When Nick Lachey's big face started popping up at every sporting event in the known world, I blamed Jessica Simpson. From NFL halftimes and MLB All-Star games to presenting at the ESPYs, Lachey was there.

For a while, he was the Law and Order of the sports world. It mattered not the date, time, or channel, Mr. Jessica was on the air, smiling and offering up his unique brand of Average Joe "analysis." When the frequency of his appearances began to increase, 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."

Soon enough, the marriage was in shambles and thanks to his efforts in gaining pre-divorce exposure, Nick is the one coming out on top.  

While Jessica has spent the last year looking like a meth case, giving it up to Maroon 5 and Johnny Knoxville, and getting a guy who looks like a character from Where the Wild Things Are to acknowledge her existence, Nick has been moving up and moving out.

Having secured the love of Vanessa Minnillo, he's now buying into the Tacoma Rainiers, the Triple-A affiliate of the Seattle Mariners.

Surprisingly, this isn't the first time Lachey has tried to get involved with a sports franchise. When the Cincinnati Reds came up for sale a couple years ago, he made a bid to join the new ownership but had yet to cash in on his wife's new fame.

But now Lachey is liquid, so thirty-three percent of the Rainiers organization will be controlled by Jessica Simpson's alimony payments. This shouldn't bother those in Tacoma, however, as Lachey wants to make it clear that he doesn't "want to be one of those meddling owners who is trying to give his influence where it's not wanted." Instead, he plans to expand on the role of sycophantic hanger-on that he famously perfected on the USC sidelines by becoming an "active investor."

Tranlation: he'll be practicing with the team.

"That's the biggest perk," he says. Sure, maybe for him but not for guys trying to make it to the bigs. Nothing says preparing for the next level like batting practice with Mr. 98 Degrees.

Unless Minnillo will be attending practices with a throng of hot, available friends, something tells me the "active investor" role won't sit well with most players. That said, when Lachey starts pumping What's Left of Me through the clubhouse, the issue could become moot.

Posted on 30 November 2006 | Filed under: MLB | Comments (13) | AIM Me

Alright kids, it's been a week but I'm back and better than ever.

Before I begin, thanks for the emails regarding Bret with one T. I feel much better about my reaction than I did a few days ago. The only somewhat negative feedback received was from my father, who was pretty sure I should have busted BWOT in the face but admired my restraint. And Boss, who thought I should have walked him off university property and then beaten him down to avoid a law suit. So let's move on.

For those around since the beginning, do you remember New Years two years ago when my Uncle Nat's drunken rant lead my family to momentarily believe I was the bastard child of Billy Idol?

If you don't recall, my uncle lost it when Idol came on tv during Dick Clark's Rockin Eve, shouting incessantly about Idol sleeping with his sister. When some genius pointed out that this happened about 9 months before I was born, the speculation was on. It turns out that he was talking about my aunt and not my mother but it took 5 minutes and some comments about my whitish hair and tendency to smirk and sneer to sort that out.

Nothing like drunk adults to make a mess of things.

I haven't thought of Billy Idol since that night but I'm happy to report that he's officially back in my life! While out and about yesterday, I spotted the finest piece of holiday fun since Alvin & the Chipmunks did Christmas -- Billy Idol's Happy Holidays!

Happy Holidays features obvious tunes like Silver Bells, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Silent Night, and Frosty the Snowman ("This is Frosty the Snowman and we're not fucking around."), as well as self-written ditties Happy Holiday and Christmas Love.

But what's insane about this whole thing (apart from the fact that it's actually happening) is that this cd has no touch of the Rebel Yell. There is no Mony Mony Yuletide. 

Sure, Idol rocks out but he does it with Perry Como's cock out, which is as sad as it is hilarious.

You see, for Billy, a punk Christmas is bollocks. Christmas music is about the fireside, the family, and that whole feel-good warmth one gets while decorating the house with Christmas cheer. It shouldn't be about typical Billy Idol things like bringing it hard and tonguing it, which would probably make it more appealing for those of us on the Jew side of the fence. But those are the brokes, I guess.

While many might think seeing Billy Idol jazz around like Pat Boone is a bit of a surprise, I think he's just seen Love Actually one too many times.  

One tale is that of Billy Mack, a washed-up, aging rock and roll legend that records a Christmas single based on The Troggs' hit "Love is All Around." Though his record is a steaming pile, it shoots to number one on Christmas Eve and Mack returns to fame and fortune. But instead of celebrating Christmas with celebrities and other stars, he returns to his manager's house (his only real family) and they spend the holiday getting drunk and watching porn.

Frankly, this sounds like something Billy Idol would be involved in. And after this record shoots to #1 on Christmas (and it will because we Britons embrace horrible pop songs in spite of their badness), I hope he celebrates by bringing it hard and tonguing it or, at the very least, getting drunk and watching porn. I know I will be.

