamber sped his recovery time from the bumps and bruises of training camp, and how it works so much better than the anti-aging cream he’d been using before, claiming that he hasn’t looked or felt this young since his first manicure.

He also added that the only downside of the chamber — other than being associated with Drew Rosenhaus and T.O., looking like a total douche, and replacing his best friend with an oxygen tent — is that in the mornings he has no way of telling if he’s lost his inner monologue.

YOU like Bootsy Collins? I like Bootsy Collins!

It’s Monday morning, and I’ve already eaten a 7 x 7 pan of Skyline Chili 3-way. It’s a Cincinnati specialty, even a delicacy. But in no way is it breakfast. To the non-initiated, it is so named not for it’s hot girl-on-guy-on-girl action, but for it’s three ingredients: chili, spaghetti, cheese. Three-way. Oh yeah, and I’m still hungry.

Another Cincinnati treasure that some of you may not know is legendary funker Bootsy Collins. While referring to Bootsy as “the Joe Jurevicius of funk” may be accurate and condescending at the same time, Collins is renowned for his eccentric dress as well as being a black man one can safely refer to as “Bootsy.”

Here is Bootsy working it with some of the Bengals in Paul Brown Stadium in a rendition of “Fear Da Tiger.” Or something (Skyline 3-way not pictured).

Okay, so this is not a great clip. But, hey, we’re allowed to get it wrong once in a while…aren’t we?

Next Up On KSK: Dead Baby Jokes!

When it comes to comedy, I am a man of incredibly low standards with an almost religious zeal for tastelessness. But even I have my limits, and here they are:

Fair Game:
-Everyone not named Mary Beth King

Not Fair Game:
-Mary Beth King

Violate the second rule and you find out very quickly what it feels like to be Carl Monday for a day. My friends, that is a deep, dark place I do not wish to visit again any time soon. Oh, and no making fun of Dorothy Mantooth, either. So the Peter King posts come down. Here, in their place, is the lovely Miss Heidi of the Sea Gals, who can interrupt any goddamn Raiders game she pleases. Thanks to swing4 for the good advice.

But stay tuned next week. We have some absolutely killer 9/11 victim jokes ready to go!

NOTE: As you well know, this is a fairly amateurish blog. You publish a regrettable post and you do your best to rectify it. If that makes us shameless hypocrites and spineless pussies, eh, I can live with that. Anyway, whichever severely pissed-off commenter does the best Gordon Ramsay impression below gets their own post next week.

UPDATE: Captain Caveman has an unfunny and only slightly repentant post at Karmic Payback, a title of dark foreshadowing if ever there was one.

Hallelujah! Training Camp Has Arrived!

Ah, NFL training camp. That time of the year when football fans of all 31 pro teams and the Texans wear their brightest hopes with pride. The time of the year when sportswriters write brightly about fans having hope (they also write insanely about the Lions having a chance or Joey Harrington winning the starting job). The time of the year when football players die from heat stroke.

At last.

So… yeah, if you’re reading an NFL blog in July, you probably already know that training camps opened this week. Let me say that again in the correct manner: MOTHAFUCKAS, TRAINING CAMP IS HERE!!! YEEEAGH! It’s time for you bitches to get excited already.

This isn’t just another football season; this is the first-ever football season covered by Kissing Suzy Kolber, which makes it pretty much the most important season ever. But we can’t do it without you, our loyal, fervent, gorgeous readers (when Drew called you all “mongoloids” he was totally kidding, I swear). We need your ideas, we need your tips, we need your videos and photos. OF NFL-RELATED THINGS, I might add. (Yes, Lindsay Lohan, I’m talking to you. Stop sending me that filth.)

Is that not specific enough? Do we have to spell things out for you? All right, fine. Here are just some of the things that we’re looking to get from readers this season.

– Photographs of NFL players out interacting with their communities. You know, like helping kids to read and rescuing kittens from trees. Some real United Way shit. Wink, wink.

– Compromising information or visual evidence about a certain field hockey-playing Colgate sophomore whose father may or may not write for a prominent sports magazine about coffee, airline travel, “House M.D.,” and the proper way to fellate washed-up quarterbacks from Louisiana. I feel pretty fucking dirty for asking for this, but I know some of you out there are on Facebook. Think of yourselves as Dr. Richard Kimble, and pretend Mary Beth King is the one-armed man. You find that man!

– Paul “Dr. Z” Zimmerman’s tax return that proves he wrote off $10,000 of red wine. Or maybe a picture of him chasing those damn kids off his lawn.

– Any photo in which John Clayton wears a pocket protector, or is getting harassed by a group of teens, or has a full head of hair.

– Video footage of NFL fans being assholes at tailgates outside the stadium.

– The YouTube link in which Gregg Easterbrook goose-steps around wearing jackboots and a swastika armband. Or at the very least, a Photoshopped cover of The New Republic that reads, “Jews worship money, not God.”

