There's Your Karma, Ripe As Peaches

Mourinho Joins RAW Fan Nation

I know this makes for two Bank of Chel$ki posts in an evening, and, even more shameful, yet another with a youtube video but you know how I like to make myself feel better about Arsenal's issues by poking fun at those higher in the table. Actually, it wouldn't matter where Chel$ki sat on the table; if The Special One was leading that brigade of cunts, I would be nearby trying to have a laugh.

So a few nights back, I dozed off in the middle of USA Network's 14-hour stretch of Law & Order programming and when I awoke, RAW was on. It was horrifying but I had a great groove in my pillow and searching for the remote was not an option. Instead, I laid there and wondered if things would be more entertaining if I lived in a double wide or a house with a toilet sitting in the front yard. It wasn't a long debate. I was starting to doze off again when someone said, "That's Ho-zay Mo-rin-ee-oh!" Naturally, boos immediately rained down from the crowd. I sat up and focused just in time to see The Special One, in all of his smug effeminate glory, get faux-pwned by some random WWF (or is it WWE?) guy that likely arrived to the event in an 1987 IROC-Z.  Luckily, someone else saw it too:

I can't help but think that if this whinging arse spent a little more time coaching his subs in the art of penalty kicking instead of joining Snoop Dogg in the RAW Fan Nation, Chel$ki wouldn't have looked like Wimbledon c.1989 and screwed the pooch during penalty kicks against Liverpool today. Fancy lashing out £500M to watch that tat.

Reaching for Reasons to Bash Chelsea

Someone asked the twats from Chelsea who the best looking man was on the squad, which translated to who they'd fancy if, you know, they swung "that way." Most of the men hemmed and hawed, wanting nothing to do with the the question. But leave it to the usual suspects - Cashley Cole and Frank Lumpalard - to have actual opinions on the matter. Lumpalard, caught sipping some type of frappy latte mocha with foam and sprinkles while wrapped tight in a stylish muffler, fancied backup goalie Carlo Cudicini. The answer was given with a great deal of conviction. Meanwhile, Cashley Cole, who John Terry referred to as a "sweet boy... pretty boy with all his creams," chose himself. Who could've seen that one coming?

HT: Vin, Sportscolumn Blog 

PFA Award: Cristina Ronaldo > Snoop Drog

Cristina Ronaldo took home the double last night, winning the PFA Young Player of the Year and the Player of the Year awards. Though wholly lacking in testosterone and class, Cristina is in spectacular form this year but I still hoped the awards would go to Didier Drogba and Cesc Fabregas.

Cesc really had no chance but I kinda thought Drogba might. He had a storming season at the Bridge, saving Chel$ki's arses on numerous occasions. Cristina's brilliance notwithstanding shouldn't Drogba's season-saving efforts count more than what is accomplished by a prancing nancy that plays for the New York Yankees of the EPL?

The answer to that 100% serious question is yes. As such, Drogba's failure to take home the Player of the Year award must be unrelated to a supposedly brilliant season by Cristina and more to do with something tragic like this:

"CHELSEA’S DIDIER DROGBA looks set to be a hit-man off the pitch — with his own rap album.

The Premiership’s top scorer will release the SNOOP DOGG-style tracks under the alias DROGBACITE." (The Sun, of course)

No one in their right mind would knowingly vote for a raplete, least of all one who chooses to identify himself with a name that sounds like the bacteria eating away at Al Davis' brain. Oh well.

My real issue is this: When will the tragicomedy of professional athletes plying their trades as rappers come to an end? Haven't we all suffered enough? Having enough money to find a decent producer that can pump out some semi-catchy tracks shouldn't give one license to try to be Jay-Z but let's pretend that it does. How does one get the urge to cut a rap album or even a track?

I understand how it works when you're trying to rap your way out of poverty.. when your only lyrical fodder is guns, violence, and the tragic circumstances of your life. But when you're a professional athlete sitting on millions upon millions and, quite often, with championships to your name, how does the mood strike? Are you sitting in your Cribs-esque home (or dorm room), watching the three girls you just banged walk past your MVP trophy and think to yourself, "Damn. Being me owns. I oughta rap about it and tell everybody how hard I am." Is that how it works? Or is it just an extension of the theory that all singers want to be actors, all actors want to be Hamlet, and all comedians want to write novels? Whatever it is, it has to stop.

If you played any of these efforts at a party, your guests would mock you and leave in disgust. 

• Chicago Bears Shufflin Crew: Super Bowl Shuffle, nominated for a Grammy
• '86 Oakland Raiders Music Video
• Deion Sanders: Prime Time
• Shaquille O'Neal: Shaq Diesel, Shaq Fu: Da Return, Kazaam soundtrack... :(
• Kobe Bryant: Visions (with Tyra Banks singing the hook on the single K.O.B.E., sounded like a weak, latter day Will Smith)
• Clint Dempsey: Don't Tread
• Tony Parker: TP
  
• Terrell Owens: Eagles' Diss Rap
• Mike Ditka: that Grabowski crap where he wore those Zubaz pants
• University of Michigan's Measly Penny Crew
• University of Miami's 7th Flo Crew
• UConn basketball's Ed Nelson: Pickup Truck
• Ron Artest: My World
• Allen Iverson: Non-Fiction (homophobic anthem sung by A.I.'s alter-ego "Jewelz")
• Roy Jones, Jr.: Round One: the Album, Body Head Bangerz Vol. 1
• Jason Kidd, Gary Payton, Dana Barros, JR Rider, et al: Basketball's Best Kept Secret
• Ricky Watters: Eye of a Hawk
• Chris Webber: Too Much Drama
• Macho Man Randy Savage: Be A Man (rags on Hulk Hogan in a Rob Zombie sort of way)
• Hulk Hogan: posing as or living vicariously through Brooke Hogan; I can't figure it out
• Multiple WWF/WWE compilation albums
• Didier Drogba: Drogbacite

I'm all for exploring one's talents but at no time in the history of rapletes has any one of these blokes had a sodding lick of it that didn't involve hand-eye coordination. Now, if Tony Parker or Shaquille O'Neal or Clint Dempsey wanted to take up professional juggling or hacky sack, that would make perfect sense but rapping?

