Didn’t King Missile Write A Song About This?

Thanks to the FanHouse’s Michael David Smith, we are made aware of the latest invention, a remote-controlled flying penis, as used to disrupt a speech by Russian democracy advocate and chess grandmaster Garry Kasparov by pro-Kremlin folk:

I want a battery powered cock-chopper. Then again, imagine the run it could get in sex shops — you could aim it perfectly.

Fixing Up Quarterbacks

Scene: A back room in the Bruins’ weight room facility in Westwood. Head coach Rick Neuheisel and offensive coordinator Norm Chow are there with gloves on and powder blue aprons. Newsprint is all over the place, a kiln is in the corner, and there are large canisters of paste.

Neuheisel: OK, bring him in. (Trainers drag in QB Ossar Rasshan, who started several games last year.) Thanks.
Chow: Dorrell left us with some shoddy workmanship, didn’t he? Jesus. At least with some work, we can have him ready in three weeks, just in case we need another sacrificial lamb.
Neuheisel: This is not how I planned my return, Norm. I mean, I don’t remember art skills being part of the job application when Guerrero asked me to fill it out.
Chow: Aw, quiet and pass the clay. I think Ossar’s injury is one we can fix with some surplus clay and just put him in there for a bit. (Points to kiln.) Ossar, does it feel okay?
Rasshan: Coach, it’s pretty damn painful. Are you sure?
Chow: It’ll have to do, bud.
Neuheisel: Fine. (Passes clay). Look, we’re supposed to be immediately competitive with USC, right? I find out Cowan’s got rubber bands for ACLs and Karl was keeping Olson together with papier mache. I paid the teacher off so I’d pass art, y’know? Sculpture is not my bag here. I mean, now I’m resorting to bitching about Carroll’s kid cussing to get recruits. This was supposed to be easier.
Chow: Certainly isn’t what I’m used to in the college ranks.
Neuheisel: Not like some of the pros are any better. Billick insisted that marble was the best applicant to get Steve McNair back together again.
Chow: Fisher at least gave me some raw materials to work with. At least we had a budget for some decent metals and high-quality plastics for repair work.
Neuheisel: Howland gets all of the budget. It’s not new here, it’s just how it is, and he won’t share his cybernetic synthesis equipment.
Chow: You couldn’t have negotiated that in?
I was just happy to have the job in the first place. I mean, get employed, then ask for the perks when you get a little bit of a good thing going. But the facilities, that’s definitely the first thing we need to hit the circuit for.
Chow: You can. (Slops clay and smooths it on Rasshan’s left knee.) If I didn’t hate the booster circuit, wouldn’t I have a head job by now?
Rasshan: Ah, at least it cools. That feels better….
Neuheisel: Given. How long should he be in the kiln before we send him over to the medical center?
Chow: Hmmm….(reads manual.) This thing says 24 hours or so, then ship him off for finishing and rehab.
Neuheisel: OK. Hey, O, ready for the heat?
Rasshan: God, this crap sucks….let’s go for it.

(Neuheisel and Chow load Rasshan’s leg into the kiln.)

Continue reading

The Revised Ad Campaign

(Cue music, with various shots of players during practice.)

I don’t see myself as a coach. I am a leader who happens to coach losers in first weekend upsets. When my players go out into the workplace, they’re armed with not just a dependency on jump shots or the ability to flop on cue. I want you armed for life. I want you ready to know what failure is like, whether you fail in the NBA or need to come crawling back to me for a slot as an assistant on my bench because you had no notable skills in a 9 to 5 job. I want you to develop as a player, but not so much that you have enough talent not to be bent to my will. I want you to develop as a student, and I want you to develop as a human being, because no one in the Association will want your lack of skills. My life isn’t about winning meaningful games — not any more. That’s why my card is American Express.

Photo: AP/Susan Walsh

Farewell, My Creation!

A sequel to this particular post. Scene: the dank, dark underground lab below an athletic facility in Foxborough. Doctor Hobo sits, facing his greatest creation as it lies on the table, for an uncomfortable decision.