Posted on 29 November 2006 | Filed under: Shallow Observations | Comments (10) | AIM Me

Sometime last week, a friend asked if I'd consent to an interview with a boy writing a paper about the psychology of perspectives. Now, I like to think that I'm reasonably intelligent, so I can surmise a definition for the phrase but who knows what, if anything, it actually means.

Truth be told, the psychology of perspectives sounds like a phrase one dreams up when hoping to earn an "A" based on the strength of the paper's title. And with one look at "Bret with one T," my suspicions were confirmed.

He made his presence known by knocking out "shave and a haircut" on my office door. Our building is bursting at the seams with testosterone and masculinity. Floating in like with musical tunes doesn't fly too well in a place like ours but I doubt he'd taken that into consideration.

Actually, I'm certain of it.

"Bret with one T" wore a navy Oxford and a Mogador Stripe tie under a lambswool argyle vest and well-pressed charcoal wool pants. His shoes were even shined.

I sensed a touch of the fabulous in him.

BWOT: You're of mixed racial, ethnic, and non-American heritage, which must be pretty crazy to deal with on its on, let alone stuff like this.
Me: Excuse me?
BWOT: So what will you do on Thursday?

I said something about protesting the obesity epidemic. But instead of sharing in the laughter, BWOT nodded his bloody head, wrote it down, and asked if the rest of my family had plans. When my mouth fell open, he launched into a detailed narrative of his family's magical Thanksgiving experiences. Apparently, mine had none of its own.

If you ask "Bret with one T," we savage, un-American beasts known as the Family Warner, spend Thanksgivings huddled around a kerosene heater in an abandoned shack. While we fight to stay warm and keep our wits about us by thinking back to the days when our people roamed the American Southwest or of the good times had across the pond, the rest of the country merrily feasts on turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie (with Cool Whip) in celebration of the New World.

After a few minutes, he asked, "As a Native American with a mother who is not even American, how does that make you and your family feel?"

At that point, the psychology of perspective was officially mocking me.

I did my best to calmly explain that despite its origins, my family, like most, treats the day as one of gratitude; we leave the rah-rah Pilgrim routine for the Macy's Parade.

Well this pissed him off and he got indignant with me. By failing to be offended by the celebration of Thanksgiving as the beginning of white dominance, I was betraying my bloodline. All the pain and struggle and death and this is how I repay them. "You know you could be on a reservation and here you are in this incredible place!" 

... 

Have you ever gotten so angry, so unbelievably enraged that you became paralyzed by your emotions? Your neck burns, your hands shake, your heart is beating out of your chest. And yet, you're motionless. It's not that you've grown into an angered calm that often rears its head in cases of coldly calculated violence. In a situation like this, you simply haven't the ability to move.

That was me. Ten minutes or ten seconds, who knows how long it lasted. And ya know, I could have handled the questions. No matter who you are or where you come from, you have to suffer this from time to time. So it's no surprise that a sheltered buffoon whose sole expertise lies in matching knits and patterns would have such absurd ideas.

But to bash me with PC bullshit because I don't feel guilty about giving thanks for blessings while enjoying a good turkey, baked mac and cheese, and rolls with heaping piles of butter?

I went a little crazy.

We exchanged words before he backed out of my office and left. But this experience has left me curious about something -- Are some of you wondering the same types of things he was? Am I naive in assuming most people have half a clue? If I am and overreacted, please, please let me know.

Posted on 22 November 2006 | Filed under: Personal | Comments (14) | AIM Me

I know there are only 15 minutes left in the day but the following Tuesday musings can be found in my update at Sports by Brooks:

• ESPN plans to air animated spots showing players like Kobe Bryant and teams like the Mavericks surpassing previous achievements while a cartoon-Shaq laughs in the background
• The waitresses at Maxim Steakhouses will be fully clothed, making the restaurant the equivalent of a Playboy theme park that features the articles
• Office Depot doesn't just sponsor Carl Edwards anymore; it's moved on to other big-money franchises like rubber band ball making
• The US government gives Cuban dissidents millions to build democracy in Cuba and the jerks don't even bother to use some cash to lure baseball players into the US... Congress is investigating
• MSU hoops coach Tom Izzo harbors secret desire to replace Slappy Smith as the football coach
• More gems from Art Shell's bizarro world
• Dartmouth scientists have found a way for record-setting athletes to earn their *
• Bobby Bowden blames his son Jeff's resignation on the dadgum media, who "listen to eBay and email and junk." Bowden then told media to get off his lawn
• Uncle Fester has no plans to resign as the University of Miami football coach
• Naval Academy officials in trouble with Congress after delaying urine testing on admitted steroid using football players
• The LA Dodgers plan to pay Juan Pierre $154,000 per steal over the next five years
• David Beckham is a dandy fop... but you knew that already

Since Paul Katcher's work will be going up in the morning, you'll have to scroll down for mine. But, as usual, I hope you enjoy.