The fair majority of rap requires absolutely no talent. Anyone armed with a 3rd grade vocabulary and a pair of Timberlands can be one of millions paid to repeat asinine phrases like "skeet skeet skeet," "till the sweat drips off my balls," and "slap her with a dick." 

But rap done properly - the type where the voice is used as a rhythmic instrument instead of thuggish grunting and inane rambling for a club - actually requires talent, intelligence, and skill. So if you're a professional athlete, why subject yourself to the humiliation? Why be the guy music critics compare to a latter day, watered down Will Smith? Part of being a pro is having an ego the size of Wyoming but if you have a modicum of pride, why add yourself to the millions of faux-thug tools whose lyrical skill is based in telling you exactly why they're fly and precisely why you're not (the answer is:"I'm hot 'cause I'm fly; You ain't 'cause you're not"), and if asked not to use a verse that includes some Chronic 2001 cliche, their brains might explode?

It makes no sense to me.

Beer Launching Fridge

It's times like these that I wish I had a modicum of useful talent... if I could get another one that launched delicious nachos (without making a mess, of course), I'd be all set.

Frank Thomas Deemed Too Violent for Innocent Canadians

Those peacenik clowns up in Canada have struck again. The politically correct, anal retentives at the Television Bureau of Canada - the watchdog that approves TV commercials for private broadcasters - have refused to air a 30-second commercial featuring Frank Thomas that promotes the start of the Blue Jays' new season. It seems that the Big Hurt's excessive display of pillowfight violence is not acceptable for the private broadcasting crowd.

Shocking brutality, isn't it?  

Until the violence is removed, TBC won't air the commercial. But if you ask the television group, the Blue Jays shouldn't be surprised at this outcome. Advertisers are required to meet several guidelines for approval and must "keep the best interests of young children and youth in mind when producing commercials. Because children and youth are very impressionable, commercials should not contain any visual or audio portrayals which are detrimental to their well-being."

To make matters worse, TBC, who also believes "even comedic violence" is crossing the line, refused to approve another of the Jays' commercials, this one featuring pitcher A. J. Burnett, until the word "dramatization" was added to the spot.

What is wrong with these people? Your country is rooted in hockey and beer! How can a country that condones the existence of Labatt - which is Canadian for assmilk - Tie Domi, and Celine Dion have the audacity to deem this too violent? Here's how I see it... Frank Thomas' performance in this commercial made me laugh. Commericals involving Celine Dion make me want to kill myself. I think it's pretty clear what type of commercial should actually face banishment.

Hat tip: The hot blokes at Sportscolumn Blog

Valley Beats Bayside!

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. 

John L. Smith "Resigns" from Sparty Implosion Squad

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.

+

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.

Leinart & Urlacher Team for an NFL First!

At least, I think it's an NFL first...

In late 2004, Paris Hilton left a Las Vegas club on Brian Urlacher's back with a broken stiletto heel in hand. Soon enough, she was spotted at a Bears game wearing an Urlacher jersey.

In early 2006, Hilton was spotted all over LA with Matt Leinart and even showed up in Phoenix a couple times.

Now, we all know Paris Hilton gives it up for candy bars, so it's fair to assume that both players had a piece.

So what I'd like to know is this - has a starting quarterback and an opposing starting linebacker facing off in Monday Night Football ever had publicized relationships with the same girl? In every NFL town, the ratio of groupies to players is 100:1. Unless the two players went to the same college or play in the same town, the odds that a quarterback and the man assigned to plant his face in the dirt have shacked up with the same woman are pretty low. Granted, we are dealing with Paris Hilton, who would probably do me if I had a strap-on and a million dollars, so that may skew the odds a bit. But still. I'm on to something... I'm also drunk... I'm now pretty sure I'll feel like a goon for writing this by the morning.

+

In other news, Denny Green went batshit after the Arizona Cardinals pulled a Michigan State...

Nobody Talks Noise in The OB!

I thought the 7th Floor Crew was a creative message to the sporting world that "The U" was back. This was a great relief to me because every sport, especially the sugary world of college football, needs a true badboy.. a team of punks and malcontents jacking people up and making great plays.

I love that stuff!

But "If Your Ho Only Knew," or "Ode to a Gangbang," as I prefer to call it, wasn't a message. It simply served as a tiny window into the culture of thuggery many thought had been eliminated by Butch Davis and Larry Coker... but it looks like Coker's Hans Brinker imitation could only last for so long.

I'm sure you know the story of the brutal melee that took place between Miami and Florida International on Saturday night, so I won't get into it. But I'd be remiss if I didn't call attention to the true gem of this shameful affair -- the live commentary provided by former Cane receiver/current Comcast broadcaster, Lamar Thomas.

Around the time the first player kicked another in the ribs, Thomas began rooting for the Canes to do more and more damage - "Now that's what I'm talkin' about. You come into our house, your should get your behind kicked." He also expressed outrage that scrubs from FIU would have the nerve to come up in "the OB" and "talk noise."

Things took an additional step toward the shameful, however, when Thomas went down memory lane - “If this would have been back in the days [sic], we would have called these guys – ‘Hey, meet us at Tamiami Park and let’s get it on without pads.'” It wasn't long before he expressed a desire to join the fracas.

