Nick Lachey & Sports? Blame Jessica Simpson

Am I the only person that has noticed Nick Lachey’s big face at every marquee sporting event in the last year? From NFL halftimes and MLB All-Star games to presenting at the ESPYs and engaging in laughable sycophancy on the USC sidelines, Lachey has been there. He’s the Law and Order of the sports world. It matters not the date, time, or channel, Mr. Jessica is on the air, offering up his unique brand of Average Joe “analysis,” which is usually followed by a soul-lifting tune and shameless rooting for the popular contender. When the frequency of his appearances first became noticeable, I said, “Ya know, he must be getting his name out there in preparation for the day they divorce. He’ll need a job when Nick & Jessica’s Family Christmas is off the table.”

So here we are. The divorce is on and it’s gonna be a nasty bugger. As one would expect, Jessica’s the breadwinner – at least, I assume so, as I don’t see how her raking in a cool $35 mil last year compares to Nick’s compensation for ESPN’s College Gameday and 6 episodes of Charmed. But in a surprise twist, there isn’t a pre-nup and California is a community property state! How do you let something like that happen?! I’ve narrowed the reasoning down to the following possibilities: 1) The couple was so blinded by love that they thought their marriage would last; 2) Naive Jessica didn’t realize that while losing your virginity to your husband is super, eventually, a girl’s just gotta have more dick; 3) Naive Jessica thought it’d last forever and Nick was smart enough not to dissuade her; and 4) Neither knew they’d ever rake in so many dollars, so it didn’t matter. I have a feeling that it’s #2 but I’m hoping it’s #3. Whatever the reason, this poor girl is gonna pay through the nose until Lachey remarries or Britney Spears loses the weight and takes back her starshine.

One thing is certain though – now Nick Lachey will have the money to move out of Matt Leinart’s apartment. Good on ya, Nick! I hope you get millions from that filthy tart. It’s not that I think you deserve to get half; I simply blame her for YOUR overexposure on sports television. The fact that she made you so insecure in the stability of your relationship (and in turn, your career) that you had to ruin the viewing experiences of millions with your on-air presence is nothing short of criminal. Luckily, you’ve yet to invade the English Premier League or any other facet of soccer, but since I’m a realist, I’ve already braced myself for the announcement that you’ll be performing during World Cup 2006 intermissions. Get all the money you can and get away from sports! Good luck, buddy.

Michael Irvin & Pookie: Kindred Spirits

Ya know, I feel bad for Michael Irvin. It’s not that he’s a tortured soul or a loveable nitwit whose childish, irresponsible behavior is ruining his Hall of Fame chances or even a guy that is so wrapped up in drug abuse that he went on Dan Patrick’s show and lied about having a crackpipe when it was really a “multi-colored pipe w/ marijuana residue inside a Versace sunglass case (that also contained a lighter and dimebags) that was tucked under” the driver’s seat. The problem is that after more than a decade of Irvin’s nonsense, I realized that, in many ways, the Playmaker is little more than an athletically gifted, wealthy version of Pookie from New Jack City and, well, that’s simply not good for business. For the unfamiliar:

Wesley Snipes is Nino Brown, a Harlem hustler and drug dealer who seizes upon the crack boom of the mid-’80s that overran the country and New York City in particular. Along with Gee Money (Allen Payne), the stuttering muscle, Duh Duh Duh Man (Bill Nunn), the homicidal Keisha (Vanessa Williams), and the rest of his gang (CMB – Cash Money Brothers), Nino fashions a crime empire a la Scarface and revolutionizes the way crack is bought and sold. Charged with stopping Nino and his crew is Detective Stone (Mario Van Peebles), who recruits maverick cop, Scotty Appleton (Ice-T) and the equally crazy Det. Nick Peretti (Judd Nelson). Appleton enlists Pookie (a young Chris Rock), a crackhead he formerly busted in a drug sting. Pookie goes undercover in Nino’s organization and gets the cops further inside Nino’s world than they had managed to get before. But it’s not long before the pressure gets to Pookie and he’s back to suckin on his glass dick. This eventually proves to be his downfall. More occurs but it’s not relevant.