What else could we possibly want? Hell, we don’t know. We rely on you voyeurs to direct us to the finest ephemera in professional football; you are limited only by your sick imaginations. So go ahead and send us your NFL jetsam — while you go out for drinks with the Swedish Bikini Team, we’ll sit in front of our computers, sifting through the emails in order to post the most lurid material and make inappropriate jokes about it.

Put your ears to the ground, keep your cameras trained on the action, and spread the word, spread the word, spread the word: KSK wants your dirt.

Update: Wow, ask and you shall receive. Commenter B. Michael Payne has come through admirably. We’d like to add, Mike, that we also want a pony.

Peter King: Commissioner For A Day, Aimless Cheesedick Savant Columnist For A Lifetime

Peter King has probably not bombed any foreign embassies lately. At least that we know of. He may not have ever hid beer in a well to lure children into it. He probably has more post-coital know-how than to wipe the excess semen off his wife or other partner, instead of simply handing over a towel or sweaty t-shirt, and then walking rubber-leggedly into the kitchen for some juice.

No, the reason Peter King is pissing us off is because the NFL’s best football writer is spending less time writing about football. Last time I checked, Starbucks didn’t own a team, nor does any team have a player named “Katrina.” I don’t give a fuck what he’s been eating. Just tell me if Carson Palmer will be ready to start the season and get out of my life.

Anyway, these are excerpts from King’s recent “Commissioner For A Day” which, inexplicably, has just been sitting on the SI site for about a month, not unlike a dog turd on blacktop, begging to be scooped up and disposed of by someone who understands the need to address something of that sort.

Expand the regular season to 18 games.
Of course, you’d have to pay the players more because they’d be performing for two more games, but that’s for another day. I’m only the commissioner for a day, not a mathematician.

Yeah, this sounds like something you might hear from a guy that went to Ohio University and bitches about air travel as if he’s the first one to do it (Ever wonder how much legroom Lindburgh had, motherfucker?). No, you don’t have to pay the players more because they are working on what we working folk refer to as “salary.” That means you earn a flat sum, regardless of the amount of labor you have performed. But, don’t worry, Peter, we would never mistake someone that goes to Starbucks like you do as anyone who knows how to add or subtract.

Make long field goals more valuable: Simple: Any field goal 50 yards or further is worth four points…

I think Peter wrote this after watching a CFL game and hit the bong with Ricky Williams. Why do this? So you can tie the game when you’re down by four? To make David Akers more significant? Instead of driving the kicker to Blueberry Hill and jerking him off in our convertible, let me suggest another train of thought:

When your team is down by four points, score a fucking touchdown.

The NFL actually did consider a tiered system of 1, 2, and 3 points for field goals a few years ago. The plan never made it out of committee because the powers that be could not determine that the long kick was more valuable than moving the ball downfield. It’s not. Rewarding the team that has a good kicker and an offense that can’t find the red zone is not worth an extra point for me.

Take NFL Sunday Ticket off the dish and put it on digital cable.

N/A. I don’t have either one, so I don’t care. Sounds like more bitching, though.

Put more mikes on players and officials, and put the game on a seven-second delay.

Delays are bad because I can’t hear the goddamn players cuss at each other, which may be why neither of my two most favorite football-viewing moments were NFL games. The first was the an old World League game when a Barcelona Dragons linebacker was caught by surprise by a draw and, in an effort to seek help from his fellow defenders, exclaimed, “Aw, shit!” It was live TV, and we heard it. The more recent was the XFL game where quarterback Ryan Clement was used as a Slip-N-Slide by a defensive lineman, and separated his shoulder. You heard the shoulder snap. You could hear him screaming into the turf. Clement was miked up and fucked up in the same game. Top that, helmet-cam.

But I do agree in that the NFL’s presentation is very stale, very Republican. Change it up; put one game a year on HBO, no delays, no announcers, just the sounds on the field. And we’ll drown Dan Dierdorf in a bucket at halftime, and then use his flesh to construct the game balls that will be used during the second half of the game. We can use the money saved on announcing to row in Pakistani children to help stitch the balls under the stands. “Sew, very young one. Sew like THE WIND!”

Let players wear the numbers of their choice — with an asterisk: Allow players to purchase the number they wish for $250,000. One-time fee. That $250,000, which players could write off, would go into a pool to benefit 10 charities to be agreed upon by the players’ association and the league. And once a year, the league would cut an equal check to each charity. So imagine a player changes teams, or a draft choice comes on a new team, and he wants to wear an odd number. Reggie Bush with number 5, for instance. Imagine you’ve got 20 of those guys per year. And new commissioner Roger Goodell appears in the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans to hand a check for $500,000 to Habitat for Humanity, which guarantees to build 100 homes in 30 days with the money. Gee, the more I write about this, the more I like it.