Cheers mates!

PS. Friday's post would have been similar but with different snippets. While I'm sorry to have neglected the lot of you, something tells me you survived.

Posted on 21 November 2006 | Filed under: SportsbyBrooks | Comments (8) | AIM Me

WARNING: WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO SEE IS PROFANE AND RACIAL

*This TMZ headline is the only amusing thing about this situation.*

So now that Michael Richards has joined Mel Gibson's Racist Tirade Army, expect the following to transpire over the next 24 hours:

• Friend(s) of all races, colors, and creeds claim Kramer is not a racist, as this behavior is "totally out of character for him."
  
• Does this guy have friends? Jackie Chiles certainly won't step to the plate. This was "deplorable, unfathomable, improbable!"
  

• Self-righteous apology that features an admission to some form of chemical dependency.
  
• I'm really hoping he was battling the demons by staying hopped up on meth and pills; alcohol is so played out.
  

• Rehab at an undisclosed location
• This is code for "stay in bed, shutter the windows, and watch Maury." Two thumbs down. Racists should be forced to do their "rehab" by doing community service in the neighborhoods of the people they've offended. This can include neighborhood cleanup and passing around pamphlets informing people about the ills of bigotry. I also suggest they wear a sign much like Bruce Willis did in Die Hard With a Vengeance. If you don't know what I'm talking about - rent it. Samuel L is outstanding.
  

• Endless chatter that Seinfeld is ruined
• Seinfeld is my favorite of favorites. Finding out that Cosmo Kramer is a batshit racist is like discovering that my boyfriend likes to pee on my dog when I'm not looking... I don't know what kind of analogy that is, so maybe I should just move on.
  

What happened at the Laugh Factory was as sad as it was disgusting. But with all the time spent on Richards' comments, why is the crowd getting a free pass?

He should have been confronted (physically or otherwise) after saying, "Fifty years ago we’d have you upside down with a fucking fork up your ass."

But instead, most of the crowd laughed. And though many grew upset and began to walk out, is that really enough? I know it's easy to be indignant after the fact but am I the only one who thinks their lack of action (and continued laughter, nervous and otherwise) was a problem?

*Update: I just watched Michael Richards' apology on Letterman. He didn't fully take accountability but he didn't mention alcohol, drugs, demons, and rehab. For that, I can applaud. But for the rest, it was sorry stuff from a racist fuck who needs a few people with steel toed boots to dispense some justice on his beatdown face.

Posted on 20 November 2006 | Filed under: Braintrusts | Comments (7) | AIM Me

So after the Pacquiao/Morales fight (which gets no space here because I've had orgasms last longer), we had a rather sizeable get-together at the house.

Around 2.30 or so, some drunken reprobate who thought he was at his own house turned on our living room tv to search for porn. We don't subscribe to the naughty channels and he was too lifted to figure out PPV, so he settled for HBO Zone's softcore menu.

[I'm not a big porn watcher but if I have to see it, give me some action. Softcore porn is like reminiscing on my dry humping days from high school. Two thumbs down.] 

Alabama Jones and the Busty Crusade -- "three women answer the call of the wild when a curator sends them to a treacherous jungle to search for an ancient relic." Turns out the ancient relic is a mystic mango that has the power to turn women into sex slaves, which seemed ironic for a movie that likely featured 27 different lesbian throwdowns and a few sessions against trees and rocks with island natives that spoke like Tarzan. But I digress.

The movie was on for a minute or so when one of the characters tried to seduce a guy carrying a spear. I've never seen 70 people collectively silenced that quickly but bad sex on a 60" plasma is more than enough to hold a bunch of hypersexed, 20-something drunkards captive for a few moments.

After a pretend makeout scene, the girl saddled up but before anything could really get going, Encino Man grabbed her tits. This was the worst thing he could have done. The move pulled her skin so taught that we could actually see the wrinkles in the bags that held her breast implants.

That was the end of tv time.

+

In seemingly unrelated news, WFMZ 69 is reporting that a bloke named Dick Hammer will be inducted into the Lafayette College Hall of Fame for radio broadcasting.

I'm serious.

At first I thought he was the holder of the magical sex slave mango in the above-mentioned "film," but it seems this is not the case.

Dick Hammer has called more than 1300 games, including the 100th Lafayette-Lehigh game, which is the longest uninterrupted rivalry in collegiate football.

"This is Dick Hammer saying good night and good sports!"

Posted on 19 November 2006 | Filed under: Sex , Shallow Observations | Comments (11) | AIM Me

I was in elementary school when Emmitt Smith won his first MVP and barely in college when he left the Cowboys. From my perspective, Emmitt Smith killed men by the hundreds. He consumed the fiercest and nastiest of NFL defenses with balls of fire from his eyes and bolts of lightning from his arse.

