In A Land Far, Far Away

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Gary Charles Beats Woman Over Man U Snipe, Escapes Jailtime

Remember Gary Charles? The talented but disgraced right back that never realized his potential because he was too busy getting injured and drunk?
Well, last September, the twice-capped 36-year-old flew into a drunken rage and handed out a severe beatdown on a woman after she mocked his career.
While in the booking office of A2B Taxis in Clay Cross, Derbyshire, Charles got into it with an office employee and eventually asked her, “Do you know who I am?… I’m the juggernaut, bitch!” The victim quipped, “You can’t be that good – you never played for Manchester United.” That’s when all hell broke loose. Charles punched her to the floor and then took kicking practice with her head until a passing taxi-driver dragged him off.
A jury found Charles guilty of assault, so you’d think the court would jail this bag of shit and ship him off for a few months to pound me in the arse prison. Sadly, this was not the case. As such, I can only assume Mr. Charles presented the Court with the same query as the victim and instead of making jokes, they went down like a cheap hooker.
Using the excuses that the former Aston Villa defender is working hard to combat his alcoholism, has a low risk of re-offending, and did not inflict long-term injury or disability on the victim, Charles was fined £500 and 100 hours of community service.
A high school friend of mine received a $700 fine and 120 hours of community service for possession of marijuana. I guess these crimes are on the same level.
Outside court, the footballer was unrepentant and refused to apologise for his reprehensible actions, stating “I still deny it happened. I could have appealed against the verdict, but I decided against it.”
I still deny it happened? I could appeal?! I cannot begin to fathom how someone in Charles’ position could make comments that reek of such indignance. I could appeal… The nerve of this cunt. I don’t know about the rest of you but as far as I’m concerned, it’s about time we go back to ‘eye for an eye’ justice for violent crimes. Someone needs to kick this asshole in the face with steel cleats and then throw him off a fucking bridge.

Coker to Players: No More Guns… Call 911

Since bad things were done to members of the Miami Hurricanes football team instead of by them, this issue didn’t get a lot of press. But last Friday morning, backup safety Willie Cooper was shot outside his home in an unexplained Menace II Society incident.
Cooper and his roommate, standout safety Brandon Meriweather, noticed a suspicious car parked outside their home near campus shortly after 6:30 a.m. Ignoring the rules of scary situations, they went outside to investigate and were greeted with gunfire, as a person crouched next to the house jumped up and shot Cooper in the arse. Meriweather (legally) returned the bullets with his own weapon but the assailant got away.
In the wake of this craziness, Hurricanes coach Larry Coker is taking a stand with plans to discourage players from owning handguns.
Plans to discourage… meaning, he hasn’t done it before. Can someone tell me how the head coach of the University of Convicts has never thought to discourage the possession of weapons? How a coach who accepted a player with 11 prior arrests in 5 years for burglary, battery, and other offenses just let that mundane issue slip by the wayside? At least for the sake of keeping said player off the police blotter, don’t you have that talk? This isn’t Harvard; your defensive tackle didn’t drive to campus from Phillips in his 350Z.
“I don’t really want our players to have firearms. I’d rather they would dial 911 to come and handle those type of problems,” Coker said at ACC Football Kickoff media days Monday. Coker also said he didn’t know how many players had firearms and said it wasn’t something he planned to find out. “I’m not going to take a head count on firearms, but I’ll address it and discourage it, let’s put it that way.”
Translation: I’m putting my head back in the sand where I’ll hope against hope that my players don’t make me look like a dumbass. Way to put your foot down, Uncle Fester.
Instead of giving the “lecture” on not owning weapons, why doesn’t Coker encourage his team to stay away from activities and individuals that result in suspicious vehicles being parked in front of houses and armed assailants waiting in the bushes?! It’s one thing for players to own licensed handguns… when you play football or basketball for a high-profile program, it’s highly likely that some crazed fan/idiot is going to end up on your doorstep at one point or another. Maybe they’re dangerous and maybe not but I have no quarrel with a person in this situation having a weapon in their home. However, when an athlete has a weapon to protect himself against the possibility of random gangsters showing up at his home to engage in shootouts before its even appropriate to roll out of bed for an Egg McMuffin, there is a serious problem.
Someone in that house is currently or has engaged in criminal activity and maybe the coach should do his due diligence to check that out. There is a severe difference between having a gun to protect oneself from random acts of violence and being strapped if and when the gang rolls up on your porch.