Well, I fucking hate it. And I doubt I’m the only one. I see two things very wrong with this. First off, I actually like the NFL’s number policy. I do, because if I were to ever fall into a coma, like Mason Storm, I could wake up 10 years later and, watching an NFL game in my hospital room before the Senator’s goons try to kill me, understand that No. 88 is a wide receiver, that No. 99 is a defensive end, and that No. 77 is way too large to be wearing all that white (and after Labor Day. Sigh).

As far as the Katrina stuff…look, this is classic Petey King. He can’t pay attention to non-football shit in real-time, so months go by, and the media hype for some particular popular event peaks, then bottoms out. Then about two months after that, Peter King writes about it. Then he goes down there to try and solve that thing, and cue the outrage and shit and blah-blah. Now he feels that soliciting his readers as The NFL Columnist will be call to action that will summon those previously unwilling to bring assistance to that troubled land. Bullshit.

And a hundred homes in 30 days? Oh, right, you’re just commissioner for a day, not a contractor.

Prohibit the moving of the Saints for five years: Make this a “for the good of the game” issue. It’s ludicrous to think of kicking a city when it’s so down. Now’s the time to be a good neighbor and a loyal corporate partner, not greedy.

Wrong. There’s never a bad time to be greedy. This does not help the game. There’s no reason Tom Benson shouldn’t be allowed to do what Georgia Frontiere did, what Bill Bidwell did, what every other owner in this League does: get the best deal for your team. Shit, the only reason the team hadn’t already left was because the city was paying the team to stay. And now the city’s payments are coming up light, so the team must find the city in the local bowling alley, punch the city in the face and, before the city can get up, give it a couple kicks to the ribs. Then as the team walks away, it turns and points at the city, now laying in the fetal position on the lane, and screams, “You better have my money next week! No more extensions!”

And, honestly, will we ever get a better chance to get rid of The Worst Logo In Sports, that ridiculous fleur-de-lis? I’m still waiting for the Saints to announce the signings of Dino Bravo and the Fabulous Rougeau Brothers. Let the San Antonio Banderases begin play in 2007, and shut the fuck up about it.

Put two computer chips in the football, and make the goal line, in essence, capable of sending a signal when the football touches the plane of the goal line: Let’s just call this “The Ben Roethlisberger Rule.”

Hey, he’s just commissioner for a day, not a computer technician. Something about the phrase “computer chips” just screams, “I know nothing about computers.” Is Peter still typing up his columns on that old Underwood? Andy Rooney would be proud. Besides, I think there’s already a Ben Roethlisberger Rule, and it currently reads something like this:

1. Wear a helmet, shithead.
1a. Grow a goatee. Those never look bad or anything. Especially with a visor.

Still, he’s got a point. If we can make that first-down stripe appear on TV, they’ve gotta be able to do something with this. We need it. This would be the League’s best goal-line innovation since getting Lawrence Taylor to stop snorting it.

Make the Super Bowl the best two out of three: Ha! Made you look. Just kidding. I may be commissioner, but I’m not that stupid.

So, really, you only came up with nine changes. Nice job, Reilly, way to phone it in. And the jury may still be out on your last point there.

Look, I understand the excuse that these assholes assemble lists like these “for a good debate,” much like a radio host will take the unpopular side of an issue to build his audience on ire and animosity. But, largely, these are not good debates. This is an English paper written on the bus, something hastily thrown together at the last minute, only to have something to turn in. It brings to mind a remark CC made to the other KSKers over email earlier in the week.

“First Scoop Jackson, and now this. Remind me again why we write a blog for free and they get paid.”

Scoop Jackson – Something Racists and Non-Racists Can Finally Agree On!

When I “played” college football, our team decided the night before a game to go see “Showgirls”, because nothing fires you up for a game like a group erection. Anyway, we go to see it, and it’s fucking terrible. Horrible. I know a lot of people watch that movie for camp value now, but I’m not down with the whole “Oh, this is so bad it’s funny! Let’s laugh at our own sense of irony!” thing. This is a fucking awful movie. But what made it transcendentally bad was the rape scene about 3/4 of the way in. I’d like a law against all rape scenes in all movies ever. No good can possibly come of them. Anyway, the rape scene in “Showgirls” elevated it to the upper echelons of true shittiness.

Which, of course, brings us to Scoop Jackson. You might know Scoop Jackson from his columns on ESPN.com. They’re the kind of columns that make you think, “Hey, how the fuck did Caller #47 from ‘The John Thompson Show’ get his own byline?” Scoop is so bad, he practically justifies racism. But his column from earlier this week about Terrell Owens was the nadir. Scoop’s rape scene, as it were. Let’s go all Fire Joe Morgan over it, shall we? Observe!

There’s a voice that lives inside his head. It talks to him. It tells him things. It transforms him, shapes him.

Is it the voice of The American Breed? Because that would be pretty random!

Some say that there’s a difference between Terrell Owens and the person we know as T.O. Two different people living inside one ultracut, Adonis-like body. But for those of us who follow him, we know different.

