Love For The Jets
My sports horizon's been looking fucking bleak lately.
This weekend alone, top-ranked Ohio State eked out a 54-10 win over my Northwestern Cardiac Cats, Liverpool lost a season-killing 3-0 drubbing at Arsenal's Emirates Stadium, my surging fantasy football squad suffered a huge setback and fell back to .500, I was eliminated from my final remaining knockout pool with the Falcons' loss to Cleveland, and in the 15 NFL games played so far this week, I'm 3-12 against the spread. Yahtzee.
But I'm smiling this morning, grinning like a ghost on a baseball field in Iowa. The overachieving New York Jets stormed into The Razor up in Foxboro and physically beat up on the dynastic Patriots (next we're gonna mop the floor with Blessed Heart of Mary). Never mind the score -- we let Brady & Co. hang around in typical Jets fashion -- we took the fight to them for the first time since Pennington's first year as a starter. And that's what fans love to see, guys in green jerseys hitting the other team right in the mouth.
My game ball goes to rookie cornerback Drew Coleman, who turned around all the momentum by stripping Doug Gabriel on the sidelines in the first quarter. That play not only flipped what would have probably been a 10-0 Pats lead and eventual rout, it set up that 16-play, nine- minute drive that put the Jets up for good. Drew Coleman also picked off Brady just before the half, but that was negated by one of the biggest bush league calls in history. The NFL has to figure out how to protect the quarterbacks without ruining the integrity of the game.
I've hesitated to comment on the Jets' unbelievable season for fear they'd lose the rest of their games, but this team is showing me so much on both sides of the ball that I don't even believe my own crap any more. Plus, the karma gods owe us one after the bullshit Browns defeat before the bye week -- I didn't complain at the time because I know that'll be made up for us somehow, somewhere. We deserve one in our favor (like a $20 bank error), and we'll get one. I'm not calling for Super Bowl tickets or even playoff tickets just yet, but Mangini's blitzes got me fired up for the future. J-E-T-S, we spell it.
Bring on Da Basically New York Bears next week...and don't worry Giants' fans, we'll protect your house for ya.
Slack Search Engine Referrals of the Day: Someone out there in the Internets wants to know "how to eat a muffin with no crumbs." I'll help them out, since they somehow landed on this here rag. There's one simple suggestion, and one complicated one.
My first answer is "Eat it in one bite." Simple enough. The other answer? Take the muffin, put it in a blender, puree that shit nice and good, break your jaw with a heavyweight hammer, wire up that jaw, put a straw into the mug, drink that muffin up. Now, you may ask, why not just drink it without breaking your own jaw? 'Cuz I just don't see how that's any fun. Allright, enjoy your muffin, fuckface.
Here are some other fun Google searches from today: A*Team episode when BA's van goes into the water, jaguar for men hand jobs barely know, and "my balls are shrinking."
Slack Link of the Day: As expected, it appears K-Fed (aka Fed-Ex) has a honeymoon sex tape for sale. But here's a strange line from the article: "They did nothing all day but have sex — and play the odd game of chess." I think I'd pay more money for a tape of these two fucking idiots playing chess than of them having sex. That might say something about me, but it's true.
Slack Video of the Day: Here's a clip of a tune called The Baby Inside that some guy from the Phish board recorded a couple months ago. From the title it seems like a wholesome, sweet song...well, okay.
Slack Song of the Day: Here's one of my favorite pianists, Mr. Horace Silver, with Doodlin', The Preacher, Cape Verdean Blues, and Song For My Father (and tell me Steely Dan didn't steal-y dan the piano intro for Rikki Don't Lose That Number). Enjoy.