Check out the brilliance:

After the brawl was over, Miami's players started jumping up and down with pride. You see, they'd successfully defended the Orange Bowl from big bad Florida International, a school who has had a football program for all of 4 seasons.

When play resumed, I sent a snide text to one of my friends at Miami - "classy team you got there." I expected him to express a bit of shame or embarrassment but instead, his reply read almost as if it was written by Lamar Thomas.

Hey, I suppose it's a Cane Thing and I wouldn't understand.

But something I do understand is that if this year's Miami was like Cane teams of old, FIU wouldn't have come up in the OB talkin noise. They would have taken their beating and gone home thankful to have played an elite program at the Orange Bowl.

Thing is, they didn't play an elite program; they played Larry Coker's Hurricanes. The same Hurricanes that lost to Florida State, got blown out at Papa John's Stadium, and aren't within miles of a ranking.

When you're suiting up against this bunch, it's a lot easier to walk into their house and disrespect them because the Canes aren't the Canes anymore. Sure, the fight helped reclaim their badboy image, but the most important things that have defined The U - style, swagger, and great football - have been lost for 5 years. And in times like these, indignance in the face of disrespect is simply not permitted.

Hopefully, Lamar will figure that out before Comcast drops him like a sack of dirt.

John L. Smith, Leader of the Michigan State Implosion Squad

Following their game with Notre Dame last week, a few Michigan State players stood near the 50-yard-line, guarding it from a possible revenge flag planting attempt by the Irish. But with the Notre Dame players too busy singing the Alma Mater with students in a far corner of the stadium, nothing came to pass.

• MLB works with TiVo to boost sales on the West Coast just in time for the playoffs
• Florida State outsources responsibility for the Warchant and other songs for the NC State game this weekend
• Taking a cue from Florida Gators Frosted Flakes, John L. Smith has his own new cereal
• The Atlanta Braves finally knock a team out of the playoffs
• Eva Longoria and Tony Parker break-up... look for Eva on the sidelines of the newest version of the NBA's next great thing in coming weeks
• What do Roger Clemens, soccer moms, and teenage girls that love Laguna Beach have in common?
• Dusty Baker concedes defeat and takes the blame because "someone has to." Pryor and Wood would smack him in the face if they could lift their arms above their shoulders
• and many more...

Robin Van Persie Made Me Weak in the Knees

The Mighty Arsenal defeated Charlton United yesterday courtesy of a brilliant brace from Robin Van Persie. His brilliance overshadowed what can only be described as a curious mixture of the sublime and the ugly that could have easily been 2-2 as 1-6. As it happens, thanks in part to van Persie and Charlton's own ineptitude, it was neither and the great Arsene was able to celebrate 10 years in charge with a win to haul the lads out of the mid-table ruck.

As you can see here, the Dutchman's strike was technical perfection. Van Persie, arriving like a man late for work, had two options: manage a speculative header or go for the impossible by bringing the ball under control with a shoulder-high volley from short range.

He went for the impossible and Scott Carson had no chance.

To hit the ball that cleanly with that pace while flying through the air like Carl Lewis is an incredible skill, but to do so with such a supreme measure of accuracy and level of control is positively sublime.

Teddy Ruxpin and HR Puff'n'Stuff Replace MSU Defensive Coordinator

Notre Dame bloggers at The House Rock Built unearthed what is described as a "the most heinous, depraved descent into that mirky blackness captured by our modern recording equipment."

For nearly 15 minutes, Mike Valenti of AM 1270's The Sports Inferno, makes the long, painful descent into madness, as he reacts to Michigan State's colossal implosion to Notre Dame.

The host goes so far as to suggest that he'd rather have HR Puff'n'stuff with Teddy Ruxpin as an assistant than to have Chris Smeland as a defensive coordinator.

Hopefully Chris Farley Valenti will make a quick recovery... in his van down by the river. 

+

When I was listening to that clip for the first time, I went back and forth between hysterics and absolute shock. If Michigan State pulls another Michigan State, I don't know if Valenti will survive the experience. In any case, I'm about 15 hours late in sharing that this nugget along with a few of the following can be found in my update on SportsbyBrooks today:

• Longtime NHL goon, Tie Domi, managed to shack up with a post-Crucial Taunt Tia Carrere even though he looks like he tends bar at the Bada Bing
• A Houston Texans cheerleader claims to be a "rocket scientist"... so that's what they're calling it these days. 
• Bonzi Wells' death wish
• Not even Dr. Seuss could compete with Ron Artest when it comes to droppin' rhymes
• The real reason TO "accidentally overdosed"
• Don't expect to join the Mile High Club if you're flying on American Airlines
• and many more...
  

After a rocky week, things are settling back down for me, so I should be around far more often from now on. I hope the weekend treats all of you well.

Cheers!

L'Shanah Tovah!

Well boys and girls, I'm back from the dead. Many thanks for the cards, messages, flowers, and even singing telegrams - they were all highly appreciated. 

Though I'm not 100%, I'm pretty functional and things should be getting back to normal around here starting, oh, sometime tomorrow. But until then, here's a little useless information about my Saturday and a great video...

Since I'm actually a good Jew and manage to attend temple on Saturdays (most in the fall excluded, of course) that don't fall within the High Holidays, I was hoping the Almighty wouldn't mind if I rode out the New Year in bed. It's not like I didn't have a good excuse.

But I quickly realized that though I may have been able to escape judgement from our Creator, I could never escape the wrath of my mother, who advised that my soul would not only rot but it would also not be recorded in the Book of Life if I dared not examine my past wrongful deeds and ask for forgiveness for my sins. It sounds silly but she managed to scare me enough that I dragged myself to the synagogue even though I was loaded up on Percocet. I love this religion.