You do?! Oh, thank goodness! Lead on, follower!

We know to decipher Terrell Owens we have to get inside his voice. The voice that drives him when the humble side of him really wants to take over. The voice has become the star, the power broker, the newsmaker, the alter to his enormous ego. A powerful thang, this voice. So powerful there is a belief that he no longer can control it because it now controls him. Even more than Drew Rosenhaus does. On the eve of NFL training camp, with him about to honor his third contract in four years, we can only imagine what that voice inside T.O. must be saying…

Should Garth Algar and I make waves with our hands and go, “Cucolo! Cucolo! Cucolo!” now? Oh no, I see what you’re doing! You’re trying to win an award with an overused writing gimmick! Hence the italicized preface! Consider me hooked!

THE VOICE
Here we go… been waiting for this for eight months, baby! The hate that hate produced, produced the wrong dude. Lemme get some more crunches in.

Me fail English? That’s unpossible!

It’s T.O. time, baby! Training camp! I got everything out of the way. All work done. Book’s out, did Gumbel, SI tried to put the jinx on me, now all I got to do is go out and watch the people start to hate me all over again. Salvage.

If by “salvage”, you mean, “take advantage of the idiots in the press by getting them to write unwarranted redemption stories,” then consider that thought 100% accurate, my friend!

Bad press beats no press, that’s what Gran’ma said. “As long as they talkin’ ’bout you, baby, that means you on they mind.”

But watch how I flip this, just like two years ago when they all hated me. By the time the Super Bowl was over, dude, they all loved me. And they was wondering why I kept bumpin’ Nas and Puff’s song in the offseason.

(singing) “You can hate me now!”

How will Scoop remind readers that, like Terrell, he too is black?! Oh, I know! A reference to a song that was played out six years ago! Word up, Scoopy!

Damn, it’s hot here. They told me Texas was going to be hot, but this is crazy. But not as hot as I’m about to make it. Oxnard, Cali, ain’t never seen no one like me b’fore. Look at all them tents out there… media, waitin’. I gotta prove all them wrong. Can’t make ’em eat they words, but I can make ’em swallow ’em.

Oh, you mean prove that they were wrong when they wrote that Owens destroyed team unity and single-handedly ruined the Eagles season? You know, maybe you’re right! Maybe the Eagles didn’t go 6-10 last year! How dumb am I for thinking that was their record!

Look at them out there… vultures.

Not a follower like Scoop is! Being a follower is way better!

Just waiting for me to do something, say something. Waiting to misunderstand me all over again. I tried to make Bryant Gumbel understand, that’s why I sat down with the dude. But he was all on me. Talking to me like I was one of his kids or something.

Not really. Bryant Gumbel’s kids are actually literate.

I shoulda leaned over and Jim Everett’d his butt. Tryin’ to make it look like I was in some therapy session. Like he’s Dr. Phil. Dude, please. I give him credit, though; he did get me to admit that I was wrong about the Jeff Garcia thing and what I did in Frisco. But he wasn’t gonna get me to take the blame or apologize about McNabb. That wasn’t gonna happen and never will. I know the real, I know what went down.

Okay, so what did go down? Scoop? Scoop? Investigative journalism, anyone?

And why that Itch don’t wanna talk now? Why he decide to get quiet? All during the Super Bowl in Detroit, he had something to say. What he say, what he call it, “black-on-black crime”? And now, he lip-locked. “No comment.”

And now I know who wrote all of Jar Jar Binks’ dialogue for the “Star Wars” films.

Then when he does talk, he calls my book a “children’s book.” See. See…

But don’t nobody else see what I’m seeing. Where I’m from in Tennessee, that’s a punk’s move. Something girls do.

You mean insult someone? God, TO would never do something like that!

That’s why they ain’t never gonna win a ring. Not with him there. I can’t wait till October 8th. When they ask me, I’ma say I wish the organization well, but for real, I hope they never win another game. Ever.

Scoop has clearly convinced Page 2 editors that proofreading is a form of racism.

All they had to do is give me what I was worth to them, and none of this would have happened. None of this. I’da still been in that uniform. Ballin’. Woulda won the Bowl. Pittsburgh couldn’ta handled us. Everyone knows that. The Steelers know that.

The Steelers couldn’t handle a team quarterbacked by Koy Detmer and Mike McMahon? Makes perfect sense to me.

But instead, the Eagles wanted to prove a point. Not pay me but give Brian Westbrook a $25 million contract extension in the middle of the season the week after he ran for a total of 124 yards in five games. And they wonder why I called them “classless.”

But I did go too far with that comment. (laugh)

Scoop’s parentheses, not mine. This is the part where the voice Terrell’s head laughs! Ha ha ha!

That was straight foul. I knew I was going to pay for that once it came out of my mouth. But what the hell. That’s how I was feeling. Drew warned me.

No, I didn’t.