Okay, so that really wasn’t a great comparison but I never miss an opportunity to talk about the greatest movie crackhead of all time. Sure, there was the one in Menace II Society that offered O-Dog a blowjob and a bag of cheeseburgers in exchange for some rock but he didn’t have Pook’s winning personality. In any case, let’s assume Irvin is telling the truth and Anonymous Cracky really came to his house for a little Turkey and an intervention. How did the friend get to the house with pipe in tow? You can’t just pop one in your back pocket [or can you? My crack-cocaine experience is minimal] in hopes that it a) doesn’t fall out or b) doesn’t smash into tiny pieces when your crackass forgets it back there, so is it fair to assume that there’s a carrying case? If so, I’ll bet you it has a catchy name… Apple Jack Travel Pack, perhaps, or even Geek & Go. It’ll include a padded space for your lighter, another one for your vial of crumbs, and a condom space for the inevitable Menace II Society moment. What a moneymaker that could be!

You shake your head at me now but there’ll come a time when ESPN can no longer stand the heat for protecting one of its own from scandal and they’ll have to let The Playmaker go. When that happens, Mike is gonna need a new way to bring in the dollars and I think Michael Irvin’s Geek & Go could be just the ticket.

Lloyd Carr’s iChoke

Ya know, it’s just not a proper college football Saturday when you can’t watch Lloyd Carr snag defeat from the jaws of victory and choke a game away for the Michigan Wolverines.

[Hattip: Matt Geiger]

George Best, 1946-2005

George Best was a genius, a magician, a legend and arguably the most talented footballer of any generation. No one was faster, braver, more clever or destructive. And while Pele, Cruyff, and Maradona were stunning, Best was sublime, possessing a bit of each in his game and more. His engine rivaled that of Manchester City legend Colin Bell and Frank Lampard of Chelsea, he shot the ball from both feet with equal brilliance, and was unstoppable in the air. It’s often said that the best judges of a footballer are the players themselves and if you speak to anyone who trained or played alongside Bestie, they’ll tell you the same thing – he took your breath away.

I awoke this morning to find that the man named by Pele as the greatest footballer of all time had passed just hours before at the age of 59. Born 10 years too late, I never had the pleasure of witnessing his genius on the pitches of Europe, but I’ll be forever grateful for the impact he had on my life and that of others, as well as the beautiful game. Whatever your views on Bestie.. that he was an icon, a wasted talent, a tabloid alcoholic, or simply the soft-spoken bloke on Sky Soccer Saturday, take solace that his demons are finally behind him.

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Times Online Obituary: George Best was the most talented British football player of his and arguably of any generation. He appeared to play and read the game at a different pace from those around him. He possessed dribbling skills which, in the words of his team mate Pat Crerand, could leave opposing defenders with “twisted blood”, and a balance which enabled him to ride or avert the most ruthless tackles, which his reputation and ability to humiliate the hard men of the game inevitably attracted. His goal-scoring record was phenomenal for a winger. Best was quick, brave, and a sublime passer of the ball when he could curb his natural inclination to hold onto it for as long as possible. At his best, he gave the impression that thought and execution were a seamless whole, and at all times he approached the game with the passion and excitement of a young boy. Even the incomparable Pelé once called him “the greatest footballer in the world”.

George Best Tributes – Premier League
Football Mourns George Best Death – BBC Sport
Best Man – BBC Sport
Football Legend George Best Dies – Financial Times

All Premier League matches this weekend will conduct a one minute’s silence prior to the kick off to honor Best for his sublime footballing skills and the special contribution he made to the game.

George Best, footballer, was born on May 22, 1946. He died on November 25, 2005, aged 59. Rest in peace, Bestie.