 In honor of me being the coolest Jewess that you know (and also because I need to take a nap), have a video and please, don't feel bad about laughing... it won't make you an anti-Semite.

The Day Bear Bryant Died

On a wintry day in 1983, songwriters Buddy Buie and Ronnie Hammond were holed up in a cabin on Atlanta's Lake Lanier, working on new songs for a possible Atlanta Rhythm Section album, when they saw on TV that Paul "Bear" Bryant, the legendary Alabama football coach, had died following a heart attack. They stopped what they were doing to write a song called "The Day Bear Bryant Died" mainly for themselves, just as a way of dealing with the loss... yes, you read that correctly. They had to deal with the loss. I suppose writing a song is cheaper than a therapy bill or a bottle of whiskey. But come on.. wouldn't you rather down the whiskey?

In any case, more than 23 years after Bryant's death, their song is finally being released. And that song, boys and girls, is high comedy... well, if you're not a 'Bama fan.

Here's a clip (and lyrics). While you listen, close your eyes, sit back, and imagine the scene -- thousands of Alabamans pouring out of their shacks, trucks, and plantations to do a Hands Across America-esque vigil.. quietly swaying back and forth with candlelights and Stars and Bars flickering in the background:

I'll never forget
The day that I heard the news
Bear Bryant has died
Funny, I thought he'd refuse
I watched as they laid him to rest
In ol' Alabama
Oh, how I cried
The day Bear Bryant died

Ya know, it's not quite Don McLean's "American Pie." Actually, it's not even close. But I suppose I have to admire the effort, after all - what have I written, right? Well, wake me up when Al Davis dies... the piece I pen when he's shuffled loose the mortal coil will put the 1812 Overture to shame.

Contestant Takes Valuable Years Off Bob Barker's Life

Has a dumber contestant ever appeared on the Price is Right? I submit that there has not. The video is long but well worth your time, as Bob Barker has never come closer to stroking out than he does in the final moments of this video... he was about 30 seconds away from joining Dick Clark.

Ya know... It's things like this that reinforce my belief that there is no justice in this world.

Chicks Dig the Long Ball

This video has nothing to do with anything other than amusement, as I have neither a stirring nor rage-filled commentary on Mark McGuire's current situation. But I will say that it's pretty funny to see how young Greg Maddux and Tom Glavine used to be and to know that even then, they were in the middle of their careers... nowadays, their craggly, crinkly faces look like old catcher's mitts...

*Note: While it's true that chicks dig the long ball, when you sound like you haven't hit puberty yet when yelling "Cy Young winners over here," you may not fare too well with the ladies.

The Joy of Cesc, Samuel L., & Britney Spears

1. The Mighty Arsenal has one foot in the Champions League group stages after trouncing Dinamo Zagreb 3-0 in the third qualification round first leg last night. Shorn of nine players and baring only five of the 11 who started the Champions League Final 12 weeks ago, we were lacking in numbers, experience, and preparation, so it was no surprise that our lads struggled to find rhythm in the first half.

Nearly an hour passed before Arsenal exploded into life with two goals separated by less than 80 seconds. In the 63rd minute, Alexandr Hleb slid the ball forward to Robin Van Persie who touched it on to Cesc Fabregas on the right; the 19-year-old Spaniard (in his 100th game in an Arsenal shirt) ripped home a cross to put the Gunners up by one. Two minutes later, Hleb's lofted pass sent Van Persie racing clear. The Dutchman held off his marker and steered a left foot shot past Turina's groping left hand and into the far corner of the net. 2-0. Zagreb tried to respond immediately under the impression that it would actually matter but their efforts were in vain. In the 79th minute, Fabregas grabbed his second and Arsenal's third goal with a superb strike that saw him ride two tackles and crash home another cross-shot into the far corner. 3-0.

Other matters of note - Spanish pretty boy Reyes is gone... Get ready for Ribery!

2. Check out this amazing service that sends your friends messages from Samuel L. Jackson; he threatens them and demands that they go see Snakes on a Plane on August 18th (and that they take you with them). I'm slowly but surely sending it out to my entire cell phone contacts list and have been surprised to find many people believing they were chosen in some strange Publisher's Clearinghouse for phone calls by celebs and nearly wet themselves in excitement as a result. "You won't believe who just called me! Wait for it. SAMUEL L!!!" "What was the originating number on that call?" "Well huh... it was your number. Weird." "i wonder why that is..." The only disappointing aspect to this service is that Samuel L. doesn't use the word "motherfucker," the first time he's failed to do so since starring as Mr. Glass in Unbreakable. That, if anything, should make it clear to recipients that the con is on.

3. From IDontLikeYouInThatWay: All you ever need to know about Britney Spears is in this video (from 'Chaotic'). She's an idiot. I really don't know how else to say it. Kevin Federline sounds like he's trying to explain governing dynamics to a parrot. A parrot who's in a coma. A parrot who's in a coma and has been thrown into the street and run over. You could put Christmas lights on your car and drive Britney Spears to Medieval Times and she'd think she went back in time.

I think that about sums it up.

Zizou Momentarily Appealed to my Hooligan Nature

*Disclaimer: Violence is not good, even when provoked.*
*Zidane, The Game - play it!*

Even if you didn't watch the World Cup final (what were you watching, Left Turns?), you've seen the Madness of Zinedine Zidane replayed again and again...

Though I can acknowledge the wrong of Zidane's actions, this strongly appealed to my hooligan nature and a part of me got a little giddy. Remember when Jermaine O'Neal threw a haymaker with his fist coming in for the kill on some random Pistons fan from like 8 feet back? That's what Zidane did - except with his face! I've headbutted people before because I'm a shithead and when the refs aren't looking, just about anything goes. But those were close-range contacts. Zidane went in like gangbusters and blew somebody out of his shoes... but he also cocked up France's last opportunity for victory.