That must have been my youth talking.

Over time, I caught a clue and realized that while Emmitt was an amazing running back, he wasn't the William Wallace of the gridiron (who could have done it all and more without the aid of that ridiculous O-line) and moved on to hold other men in absurdly high regard... I kinda forgot about Emmitt after that.

So it happens that the secretaries in my office spent most of Wednesday squawking about the "Dancing with the Stars" finale. Clearly divided into Team Smith and Team Lopez, the ladies would break every 45 minutes to mull things over and eat a (few) danish. Which guy was sleeping with his partner? Which one had the sexier outfits? Who's better in bed? At one point, I chimed in and said that Emmitt clearly had the best outfits, what with taking his cues from the Freddie Mercury School of Fashion and all. They were not amused.

In any case, I got home just before 8 and decided to tune in. What's the harm, right? After 10 minutes, I was sure that Mario Lopez would be the victor because I couldn't wrap my brain around the possibility that a person I once revered as more than a man could get in a dancing competition and proceed to out-gay Mario Lopez...

But he did.

It's like we're back at The Max or something, dueling for Kelly Kapowski's love. 

Posted on 16 November 2006 | Filed under: Audio & Video , Shallow Observations | Comments (13) | AIM Me

I don't know when this ad ran, so forgive me if i'm 18 months late to the game. But where is Nike going with this one?

Did the shoes make her cheat? Did they help her snag the black guy that fathered the baby? Did he buy them for her? Maybe he wants her in pre-pregnancy shape.

Or maybe (and this is my guess) the Nikes are about to serve as getaway shoes. The mother will need them after the father gets over the shock and tries to beat her ass.

Hattip: Metadish (BlogNYC)

Posted on 14 November 2006 | Filed under: Shallow Observations | Comments (12) | AIM Me

Unable to pick up fans while touring with Fat Joe (or engaging in any other endeavor), Nielsen Soundscan is reporting that Ron Artest's debut album "My World" sold a huge 343 copies in its first week in stores.

Three hundred forty three and you know his mama bought 43 of them... poor thing.

With lyrics like "David Stern! Damn, David Stern. I gotta teach you bout the ghetto there's some things you should learn" and "Matt Lauer, up on NBC. You look like a girl don’t talk to me," I really don't know why he's struggling out there.

Even more troubling is that Kevin Federline's "Playing with Fire" outperformed "My World" with 6,000 copies sold in its debut. 

How does K-Fed sell anything? On first glance, you'd think he was a master marketer what with his ability to trick Britney Spears into marrying him and have his babies. But you can probably get her to follow you but leashing a bag of Cheetos and a Frappucino on a piece of string and pulling it back to your lair, so maybe he hasn't accomplished as much as I thought.

But at least he can buy an iPod with his profits. All Artest will be good for is the Whopper with cheese value meal at Burger King and I don't even know if he'll be able to upgrade that to the King size.

This wouldn't be the case if Artest had a sex tape that featured "My World" as the soundtrack. David Stern be damned; hear me out! 

We all know that sex sells no matter who is having it. Chyna and X-Pac proved as much when 40,000 people shelled out bones to watch him get it on with her micropenis.

Is Ron Artest more disgusting than those two? I submit that he is not. In fact, I bet there's a huge market for porn featuring bad boys that rail girls on the edges of beds, tables, and counter tops because they're too lazy to take off their Timberlands while knockin it out...

Oh please, like Ron Artest isn't one of these guys. I've dated Timberland Boots Guy; Ron fits the mold.

+ I know you think this is crazy but Flavor Flav has managed to get 20 women to fight for his affections - TWICE - at the cost of $100 per day + room and board. They also sign a waiver saying they won't hold VH-1 or Flav responsible when he loads them up with STDs. You're telling me Ron Artest can't pull that off? The fact that he doesn't look like a burnt turd with a gremlin face should make him a little more appealing.+ 

After the footage is shot and edited, enter marketing magic, stage left. 

First comes the clever title. I suggest "Tru Warier Nights" with a caption on the box that says "Ron Artest Hits it Like the Fist of an Angry God" ... but that's just me.

Next is the price and packaging. For $24.99, you get a DVD loaded with features and the soundtrack. Or you can download everything through the iTunes Music store for $17.99.

Third - collaborate with Kevin Federline! Get him to throw a few My World tracks onto the Oops, I Did It Again "home movies" that he's releasing in the event of a divorce from Britney Spears.

He'll be down; he'll want to team up with people who also suffer from lack of respect and constant boos from the masses. 

+ Side note - how predictable was a Britney Spears sex tape? Frankly, I expected one 15 months ago +

With a plan like this, who knows - in 2 or 3 years time, Ron Artest's album might go gold! Someone needs to contact him about my plan.