Dr. Hobo: Such magnificence. I only wish I could have made more like you.
Troy Brown: Thank you, Doctor.
Dr. Hobo: How do you feel now, Troy? Is everything in working order?
Troy Brown: Yes, Doctor. (Sits up.) I am not sure whether I will be ready in time to help you wreak your revenge upon all who opposed you, but I will do my damnedest to see to it.
Dr. Hobo: Yes….about that. (Hesitates.) Troy, I have appreciated your loyal service: you are the final holdover from the years of the laid-back ninny and the short tenure of my mentor, the Gut. They bequeathed me you, whom I remade in my ultimate image, the player I wanted to see the most of.
Troy Brown: Yes, and I thank you daily for it, Doctor. I barely remember a time when we did not win.
Dr. Hobo: But, this is now where we must part. You must become a person outside of my grasp. There are things approaching over the horizon that I do not wish for you to be privy to or a part of.
Troy Brown: But, Doctor…Asante, Donte, and Randall have deserted you! Certainly there is room for me somewhere in this place, is there not?
Dr. Hobo: Ordinarily, there would be, but if I am to achieve perfection — finally, after having it snatched from my grasp by the Drill Sergeant, the gap-toothed one, and the bumbling Legacy Lackey in such cruel fashion — I have learned that I must completely sever all emotional connection. And you, Troy, are that last emotional connection, the one I have poured all my work into. It is time we grew apart. For both our sakes.
Troy Brown: (Looks down at the ground.) I cannot believe it. What will I do? How will I survive in the world of normal players?
Dr. Hobo: Use what I have taught you, if you still have another year in you — and you will thrive among the less dedicated. (Sniffles, holds back tears.) I cannot bear to look at you any longer. Wesley! Thomas!

(Tom Brady and Wes Welker appear behind Troy.)

Tom Brady: Your bidding, Doctor?
Dr. Hobo: Please, get Troy’s things. There is a car waiting above.
Tom Brady: They are already in the car, sir.
Wes Welker: I will drive him out.
Troy Brown: Doctor….NOOOOOO!

(Brady and Welker pick Troy up, begin to carry him out. Troy screams all the way to the door, the echoes drown out all the other sound in the facility.)

Dr. Hobo: He will have to fend for himself now. There was only so much I could do for him while managing my other….troubles. Fear me now, Goodell, and Specter, I will have my vengeance upon you.



Brown not likely to receive offer to return for 16th year [Boston Globe]

Hire A Failed Hack!

I’m telling you, you cannot make this stuff up sometimes. Stolen from an item in the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel:

Former White House Press Secretary Ari Fleischer has worked some tough rooms and has decided to offer advice about how to handle those crowds.

Fleischer, who prepped Selig before the baseball commissioner’s news conference after the release of the Mitchell Report, has joined with IMG to help form Ari Fleischer Sports Communications, which is “to provide media training, image management and crisis management for athletes, coaches, and team and league execs,” according to SportsBusiness Daily.

“The media that covers sports is very much now like the media that covers the president: very assertive, very powerful and very focused on what’s wrong and what’s negative,” Fleischer told CNBC.

Scene: MLB press room in NYC, with throng of reporters from various media outlets in seats, with notepads and tape recorders in hand. Fleischer strides to the podium.

Fleischer: Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, thanks for coming to today’s briefing. Let’s get this going. Buster, let’s start with you.
Buster Olney, ESPN: Ari, this whole brawl that started at yesterday’s pre-season game…shouldn’t baseball be trying to clamp down on displays like that?
Fleischer: You know, this is simply ramping up a rivalry. Don’t look at it as unnecessary violence; there’s a code in baseball. Frankly, this will make the 18 games between the Yanks and the Rays much more interesting. That’s how we see it. Jon?
Jon Heyman, SI: Ari, is the commissioner’s office going to weigh in on Roger Clemens continuing to participate with the Astros even after all the allegations and testimony?
Flesicher: Well, we can’t dictate to the owners what they will do with their franchises. We look at it this way: we want to let the legal system take its course, and we’re glad he’s staying involved. Mike?
Mike Phillips, Miami Herald: Ari, are there any measures the league will take with regard to more revenue sharing, in order to help even out the playing field?
Fleischer: Yes, of course. The $6 billion in profits that the sport brings in, thanks to the fans out there, is being used to better the sport in general, not just several teams of haves over have nots. The hard work being done by franchises is paying off. Jay?
Jay Mariotti, Chicago Sun-Times: Even the commissioner hasn’t denied that there’s work to do on the steroid and HGH issue? Are there any concrete plans to get better testing in line for the season to keep players from cheating?
Fleischer: You’re looking at it the wrong way, Jay — we’re doing what we can, but we can’t stop everyone from taking the initiative on their own to beat the test. Besides, thinking of them as cheaters is kind of harsh. It’s maximizing potential by healing faster. I’ve got time for one more. Bill?
William C. Rhoden, NYT: Ari, when is the commissioner going to ask executives of the teams to speak about what they know regarding steroid use? And, if baseball won’t, what will you say if Congress gets involved again?
Fleischer: Bill, it’s not that simple. Owners are responsible for so much more than whether individual players are using illegal performance enhancing drugs. Each of the owners and their general managers address these things on a case-by-case basis, and if a player is suspended, they look into it. We’re trying to move past the negative era, and focus on the good of baseball. Dredging the past decade or two up won’t do us much good, all right? Thank you very much, folks, and we’ll be back next week.