Danica Patrick Marries Oldster

Danica Patrick, age 23, married physical therapist and resident oldster, Paul Hospenthal (pictured on the left) on Saturday in Scottsdale, Arizona. Patrick met the 40-year old Hospenthal while seeking treatment for a hip injury from a yoga session. What kind of pod injures a hip while harnessing her chi? And apart from that, I didn’t even know it was okay to pick up a man while he’s getting personal with your hips and thighs each day on an orthopedic table. I’ve been through tons of physical therapy for ACL injuries and the like and I’ve yet to pick up a man in this process. I wish I’d known there were new rules. Sure, most the PT guys in our training room lack a certain salt n’ pepper charm but there must be a couple Social Security recipients in the athletic department who think I’m a right catch. I’m still waiting to be treated to a Long John Silver’s dinner courtesy of an AARP card discount but since I’ve never thrown out a hip, my potential suitors may not think we have anything in common.

All that said, good luck to Danica. I hope she’s found forever happiness with her wise, mature man. When she has kids, I bet his Medicare will cover the expenses; her millions will be protected.

Why Is Norv Turner Still Employed?

The Oakland Raiders are taking years off my life. I’ll be honest – I never thought this would happen. I remember just three years ago when I was full of hope for the future. I skipped class and practice to watch the Raiders get blown away at Super Bowl XXXVIII. I returned to campus to find my coach waiting outside my dorm: “Team captains dont skip practice for the NFL.” The penalty was a 21 mile run (21 for the number of players in my stead) in the snow at 0500; I had to finish by 0715. This was the first time my Raider devotion was a negative force in my life and since that cold, snowy morning, I’ve been through three boyfriends, broken 3 ribs, 2 ankles, and an arm, suffered 2 concussions, and now spend September to January on the verge of stroking out. I blame my life’s sad state of affairs on Al Davis and his braindead decision-making process.

Aside from: going for big-name hype over fundamental quality in order to perennially field a collection of parts that don’t fit; hiring 20 defensive coordinators in 25 years; holding on to a 30-year defensive philosophy of a non-blitzing, 4-man rush attack with 7 in coverage; not signing or drafting an impact linebacker or pass rushing DE since Ted Hendricks and Howie Long; wasting draft picks on athletes who run fast but can’t play; being satisfied with the worst linebacking corps in the NFL, as it sits behind an underachieving, overweight defensive line; failing to develop Billie Joe Hobert, Todd Marinovich, Major Harris, Steve Beuerlein; not needing the draft because of the addictive need to pick up expensive mediocrity like Jay Schroeder, Jeff Hostetler, Trace Armstrong, Warren Sapp, and Ted Washington; drafting 4th round talent in the first round thanks to piss-poor scouting; fielding a weak sauce rush attack; lying about the commitment to excellence; hiring retread puppets that can’t coach their way out of a wet paper bag; watching quietly as the Raiders become the laughing stock of the NFL; letting Jon Gruden walk; not hiring Romeo Crennel; and allowing the slogan to remain “Just Win Baby” when it should be “We Used to Win, Baby,” Al Davis’ worst moves were were hiring Norv Turner and signing Kerry Collins.

Collins is an underachieving trainwreck that handles pressure about as well as Barney Fife. Outside of fantasy football (where he’s the equivalent of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow man), his existence only offers value to the opposing team’s defense. You’d think that if Randy Moss could get Chad Pennington into the NFL, he’d be able to turn Kerry Collins into a demigod but oh no. Collins’ inability to turn big stats and huge plays into wins makes me wonder if we should be checking his bank account. Sadly, he’s capable of three things: prancing to the sideline after pussing out in the pocket, tossing interceptions, and overthrowing everyone on the field by 15 yards. I’d ask for him to be replaced but we have no options. Maybe Phillip Rivers will be available soon. I’d rather take a flyer on a rookie with potential than waste another year with an inept pod who looks like he seeks out glory hole action in the restrooms of parks and truck stops. Okay.. maybe that wasn’t fair. As for Norv, forget the fact that we’re 1-9 in the AFC West in his tenure and are two games away from the first winless season in the division since 1962. He has about as much passion for the job as a piece of stale crust and he can neither control nor communicate with his players. As much as I want Kerry Collins to hit the road, I believe Norv is at least partly responsible for his incredible suckitude. Offensive genius or not, Turner has no business being a head coach. Maybe he can head east and hook up with Dave Wannstadt. They can relive their Jimmy Johnson glory days and craft up new ways to run Pitt into the ground.

