NFL Draft 2006 – 8 Random Day 1 Thoughts

After they discover fire and the wheel, which (former) Ohio State linebacker will celebrate by ordering the roast duck with mango salsa at dinner – AJ Hawk or Bobby Carpenter?

Raiders Draft 2006: Further Down the Spiral

When talking to friends about the draft, they inevitably ask who I’d like to see the Raiders take in the first round. My initial thought tends to be, "The opposite of what Al Davis likes." Then I remember Fabian Washington and think, "Someone who actually deserves to be in the first round." After that, I spend another minute or so being depressed before shaping up and sharing my wish list.

As one can expect, I’m more worried about this draft than those of previous years. My Raiders are in a precarious position and it’s a surreal feeling being consciously aware of the fact that we’ve reached the proverbial fork in the road. Sometimes teams fall apart and you don’t realize it while it’s happening. But 10 years down the line, you look back and can easily pinpoint the beginning of the end. Losing Jon Gruden was our beginning of the end but the damage can be reversed – at least somewhat – if things go right this year. It’s true that we’re lead by a senile pimp and Captain Mediocrity but with a great draft, maybe there’s hope for the future… maybe we can reverse our free fall into the NFL abyss. With our track record, however, I don’t think it’s gonna happen. The last draft that would qualify as solid was 2000. I was still in high school and the only people I had to get excited about were: Sebastian Rape-ikowski, who could be great but can no longer see his penis because his stomach is in the way; Jerry Porter, who I love but really let me down last year; and Shane Lechler, the lights out punter. Two kickers in six picks… maybe THAT was the beginning of the end.

But back to the point at hand — I’m terribly frightened of what Al Davis will be on about tomorrow. I keep reading reports that he’s fallen in love with Vince Young.. that he’ll do anything to have him.. that our draft hopes rest on being able to land Texas Rico. We desperately need a quarterback but in the short term, the only good thing I can see about drafting Vince Young is that the cameras for his BET reality show might catch Al Davis emerging from his coffin in the bowels of the Coliseum, thus proving that he is, in fact, the undead. And while Young might be great in the long run, the Raiders are on the brink and don’t have time for a project. We can’t wait for this kid to learn the game and get his mechanics together and even if we could, we don’t have anyone to teach him! Resident mobile QBs – Aaron Brooks and Marques Tuiasosopo – shouldn’t help elementary kids play neighborhood football after school, let alone act as guiding forces for a multi-million dollar investment! But I don’t know why I’m complaining… we’re going to draft Vince Young and I’m going to spend hour three of the draft tomorrow in tears, knowing that by midnight Sunday evening, Al Davis will have sealed our fate as the Arizona Cardinals of the 21st century.

I wish I could drop a bomb on the Raiders’ war room. I’d replace the decision makers with trained seals and put together the best draft since the Kicker Special of 2000. We’d start by taking the 6’4, 305 pound DT from Oregon - Haloti Ngata – to fill the gaping hole left by the monstrous Ted Washington. If he’s gone, we’d go with Texas DB Michael Huff, mostly because our secondary is decimated and the Bay Area needs a good IHOP..

In any case, I plan to be thoroughly liquored up this weekend in order to numb myself from the inevitable pain. So cheers to all. I hope your draft day treats you better than mine will.

Please Barry, Pass The Babe Today!

In the beginning, I was insensed that Barroids was going to juice his way to the greatest record in sports but, ya know, I simply don’t care anymore. The articles, columns, and books.. the crawl on ESPN with the "Chasing Ruth" section, Bonds on Bonds. How much more will we be forced to endure?? I’ve decided to start cheering for Bonds. It sounds crazy and I know he’s a cheating dickbag but hear me out. Unless someone snipes Barroids from the top of the stands or Jeff Gilooly’s him when he gets to 713, nothing, not even the bone chips floating freely through his outer extremeties will prevent him from passing Babe Ruth. As such, I’ve realized that the faster Barry Bonds meets and surpasses 714, the happier I’ll be, as the fuss will go away and will likely take Barry with it. If just for a week, I want his bone chips to heal. I want his knee to get better.. If he can heal long enough to hit 4 more home runs, life can return to normal and we can get back to talking about things like.. well.. I don’t remember what we were talking about pre-Game of Shadows but I bet it was good!