But why should I have listened to him? I probably would have played last season if it wasn’t for him. Man, that dude… but he did get me my money. This $25 million from Dallas ain’t bad.

Except only $10 million of it is guaranteed. That’s how NFL contracts work. But hey, that’s only been common knowledge for the past decade or so.

It’s a start. And like Drew said, “If we win the Bowl, the price goes up. Back to the negotiations.” I just gotta make sure he doesn’t appear on Jim Rome’s show or PTI before he sits down with the Cowboys. He needs to chill with that. Messin’ with my money. Costing me almost $20 million.

But I thought he got you your money. Right? Right? I’m fucking lost.

Wait. Where’s that girl’s number I did that photo shoot last year with in GQ? Stay focused, Terrell. Football, dude, football. On a show-and-prove mission this season. Tryna stay focused, stay right. ‘Bout to get married. Felisha, dude. Felisha. But damn, honey from GQ was fine. Need to find that issue. See how I made her look good.

Tryna? Did Scoop learn his blackese from Mark Twain?

Where are my shoes?

Scoop is holding them for you, Terrell. Remember?

More crunches…

People keep thinking this is my last shot. Why? Don’t they know?!? Can’t no one in the League do what I do. Not Randy, not Chad, not Marvin, not Hines, none of them dudes… and they know it, too.

You mean catch passes and score touchdowns? You’re right. That is just poppycock!

I could screw up again — not saying that I did the first two times, but I’m just saying — and still get another contract from another team. I know this, and so does every GM in the League.

But I’m not going to test it. Not this year, maybe not the next. Too many of them vultures are waiting for me to do that. I’m not going to give them that satisfaction. Like I said, I’m going to “shut it down. Stop talking.”

Why talk when Scoop does such a perfectly awful job on your behalf?

Wait. Mental note: I need to call Jason Rosenhaus, talk to him about the misquote in the book. I hate when people take what I say to make me sound stupid.

Like Scoop does?

Like I ain’t read my own book. All I said was that when the word “heroic” was used, it was used in the wrong context. That’s all. Now I know I said “misquoted,” but that’s not what I meant. See, at the time, when I said “my performance in the Super Bowl was nothing short of heroic,” the war thing wasn’t like it is now… and I’m not trying to go out like the Dixie Chicks… but I was heroic in that game. I don’t care what anyone says. The Eagles should have recognized.

Instead, they chose to give TO an enormous signing bonus BEFORE that performance. Stupid foresight!

But it’s all good, like Gran’ma said: Everything happens for a reason.

Scoop, why don’t you just put Terrell on a shrimping boat with Tom Hanks while you’re at it?

God wanted me in Dallas.

No, God wants TO in Southern Lebanon.

Too many years gone by with stars on their helmets but none on the field. I tried to let them know when I stood on the Star in 2000. But they wasn’t tryna feel me then. Now, they get it. They better get it. They ain’t got no choice. I mean Keyshawn, he’s a beast, but c’mon. He ain’t me. If he had had half the season that I’m about to have, Terry Glenn’s numbers would have doubled and Julius Jones would have played like his brother Thomas did with the Bears last year.

I make this game easy for other players.

Except when you’re calling them out to the media and generally acting like a selfish prick.

That’s why my teammates love me. That’s why none of them ran to Donovan’s side when everything was going down. I only played seven games last year, but I still led the League in yards per game — by 9 yards per!

Even though I only played seven games, people! If I played 16, that would automatically make any per-game statistic of mine go higher!

I’m the one who gets everyone career years. Like Steve Nash.

But they don’t want to get that; no one wants to print that. Instead, they call me a “cancer” to every team I play for. If I’m a “cancer,” why when I leave do these teams sink to the bottom of the league? Why once I left the 49’s did they become the worst team in the NFL?

Uh, John York? Terry Donahue? Dennis Erickson?

Why last year did Philly not even make the playoffs? And watch what happens to the Eagles this year. They’re going to be worse.

But still I’m the cancer. Whatever. All that’s about to change. Everything. Jus’ watch.

Wait. Where’s my earring? That’s $40g. Can’t lose that.

Oh my God! Scoop has totally got this stream-of-consciousness thing down! And not a moment too soon!

Ha. It’s funny didn’t no one catch on.

Double negatives make Terrell look smarterer!

Drew was right. Same thing as last year. I got the entire country’s attention to jump-start the season. These fools don’t learn. If they was smart, they would have peeped this from the very start, last week. The minute the book came out, the minute “Real Sports” dropped, the minute the SI joint hit the stands. They should have looked at the correlation of the dates, the timing, and realized how we had this planned.

We even got Scoop Jackson to give us an unjustified verbal blowjob!

Not even coach Parcells said anything. Damn, I hope it’s this easy the rest of the season.

USA Today on Friday printed the top nine questions about the NFL coming into the season. Guess who was No. 1? They can call me whatever they want, but I’m a marketing genius.

That’s true, especially considering TO’s book didn’t even crack the Top 100 on its debut! That’s branding savvy!

