The 2009 NFL season is still five months off, but, as always, a steady diet of draft coverage has kept football relevant among the many sports media outlets.
And in a day and age when keeping up with the Jonses is the name of the game, those outlets continually battle to one up each other, even if it means tirelessly covering topics that hold no entertainment value of any kind.
Enter Yahoo! Sports, an emerging player in the world of diluted sports print journalism, which has followed the likes of ESPN by analyzing the piss out of the newly released NFL schedule.
Who has the so-called most difficult schedule? Which team is guaranteed at least 12 wins?
Who really gives a shit?
The truth is, in an era of the NFL when any team can go from divisional bottom-feeder to wild-card Super Bowl champ overnight, such projections are essentially meaningless.
But that didn’t stop Yahoo! from trying. Among the biggest winners of the schedule’s release? Tom Brady and Terrell Owens, of course. Brady is expected to arise from his offseason of weddings and being dragged around by his Johnson to lead the immortal Pats to another championship run, while T.O. is allegedly prepared for a breakout season even though the Bills don’t have a quarterback worthy of being named an NFL starter.
Oddly enough, however, when it came to picking one of the schedule’s biggest losers, Yahoo! turned on its partner-in-crime. It chided ESPN for ruthlessly ridiculing the defenseless (and offense-less) Lions and throwing the league’s first winless team under the bus during the network’s schedule special.
The network’s duo of Trey Wingo and Merril Hoge verbally flushed the Lions down the toilet every chance they got during ESPN’s schedule-release special. After awhile, it just came off as crass and unfunny. For what it’s worth, ESPN’s analysts chalked up losses for most of Miami’s games in the network’s 2008 schedule show, too.
This post has nothing to do with your lawn, nor does it mention the word “semen” at any point, just hints at it.
But we wanted a catchy title that would sufficiently justify the sexual prowess of unemployed NFL running back Travis Henry. What most of us could only dream about doing in some sort of world where child support is a kind of fleeting premonition, Henry has managed to sleepwalk through.
Father to nine children, each bore to this world by a different mother, Henry now tells the New York Times he is flat broke. Paying an annual due of $170,000 to support a small army of bastard children will do that to a man.
So will failing to use a Jimmy hat.
Henry, who had three kids before he even left the University of Tennessee in 2001, claims he took precautions but was duped by the ‘ol “birth control” gag. Turns out, Henry was unknowingly aiding and abetting a slew of aspiring gold-diggers.
“I did use protection at first,” he said. “Then they’d be saying they’d be on the pill. I was an idiot to trust them. Second or third time with them, I didn’t use it. Then, boom!”
Though he is broke, to his credit, Henry, who will likely never get another shot in the NFL because of his rash of off-the-field problems, which also include failed drug tests, says he mans up to his mistakes and cares for his kids no less than if their births had been planned.
“I love all my kids. They’ve got my blood; I’ve got to deal with it.”
The Subject: Sarah Larson
The Reason: Desperate for attention while rapidly losing celebrity status nine months after being dumped by George Clooney.
The Explanation: Complete oblivion to the fact commoners can also afford snazzy cameras.
The Aftermath: Get your D-list qualifications verified by hosts who don’t feel the need to whore up their Sundance Film Festival gift suites.
The Next Step: Utterly ruin the Chicago Bears’ defense by turning linebacker Brian Urlacher’s brain to mush and single-handedly inverting his penis.
You see what kind of damage the power of the internet can do nowadays?
Because of these pictures, which were undoubtedly meant for those confined within the walls of the locker room of each player’s respective organization, I have to take time out of my day to thoroughly dispel rumors that the entire Philadelphia Flyers team had its way with sex robot Gina Lynn at a recent postgame orgy.
And there’s absolutely no merit to the idea that Phillies first baseman Ryan Howard and former Eagles quarterback A.J. Feeley propositioned Lynn into an alleyway ski-job soon thereafter.
How hard up for gossip is this so-called blogosphere when we are forced to bend the truth so far? Can pro athletes and porn stars not intermingle in a little platonic dry-humping?
Besides, why would forward Scottie Upshall waste his time with a worn-out hack when he has a perfectly beautiful girlfriend who abides by moral law?
The title’s a mouthful, we know.
That’s why we’d prefer to leave the explaining to NFL Juice, which has graciously offered to sort this one out.
In short, former Eagles wide receiver Freddie Mitchell was arrested last week after his shipment of marijuana turned up at the residence of his grandmother, who inadvertently ratted her lil’ Sunshine out for running a covert drug ring out of the basement of his Lakeland, Florida, BBQ joint.
Ooops, joint…poor choice of words.
I’m a few days behind the ball, but I thought I’d post the now infamous PETA Veg-sturbation commercial that, according to NBC, wouldn’t have morally resonated with 100 million viewers—more than half of which will likely be men—on Super Bowl Sunday.
While the National Broadcasting Company’s reaction was decisively swift, a spokesperson for the People for the Ethical…blah, blah, blah…of Animals responded in kind: “PETA’s veggie ads are locked out, while ads for fried chicken and burgers are allowed, even though these foods make Americans fat, sick and boring in bed.”