Italy was playing for penalty kicks; had Zizou held his head for another 10 minutes, maybe France makes a final run and gets the score before time runs out. But if Les Bleus couldn't manage a goal, the result would have been the same. Fabian Barthez isn't just crazy, he's not the keeper Gigi Buffon is. Even if Zidane was around for PK's, my money was on Buffon to make the game-deciding stop before Barthez and his eccentric, insane, mentally defective style of goal management came within 3 feet of the ball.

Maybe the French were doomed anyway.

Zinedine Zidane was named the winner of the Golden Ball, given to the best player in the World Cup even though he was brilliant for 2.5 games out of 6 and Fabio Cannavaro was brilliant all Cup long. Hopefully, he'll put that up on his mantle next to his brass ones

The outrage of the blast notwithstanding, I truly believe you could see this coming from a click away. Apparently, Marco Materazzi (who replaced Nesta in brilliant fashion) got a little loose with the racial slurs in the late stages of the game, an action that provoked Zidane to go all battering ram into his chest. Given the overabundance of racism amongst fans and native players in Italian football, this isn't beyond the realm of possibility. And with Zidane's ethnicity being Kabyle Algerian, I'm sure there are plenty of slurs to throw in his direction.

Reacting to slurs is something you either need to let go or take care of when no one's looking. But just moments before, Zizou made an impossibly nasty header, only to see Gianluigi Buffon make an impossibly magical save... it was the save of the tournament; one where a legend imposed the complete force of his will on another and was fully and totally denied. It was truly breathtaking. Zidane screamed both in frustration and disbelief and it was then that you could see something a bit off with his demeanor.

The maestro had the type of look in his eye that if a fly landed on his shoulder, he would've torn off his shirt, beat up his teammates, and run into the streets of Berlin going Incredible Hulk on cars and buildings. The word is that Materazzi was stupid enough (or smart, depending on your perspective) to call him an Algerian terrorist but as offensive as that is, I have a feeling it wasn't gonna take much anyway.

I suppose it's only fitting that the last minutes of this Cup - one marked by 3 great games and a multitude of bad ones, melodramatic flops, low scores, and questionable officiating - were played out in a cacophony of whistles and jeers.

The sending off of Zinedine Zidane was at once justice and a travesty; it was an exit unworthy of someone whose artistry so often lit up the beautiful game. But while I'm sad to see him go maybe it's best that, in the end, he showed us he's human afterall.

Crying with Cristina Ronaldo and Brooke Hogan

Even though Cristina Ronaldo was absolutely dazzling when he actually had the ball, this flopping cunt embodies everything that is wrong with football and needs to be thrown down a well.

As a a result of his diving antics (not to mention his part in the sending off of Wayne Rooney), Ronaldo finished second to Lukas Podolski of Germany for the FIFA World Cup Young Player Award. The FIFA technical committee nominated 6 young players for the award - Ronaldo, Podolski, Luis Valencia, Cesc Fabregas, Lionel Messi, and Tranquilo Barnetta. From there, fans were allowed to vote for their favorites and the FIFA would choose the best player out of the top 3 results. That player would not only need to possess the best technical skill and performance but he would also embody the positive aspects of the game like good sportsmanship.

Naturally, the Portuguese winger was leading the Fifa website vote by a huge margin but an email to England fans encouraged them to vote for Luis Valencia instead. Why? Because we're a shitty, spiteful lot :) This move lead to a an incredible 24-hour turnaround and Ronaldo lost his lead but still finished in the top 3 of young players. When FIFA made the decision, they gave the coveted prize to Podolski, a player who, though not nearly as magical on the pitch as Ronaldo, wasn't a fucking cunt either.

In other news, Brooke Hogan, daughter of Hulk Hogan is fashioning some sort of pop sensation music career. You can pre-order her sure to be hit cd "This Voice" on amazon.com... expected release date?

2010.

Brooke Hogan - marketing genius. Ya know, I was thinking -- maybe Brooke can lend her marketing expertise to Christiano Ronaldo. Now that the World Cup is about over, I imagine he's looking to market himself to erotic shops whose customers are looking to come with him in their spare time. I imagine he'd make a killing on Cristina pocket pussies.

[HT: Cozmo, Matt Geiger]

Dickin' Our Way to the Quarters

*Disclaimer: I will continue my trend of waiting a day or so to decompress before commenting on England's World Cup happenings until we either play better or lose*

So the Three Lions are in the quarters. Someone asked me if the reason I can't fully enjoy this result is due to my being a natural cynic or just English. I suppose it's a little bit of both, as you can't be English and not be a cynic. Well, it's possible, but at some point, almost every English youngster has a horrifying sporting experience that sparks a lifelong, largely unjustified outlook of doom & gloom.

Mine occurred on June 22, 1986. I was 4 years old and England was facing Argentina in the World Cup quarterfinals. My father and uncles were in Mexico City for the Cup, leaving us wee ones in Gloucestershire with our mothers. That was the first time I remember being keyed up for English football, and after my nap, I got to put on my Gary Lineker jersey. I wore it with pride even though I really didn't know who Lineker was.

The match began and all was well until five minutes into the scoreless second half. Diego Maradona attempted to play the ball into the penalty area but Steve Hodge beat him to it. And when he tried to hook the ball clear, it screwed off his foot and into the danger zone. Maradona swooped in and knocked the ball away from the grasp of keeper Peter Shilton and into the net. He did all this with the back of his left hand. The handball replayed on the telly again and again. Back and to the left... back and to the left... back and to the left... the referee called it a goal under the belief that Maradona headed the ball. The Argentinian would later claim that the goal was scored "un poco con la cabeza de Maradona y otro poco con la mano de Dios" (a little with the head of Maradona and a little with the hand of God). Hand of the Devil is more like it.