(Strides off stage briskly, to shouts of “Ari! Ari! Ari!”)

*All names used for reporters are actual sports reporters and columnists, yet the words are obviously fake.

Got Another One For The Collection!

(If this seems familiar to you, you might want to read this post from the last NFL off-season.)

Scene: Tampa Bay coach Jon Gruden and GM Bruce Allen are sitting in the team’s war room, looking over available free agents and trade bait.

Allen: Look, Jon, we’ve got quite a few holes we need to fill here because we can’t expect the Saints to suck like that again — and God only knows the Panthers could somehow fulfill their promise.
Gruden: Fuck, Atlanta’s beyond help, though, right?
Allen: Yeah. Moving on — we need some line help on both sides, our linebackers aren’t getting any younger, and considering the fact that Cadillac’s damn near a lemon and losing a couple other RBs to injury, maybe paying Michael Bennett isn’t enough. Oh, and our best receiver is Joey Galloway. That’s a problem.
Gruden: Fuck that shit, Bruce. What if anything happens to Jeff?
Allen: Um, there’s Gradkowski….
Gruden: I told you last year, asshat — I’m not trusting my team to someone from fucking Akron.
Allen: Luke did well when he got his shot.
Gruden: If I wanted a McCown, I’d have gotten the semi-competent one and he signed with the new mob boss down in South Beach.
Allen: It’s Sparano, not Soprano, Jon.
Gruden: What-the-fuck-ever, Bruce.
Allen: (Sighs.) What about Chris?
Gruden: You want to pay him another bonus for nothing? Fuck that. We need an insurance policy. I want this guy.
Allen: We’re gonna waste a pick and send it to Chicago for Brian Griese, someone we got rid of two years back because he got injured like he always does? Are you nuts? We’ve got line needs! We could use someone for Jeff to throw to!
Gruden: You’re not hearing me out, Bruce…I mean, I can’t just trust some flake from the Second Family of QBs and an Akron Zip, man. Fuck….

(D-coordinator Monte Kiffin opens the door, pokes head in.)

Kiffin: Guys, I could really use a linebacker, maybe a safety here — Ronde can’t exactly do it all any more…
Gruden: Aw, piss off, you old fuck. It’s not like they have to do a whole lot in the Tampa Two — just keep the fuckers in front of them! Now, just go make sure Ronde’s asshole brother isn’t trying to talk him into retiring too.
Kiffin: (Grumbles.) Dammit, if Lane could only have canned that Rob Ryan fellow…
Gruden: Like that had any chance of happening, old man. Your boy isn’t getting one over on the damn Cryptkeeper and you know it. Get going.

(Kiffin slams the door.)

Allen: Jon, I don’t know why you want this guy. He couldn’t beat out Rex Grossman in Chicago, got the job when Grossman got hurt, and then lost it to that drunkard masquerading as a third-stringer — whom I have to remind you that they kept!
Gruden: Yeah, but I got a spot all planned for him; he’ll do what I say, and nothing more, and when I’m done with his reps for the day, he just goes in the collection in my office. It’s not like the pick’s that expensive, Bruce. I mean, fuck. I need some slightly used mediocrity for my collection, dammit! Rob Johnson is collecting dust and I had to loan Brad Johnson out to Wade and Jerry.
Allen: (Mumbles.) Seriously?
Gruden: Yeah, Bruce. I’m telling you: This will completely validate me. If I can win another Super Bowl with a barely serviceable QB, it’s my name in the annals of history. I AM AN OFFENSIVE GENIUS, AND I WILL BE FUCKING VALIDATED!
Allen: Ugh. Do what the hell you want. Your funeral, Jon.
Gruden: Fucking awesome. While we’re getting some of the old-timers back before they go to the retirement homes, I got a phone call from Warrick’s agent…

Bucs Bring Back Griese, Meet With Dunn [Tampa Tribune]

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Programming…

…for a photo of Dana Jacobson chugging quality vodka like a pro at the Mike and Mike roast last week.