I guess until it’s socially acceptable to finger-bang a head of lettuce, overweight meat-eaters have some lonely nights to look forward to.
Vodpod videos no longer available.
Screw the invite-only celebrity parties. Forget the fan-friendly NFL Experience.
Disregard all the hoopla that surrounds the most lucrative sporting event of the year.
Hell, who gives a rat’s ass about the game? You can watch Larry Fitzgerald haul in 12 balls and scoff at Ben Roethlisberger’s happy feet next season.
This is Tampa Bay, guys…the gentlemen’s club mecca of the Western Hemisphere. According to the lucky son-of-a-bitch from the Associated Press who got assigned the story, there are 43 (let it soak in) T & A taverns in the metropolitan area.
“Tampa has a reputation for having the most strip clubs and the most girls who are a lot of fun,” says Claudia, a fun-loving 25-year-old entertainer who loves grooving to Kid Rock’s American Badass as she works her way toward a PhD in discrete mathematics. “It’s so crazy, everybody is in a such a party mood. It’s a whole new level of everything.”
Party mood, indeed. What red-blooded male with a pulse wouldn’t love ditching a week of work to mix the season’s most crucial game with daily lunch buffets at places like Lip Stixx and Bare Assets—with intoxication as an overlapping theme?
The answer is, there isn’t one. Trust me, I’ve done it. I braved the unseasonably cool temperatures of northern Florida in 2005, for Super Bowl XXXIX between the Eagles and Patriots. One side note: Jacksonville, you’ve got a long way to go before you can match the skin and sin of your neighbors to the South.
Sadly, too much of a good thing will not only spoil you, it will allow you to test your drop-the-soap skills.
Placing public safety before fornication, local government officials have learned from past Super Bowl weeks, most recently 2001, and are now attempting to wash their city of the disorientating effects of blacks lights and scent of peach body spray.
See the “six-foot” rule:
Sec. 14-148. Prohibited activities.
(a) No person within an adult use shall, within six (6) feet of another person, display or expose any specified anatomical area or engage in any specified sexual activity, provided, however, that this provision shall not apply to prevent:
(1) Adult use employees or entertainers at an adult use from using dressing room facilities that are not accessible or viewable by patrons or the public and so long as such use does not include the intentional touching of the specified anatomical area of another person or such persons engaging in any specified sexual activity; or
(2) Any person from using bathroom facilities within an adult use so long as such use does not include the intentional touching of the specified anatomical areas of another person or such persons engaging in any specified sexual activity.
(b) No person who owns or operates an adult use shall knowingly, or with reason to know, permit, suffer or allow any violation of subsection (a) above.
The choice is yours, my friend. You can either keep your clean record by complying with the requirements of a good-natured, cookie-cutter Super Bowl experience, or you can accept your incarceration in a blaze of horny glory.
We won’t bat an eye if you go with choice No. 2.
Esteemed Boston Globe columnist Dan Shaughnessy isn’t exactly an Adonnis, and he’d probably be the first one to admit it. But the fact that the curly-haired, 55-year-old writer is some what of pragmatic realist still didn’t stop him from dumping on hometown quarterback Tom Brady for having something he’ll never experience the pleasure of enjoying—a supermodel girlfriend.
Shaughnessy wrote a biting piece late Wednesday that feverishly regrets the poolside antics of Brady and newly christened fiancee Gisele Bundchen at a lovers’ getaway in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Apparently, Brady is allowed to win a cluster of Super Bowl rings for the city of Boston, but when it comes to sharing a plate of salmon skin rolls on vacation, the two-time MVP is suddenly violating some kind of man code.
Shaughnessy’s main argument is that Patriots fans and the Boston media have cut Brady too much slack for way too long. The Stetson ad was nice. And the designer watches we could stomach. But this, getting hand-fed by your long-legged Victoria’s Secret cover girl is the last straw.
When Brady becomes an overweight backup completing 45 percent of his passes, Shaughnessy can bitch. Until then, he needs to back off the man who single-handedly resurrected his football team and refocus his energy into addressing his own issues.
Standard text messaging rates will apply if you wish to bring a drunken idiot to justice during your next gridiron experience.
The league announced recently that 29 of its 32 teams have agreed to incorporate a policy that will allow sober fans the chance to eject their inebriated brethren. According to Yahoo! Sports, spectators will now be able to report unruly fan behavior by texting stadium security via a number specified by their particular NFL franchise.
Security will then assess the situation and swiftly carry out the proper punishment, which amounts to either a warning or banishment to the tavern adjacent to the stadium.
The infancy of the plan means that very little is known as to what number each team will require users to dial. However, some organizations have wasted no time in instituting the measure. For example, the Bengals are using 513-381-JERK, while the Rams are allegedly asking fans to phone in “SUKASS.”
Through the wonder of WordPress, I discovered that a miniscule number of you actually cared enough to work your way past my tease of Week 5’s review and read the exciting article that awaited in the Sports section. I am left to assume most of you trust the bias of ESPN’s podcast to give you the rundown of the week that was in the NFL, which is entirely acceptable to me. But in the event you are in the mood for something a little less mainstream, check CF’s thoughts on Week 7.