Morning Slackers...last week I promised a weekly wrap-up of the weekend's foosball activities. Then I realized that proposition takes some serious time and effort, serious time I don't have and serious effort I clearly don't want to put forth. Last night I spent the majority of that game begging for more touchdowns and more yards from Donovan McNabb, only to be left five yards short of a miracle comeback against my fantasy league's other top team. A man who begs for yardage and points from a man who begs consumers to eat his Chunky Soup is in no position to write a weekly wrap-up every week. But I have some comments anyway...
One-hundred and seventy-one people this week exited the world famous knockout pool I'm in, 139 of them losing with the Green Bay Packers. Brrr Green Bay, cold Green Bay. That’s 139 people who obviously don’t know the oldest rule in the knockout playbook: Don't Bet on Monday Night Winners. The Pack had everything going for it this weekend when it took on the Bears: It was their home opener in Lambeau, they were coming off a huge win on national television in the den of the NFC champions, Favre and Green were lookin’ like Ax and Smash
of Demolition at the height of their success (complete with "Here comes Ahman, and here comes the Fav-ruh, go Green Bay Packers, walkin' disaster..." theme music).
The one betting rule that trumps all of that Lambeau good will, though: You absolutely, under no circumstances, ever take a team that played and won on Monday night, especially one that played and won on the road. There’s a bevy of problems involved -- there's short rest, there’s the let-down factor, there’s the adjustment to the day game schedule again. Whatever it is, it's the cardinal sin of one-loss suicide pools. I’m not saying a road winner never reigns supreme the following Sunday, I’m just saying it’s not a great idea to fuck around with that shit. That proceded me to taunt the Packer losers with repeated cries of, "What’s with you, mon? You fell for the oldest trick in the boooook." (Dark Helmet
I myself was sweating it out like Kirstie Alley
in the shade. I also overlooked the easy pick in New England to take the Fucking Saints. Why the hell did I take the Saints? Seriously, that's not rhetorical, why the fuck did I take the Saints? There’s no reason to take them, ever. They showed me nothing in the first week, looking like a soulless, poorly coached group of naturally talented athletes playing without pride, heart or smarts (I like when heart and smarts are in the same sentence, it kicks in the Boston accent in my brain when I read it -- haht and smahts). Yet I took ‘em, because they were playing a 49ers team led by Amateur Hour Ken Dorsey and Kevan Barlow, the latter of whom I thought was overrated but ran over my fantasy squad for 23 points this week. Well, the Saints lost Diggity Deuce McCallister for the day and then proceeded to blow both goats (I have proof) and a 20-10 lead, and then I nearly blew chunks. Trailing by four with less than two minutes to go, I was absolutely cursing myself for not going with the Patriots, until Aaron Brooks engineered a marvelous drive and saved my white ass. Thanks to Mr. Brooks
, who after seeing this picture looks like he's got a Chunky Soup commercial in the works with his mother as well.
The J-E-T-S Jets Jets Jets march to the Super Bowl continues, as Gang Green jumped out to an early 17-0 lead against the Chargers and held the lead throught the game. Unfortunately it ended up a lot closer than I'd have liked, but to borrow a line from our President, the offense looks strong, and it's getting stronger. And with a bye next week, the defense will straighten itself out over the next two weeks and show up as a cohesive unit in Miami for Week Four. New coach, new players, it takes some time to adjust. But I wasn't terribly displeased -- after all, Jon McGraw accidentally shot Drew Brees in the face at some point in the third quarter. And as some of you know, Brees is my unofficial nemesis. Would you like me to explain? I would love to hear this. So would I (That's from my new My Cousin Vinny
one-man show off Broadway).
So Brees. Two groups of women never fail to take a liking to me: the unabashed fatties and the criminally insane. Well, a pleasant combination of both happened to live in my house senior year in college -- this chick wasn't fat per se, but she was plumper than the average bear, and by all means uncomfortably crazy, like on more than one occasion I thought she'd boil my bunny crazy. Anyway, after her attempt to ask me out was thwarted by the 2000 Subway Series
(and by my vomiting in the corner like the new guy at a crime scene), she covered it up with a string of doctored e-mails from a fake and clearly transparent hotmail account, claiming she really wasn't asking me out but was taking me to meet her boss Conan O'Brien at the NBC Studios, where I'd get hooked up live via satellite to the Yankees and Mets lockerrooms before the first game. I'm not making this up, this girl was that crazy that this lie didn't seem far-fetched to her. So there's some background on this bitch.
Fast forward a few months and a few envisioned fists punches and judo kicks the right temple, and we're having a party in our house. Despite inviting way too many people, we neglected to invite our crazy upstairs neighbor, who takes offense in the biggest way possible. And then unbeknownst to me, she concocts the following story, and procedes to tell many people on campus...I had maybe three people come up to me and ask me if it were true or not. How she picked Drew Fucking Brees, I'll never figure that out -- maybe she thought I liked the giant thing on the right side of his face.
Here's the story she came up with to spite me and show me how cool she was: Drew Brees, star quarterback of the Purdue Boilermakers, came to visit this neighbor on the night of the party, and knocked on our door. Being the ridiculous sports fan that I am, I opened the door and immediately began fawning over the arrival of our guest: "Come on in, man, can I get you anything? A beer? Wow, Drew Brees, I loooove you man." Brees, invited by our upstairs neighbor to her place and not to our party, hatefully responded that he had no intention of coming inside, for if the neighbor/his close friend/perhaps boyfriend/looney slutbag wasn't invited, then the lovable QB wasn't gracing us with his presence and coming to our party. "I wouldn't go to any party thrown by someone who doesn'tinvite [crazy neighbor girl]," I believe he said. I forget how it all ends, but I think I was so distraught by the turn of events that I spent the rest of the night sulking in the bathroom (which is actually the only accurate part of the story and how most parties ended for me in college). The relationship between Brees and I has never been the same since.
Maybe that's not the funniest story in the world, but it's definitely one of the freakiest I've ever been involved in. Imagine being the central character in that ridiculous charade..that's some crazy shit. So yeah, the Jets beat my unofficial nemesis and continued on their path to Jacksonville, as we keep you updated on, The March...To the Super Bowl. (Eat Snacky Smores).
For the record, I gotta start putting my weekly picks up on this here site, because I'm having a pretty good season...and because I need to be loved and admired, maybe I'll get some people writing in and saying things like, "Your picks are so good I want to fellate you nightly." I told my mom not to post on here, but I don't enforce the rules all that well. Anyway, so far I'm 20-11-1, which ain't too bad. Look out on Friday for the picks...
Sports sports sports sports, sports sports sports sports.