Now some of you may be wondering what will happen if Bonds’ healing isn’t temporary… if he magically gets better and forces us to endure his campaign to pass Hank Aaron.  … Did you ever see the movie "Death Becomes Her?" Probably not. It stars Bruce Willis, Meryl Streep, and Goldie Hawn and the actresses play women who were friends in their youth but become rivals after a man (Bruce Willis) gets between them. Goldie Hawn gets depressed and fat, Streep turns into a movie star, and twenty years later, Hawn discovers a magic potion that reverses the aging process and gives immortality. Somehow, Streep gets the potion also and after some issues, they’re murdered and turn into a hotter version of Night of the Living Dead. Shenanigans ensue, as they find ways to keep their dead bodies from completely falling apart… they’re screwing fingers back on, popping knees and shoulders back into place, touching up gunshot wounds, etc. Well, this is Barry Bonds. The slugger took his magic hormone potion to reverse the aging process and evolved from a great player into a legendary player. But now things have taken a turn for the worse and he’s in the "keep my dead body from falling apart" mode, which forces him to piece himself together before taking the field. You wonder why Barry can’t play a night game before a day game? He’s probably too busy drilling his knee back in! His bones are chipped, his knees are plastic, he has a head that looks like it doubles as a womb for one of the creatures from "Aliens"… this guy knows better than to stay around! He’s gotta retire before his limbs start falling off in the basepaths. The Hammer’s record is safe and soon, we will be as well.

Chief Wahoo and My PC Confrontation

*My brother was a huge Cleveland Indians fan and his beloved Indians cap is now mine; I’m not an Indians fan but for sentimental reasons, I wear it all the time (including today).

So it happens that while I was going about things earlier today, some random woman (hereby known as "Protest" since she looked like she missed the bus to next one) got in my face and said, "How dare you! The Native American peoples suffer from oppression, poverty, and alcoholism and you mock them!!" 

It took me a couple seconds to realize that she was not down with Chief Wahoo but this didn’t occur until after I stopped laughing at her saying "peoples." My delayed reaction wasn’t noticed, however, as Protest went off the deep end, bashing me from this angle and that for my insensitivity to the Native American plight.

Eventually, she ran out of things to complain about and asked if I had a response… She said it in that tone your mum uses when she calls you out on being bad and asks if you "have anything to say for yourself." In those situations, my head usually drops in shame and I pout. But not today. "Thank you for your opinions ma’am but I AM an indian and if I want to offend myself with a baseball cap, that’s my business." Protest’s mouth fell open but all that came out were "I can’t believe you"-type scoffing noises. I call them the sounds of inarticulate indignance, but soon enough, she got some words out and the topic shifted. 

"I’m sorry young lady but to be an Indian, you have to meet specific blood numbers set by the government! With your white hair, I doubt you meet those!" "You mean the government-imposed blood quantum that determines how white I am and whether or not I can belong to this ethnic group?" "Uh.. well I wouldn’t put it that way." "But that’s what it is." "So what? You don’t meet them!" "My father’s an Apache and my mother is English-German. To be a member of the Apache nation, you need 1/8 blood, so since I’m 1/2, it looks like I’m covered….. Got any more brainbusters?" "Oh…"

She looked defeated, I was pleased. But it wasn’t over. "Well… do you speak your native tongue?" "Yes." "What would your ancestors say to you?" Was she asking me to lecture myself out loud about the hat? I didn’t respond to her but I don’t think my ancestors would have anything to say. They missed the John Wayne era where Indians were portrayed as savages and drunk injun sidekicks, so I doubt Chief Wahoo would resonate with them… my grandfather, on the other hand, would definitely object.