Posted on 13 November 2006 | Filed under: NBA , Sex | Comments (7) | AIM Me

Check out today's musings on SportsbyBrooks where I make sniping comments on the following nuggets:

• Alex Rodriguez loses his "sounding board" with Sheffield's trade to Detroit
• Arizona Diamondbacks get new uniforms, vow to stop making our eyes bleed
• AJ Hawk sleeps in a hyperbaric chamber that increases red blood cells, size of manhood remains unaffected
  
• Yao Ming Sanitary pads and disposable underwear... just the man I want helping me out down there
• NYC residents can get potent strains of weed delivered to their door, reminding me just how much South Bend sucks
  
• Snag your next marlin with The Million Dollar Lure - sadly, that's not just a clever name
• Penny Marshall may direct the Joe Frazier biopic, final scene - Frazier to Ali: "die in a fire"
• Defend Indianapolis!
• Donovan McNabb unveils the Super Five clothing line for fatties "big men" that are sick of their clothes ripping when they sneeze
• Alabama student proposes banning Mississippi State from the SEC because they suck; the Mar oon Bulldogs respond by pounding the Tide
• North Carolina high school soccer team plays speech by Joseph Goebbels over the PA during pre-game; Croatian fans beam with pride
• Curt Schilling finished Jeopardy in dead last with $0

I'm an avid Jeopardy watcher, so I was pretty excited to see Curt Schilling on "Celebrity Jeopardy" last night. It's not often that I can actively root for someone to lose before they irritate me during the lame personal information segment, so I was feeling pretty lucky.

I have no problem with Curt Schilling, the pitcher. He's an amazing competitor and one of the most dominating pitchers of this era. Curt Schilling, the pitcher, commands respect. But off-the-field Schilling, the egomaniacal windbag? That guy chaps my arse.

Off-the-field Schilling doesn't just think he's omniscient, he also believes that the public is clamoring for his opinions, be they on social issues, political issues, or, well, any issue at all.

I'm in full support of people shouting their opinions from the rooftops but I take issue when an individual fancies him or herself an unquestioned authority by simple virtue of being a public figure.

Schilling is a serious offender in this regard. His ability to throw 95 mph fastballs and play through the pain shouldn't grant him expert status on geopolitical crises anymore than working on Syriana and The Thin Red Line should for George Clooney and Sean Penn.

But somehow, those are all the qualifications they need.

Tom Cruise got to watch Kurt Russell play a psychiatrist in Vanilla Sky, is well-versed in Scientology literature, and has a million-watt smile. Now he's ready to slang some knowledge about non-existence of clinical imbalances and yoga and a bottle of Centrum as the cure for depression.

Makes perfect sense.

You know what I'd like to do? Dump Schilling, Clooney, Penn, Cruise, and the rest of those self-important sacks on a Lost-ish island and let them duke it out. Schilling would likely emerge victorious, having beaten Sean Penn to death with a coconut but I digress... I don't even know where I'm going with this.

<-- Back to Jeopardy --> 

Curt spent a good deal of the first round in silence, holding his signaling button in the air while wearing a blank stare and a stupidly optimistic grin. But sometime in Double Jeopardy, he went on a three question rampage: 

• Shiny Things: this is counted as 1/20 of a British Pound
• What is a shilling -- how ironic
• Sounds the Same: ___ is a saline substance produced by the eye; one of two ro more layers one atop another
• What is tear/tier
• Sounds the Same (the Daily Double!): the right to ___ arms; and something about not wearing sleeves on your arms makes them ____
• What is bear/bare

It was like the scene in White Men Can't Jump where Rosie Perez whiped out the "Foods That Start with the Letter Q" category.

Schilling's score jumped from $600 to $4400 and left him trailing Malcolm in the Middle's mom and the gay guy from Melrose Place by $8000.

But then Final Jeopardy dropped this brainbuster:

• Celebrity Ancestors: Her great-great-grandmother, Louisa Lane Drew, once appeared in a play with the father of John Wilkes Booth

Schilling, who bet it all, answered: Who is Nancy Drew?

...

Look, I understand some people aren't aware that Drew Barrymore is something like a 12th generation actor, not to mention the only Drew of note in Hollywood. Pop culture isn't everybody's bag. But Nancy Drew? The fictional character? The girl whose next turn in a novel may have as much detective work as threesome action with the Hardy Boys?

Come on, Curt.  

Posted on 10 November 2006 | Filed under: Shallow Observations , SportsbyBrooks | Comments (13) | AIM Me

(Asher Sarlin)

So... maybe I'll catch you guys tomorrow.  

Posted on 9 November 2006 | Filed under: Personal | Comments (6) | AIM Me

University of Miami defensive tackle Bryan Pata was shot and killed at his apartment complex shortly after leaving practice this evening.