There was an article in the Denver Post that speculated on the possibility of UCLA’s Karl Dorrell replacing Turner at the end of the season. “The former Colorado and Broncos assistant is said to be garnering interest in the NFL after turning around the Bruins. Dorrell, the Broncos’ receivers coach from 2000-02, would fit the profile sought by Davis. He’s young, with an offensive background, has coached in the NFL in the AFC West and has California ties.” If Davis hires this guy, it’ll be more of the same. Dorrell was 12-13 against weak Pac10 competition coming into this season and this year, UCLA is nothing more than an overrated paper tiger. The Bruins had their manhood impugned by a 3-7 Arizona team, squeaked by Stanford and Washington State in OT, and needed late 4th quarter drives to beat Washington and Cal. I’d say that Dorrell, at the very least, needs more time to prove himself but knowing Al Davis, he drew up the paperwork after UCLA thumped Oklahoma in September.

Edit: And yes, I know the Raiders won yesterday. It’s simply not good enough.

Stay Classy, Florida Keys

[Hattip: Matt Geiger]

Chelsea and the Big Red Sports Machine

Two bits of wisdom are thought to apply across all sports: Defense wins championships and meddling owners lose them. And though many owners are hands-on types that like to fiddle and tinker, there is another group that takes interference to a new level – The Meddling Owners Brigade. To be a member of the M.O.B., one must be a wildly wealthy, brazenly corrupt megalomaniac who fails to understand that his/her job is to stay out of the way, sign the checks, and let the football/baseball/basketball/soccer people in the front office do their jobs. It seems the crew, which includes Dan Snyder, Jerry Jones, George Steinbrenner, Marge Schott, Al Davis, Eddie DeBartolo Jr., and Jerry Reinsdorf, have invited a new owner to their sandbox of unwanted intrusion: Roman Abramovich.

According to the Daily Mirror (translation: take this with a mound of salt), the owner of the Chelsea Football Club (also known around here as Chelski, slags, tarts, whores, wankers, c^nts, and any other derogatory adjective that comes to mind) launched an official investigation to get to the bottom of the side’s recent dip in form. After surviving 40 games without a loss under the guidance of Jose Mourinho, the Blues have suffered three draws and two successive defeats – one to Real Betis in the Champions League and then to Manchester United in the Premiership. It’s being reported that Abramovich sent his key advisers to the club’s training ground last week to interview manager Jose Mourinho’s staff about the losses. The reported purpose of the investigation is to “ensure the dip in form was temporary and that problems with some players… would not become a major issue.” But come on, this guy is an oligarch. It’s only natural for him to believe that when things go awry, a conspiracy is afoot. As such, he likely believes that it’s time to engage in old school Soviet sports machine terror tactics. Though I doubt this method will be useful in the English Premier League, at least he’s being proactive. I’m a bit jealous.

*Update – “Tomorrow’s press conference (Friday 18th November) with Jose Mourinho has been cancelled due to a number of untrue reports in some of today’s newspapers.” Yah huh, sure. Jose’s in the hospital courtesy of a case of the broken legs delivered by The Red Mafia.

An Ode to a Gangbang

A group calling itself the 7th Floor Crew — the name reportedly comes from the seventh floor of the Mahoney Residential College, campus housing at Miami — made a recording referencing multiple acts of group sex, derogatory terms for women and minorities and dozens of curse words that lasts approximately 9 minutes. School officials say the song was recorded two years ago, but that seems to offer little solace.” – Pat Forde, ESPN

7th Floor Crew – University of Miami Gangbang

Some gems:

If your ho the one gettin’ fucked on the 7th flo’
Then you would know, cuz the bitch don’t want you no mo’
She’d tell you she met a guy who was nice and candid
I think they call him T-Good, or the “big dick bandit”
Say he had a big dick, but I thought it was random
Then he pull out the fuckin’ Magnum trojan condom
And he said, “Baby, that’s not how it begin,”
Then he brought in all of his 7th flo’ friends
She found out there was more to Miami than just a football team
There’s also the 7th floor King Ding-a-Ling
She thought 5-2 was just my number, then she realized
You multiply the bitch up, then you get my dick size
First I put it in the pussy, then in the butt
That’s all full, dog, the condom is filled up
———————————
We the boys from that Penthouse suite, slangin’ that dick
If you ain’t ’bout the train, then fuck you, bitch
Cuz my boys gotta hit, too
Bend over and get tattooed by the boys from the 7th floor crew
You came a good girl, but you leavin’ a ho
You wonder why they call me Thundercat, but now you know
If the pussy’s nice and wet, you can believe I’mma fuck it
Oh, that’s it, baby… suck it, suck it.
———————————
Chillin’ on the 7th flo’, I gotta let these chickens know
Big Greg is in the house, and I’m fittin’ to make these hoes choke
On my balls, on my dick, then I bust a nut, quick
On her face, on her chest, stick my dick between her breasts
Come on, fellas, let’s get weird, stick ya dick up in her ear
While I’m laughin’ at these guys, a second nut all in her eyes

A nut in the eyes burns. That’s just not cricket, Greg Olsen! But my favorite line was this one: “She thought Five Two was just my number then she realized/you multiply the bitch up then you get my dick size.” Yah sure. Go take a look at Tavares Gooden. If I was ever approached by a dude with that face coupled with that dick size, I’d run for the goddamn hills. No woman deserves to be visually and physically assaulted to that degree at the same time.

Listening to these fools take themselves so seriously elicits nothing from me but laughter. At 2 or 3 am on a random Wednesday night in 2003, I was: playing video games, drinking, getting involved in random shenanigans with boys, or all of the above. At the same time, these strokers were crafting almost-rhymes to lay on this lame ass beat while BET’s Uncut Booty Videos played on a flat screen in the background. There were drafts, re-writes, and tireless practices; arguments over whether they should say “trick” instead of “bitch” in the line “If you ain’t ’bout the train, then fuck you, bitch.”

The only reasons I can think of that explain why they never said bukkake is that they couldn’t find a way to make it rhyme or they simply don’t know how to pronounce it. This must’ve been a tireless undertaking. In any case, I now feel a sense of peace where college football is concerned. The down cycles of the traditional college football powers are officially over, a true 1 & 2 are going to battle for the National Championship, and the Miami Hurricanes have gone back to the roots that were carefully cultivated by the likes of Jimmy Johnson, Dennis Erickson, Ray Lewis, and Michael Irvin. The U is alive and well. The Convicts are back.

Collegiate Football Rivalries Enter NASCAR

Do you think “Chris Rix” is the equivalent of a four-letter word? Do you wear jean shorts? If you answered yes to either question, then the NEXTEL Cup has something for you. In a first for NASCAR racing, college rivalries from the gridiron will settle the score on the track. Scott Riggs’ No. 10 Florida State Seminoles car and Kyle Petty’s No. 45 Florida Gators car will face off at the Ford 400 this Saturday at Homestead-Miami Speedway. The sponsorship is designed to give sports fans one more opportunity to gear up for the intra-Florida rivalry on the football field set for the following week.

The Company expects to create excitement due to the tremendous fan cross-over among the two sports. Exciting, isn’t it? Just like the universities they’ll represent, these drivers are right in the thick of title hunt… or not. This would be a great idea if the drivers were Tony Stewart, Carl Edwards, Greg Biffle, Jimmie Johnson (or anyone that actually matters) going after the final title of The Chase in, say, USC Texas, Miami, and LSU cars. But they’re not! It’s a nobody and a has-been racing cars sponsored by this season’s also-rans. Good choice, NEXTEL. If they’re going to stick with the Florida-Florida State theme, the least they can do is slap those sponsorships on the top cars and then pay Jeff Gordon to drive the South Carolina Cocks car… he can knock Tony Stewart out of the Chase at the last minute just for laughs.