"Your peoples (again with peoples) are proud warriors and can’t be pleased with your hat and the fact that you’re destroying your own culture instead of bettering your life and leaving the reservation for education!" At that point, I left the scene. We weren’t going to accomplish anything.

This exchange pissed me off because we could have had a good conversation about these issues, ya know? Chief Wahoo is a fiery red, hook-nosed, wildly grinning caricature that is about as politically correct as a depiction of two black children in overalls with big eyes and big lips eating watermelon. And given the brutality and systematic dehumanization that has befallen American Indians, why is Wahoo so goddamn smiley? 

Maybe he’s just amused that team mascots are the only mainstream images of Indians that the majority of Americans see… maybe he’s a bumbling, drunk fool. Whatever it is, nothing can be done about it since we don’t have a Jesse Jackson-type squawking and boycotting each time someone’s feathers get ruffled. But alas. Rather than make an attempt at calm, rational, intelligent discussion, that stupid cunt got in my face, lit into me like an pissed off hen, and then questioned how Indian I actually am (or maybe how Indian I’m not). And now Protest is probably off at a poetry slam or some coffee house telling her group about the misguided, lost cause she met today and they’re getting up in arms about it. Ugh.

Nice Game, Pretty Boy!

There’s something special about the body’s reaction to loss of consciousness. I don’t know if it’s the way the knees buckle or the amusing manner in which the arms go limp and fall lifelessly to a person’s sides but I do know one thing — It’s cases like this that make me glad the NHL has returned. Check out Brian Campbell of the Buffalo Sabres (cleanly) welcoming Philly Flyers rookie R.J. Umberger to the NHL [PS. The cartoon-sized eyes are pretty good too]:

In other news, Keith Hernandez has proven himself to be an even bigger douchebag than his self-portrayal in the Seinfeld episode "The Boyfriend." During the second inning of the Mets-Padres game last Saturday, Mike Piazza managed another homerun and after returning to the dugout, he high fived Kelly Calabrese, a full-time massage therapist for the club. Hernandez spotted the shenanigans and had a mild freakout — "Who is the girl in the dugout, with the long hair?… What’s going on here? You have got to be kidding me. Only player personnel in the dugout." He was later advised that Calabrese has been with the Padres’ training staff since 2004 but stood by his comment that she didn’t belong with the team during a game.

"I won’t say that women belong in the kitchen, but they don’t belong in the dugout," Hernandez said. He then laughed and said: "You know I am only teasing. I love you gals out there — always have."

That was pretty funny since we all know the only place Keith loves to see the "gals" is on his penis.  I’d ask where Keith was when the rest of us joined the 21st century but it’s probably safe to assume that he was reliving the good old days in a coke den somewhere with other members of the ’86 Mets and missed the memo. As such, here’s a note to other men that ever need to apologize for being chauvenist pricks — Put the Keith Hernandez method at the top of the "how not to" list and avoid using the word gals in the apology. If you do, the only thing people will believe is that you’re an outdated, facetious wanker… either that or you’re a candidate to join the other estrogen-deficient senior citizens in my Bubbe’s Mah-Jongg club.

Update: Click here for the audio of Keith having a flashback to 1913 (Hattip: Matt Geiger)

Passover, Hitler, & People Who Have to Go

Well kids, it’s 420. The last day of Passover has finally arrived and come sunrise, Ill be feeding my Buddha a couple sausage mcmuffins, a side of latkes, and a lemon-lime Gatorade. And guess what else today is)! That’s right – Adolf Hitler’s birthday. And in 2008, Pesach actually begins on his birthday. Coincidence? Probably. But I’ll furrow my brow in suspicion just for kicks. But ya know something, it’s really too bad 420 day didn’t exist back in the 1930s.