I’m A Mental Defective

So we were drinking it up while watching the Sunday shows last night – 4400, Dead Zone, and Peter Brady Marries a Crazy Ho – when there was a random commercial break and I got the great idea to see what this Movable Type upgrade was all about. I was warned that messing with a blog database while juiced up on vodka, rum, and various sodas was a bad idea but I was sure that I had the smarts to handle the situation.
I was wrong. Very, very, very wrong.
If you happened upon this site between, oh.. 0100 and 0630, you saw just how wrong I was. The good thing is I sobered up and am on the track to recovery (blogwise). Though my administrative interface looks like the stone age, I’m pretty sure the parts that matter (the pages that you can see) are back in working order… If you spot any dead links or abnormal happenings, please shoot me an IM or email.
Thanks,
Flash – Your Resident Alkie Jackass

I Can Finally Hate Bill Simmons

I wasn’t turned on to Bill Simmons until early 2003; I was late to the game. His stuff was okay.. enjoyable and sometimes funny but nothing I was pining to read. The first problem is that he was nothing special. He was a dork with a forum.. hell, I know my own kind; his nerdery wasn’t hard to spot. The second issue is that he frequently devoted 10,000 words to two things in which I have zero to little interest – Boston Sports and reality tv.

Maybe if he was into bottom-barrel VH-1 “celebreality,” I could have come around but on the whole, I was indifferent to his work… just another ESPN flunky trying to hard to prove to the audience that he’s always the funniest and most clever guy in the room. I wasn’t buying it and I tuned out. Nearly a year passed before a friend encouraged me to check out his archives and see what the true Boston Sports Guy was all about. He assured me that I didn’t know what I’d missed.

He was right. I was awestruck.

Simmons displayed a passion, love, and understanding of sports that completely blew my mind. They let this guy share his opinions with the masses? I couldn’t believe it and couldn’t figure out who he blackmailed into giving him a job. The Boston Sports Guy went against everything I knew sports writers to be. The sports media doesn’t have original ideas! They’re not witty or insightful or meaningful, and they certainly don’t know how to turn a phrase, so someone must’ve fallen asleep at the wheel on hiring day. Simmons was a breath of fresh air and I couldn’t apologize enough for not seeing the light sooner.

I am a junkie for two things – sports and the passionate, written word… Bill Simmons manufactured my drug of choice.

“Consider me a convert,” I later wrote to my Simmons pusher. I felt like a hyped up, new disciple getting ready to board Jesus’ Messiah train [I bet those were happenin' times]; I was ready to witness to the masses… but there was a problem – as time went by, I found myself hating the majority of the columns.

He complained about work and the tedious monotony of book signings, as if he was some worn out factory worker that’d been on the line for 15 years. He talked about his personal life, whined about his beta-male approach to women, and offered up “wild and crazy” anecdotes on poker-playing in Vegas and nights out with the boys.. stories that reminded me of my high school days when friends would come home from Spring Break bragging that they had 5 shots of rum and kissed a boy. Suddenly, I was nonplussed and uninterested.

I hit such a high reading his archives that I couldn’t understand how the new stuff could level me so quickly. Now, don’t get me wrong – I understand that Simmons evolved not only as a writer but also as a personality. I understand that he uses material from his personal life and pop culture to craft metaphors and analogies about sports. But there seemed to be a subtle turning point where, well, he shifted into this neutered shell of his former self.

Maybe it’s the result of having his hand in so many baskets – writing books, giving speeches, being a family man, battling Isiah Thomas. Maybe the fame had gone to his head and he mistakenly believed his new life was so cool and interesting that it’d be criminal not to treat the masses. Or maybe it’s the sad effect ESPN has on its free spirits over time. I don’t know. All I can really confirm about my second break with the Sports Guy is that I unfairly resented him for no longer being the same writer with which I’d recently fallen in love.