This was my first feeling of anger and frustration where the English are concerned. It was also the first time I saw my mother cry. Five minutes later, Maradona put on the greatest goal-scoring display of all time... our last line of defense on that play was Linekar - my jersey hero. I suppose I never recovered. And with that, let the bitching begin:

A couple days have passed since our win over Ecuador and while I'm thrilled to be in the quarters, I remain unhappy at another semi-comatose performance. This is our third unconvincing win in four results and we played well for about 15 minutes... during that brief span, David Beckham was useful for about 15 seconds.

Ya know.. hearing Beckham's name makes me angry and watching him preen and skip about the pitch without a thought for productive contribution makes me ill. It is almost impressive how excruciatingly superfluous he manages to be in open play... he ought to pay the FA a gratuity for the amazing seat he has for every match. For 89:45 against Sweden he had no tackles, no shots, no dribbles and couldn't pick up a man at corners if he offered some head after the game. But the thing that pains me is all these negatives notwithstanding, it is the whip and menace of his right foot that has permitted us (and our 70 minutes of quality football) to remain in this tournament... if you deny that, you're blind.

As much as I want the captain's band ripped off the arm of our faux skipper and see him relagated to bench duty, he has set up or scored three of our five goals. And the score against Ecuador reminds me that even though he is little more than a decrepit hood-ornament until the ball goes dead, we wouldn't have gotten this far without him. The drop and curl on his free kick Sunday were nothing short of uncanny.. it was vintage Beckham - pre-2002 World Cup cock-up Beckham - and short of, maybe, Roberto Carlos, no one in the world can do it better.

As for the rest of the squad, there's nothing wrong with them that a swift kick to the collective arse by Vinnie Jones can't cure. I imagine he's in some trailer on a Hollywood set somewhere scaring co-stars and production assistants but if someone can track him down, fly him to Gelsenkirchen, and have him waiting for the Three Lions when they enter the lockeroom for halftime on Saturday, I'll give you anything you want.

US Soccer Needs A New Logo

Because Tomas Rosicky and the Czech Republic pissed all over this one.

When the only World Cup team that you can manage to outplay is Iran, you have a serious problem. Iran's JV-level keeper had a reaction time like my Nana. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the selection committee ran out of real players and fielded half the squad with random folk that they picked up off the road. But you know something? They played with heart. They got after it. They did everything in their power to bring a little pride to their nation and that's something one can respect.

But not the United States.

Anyone with half a clue knew they were overhyped and overrated going in but never has a team had more to gain and even more to lose in World Cup competition. The fervor for US soccer could not have been higher and the hype and anticipation had more Americans than ever ready to embrace the game. But rather than seize the moment and show this nation just what their ignorance has caused them to miss, the squad walked onto the pitch and wet themselves. And it wasn't just inexperienced players, as Claudio Reyna would have people to believe in the post-game. It was the veterans - Reyna, Pope, Gooch, Donovan, McBride, Beasley. And when the chips were down, the ones fighting so hard for soccer's legitimacy were no where to be seen.

When they get home and wonder why no one gives a damn about this sport, they can point the fingers at themselves. Winning it all wouldn't have moved footie to the mainstream but a great showing could have been the jumpstart US Soccer has needed for so long. Instead, they reminded the majority of Americans exactly why "soccer sucks." 

But enough of that. In my SportsbyBrooks update today, you can find a comment on the above (shortened by about 1,000 words), as well as 10 other bits, which include:

• Ben Roethlisberger learns the motorcycle helmet lesson the hard way
• Real men "LUV" tennis
• Gamers lobby to become the new Olympic demonstration sport, aiming toward Beijing '08
• Who's the hottest fan at the World Cup?
• Notre Dame's Tommy Zbikowski makes his pro fighting debut

Rule, Britannia!

Greenlight Rooney! The 20-year-old that carries the hope of a nation on his boots.. [his flawed, craptastic, amateur hour Nike boots].. flew to Germany last night to join the English squad after receiving the go-ahead from doctors.

That's right kids - England are back and my time of pouting is over (at least, for a couple days:).

Medical teams from Manchester United and the FA examined Rooney while an independent orthopaedic surgeon supervised to prevent shenanigans. Though it was clear that United's team was far more cautious in its reading of results, at the end of the day, the scouser was released on the advice that he not play the group stage and be monitored �very carefully� before re-taking the pitch.

Though the news was cause for celebration across England and with ex-pats around the world, the results couldn't have come as a bigger blow to Sir Alex Ferguson and United. Though Rooney shows no signs of any injury, the Scotsman believes that any further damage to Rooney's foot could amount to a "career-threatening" injury. To make matters worse, United are preparing to claim substantial compensation should the �27M forward break down on England duty.

[That'll be a classy move, Glazers. Injury is the risk you run when allowing players to engage in international competition and since Rooney is completely without injury (something with which United doctors agree), there's no need for threats of this nature. It is a sour grapes response from a collection of wankers and cunts. We should expect nothing less.]

Naturally, Rooney isn't required to follow the advice but he's expected to miss the Group B matches (games we don't need him for anyway), thus allowing him two weeks in which to become match fit... not like he needs it. As we all know, Wayne Rooney is seven feet tall and kills men by the hundreds. And when he takes to the pitch, he'll consume the Germans, Brazilians, and Czechs with fireballs from his eyes and bolts of lightning from his arse.

As such, I have officially reached the point of being irrationally and rabidly assured that the Three Lions are destined for glory at the 2006 World Cup. What, you weren't expecting me to reach this conclusion with reason and logic were you? Shame, shame. You know better than that.