Der Führer could have taken some hits of the ganjah to celebrate his birthday. Over time, he’d develop a habit and slowly but surely mellow out. Would he have still hated the Jews? Probably. Would he still have been crazy? Definitely. But in exchange for one bag of Cheetos and a plastic cup of oversugared grape Kool-Aid, Adolf Hitler wouldn’t have dragged his sorry ass off the couch to do anything about us. Weed could have saved millions, a few of my relatives included.

In any case, let’s move on for today’s nominees for people/groups who need to be shuffled loose the mortal coil with no regrets:

Montgomery City Council – The City Coucil has a message for late civil rights icon Rosa Parks and other blacks who were mistreated in Montgomery during the Civil Rights Era: “We’re sorry.” The majority-white council voted unanimously Tuesday to make a formal apology after the Alabama Legislature approved a bill that sets up a process to pardon Parks and hundreds of others arrested for violating segregation-era laws. Nice work, you bleeding rotters! She’s been dead since last October and you couldn’t manage an apology before then? They had 50 years to get this done and even if you argue that it never would have happened in the 60s, 70s, 80s, OR the 90s, they couldn’t get the stones in the new millenium? Remember when asshats would say dumb shit like “Oh you can’t act like that! It’s the year 2000!” “Well, I’m doin this and this cuz it’s the year 2000.” Same message to you, Montgomery City Council!! By the year 2000, you shoulda been on the case. Christ, you could have apologized to give her a good 90th birthday present! But no, not you. Seven months after the woman kicks it, “Oops… we didn’t mean it !” Shameful.

That’s enough anger for this afternoon. Cheers and Happy 420 day to all!

I Wish Samuel L. Jackson Owned Sports Teams

I don’t care about basketball anymore… There was a time when I thought it was the greatest game ever invented and that the players were gods among men. Then the bulk of the Dream Team retired and I realized that 90% of the players were selfish prima donnas more interested in highlight reels than actually playing the game. My interest hung on by a thread through the last couple years of the ’90s and officially tapped out somewhere around championship 2 of the Laker Threepeat.

Nowadays I watch the highlights on SportsCenter and try not to fall asleep during the playoffs… aside from diva drama, nothing interesting ever seemed to happen. And then AI and Chris Webber didn’t show for the game last night… when I first saw the news, I was disappointed. For all the negatives that come with AI, I admired him as a basketball player. He always left it all on the floor, always played injured (is it me or has he been injured since, oh, 1998?) and after watching him weep and boo hoo on some interviews, I was starting to develop a soft spot for the little guy… but this just confirms that I’m a dumb ass.

As you all know, he and Chris Webber pulled diva duty and didn’t show until 5 minutes before tipoff on fan appreciation night in Philly. My quarrel, however, isn’t with them — things like this are part of the reason why I’ve given up on the NBA. It’s with Billy King. Did you see his “tirade?” What a freaking amateur. I know King is important and being business-like and professional is the name of the game but look at this:

“I’m not sitting here worrying about, yes, should they be here? It’s going to be addressed. They’re going to be fined. That’s all the [bleep] I can do about it. I can’t sit here and keep a stopwatch to let you guys know when they’re here.

“They’re not here. When they get here, they’ll be late and they’ll be [bleeping] fined. That’s what the [bleep] I’m going to talk about. All right? Our team is not good right now. I know that, and worrying about the [bleep] that they’re late or not doesn’t do any [bleeping] bit of good to be sitting here worrying about it.

“We didn’t make the playoffs. I’ve got a lot of [bleeping] work to do, and this is some [bleep] that is a distraction to me. Am I pissed off? You’re goddamn right I am. Is that what you want to hear? You [bleeping] heard it.”