According to preliminary reports, Miami-Dade Fire Rescue responded to a call in reference to a woman discovering her boyfriend with a fatal gunshot wound to the head in the hallway of an apartment building.

This marks the fourth tragedy involving a player to strike the Hurricanes in recent years and the second shooting incident in the last 6 months.

Pata, a graduate of Miami Central High School, was in his fourth year with the Hurricanes and was expected to be selected in next spring's NFL draft. Last month, NFL draft analyst John Murphy said Pata was UM's only senior who had improved his draft stock and stood as a potential third-round pick.

In talking to friends at Miami, my understanding of Bryan Pata is that he was a good kid who was more interested in providing for his family than getting caught up in a lot of mess. There are a lot of thugs and malcontents in Coral Gables but from all reports thus far, Pata wasn't one of them. Now, maybe he strayed from the path or maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time but until the details are known, save the indignation and cheap shots. It's easy to pile on the Canes program and players after a tragedy like this but doing so is both foul and unnecessary.

Posted on 7 November 2006 | Filed under: NCAA | Comments (5) | AIM Me

On most Monday nights, one can find an interesting matchup or, at the very least, a good team whose performance will hold your attention for a few hours. This is usually helpful in cancelling out the mind-numbing commentary of Theismann, Kornheiser, and, when he's not sleeping, Mike Tirico. But tonight's game between the Raiders and a Seneca Wallace-led Seattle had so few redeeming qualities that I can't imagine many of you tuned in.

And even if you did, you had to hang in until the waning moments to catch the first action of the evening. 

With 1:54 left to play, Mack Strong made a solid 4-yard run to keep the clock moving. But long after the play had ended, Raiders DE Tyler Brayton and Seahawks' TE Jerramy Stevens were still going at it. There was a lot of pushing and grabbing before the volatile Stevens made what appeared to be a half-hearted attempt at kicking Brayton in the knee.

Brayton responded by kneeing Stevens in the jimmy.

I couldn't find a picture of Brayton's cowardly act, so here's one of Cristina Ronaldo of ManUre.

Cristina is pictured in Lisbon carrying his man purse while sporting "see my bulge" jeans and carefully bleached ends.

He is an abomination. He is not a man.

And what Tyler Brayton did tonight is the type of shite Cristina would pull.

I have no truck with kicking a man in the groin but as a woman, I'm protected by a double-standard. If I need to neutralize a hazardous situation, a swift kick to the goolies will aid my cause. But this is not acceptable behavior for man-on-man aggression.

Jerramy Stevens has proven himself to be a wanking git, time and time again, and tonight was no exception. But at no point during the game did his behavior warrant such a weak dick move.

If a man has the stones to go after another, be it on the football field or otherwise, I expect him to fight like a man, not like me.

Had Brayton ripped off Stevens' helmet and beat him in the face, fine. If he had wrestled him to the ground and got a few licks in, okay. But when his first course of action was to kick Stevens in the sack, he should have left the field, showered, and hopped a red eye to meet Cristina Ronaldo at Louis Vuitton. He has more business getting a Mystic and a manicure in a London salon than playing football with the Oakland Raiders.

Growing up a fan of this team has numbed me to random acts of thuggery and craziness but it did not prepare me for players kicking others in the knackers and then justifying said actions by blaming "emotions."

That excuse is pure bollocks and wholly unacceptable. 

Art Shell was clearly lying when saying he planned "to show them the way, the 'Raider Way.'" Apparently, it's not enough that we continue to play like pussies; now, we have to fight like them too!

Posted on 6 November 2006 | Filed under: NFL , Oakland Raiders | Comments (16) | AIM Me

Last year, my dad took me to the Mayweather/Gatti fight, where we witnessed a nasty beatdown from the 7th row. I knew Pretty Boy's next step was the Welterweight WBC crown, so I hoped to fly to Las Vegas with my dad for the action. As luck would have it, my job got in the way and I had to stay around here.

But I couldn't complain - a title fight between a modern-day Cinderella man and the best pound-for-pound boxer in the world on a 60" plasma. It could be a lot worse.

So after the game, we ordered the fight, a few kegs, a lot of pizza, and set up a viewing party at $10 a head. I didn't know about anyone else, but I was expecting a helluva fight.

Before the action began, I called a 12-round, unanimous decision in Mayweather's favor but was sure Baldomir would make it entertaining. I saw what he did to Zab Judah and Arturo Gatti. The Argentinian isn't a puncher with true KO power but he's gritty, durable, and has a chin made of stone. Mayweather lacked the power to bring him down the way pound-for-pounders of old could. If Baldomir could get him on the ropes and unleash a furied, sustained assault on the body, Floyd could make a few mistakes, allowing Baldomir to capitalize and make a run at a great finish.

Sadly, the contender thought too much of himself and too little of his opponent, convinced that natural strength alone would nullify lightning-quick speed and ability.