And Drew is only one step behind me. Art Shell is back coaching the Raiders with Randy Moss; Daunte Culpepper is in Miami and maybe fighting for his job against Joey Harrington; Herm Edwards goes to coach the Chiefs; Edge leaves Nap; McNair goes to Baltimore; Vinatieri leaves New England… and I’m still the No. 1 question coming into the season…

For USA Today, the newspaper of choice for remedial reading students all over this great nation!

And they say I’m crazy, stupid, ignorant and dumb. Selfish, conceited, self-absorbed. They say I’m worse than Barry and Kobe combined. They say the world hates me.

Not as much as it hates Scoop Jackson.

Cool. I will shed no more tears over this, miss no more sleep. Not for them. Not for no one. Not anymore. There will be no “new” Terrell Owens, just refined. Refocused. I’m just trying to make everyone understand that it’s them, not me. Never has been me. I’m innocent of everything, done nothing wrong, wronged nobody. I’m not who they think I am, who they’ve made me out to be. I’m just misunderstood.

All I wanted to do was set black people back 75 years. Only Scoop seems to understand my goal!

Wait. Look at those tents. It’s time. Time to go. Time to be T.O. Day 1. Ready for some football. Salvage.

You see how Scoop ties it all together by repeating that “salvage” sentence? That lets you relive the whole nightmare that is this column over again! Hooray!

I’m gonna make them love me, like I do. That’s what I’ma do, dude. I’m gonna make ’em all love me.

Well, this column has already made your goal a lot more difficult, then.

NOTE: There is about a 1% chance that this column was actually intended as ironic criticism towards TO. But I think we all know that’s a stretch, don’t we?

Hey, 6-10 Was Good Enough for Second in the NFC West

Welcome to another installment of Better Know a Football Team. Today: the St. Louis Rams

2005 recap: 6-10, HIGH-larious. Ah, 2005, the swan song for Mike Martz as a head coach. For anyone who’s forgotten, Martz had to go on medical leave last year due to having a baboon’s heart. He was replaced by his assistant Joe Vitt, who was the only person on an NFL coaching staff who looked like less of a coach than Martz. While Martz recovered in San Diego, he tried to phone in a few plays during a game, to which team president Jay Zygmunt vehemently objected. For, you know, the good of Martz’s health, I’m sure. Eventually Martz got better and he was all, “Okay, I’m ready to coach again,” and the team was like, “Why don’t you just take it easy there for a while, Champ?”

Also to be cherished from the Rams’ 2005 season was the performance of rookie third-string quarterback Ryan Fitzpatrick. Remember him? He came in for an injured Rams starter – whatshisface, you know, the guy whose name sounds like a NASCAR driver’s? – who was starting in place of injured starter Marc Bulger. Fitzpatrick, a mid-game replacement, threw for 300 yards and the winning TD in overtime to lead a thrilling comeback against the mighty Houston Texans. For the next week, NFL talking heads crowded around Fitzpatrick on their knees, mouths agape like a baby bird’s. Ryan Fitzpatrick graduated from Harvard! He proposed to his girlfriend at McDonald’s! And he went to Harvard! And he likes McDonald’s! Mercifully, Fitzpatrick fired a stream of liquid diarrhea all over the bed that ESPN and FOX had so nicely made for him, throwing just one touchdown and seven interceptions in his next three starts before returning to his rightful place on the bench, where he was free to daydream about rowing on the Charles and discussing Kierkegaard with that Asian girl who dropped out of pre-med.

Potential for comedy in 2006: Declining, but still good. The loss of Mike Martz (to the Lions, who are now the comedically deepest team in the league) was a huge blow to anyone who liked laughing at the Rams. New coach Scott Linehan may turn out to be competent, and new defensive coordinator Jim Haslett — very funny as a head coach — might actually turn around a defense that was almost as sturdy as Marshall Faulk’s knee.

Like Faulk, The Greatest Show on Turf has gone the way of vaudeville. With Isaac Bruce now collecting Social Security checks and an entire generation of quarterbacks left lame and brittle by Mike Martz’s offensive “genius,” the new Rams offense is getting re-built around running back Steven Jackson. In fact, the Rams used two of their first three picks in the draft on tight ends, which should open some holes for Jackson the same way fullback Madison Hedgecock (pictured above) did in 2005.

Ha, Madison Hedgecock. That’s just his “Ram” name. Anybody can get a Ram name. You just take the last stripper you got a lap dance from, and pair her name with a male porn star’s last name. What, you think tight end Dominique Byrd was born with that name? Anyway, when the Rams announce that their starting offensive line will be Houston Strongbone, Aspen Mandingo, Montana Longblast, Dakota Bonecock, and Vagina Cumshooter… well, just remember you heard it here first.

What to expect in 2006: Hedgecock will get into a locker room fight with center Richie Incognito over who has the faker-sounding name. Pisa Tinoisamoa and Oshiomogho Atogwe will have to intervene.