Six bleeps and you don’t even need to loosen your tie? Come on, Billy! You’re not allowed to drop f-bombs and other bleepables while using a tone that makes me wonder if you just gave me a stock tip. If you’re going to set a few bleeps and bleepings loose, break a sweat while you do it because David Stern is going to fine you anyway! This professional stuff is for the birds and it’s why I wish Samuel L. Jackson was an owner or general manager of a professional sports team. Imagine the tirade if Iverson and Webber tried to punk Samuel L. the way they’ve done Billy King and the 76ers –

I won’t hold my breath on Samuel L. owning or managing a franchise but if he ever works his way into the NBA, I think I’ll be able to rationalize hopping back on the fanwagon.

Clinton Portis Explains Differences Between Black & White Porn

So I suppose it’s time to get things rolling around here again. I trust you all had a happy Spring/Easter/Neverending Passover/fill in blank holiday weekend. My cravings for a sausage mcmuffin notwithstanding, things went well with my family until Sunday came around. My mom invited some family friends over for dinner and tried to call it an interfaith meal when the only difference between that day and when people come over for dinner on other days was the presence of some matzah and cheese blintzes – I guess that made all the difference.

In any case, while waiting around for some food, this geezer named Maury approached me and said, “I haven’t seen you since you were a fat tike, rippin and runnin. Boy you’re not fat anymore! You used to be a bowling ball with fat rolls on your arms.” He then grabbed my cheek between his fingers and squeezed and shook until my skin got loose. Then he asked me if I had started “courting.” When I said yes, he told me that “well you’re gonna have a great time in high school then! I know I did!” For some reason, that put a real dent in my day. But let’s move on!

Check out my latest update at Sportsbybrooks.com today where you can find goodies like:

When Portis was playing for Denver, I couldn’t stand the guy. He was cocky, obnoxious, and all of the whining about the chip on his shoulder could only be tolerated for so long. But since he’s moved to DC, he’s become a lot more fun. Though still cocky and obnoxious, he’s traded in bitching about being a second-round pick for exposing himself as a hilarious, inarticulate buffoon with great stories. The guys who interview him here - the Sports Junkies of WJFK in DC – are complete douchebags and there were a few moments where I actually felt bad for Portis. It’s not that the guys weren’t funny – it just seemed like they were openly mocking him at some points because they knew he wasn’t intelligent or perceptive enough to figure it out.

That said, their behavior doesn’t change the fact that Portis’ stories and “insights” were priceless. A highlight for me, aside from learning the differences between black and white porn [the big key is conversation & story lines for white porn vs. "whoooo I'm wore out" being the only thing said in black porn], was learning that Ken Dorsey was “breaking down the soccer team.” I’ve heard conflicting stories about Dorsey’s days at the U but it was awfully nice to hear that those braindead cunts on the Miami soccer team were lining up to get worked over by a guy that looks like a shaved bird.

Nice Coverage, ESPN

If you don’t know me well, that post title was sarcasm. I’ve been kicking back and taking in the Atlanta/Philly game on TBS since the end of dinner. The Braves pitching staff ranks somewhere between foul and astonishingly bad. but after the first inning, things calmed down until the 7th when Chase Utley hit a sac fly (mark a RBI for my fantasy stats) to put the Phillies up 7-3. So I brought up the guide to see if I could find any other green bar happenings (green bar = sports). Basketball was everywhere but ESPN2 was offering "MLB Baseball" – no description was listed but who cares? Another game to enjoy! I flipped over only to find the same goddamn thing on tv. At first I thought I didn’t actually change the channel. I’m enough of a goon that I’ll sometimes think about doing something, not do it, and then assume that I actually have. I went back to TBS - Philadelphia at Atlanta with Skip Caray and Joe Simpson making the call. Back to ESPN2 – yep, Philadelphia at Atlanta but with Gary Thorn and some other tosser. Nice work ESPN! Way to give the audience some bloody options you fucking wankers!!! Bah!

Oh! And what’s on next at ESPN2? Quite Frankly with Screamin’ A Smith. ESPN’s batting 1.000 today. Stupid bastards.