I didn’t return to Page2 until a friend, the same pusher mentioned above, advised that Simmons was getting into World Cup coverage and I should check it out. I had a feeling that if he was exposed to enough, he’d fall for the game, and maybe, just maybe, he’d begin to cover the sport. I imagined this whole “Well the Sports Guy is into it, so….” reaction from the public that would serve as a jumping-off point toward lessening the almost intentional hatred and ignorance that Americans have for the beautiful game. My hope was realised.

Not only has Simmons become a fan of the game but he went in search of an English Premier League team at which to throw all of his devotion. When I heard about his endeavor, I feared that he’d latch on to Chelsea or Manchester United as American bandwagon jumpers are want to do but he took a different approach… he weighed celebrity fans, jerseys, locations, history, table location, reputation, and bandwagon potential to settle on a team that was just right for him. And while he gets many things right and quite a few others wrong [I had some idiot call me a bandwagon jumper yesterday because I was wearing a Thierry Henry jersey and Simmons has incorrectly lead the masses to believe that Arsenal has a bigger bandwagon than Chelsea or Man U. Looks like he's an authority on Arsenal and the EPL now that he's done 1 week of "research"], he went about this process about as well as could be expected. Then he revealed his new team…

Bill Simmons settled on Tottenham Hotspur.

Let me explain something to you – I hate Tottenham Hotspur. It’s not just a petty fan thing where I say I hate them because I love Arsenal; it’s deeper and far more serious than that. I’m consumed with rage and bitterness for our North London neighbors and hate Hotscum in a way that is reserved for killers and rapists and the morally corrupt. I hate that club, I hate its fans (except you Toxic!), and now, I hate Bill Simmons.

Until this Scum revelation, I wasn’t interested in what Simmons had to say but for this reason alone, I’ve been pushed off the fence of Sports Guy indifference. I’m out for blood. Because of this, I’ll now read more of his work now than ever before, as I’ll have an insatiable need to take in every letter that he sees fit to print in order to shred it to bits and shake my hand at the sky and shout “Damn you Tottenscum!”

I’m about to become a Bill Simmons obsessive once again and for all the wrong reasons. It’s an exciting time. Are you ready for it? I know I am! One day, someone is going to stuff copies of that no-talent, bleeding rotter’s musings down his throat. And I hope I’m the one to do it. I hate Bill Simmons and one day, that dorkball cunt will realize what a grave error he’s made.

COME ON ARSENAL!

In the Land of the Blind, the One-Eyed Man is King

At least 42 million times during the fall, the Midwestern college football fan will ask, shout, scream, and ponder the following (expletives not included): are BigTen refs half-blind or just stupid.
Well wouldn’t ya know it, the Big Integer employed a referee that is literally half-blind. Whether he is stupid or not is up for debate.
Let me preface this by saying that the conference should be commended for hiring a man whose eyes were in working order nearly 13 years ago. I have to assume an eye exam was apart of the interview process and all employed referees pass with flying colors. Having said that, I wish I had four arms so I could give four hearty thumbs down to the Big 10 for lack of institutional control (I know that phrase, too, NCAA!).
You see, In the spring of 2000, referee James Filson lost his eye when it “ran into” the corner of a table. Rather than be a man of integrity and do the honorable thing, Filson opted against telling his bosses about his injury. Instead, he kept things on the low and went back to work as if nothing was wrong. Now, this type of move isn’t so dishonorable if you’re, say, a lawyer or a plumber or Sammy fucking Davis. But when you have a job where the quality of vision and your brain’s ability to analyze and interpret what is seen is of paramount importance, you just don’t say, “Bah! Two eyes are for chumps!” and brush it off! There are things to consider – depth perception, peripheral vision, ability to focus. If you’re a born cyclops, maybe these aren’t issues of importance but in the world of non-mutant humanity, the loss of an eye is a pretty big deal! Or maybe not.
In Filson’s 5 years as the pirate ref, he officiated two Bowl games and his reviews were, “on average, substantially better than the reviews he received in the eight years preceeding the loss of his eye.” But it made no difference once Lllllllllllllloyd Carr got wind of Filson’s “disability.” He advised the Big Ten Commissioner and soon after, Filson had a pink slip due to his lack of “full field vision” and failure to “to fulfill the minimum physical requirements.” Like most people these days, Filson is a litigious soul and is suing to get his job back, as well as back pay and unspecified damages.
Only in the Big Ten can a referee lose an eye, see an improvement in his on the job reviews, and then get the boot. I wish I could be on the jury for this one to laugh at the BigTen and their arguments. As far as I’m concerned, it is they who should be fired for employing a referee with a glass eye for nearly six years and not noticing. Fucking wankers.