During the first round, I thought Baldomir looked tentative because he was trying to feel out the situation.  But it became readily apparent that he looked slow because he was doing the last thing a man in his position should -- engaging in a thinking man's game. Floyd Mayweather Jr is too fast and skilled for a guy who moves like Unfrozen Caveman Boxer to handle. You don't box guys like Mayweather; you come correct with a balls to the wall attack and hope for the best.

By the end of the first round, Baldomir had a bloodied nose and cut above his left eye. And as you can guess, things went from bad to worse. Amazingly, it took four more rounds before he realized his strategy was a one-way ticket back to feather-dusting sales in Argentina.

At least, I think it was four rounds... that's how long it took for the "Oh fuck" expression to settle across his face.

Were Baldomir up against any other boxer, he could have turned it around. But Mayweather was boxing on a different plane. He threw too many punches from too many angles and left the Argentinian looking sluggish and overwhelmed. His only answer to Mayweather's hit and run, defensive style were these spectacular whiffs, which occurred at a frequency that would make Jeff Francouer blush.

The fight got so boring that in the 7th round, Larry Merchant - whose inane babbling has reached a head - started rolling out the baseball references:

"So far through 7 innings we have a Kenny Rogers style shutout."

Someone must've written that joke for Merchant. It takes him 45 seconds to voice the most basic of sentences. I refuse to believe this attempt at an amusing metaphor was produced under his own brain power... he was probably reading Jim Lampley's cards.

In any case, it was around this time that Mayweather started coasting. He dipped in here and there for a jab or two, connected on a few straight righthands, and, when we were lucky, a half-hearted attempt at a combination. By the 11th round, the boobirds were in full force, both at the fight and my house.

At the conclusion, Mayweather revealed that he hurt his right hand sometime in the 6th round, which limited his ability to throw punches. But the truth is - he wasn't doing much before the 6th anyway, so that's not much of an excuse. 

This fight was worth about $5 of the $50 pricetag until Larry Merchant got owned.

LM: You've often talked about boxing as entertainment. You came to the ring as a gladiator, but do you think this is particualrly entertaining? There were people booing and leaving their seats after the 10th and 11th rounds...

FM: You always give me a hard time, you never give me the credit I deserve. You're just a commentator; stick to commentating... let me do the fighting. I'm the best at what i do... Don't always be a critic and be so negative. Let's be positive. I got the victory... You've always got your fingers crossed, you're hopin and wishing a fighter can beat me... You always talk, let me do the talking! Larry Merchant's just a commentator, he dont' know nothin about boxing!

(Merchant hemmed and hawed through all of that and then regrouped)

LM: Are you looking forward to fighting Oscar de la Hoya? Do you think this fight will get him in the ring with you?

FM: If Oscar de la Hoya wants to leave by fighting the best, bring it on, and I'll tax that ass too!

LM: *jaw drops.. drooling ensues* 

So in the end, we got our drama. Larry Merchant is an abomination and Floyd Mayweather punched him in the mouth with criticism that I've been dying to deliver for years. That was nearly worth the remaining $45!

That said, I'm not wasting $50 to watch another fight that's over before it even begins. Floyd Mayweather Jr is an unbelievable talent but I'm sick of such underwhelming victories. I want a show, god dammit! I want punches! I want exchanges! I want a fucking brawl! And until HBO can produce quality bouts on regular broadcasts, they shouldn't have the nerve to put them on pay-per-view.

Two thumbs down, HBO. I only wish I had more hands to give this broadcast four thumbs down.

Posted on 5 November 2006 | Filed under: Boxing | Comments (8) | AIM Me

It seems that whenever I do updates for SportsbyBrooks lately, I not only forget to mention it to you but also neglect to post anything here at all.

While I thought about blaming my mental lapses on my hair color, that's a cop out. When I wasn't actively earning my salary, I spent the free time in my office writing on SbB, laying on my couch to watch "Murder, She Wrote," and putting a new dart board on the back of my office door. From there came make-believe time where I hussled random men at bars by throwing over my shoulder and around my waist...

Without beer, my skills are a bloody disaster.

Anyway, you may now realize that I remembered to toss up a post before the night ran out. As such, please oblige me by checking out SportsbyBrooks today where you can catch me passing judgment on the following nuggets:

• Clinton Portis is getting Flavor Flav's sloppy seconds... pardon me while I vomit
• ESPN's Michael Smith wins this week's Superlative Headline Challenge
• Great quarterbacks to Ben Roethlisberger: it's just a bad stretch, buddy
• A high school soccer player busted her opponent in the mouth during post-game handshakes and gets arrested... a girl after my own heart
  
• West Virginia to beef up its 2009 schedule with new D1-A juggernaut, Western Kentucky
• TonyHomo.com: Drew writes a letter to recently benched Byron Leftwich
• Terrell Owens is baffled as to why his pseudo-narcolepsy pisses off Todd Haley
• College Humor's Top 10 Dirty Plays. Missing: Bertuzzi, Pacers/Detroit, Zidane, NASCAR driver putting his feet through a windshield... Present: Woody Hayes on wanker duty
• John Smoltz, spiritual leadership, and Christian throwback jerseys
  
• AJ Allmendinger & Team Red Bull cross-promote the MLS Cup this weekend at the Dickies 500
• SI.com's Cheerleader of the Week wins Loyalty Award
• David Stern goes to Moscow

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In other news, Ricky Williams paid the price for not following the Athlete Handbook in his dealings with the press. Everyone knows that the first page of the Handbook features the following phrase in bold, 24 point font:

Speak in Cliches!