Warner Family Seder Ruined by Berkeley Grad

Since food dominates my life, Pesach is usually the longest week of the year. It’s not that plenty of food isn’t cooked or that it isn’t good. I eat more during Passover than I could even begin to during Thanksgiving. But I want pizza. I want french toast. I want peanut butter cookies. I want Gatorade. I want my kinda kosher diet back! But the closest I can come to satisfaction is matzah pizza and Passover-approved Coca Cola… the corn syrupy goodness is replaced by sugar. As much as it sucks, it’s still better than Diet Coke. So it happens I tried to get a few forbidden items in before sundown yesterday, hoping greatly that my mum would be none the wiser. But no sooner had I taken a bite did she materialize out of thin air to pop me in the mouth with the back of her hand… wedding ring included  I dropped the Coke can and thanks to the stinging pain, my jaw fell open and the cookie fell out before I could swallow. She then scolded me about struggle and deliverance, redemption and remembering, and the fact that she’d cleared our house of chametz and wasn’t about to have that screwed up by my lack of will power and respect for the past. I thought about asking if I could skip Seder altogether since I just got the lesson but thought better of it. After my apology, she gave me an apple, patted my head, and told me to go outside to play… though one day I’m sure she’ll realize I’m not 5 years old, I doubt the revelation occurs this week. A couple hours later, my family had arrived and the Seder got started. All was well until it was revealed that I would serve my 18th year on Kasha patrol.  For the uninformed, that’s the four questions and they’re read by the family’s youngest child. While that ought to be my five year old nephew, he’s not quite grasped the trilingual presentation of Hebrew, Yiddish, and English and I got hosed yet again. Alejandro seems like the type of kid that’ll shirk this duty until he’s under the pain of death to perform, so I could be doing this stuff until I’m 30.

In any case, we only had one person that I’d consider a guest – my cousin’s coworker, Eric. Aunt Rosa insisted he be invited under the belief that a little spirituality would do his life some good. Eric was (or is, rather) an atheist Berkeley grad.. one of those stereotypical granola breath Birkenstock types that drives a beat-up VW bus while bitching about how humans betray nature and the environment. He thinks belief in I would say the tolerance for this type of individual isn’t high at my house, so he was already at a disadvantage. We hit our first snag while I was asking the second question. Once I spouted out the English (always the last of the three), he said, "Yeah that’s completely nuts… Jews should definitely spend less time wondering about that and more time trying to figure something out about how to treat Palestinians right in Israel" I can’t quite communicate the collective horror but there wasn’t time for silence, as my Zayde said, "Why I’m gonna put my foot in–" My Bubbe stood up and sat him down. I continued with the questions. His next move was to throw in an amended line from The Big Lebowski, "Three thousand years of beautiful tradition, from Moses to Sandy Koufax to the Warner’s Seeder party!" There was silence and then he asked questions about Charlton Heston. "Is he Jewish?… Does he have a role… if he has a role, maybe he could step in and stop your Zionist killing but hey, with the NRA and all, he’s probably as psychotic as the rest of you." These comments were topped with, "When are we watching the Ten Commandments movie because that whole thing where he magically opens up the ocean was AMAZING!" But it didn’t stop there. Five minutes later, he went back to Lebowski and asked if we roll on Shabbos. My father grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out of the house, down the drive, and dumped him in the road while my Uncle hotwired his van, which didn’t have keys to begin with, and left it in the street. I think it’s safe to say he won’t be coming back for dinner this evening… or any for that matter.  

If I wasn’t a Jew and was just looking to do the most obnoxious things ever, I might think about taking Eric’s route.. I’d brag to my friends about how I would make Sandy Koufax jokes… my wit would be on point while I ran my mouth about matzah and rabbis but never could I fathom actually going through with such things. So while a tiny part of me wants to give the guy credit for having the nerve to rip on Jews while they sat around him, the rest of me hopes his van breaks down in the barrio tonight and he gets shot in the face. Stupid fuck.