Mike Vanderjagt Retains Title as King of the Galactically Stupid

If you thought the prospect of Mike Vanderjagt no longer running his mouth would end when he left Indianapolis, think again.

In an interview with the Star-Telegram, the kicker shares that though he understands why he’s perceived as the loudmouth, idiot kicker, he is tired of a reputation that is inflated and largely undeserved.

“It wasn’t an altercation. It was one sentence by one guy and one sentence by another guy,” Vanderjagt said. “Are you kidding me? That’s my career?”

Newsflash, Mike: You’re a kicker. You’re lucky we know you at all!

You’d think he’d shut his face but oh no, after lamenting his label as a loudmouth idiot, he shoots off again:

“Indy does not know what they are missing. They took for granted they had the most accurate kicker in NFL history,” he said. “They had to go sign the best kicker [Adam Vinatieri] in NFL history to replace [me].”

One day, when Vanderjagt’s hair bleach stops seeping into his brain, he may realize that the difference between the “best” and the “most accurate” kicker is that the best saves his clutch kicks for the playoffs, not “Late Night with David Letterman.”

Anyway, this nugget and more can be found on my update today at SportsbyBrooks, where I try to get witty about:

No Friday Plans? Hit the New NFL Millionaire’s Club!

Are you gonna be in Hotlanta tonight? If so, get ready to shake your ass and show no class, as you party with future Titan legends Pacman Jones, Lendale White, and Vince Young!
As you can see from the graphic below, the dress code is “sexy” and I know you know what that means, ladies! Slip into that glittery halter top and matching skirt with the three-inch inseam, put on your platforms, make sure that cleavage is right, and head over to the Vision Nightclub on Peachtree.
By the way, you’d best get there early. With three recent millionaires on the prowl, I imagine the line of chickenheads will be a long one. It’ll be a dogfight (catfight?) trying to make it in and not only get past a second velvet rope/bouncer barrier but also gain access to the club’s exclusive inner sanctum: the cozy VIP lounge that is sure to be awash in a hazy red glow. With the potential baby daddies with money to burn seated around the room, it’ll be a site to behold, and your ascent through the club will feel like you’ve risen from a thick darkness into an intimate light of presents and sex…

Oh, and fellas: mind the dress code, good luck enjoying the groupies that weren’t hot enough to get to VIP level, and be sure to leave your weapons at home. I’m sure Pacman will have enough for the crowd.
*By the way, this party made me wonder – when will the media crow about Vince Young being a little too much playboy and not enough playmaker? Every time a picture surfaces of Matt Leinart drunk and stumbling, people harp, bash, and complain… as if his Hollywood, playboy lifestyle is any more egregious and damaging than that of his fellow rookies (and new millionaires) who are teaming together to hold what amounts to groupie auditions. Sure, Leinart let Paris Hilton give him herpes and his best friend is a boy band douchepump, but why is he bagged on while other players are given a free pass? I suppose that’s a silly question. Not dating a woman whose vajayjay has been by everyone between the ages of 13 – 85 might help create a more positive image.
*Edit: Original flash video replaced with picture

Mama Zidane: I Want Materazzi’s Balls on a Platter

Zidane (n): A Frenchman of Kabyle Algerian descent widely recognized as the greatest football player of his generation; Zidane (v): To snap and go all battering ram on another person, ex. “He went Zidane on me!” “I’m gonna Zidane that motherfucker!”

