Two Thumbs Down for Productivity

(Asher Sarlin)

So… maybe I’ll catch you guys tomorrow.  

Hurricanes DT Bryan Pata Gunned Down

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.

Raiders DE Tyler Brayton Is Not a Man

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!

Baldomir vs. Mayweather: Pay-Per-View Ripoff

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.

Toronto Reporter May Drive Ricky Williams Back to Weed

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:

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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.

John L. Smith “Resigns” from Sparty Implosion Squad

Michigan State coach 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.

TonyHomo.com: Drew Bledsoe’s Blog

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:

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)