Ricky broke the rules and screwed himself into a merry-go-round of insanity, as some doofus reporter chose to forego common sense to chase down a non-story.

The reporter wanted to know if the CFL playoffs had a different feel than the regular season and if Williams planned to "turn it on." Ricky responded that he won't... the key to every great player is consistency; there is no turning it on and off.

While many have off games here and there, they don't make a habit of coasting through the regular season and flipping the switch in crunch time. Run of the mill players may operate with this philosophy but the great ones never do... they don't know how.

Sadly, the reporter failed to understand this simple concept and beat Ricky down with stupidity until the former Heisman winner freaked out and ran off on a ganjah bender.

Posted on 3 November 2006 | Filed under: SportsbyBrooks | Comments (7) | AIM Me

John L. Smith was forced to resign yesterday after three and a half seasons of random highs, countless lows, and a bevy of embarrassing, shameful moments, most of which occurred this season.

"The Notre Dame game broke everyone's heart. The Illinois game broke everybody's spirit."
And the Indiana game? That broke John L. Smith.

Smith, 22-23 in East Lansing, will be allowed to finish the season with Michigan State and hopes to become bowl eligible, as it would be "a heck of a going-away party." The Spartans are experts at pulling defeat out of the jaws of victory but finding two wins out of Purdue, Minnesota, and Penn State may not be difficult.

JoePa will roll over in his grave before he's downed by a fired coach at Happy Valley, so we can leave Penn State out of it. But Minnesota is nothing short of awful and Purdue's "basketball on grass" offense has gone from high-flying juggernaut to the YMCA hoops affair my dad signed me up for when I was 8 years old. I remember that league well... it featured 8-foot goals and final scores like 12-6 and 10-8. But every once in a while, the losing teams in those contests managed more points in one game than Purdue (13) in their last three Big10 contests.

If Sparty builds up enough steam, they may be able to down the Mighty Chippewas of Central Michigan in the Motor City Bowl.

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At his "got resigned" press conference, Smith declined to speak about his performance as a coach, answered two random questions, and then ended the meeting by making a kissing noise to a female reporter who tried to ask a question. Now that's class.

To honor his departure, I'd like to share my favorite two moments from the Johnelle Era -- the halftime meltdown from 2005 OSU and, of course, the post game slap of 2006. It's only a shame there isn't more of this caught on tape.

Posted on 2 November 2006 | Filed under: Audio & Video , NCAA | Comments (8) | AIM Me

I have a new favorite spot - "TonyHomo.com: Drew Bledsoe's Blog," whose author is, naturally, "Really Drew Bledsoe."

There have been 9 entries thus far but Bledsoe's first move is to explain why he opted for such a colorful blog title:

"TonyRomo.com was taken, so I just chose this one. Also, that faggot stole my starting job."

From there, Drew fires the types of gems unseen since his days at Wazzou:

• As reported, I am staying on as back up. I'm looking forward to wearing a headset on the sidelines, and flipping through those printed glossy black and white pages, showing them to Homo after each pick he throws.
  
  "See that?" I'll say, "That's a defender. And that is the ball you threw into his hands. Generally you'll want to throw it to one of our players. But what do I know? 3,839 completions. 251 career TD's. They were all flukes." I'm sarcastic. That's something that doesn't come through in interviews. Now you guys know.
• At practice today I told Homo I would kick his ass at any event of the Quarterback Challenge on NFL Quarterback Club '96. Even the obstacle course and he could be Randall Cunningham. He was like "Drew, Come on, man. I'm trying to concentrate here." Goddammit this guy is such a pussy. How is he the starter!?
• Mailbag:
  Drew. Did you play any sports other than Football? Did Tony Romo? Thus, who is the better athlete?
  
  My Response: Great question Maureen. I was, in fact, a basketball All-American in High School. Homo, I believe said his second favorite sport is "the yo-yo." So I'm the better athlete.

Have a visit; it's a bloody riot. Either that or my hangover has skewed my judgment... it's probably a little of both.

(HT: Geiger & JC) 

Posted on 1 November 2006 | Filed under: Shallow Observations | Comments (3) | AIM Me