Zinedine Zidane broke his silence to reveal that Marco Materazzi “pronounced very tough words about my mother and my sister. I tried not to listen to him but he kept repeating them… “I would rather have taken a punch in the jaw than have heard that.”

Zizou has a history of reacting savagely to slurs on his family and race. In his first week as a professional, he was sent to cleaning duty for punching an opponent who ridiculed his origins. In the 1998 World Cup, he stomped on Saudi Arabian captain Faoud Amin after being insulted. And while playing for the Old Lady in 2000, he head-butted Hamburg’s Jochen Kientz and received a five-match suspension.

Given the intensity of the game and the nature of soccer players in general, it’s likely that Zidane was was focusing moment to moment and went on auto-pilot when Materazzi opened his mouth. The likelihood that he had any conscious awareness of the consequences is probably slim. Zizou indicated as much in his live television interview this afternoon.

One theory goes that Materazzi said: “We all know you are the son of a terrorist whore.” Tragically for Marco, that this theory has reached Mama Zidane and though ailing in a hospital bed, she, too, has gone on auto-pilot. Malika Zidane has made it abundantly clear that she is out for blood.

While speaking in a fury to the Daily Mirror, Mrs. Zidane warned the Italian defender that she wants his “balls chopped off” for igniting the ugly row with her son, The Battering Ram. She further maintains that Zizou was simply protecting her honour when he knocked Materazzi into next week and she supports his actions.

“No one should be subjected to such foul insults on or off the football pitch and I don’t care if it was a World Cup Final. I have nothing but contempt for Materazzi and, if what he said is true, then I want his balls on a platter… Our whole family is deeply saddened that Zinedine’s career should end with a red card but at least he has his honour. Some things are bigger than football.” – Malika Zidane

Maybe we shouldn’t throw such blame at Zizou… can you imagine what his mother would have done to him if he hadn’t turned his noggin into a battering ram?

In other news, FIFA will soon meet to decide if Zinedine Zidane will be stripped of the Golden Ball. If this occurs, I hope FIFA will be smart enough to bestow the award upon Fabio Cannavaro, whose masterful efforts saved Italy on more than one occasion.

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Speaking of golden balls (or maybe shrunken ones), Shane Igoe of The Wade Blogs recently completed a video interview with Jessica Canseco.

Jose’s ex tells a wide variety of stories and hits on topics like Jose shooting up in the bathroom with other players, the slugger’s request for her to “name names” in her recent book, and his method of seduction when picking her up at a Hooters (hint: it’s all in the eyebrows).

The former Mrs. Juiced also bares all on her spread with Playboy and much more. As a side note, what is there to elaborate on with a Playboy shoot? I don’t mean to hate..well.. maybe I do.. but you take your clothes off, you get oiled, you look like you’re aching for it, and then they cut you a check. If something like this ever happened to me (not like it actually would) and I was asked for the lowdown, all I could possibly say is, “Hey, I got naked and then bought a new car with a portion of my ‘Goddamn, I’ve got a hot ass!’ money.” I’d probably slap my arse just to put a little exclamation on my comment but that’s all that would occur. I don’t know if that’d be worth the interview.

Anyway kids, check out the video. Ms. Canseco’s a pip.

Paul Katcher’s “Your Baseball Jersey is Talking”

“Tuesday’s All-Star Game in Pittsburgh allows for two rare happenings: actual baseball talent in Pittsburgh and a chance for fans of different major league teams to congregate since they last saw each other at Tampa-area strip clubs during spring training. It’s the most touristy event on the baseball calendar, so you can expect to see fans from all parts of the U.S. and Canada adorned in baseball jerseys and assorted regalia.”
The above was an intro taste to what my fellow SportsbyBrooks contributor, Paul Katcher, has running on ESPN’s Page 2 in his article about what your baseball wardrobe says about you, as well as the multitudes of uniform wearers that will be in the crowd at tonight’s All-Star game.
I know ESPN is my enemy but today, we must embrace it. Be sure to stop by Page 2 and give PK’s “Your Baseball Jersey is Talking” a read. It’s good stuff.
*For you Yankee fans, don’t forget Paul’s NYY version - What Your Yankee Jersey Says About You. It’s a gem.*