KC Are You With Me?

Welcome to another edition of our 32-part series, Better Know a Football Team.

The Kansas City Chiefs are not funny in the traditional sense. On paper they seem to be exciting, unfortunately their players have all the personality of a slice of bread. Their best bet to ensure hilarity this year would be to revert back to an old logo.

Since this scenario is becoming less likely by the day we’ll just have to play the cards we’re dealt for now.

If you are a fan of weepy press conferences, sentimental postgame speeches, or general incontinence you were probably heartbroken by the retirement of Dick Vermeil. The Kansas City Chiefs will now continue their push to remain permanently mediocre with the perfect man for the job. On his way out the old Dick made sure to lay the groundwork for his top assistant Al Saunders to take his place. Naturally management gave Dick a farewell “Fuck You” by letting Saunders head to Washington (thank you!). While Dick couldn’t have been thrilled with the decision he was appeased when they hired his buddy (and former Chiefs assistant) Herman Edwards. Herm was thrilled to be granted leave from the trainwreck he left back at the Meadowlands, now he’s got a whole new gang of players on which he can instill his ultimate wisdom. (Did You Know…Herman’s Head was originally set to star the fiery coach, unfortunately the network deemed his inner thoughts too “disturbing” for a national television audience)

The ever reliable Trent Green returns as the team’s signal caller and the most underrated fantasy football player of all time (this could be partially attributed to his standing as the least interesting pro athlete of all time). Although Friar Holmes likely won’t factor into the team’s offensive arsenal they appear no worse for the wear. Once Larry Johnson was inserted into the lineup he ran through the opposition with a reckless abandon that I haven’t seen since Jimmy Dix. Even without the stalwart blocking of the recently departed Tony Richardson, LJ figures to be amongst the most productive runners in the League. Given the ridiculous strength of the Chief’s offensive line he could probably hit 2,000 yards while wearing the Oops, I Crapped My Pants he got in college.

As always Tony Gonzalez will be the featured aspect of the Chief’s passing game. Despite appearing more formulaic than your average sports movie, their offense is consistently amongst the most dominating in the League. The only tougher assignment than game-planning for the Chiefs is trying to determine Tony Gonzalez’s ethnicity (Wiki lists them as African American, Jamaican, Indian, and Cape Veridian…so he’s not Hispanic??). Since the wide receiver crop is about as interesting and useful as ESPN8’s coverage of amateur curling (Effin’ A Cotton, Effin’ A!), we’ll just keep this thing trudging along.

The success of the offense has further illuminated the need for improvement within the weak defensive unit. For once the front office has made a concerted effort to address their glaring personnel needs. Without question the biggest addition of the offseason has been Ty Man Law. While playing for Coach Herm last season he was able to amass ten interceptions thanks to his perceived weakness among opposing teams. With the combination of Law and Patrick Surtain they’ll be partially immune from the weekly Oz-style rapings they’ve used to taking from the rest of the division.

Given last year’s ten-win season, and the improvements to the defense, folks in Kansas City (I’m assuming they say things like “folks”) have plenty of reasons for optimism. With a little bit of luck this team should compete for a playoff berth in the intensely competitive AFC West. HOWEVAH! they are coached by the Herm the Disapointer so an 8-8 finish isn’t just possible, it’s almost guaranteed (the ‘Sheed kind not the Namath kind).

Better Know A Team: Detroit Lions

Five Fast Facts about the Lions:
-NFL tradition holds that the Lions play every Thanksgiving Day, and that they have at least 8 losses by that time.
-Team President Matt Millen commutes to work from his house in Pennsylvania, a house he has burned down three times while attempting to make Toaster Strudel.
-Last year, receiver Mike Williams was the first rookie in team history to bring donuts to every team meeting without having to be asked.
-Rookie linebacker Ernie Sims played at Florida State for head coach Bobby Bowden, who was the main inspiration behind the character of Shelley Marcone from “The Last Boy Scout”. (“Why, she was one of the sweetest little whores I ever tasted!”)
-Last year, the Lions were quarterbacked by the two-headed monster of Jeff Garcia and Joey Harrington. This year, they’ll be quarterbacked by the two-headed monster of Jon Kitna and Josh McCown. Next year, the team plans on using seven-headed monster Tiamat, who has no NFL experience (or arms, for that matter), but can spit boiling hot acid at would-be defenders with her copper dragon head. Defenses are urged to use their vorpal swords against Tiamat if they wish to slay her and take all her precious, precious gold pieces. For more information, defensive coordinators are urged to consult the Fiend Folio.

10 Yards of Awkwardness with: Damien Woody

As part of our 2006 preview, I’ll be sitting down and “chatting” with a player from each team. For the Lions, it’s starting offensive guard and Patriot, uh, expatriate Damien Woody.

Big Daddy Drew: Damien, thanks for sitting down with us.
Damien Woody: My pleasure.