For some reason I find this oddly hot. Relaxed posture, proper angle for quicker chugging, even going the classy route by keeping the bar’s pouring attachment on.

Well done, Ms. Jacobson. I salute you.

(Hat tips: Baseball Musings, Deadspin)

The Congratulatory Phone Calls.

A logical extension of February’s post on the subject, really. Scene: an unnamed hospital in the Los Angeles area, likely Cedars-Sinai. The newest daddy in the NFL is taking phone calls on his cell while outside the glass and peering at his newborn son.

Tom: Now, who’s Daddy’s little fantasy QB of the future? Yes, you are! That’s right! You are gonna be throwing it downfield with ease, kiddo. (Cell phone rings again.) Hello?
Matt: Hey there, Tommy! Congratulations, dude! I’m drinking in your honor! This is the best thing that could have ever happened to you.
Tom: Oh, I know; it’s awesome.
Matt: Kid got a name yet?
Tom: No, Bridget and I are still going over it. Got any advice for me, I mean, what did this feel like for you?
Matt: Greatest moment of my life, being a dad. It really focuses you, tells you what’s really important in life, you know?
Tom: Oh, definitely. (Hears noise in the background.) Where the hell are you?
Matt: Dude, I got into town a couple hours ago. I’m actually a few minutes away and the party is ON. Wanta join us, or do you want me to come over to the hospital?
Tom: Isn’t it your weekend with Cole?
Matt: Totally, but not until tomorrow, so, y’know…
Tom: Brynn’s gonna be pissed if she shows up with the kid and you’ve got someone over.
Matt: Dude, for what I’m paying her a month, she can deal. Besides, this girl will be gone in the morning, won’t you, sweetheart? (Semi-audible “you bet” in the background).

(Tom’s cell phone rings again; caller ID reads “Urlacher.”)

Tom: Matt, I’ll catch you later. Got another call.
Matt: Peace, dude!

(Tom flips over.)

Brian: Congrats, Tom. Boy or a girl?
Tom: It’s a boy. I’m so proud. Bridget’s doing okay.
Brian: Awesome, dude. You always remember every kid’s birth.
Tom: Yeah.
Brian: Just don’t let Bridget start controlling the kid too much, man, honestly.
Tom: What?
Brian: I’m telling you. With your schedule, she’s gonna turn him against you, might not raise him right, might just raise a fucking pussy without you around.
Tom: I think Bridget’s a bit more mature than that, Brian.
Brian: We’ve all been there, man. Look, just trust me — get someone to handle this, nip it in the bud early.
Tom: Um….

(Text message tone sounds. ID reads “Gisele.”)

Tom: Brian, I gotta take this. I’ll talk to you later, OK?
Brian: All right, man. Again, congratulations.

(Tom opens the text.)

Message from “Gisele”: “ok, the stupid kid is born, so DITCH THE BITCH ALREADY!!!”

(Tom closes the phone, sighs, and looks through the window again.)


(Author’s Note: I actually wrote this about an hour ago, then, this KSK post floated into my Google Reader, thus making me feel completely inadequate as a human being and writer, but I decided to finish this anyway.)

This Year’s Pac-10 Coaches As South Park Characters.

Via What’s Bruin, Dawg?, who apparently created last year’s original, we have an updated version for 2007:

Dennis Erikson looks like he’s ready to knife someone, Ty Willingham looks angry yet depressed, Mike Bellotti went grey, Jeff Tedford still looks like a douche, Stoops is insane, and Dorrell looks ready to shit himself.

I’m still trying to figure out why Jim Harbaugh has a whip.

Does A-Rod Know He’s Prone To Accidentally Comical Photos?

“Jeter’s such a goddamned liar. This dirt technique didn’t work on getting the taste out, and I’m fucking spitting next time.”

(Photo: AP/Frank Franklin II)