The Three Lions will roar mightily to the heavens and while our opponents quiver with fear, I shall rise and honor our men by doing the Peter Crouch.

Michael Irvin: The Playmaker Becomes The Matchmaker

Friends and coworkers, Nick Dolin and Lisa Bennett, were producers on HBO's "Real Sports With Bryant Gumbel." The duo seemed like a great fit; they had similar interests (he had a love for the Mets while she was a diehard Phillies fan) and were close friends.

Romance seemed like the next reasonable step in their relationship but Bennett was reluctant. She'd been "involved" at work before and wasn't keen on taking the plunge again, least of all with her closest platonic friend.

And then came The Playmaker.

In late 2001, much was made about Michael Irvin's self-proclaimed new lease on life. With the help of friends and family, Irvin supposedly abandoned the world of drug abuse and sexual license for that of born-again Christianity, and the skeptical sports media was champing at the bit for the story.

Real Sports sent Dolin and Bennett to Dallas to get the exclusive.

The producers met Irvin at the home of the Good Reverend Deion Sanders. Whether Sanders was clad in some crazy zoot suit and fedora typical of his preacher years is unknown and, well, irrelevant, but soon after the interview began, Irvin turned the tables on the Dolin and Bennett, and asked why they weren't a couple.

According to reports, their faces turned beet red in embarrassment, but we all know that The Playmaker left no time for the awkward silence often found in situations of this nature. He pressed them on their status, insisting that God put them together for a reason.

"I had to say something," said Irvin. "In that other world, that spiritual world, that soul mate world, there was something going on soul to soul, not body to body."

I wonder what his soulmate speech sounded like. Did he quote scripture? Did he get the gruff rumble in his voice that is often heard when he's making inane comments during Monday Night Countdown?

Though these facts are probably only known to the Dolins and Irvin, I know one thing: if his talk was anything like his lockerroom speech with the Miami Hurricane football players before their game against Florida State last season, this union would could have been in the gutter before ever getting off the ground.

Fortunately, Irvin gives better trumpet calls for romance than he does rivalry football games (the Canes lost their season opener to FSU, 10-7). His words planted the seeds of possibility and last December, Nick Dolin proposed to Lisa Bennett.

The couple recently married at a TriBeCa restaurant and while reception guests dined on a do-it-yourself cheeseburger buffet, the newlyweds were greeted by a video message from Michael Irvin:

"Your love, even when you were not together, it was a beautiful thing to watch. You were like two little kids playing together." Irvin continued to wax poetic, suggesting that the Dolins name their soon to be born baby after him.

"Michael, or Michaela if it's a girl."

And that makes complete sense. Only a set of parents that were completely off their rockers would take pause when naming their child after a former drug addict who treats the English language like a two-dollar hooker.

Until now, I thought the only thing Michael Irvin could hook me up with was a crown & coke, a fur coat, and the location of the nearest crack den. But look at the Playmaker, taking his skills to the next level. It's almost too good to be true, isn't it?

Michael Irvin... a modern day Yente.

Carl Crawford Throws Tantrum, Injures Knee

Who knows how long the Devil Rays' Carl Crawford will be out for this piece of idiocy but this seems like a fitting time to look at other ridiculous injuries suffered by those great "athletes," those fine physical specimens known as baseball players:

• Pitcher Adam Eaton stabbed himself in the stomach as he was using a knife to open a DVD wrapper.
• Sammy Sosa was disabled after a violent sneeze caused back problems.
• Reliever Larry Anderson strained a rib muscle jumping from the bench to join a brawl.
• Shortstop Clint Barmes fell down some stairs and broke his collarbone. He was unable to break his fall because he was cradling a package of venison given to him from teammate Todd Helton.
• Speedster Rickey Henderson allegedly missed several games in August due to frostbite.
• Outfielder Ken Griffey Jr. missed a game after his cup slipped and pinched a testicle.
• Outfielder Glenallen Hill received cuts over much of his body after he fell out of bed onto a glass table. He was having a nightmare about being covered in spiders.
• Pitcher Rich Harden strained his shoulder turning off his alarm clock.
• Hall of Fame pitcher Phil Niekro was injured while shaking hands.
• Pitcher Doc Gooden missed a start when a teammate accidentally hit him with a golf club in the locker room.
• Wade Boggs hurt his back putting on his cowboy boots.
• Pitcher Mike Remlinger missed 15 days because he broke his left pinky in a clubhouse recliner.
• John Smoltz burned his chest while ironing the shirt he was wearing.
• Nolan Ryan missed a start after being bitten by a coyote.
• Outfielder Vince Coleman missed the entire 1985 World Series after being rolled up in the tarp machine at Busch Stadium.
• Hall of Famer George Brett broke a toe on a chair when he was running from the kitchen to the living room to see baseball on TV.
• Future Hall of Famer Tony Gwynn missed several games because he smashed his finger in the door of his luxury car, on the way to the bank.
• Pitcher Carlos Zambrano was diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome after spending as many as five hours daily on the Internet.
• John Kruk has one testicle due to a gonad obliterating baseball pitch

I was surprised to find that no baseball player got injured while adjusting himself but who knows, maybe that's how Griffey went down for the count with a pinched testicle. As much as I love baseball and respect the men who play it, I've gotta say, they have to be the most fragile group of men in sports.

You Know What Avery Johnson Did?

So I know that the youtube clip of Avery Johnson nutmugging Josh Howard is 3 or 4 days old, BUT I have a surprise in store for you. On Erik's suggestion that I make the ball shot video into a ytmnd with my favorite Trigon Insurance boy, I set to work. I've yet to figure out the ytmnd thing but I did manage to cut the video down, wipe out Marv Alberts, and give you a commentary from the kid. Hopefully it works and you'll enjoy... Cheers!