Drew: You occasionally play center. Joey Harrington, your quarterback last year, was a classically trained pianist. Did he ever refer to QB-center exchanges with you as “tickling the ebonies”?
Woody: No.

Drew: Last year, many Lions fans demanded that Matt Millen be fired. In retrospect, wouldn’t it have been easier to simply murder him, in cold blood?
Woody: No. That’s terrible.

Drew: I know it is. But what if, like, if you had gotten one of those plastic guns, like the kind John Malkovich had in “In The Line Of Fire”? You ever see that movie?
Woody: No.

Drew: It’s fucking badass. You should rent it. Anyway, you get your hands on 50,000 of those puppies, which should be easy to do in Detroit, and you just let everyone in the stadium open fire on Millen’s skybox. Wouldn’t that have been preferable to subjecting loyal fans to another year of abject pain and misery?
Woody: No.

Drew: Your new coach, Rod Marinelli, has been called a “disciplinarian”. But he’s also Italian. What’s it like to play for a walking oxymoron?
Woody: I don’t know.

Drew: Is Steve Mariucci gay for Tom Izzo, or is Tom Izzo gay for Steve Mariucci?
Woody: I don’t know.

Drew: They’re both from the Upper Peninsula, you know. There’s nothing up there except for trees, iron ore, and fat women. If you lived up there, wouldn’t you fuck a guy just to get the clock moving forward?
Woody: No.

Drew: During the offseason, the Lions hired Mike Martz to be their offensive coordinator. How good are you at tackling?
Woody: I’m okay at it.

Drew: And what about holding pass blocks for 40 seconds or longer?
Woody: I’m a good pass blocker.

Drew: Fair enough. The Lions are owned by the Ford family. If the Lions were a car, would they be The Homer?
Woody: No.

Drew: You played college and pro football in Boston. You now play in Detroit. Which city secretly hates black people more?
Woody: I like both cities.

Drew: That’s a smart answer. Very diplomatic. I’ll just write down that you said, “Both cities secretly hate black people a lot,” since we both know that’s the correct answer.
Woody: I did not say that. And, if you say I said that, I’ll deny it.

Drew: Again, very diplomatic of you. The suburban Michigan accent manages to combine the accent of a fat person from Chicago with that of a Long Island Jewess. How do you cope with such a grating, horrible sound?
Woody: I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Drew: Let’s move on to another topic. You play offensive line. Does it ever bother you when the o-line coach hops on the blocking sled and rides it around, like you’re his personal goddamn rickshaw driver or something?
Woody: No.

Drew: Your first name, Damien, is also the name of the kid from “The Omen”. Your last name, Woody, is slang for a man’s erection. When you’re ejaculating on a groupie’s chest, do you tell her that you’re “exorcising the demons”?
Woody: I’m married.

Drew: Quarterbacks often get their o-lineman gifts at the end of the season, as a reward for protecting them. What did your QB’s get you last year, when you failed miserably at doing so? Some Post-Its? A box of Triscuits, perhaps?
Woody: We got watches.

Drew: That’s very generous of them. You won two Super Bowls with the Patriots. What’s it like to leave there and come to a place that gives you the freedom to do anything or go anywhere you please on the field? I’ll bet it’s pretty refreshing!
Woody: We have very detailed game plans here.

Drew: I’m sure you do. Let’s go back to Matt Millen. Doesn’t Matt Millen strike you as the kind of guy who would consistently fuck up a group lunch order? Like, you write down that you want a BLT, and he comes back with half an onion ring and a ball of twine?
Woody: No.

Drew: Do you secretly wish some other team hired Bill Maas, so that you could have someone else to talk to about playing for a team that’s run by a blithering idiot?
Woody: No.

Drew: Would you consider kissing me?
Woody: No.

Drew: Come on. I’ve been on Acyclovir for three weeks now. If that’s the reason for your hesitation, I can assure you the outbreak is totally under control.
Woody: No.

Drew: Okay, what if you pretended that I was a burrito? Would you consider opening me up, slathering me with sour cream, and having your way with me?
Woody: No.

Drew: Damien, thanks for taking time out from leaning against other heavy men to come chat with us.
Woody: No problem.

NOTE: It goes without saying that these interviews are completely fabricated. We all know that, right? Just making sure.

Freedom Grill

Welcome back to work everybody! Seriously though, it’s Monday and I don’t want to be here. Unfortunately there’s been a lag in NFL player arrests/shootings/stabbings to distract us from the utter lack of excitement we’ve come to expect from the Dog Days of summer. Hopefully this inspired youtube video will brighten up your morning, hell, it could even cure your hangover for all I know. We now present you with an unusual sort of tribute, this guy has created a TITILLATING homage to his favorite tailgating appliance…the mighty grill. What really makes this video special is obviously not the grill itself, instead it’s the ridiculous collection of cheerleaders interspersed throughout. Enjoy.