PS. This is set to loop, so be mindful of the stop button location before your patience runs out.

Update: The YTMND of Avery Johnson hitting Josh Howard in the penis has officially come to life. For some reason the timing works on IE but goes a little too quick on Firefox but I'm done with this project, so this is the end of my attempts at creativity for a while.

Playboy All-American Weekend, Sponsored by Schmitt's Gay

Until last year, I believed that the Playboy All-American Weekend was three days of boobs, boobs, and a brief photo shoot when everyone needed a cool down from the boobs. But it seems that I was way off, as the only boobs to be found are the supple numbers found on offensive linemen. In my update today at SportsbyBrooks, you can read up on that, as well as my musings on a few other things, which include:

• Jeff Francouer - the last player to figure out Jeff Francouer
• A Texas Longhorns player sells his National Championship ring on eBay
• Duke Women's Lax squad raises awareness 3 months too late
• The scout that discovered Albert Pujols is where...?
• Rockstar Games releases Grand Theft Auto: Table Tennis
• and more

I also had a great link on the widely circulated Avery Johnson incident where I brought back the adorable "He got injured... injured bad" boy. Well, it didn't make it past the editor's cyber desk but since I'm such a pip, have a laugh at both videos:

You know what Avery Johnson did? He hit Josh Howard in the penis!

He was injured... injured bad!

Best Mound Charges

In honor of Dontrelle Willis beaning a player for the 21st time in the WBC yesterday, I present 9 of the best mound charges in the history of color television (according to Sports Center). [There haven't been any WBC mound charges that I can think of but, to be honest, I just needed an excuse to show this to you.]

The first incidence of a professional charging the mound has not been identified but the practice dates back to the game's early days when men were men and thugs were heroes. Can you imagine the great mound charges there must have been?! I'm a little misty-eyed that film was being wasted on Birth of a Nation instead of these revolutionary moments of sport. In any case, charging the mound is often the precipitating event of a bench-clearing brawl - a happening that leaves some men in wrapped up in the headlocks while others just hop around the outer edges looking silly and somewhat disappointed... not that I can blame them. If I ever caught myself on the outside of a brawl, I'd try to sneak in and bite a few ankles - otherwise, it's a pointless excercise and you may as well go back to the dugout and wait it out.

This strategy enables one to get his licks in before the bench (who thinks they're helping your cause) clears and ruins everything. I hope to see it in major league play soon.

Natalie Portman Raps with The Lonely Island

Rapping About The Measly Penny With The Michigan Wolverines

There are two things about the University of Michigan that I can always count on - 1) Wolverine football players will always go out of their way to underachieve and then whine about it; and 2) As football coach Lloyd Carr ages, he will continue to look more and more like Gargamel from the Smurfs. Where Azrael is, I don't know, but I hold out hope that an orange tabby cat will appear on the sidelines at the Big House sometime soon.

In any case, I guess it goes without saying that one of these absolutes in life has proved itself once again.. this time in the players. Remember the 7th Floor Crew - The rapping gangbangers from the Miami Hurricanes football team that didn't mean to wow the masses with their tales of nutting in girls eyes with 52" dicks while the rest of the Crew cheered in the background? Well their work is like a Wu-Tang track in comparison to the nonsense put forth by junior Wolverine footballers Jerome Jackson, Tyrone Jordan and Landon Smith**. The trio, nicknamed "The Mean Team," rags on a girl who "say she’s a dime, she’s a measly penny." Stupid girl. Not only is this girl not cool enough to let them triple team her and bust a few in her face, she also claims to be Lebron James' cousin.. BIG no-no! "The Team," however, sets the record straight by stating, "You don't know LeBron James. I don't even want to know you, so I know he don't." Glad we got that cleared up.  In any case, give it a listen and have a laugh:

For the concerned, it seems that no disciplinary action has taken place... not that it matters - these boys aren't exactly what you'd call contributers.  Jackson, a tailback, rushed for 228 yards and three touchdowns for the Wolverines last season and is the only one of the three who received significant playing time in 2005. Jordan and Smith are wide receivers that I'm pretty sure are walk-ons... they were also members of National Honor Society while in high school... dyed in the wool thugs.

Art Shell Ends the Raiders Coaching Search

The Original Comments

An Ode to a Gangbang

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

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

Tim McCarver Must Die

Around midnight last night, I figured that Saturday was the longest, most emotionally draining day that I've had in about 3 months. But somehow it paled in comparison to today, as I got to the office around 6:30 this morning for a brief meeting, after which Boss took "accountability" (read: brutal bitch outs) began.

The morning reminded me of the scene in JFK where Kevin Costner replays the segment in the Zapruder film of Kennedy's brain being blown into the street again and again.. "back.. and to the left... back.. and to the left... back.. and to the left." But now that we're done having our hearts crapped on, it's time to move on. A new Saturday approaches. For those of you that tried to talk to me after I got home yesterday (and since), I apologize. I was a raging bitch and there's no excuse for it. Hopefully, all I did was blow you off but if I said something about how you can't understand what this is like because you go to a shitty, directional school and have no understanding of the magnitude of this happening, I'm an asshole and I'm sorry. Aside from an update to my Mark May installments (probably in the next day or so), this is the last you'll see me speak of Saturday.

In any case, [side note: did I just see Eminem pimping himself on an iPod/iTunes commercial with his song "Lose Yourself"? Shame on you Eminem. Then again, maybe the opportunity to whore yourself U2-style only comes once in a lifetime.] since the baseball playoffs are rolling, it'd be a shame not to share this gem with those of you who suffer through the inane blathering of Fox's chief baboon, Tim McCarver. I present to you, Tim McCarver Must Die.