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It’s Like a Crazy Hot Chick That Blogged in WordPress
Oct 8th, 2010 by Ice Cream Jonsey

There’s been many metaphors involving the “hot and crazy ex-girlfriend” when it comes to Roy Halladay and the Toronto Blue Jays, and also Randy Moss and the New England Patriots. These comparisons are pretty goddamn terrible. I do not care for them, and I’ve ready like a dozen of them over the last week. The Blue Jay bloggers and fans get off because they’re my boys, even though they pretty much, to a man, find me distasteful, as I sort of call for the mass suicides of some of our dumber commentators. But Christ, the ESPN and Fox Sports hacks are tripping over themselves with this, THROWIN ELBOWS to be the first to submit this garbage:

I want to take that analogy a step further, and only because I wrote this entire column before reading that Whitlock excerpt. Hate when that happens. In fact, I swear on Larry Bird’s life that I wrote the following paragraph about the Crazy Hot Chick before seeing Whitlock’s piece.

(If one of your awful peers beat you to the punch in making a terrible point, consider that a favor.)

Plus, it’s hilarious coming from dorks and whales like Bill Simmons and Jason Whitlock. I don’t respect their backgrounds enough to “buy in” to what is ultimately a metaphor they don’t have the dating experience to make. Though that’s really the best way to get a crazy, hot chick: be an unfunny sports dork that hates everything and constantly points out how ironic things are.

So from now on, I demand – I demand! – that if you’re going to make a really awful sports analogy involving the “crazy hot chick,” then you need a signed affidavit from the one you banged as a PDF link. She can sign it in blood, that’s fine. You can put the document on your car’s windshield and she can sign it in lipstick. That’s OK, too. But let’s get some supporting documentation here.

Oh, and pics.

Bill Simmons Is The Worst Writer On Planet Earth, Volume 4,234
Aug 6th, 2010 by Ice Cream Jonsey

I’m quoting the entire thing from his column today about how fantasy football is broken. I’m quoting the entire thing so you can see that he literally went from telling people how “lame” it is to tell bad beat fantasy to doing exactly that.

Here’s the definition of a boring fantasy story that should conclude with the person being tasered for telling it: “I lost by three points last week. Craziest story — I went into Monday night knowing I needed 11 points from Gates. He has 65 yards with two minutes to go. San Diego is on the 4-yard line, they throw it to him over the middle … TACKLED ON THE 1! Can you believe that?”

Here’s when I zoned out: right after “I lost by three points last week.”

TALES FROM THE LEAGUE OF DORKS
With our AL keeper team stuck in another rebuilding season, my buddy Hench and I restocked our roster with six mega-prospects: Carlos Santana, Justin Smoak, Martin Perez, Desmond Jennings, Eric Hosmer and Dustin Ackley. Santana was our favorite: a switch-hitting catcher who gets on base and hits for power. We have him for $5 next year, then $10 in 2012 and 2013. Santana and Daniel Bard (Boston’s future closer, and our property through 2012) were our only 2010 major league players that brought me any joy. We dumped everyone else. I even found myself flipping over to Cleveland games for Santana’s at-bats.

Fast-forward to Monday night: He’s playing in Boston, the Indians are winning by four in the seventh, there’s one out, somebody singles, and our atrocious third-base coach (Tim Bogar, in a dead heat with Wendell Kim and Dale Sveum as Boston’s worst third-base coach of my lifetime) sends Ryan Kalish, who’s about to get thrown out by 10 feet. Santana stupidly blocks the plate with his left leg at a 45-degree angle. In retrospect, he should have just drawn a bull’s-eye on it. Boom. It’s a Theismann/LT collision. Santana’s left leg does a 180 twist like the female vampire who had her head flipped around in “True Blood.”

I’m watching the game live and scream “Nooooooooooo!” so loudly my wife ran into the room because she thought one of our kids got hurt. (“No, honey — it’s just my favorite League of Dorks guy.”) Carlos rolls around in the dirt, sits up glumly, has his pant leg ripped off, has the doctors massage his mangled knee, then gets driven off on a golf cart as the fans applaud. A devastating 10 minutes. I felt bad for Santana, bad for Kalish, bad for Indians fans (and by the way, there’s really no doubt at this point that God hates Cleveland), bad for me, bad for Hench … and even bad for Tim Bogar, just because he’s worse at his job than anyone else is at anything else.

A three-paragraph “woe is me” fantasy baseball story, immediately after shitting on exactly that. Simmons is fucking beyond parody at this point.

Super Bowl Week: Nobody Knows Anything About Your Team
Jan 31st, 2010 by Ice Cream Jonsey

I had intended to write one column about the history of the New Orleans Saints for the two weeks leading up to the Super Bowl. Well, I have a lot of good intentions. So, in a nutshell – they lost a playoff game up 20-7 to the Philadelphia Eagles once – by a final score of 36-20… and they drafted like shit a bunch of times. I think we’re caught up!

I never really knew how little the rest of the world knows about YOUR football team. They don’t know shit, though! The entire concept of the NFL “expert” or commentator is laughable. I know The Onion just did a headline about this, and then expanded it with 500 tedious words, but I can’t think of another side industry that has unlikeable people speaking with authority on subjects they know little about and still getting everything constantly wrong.  Quick, name an NFL analyst you REALLY like. Odds are everyone you know hates that guy, or the dude sent cellphone pics of his cock to somebody. Possib- probably both.

This really revealed itself when discussions led to Reggie Bush. Now granted, I’m fairly fascinated with the arc of Reggie Bush’s career. He’s the most exciting player ever to wear black and gold. He has been the only player in NFL history to consistently amaze me with what he is able to do on the field, to get me out of my seat. When he’s been out for a few games, the real loss is the pleasure of watching him work. He’s oftentimes a superhero out there. He’s also made some of the worst decisions I’ve ever seen someone make at their job, and he has never been able to consistently string a series of amazing games together. But I’ve seen every single play of his professional career. There isn’t anything anyone can tell me about him as a Saint that I don’t already know. What’s alarming is that there isn’t anyone in the sports media who can tell you anything accurate about him either.

As bad as it’s been this year, it must have been even worse when the Arizona Cardinals made the Super Bowl last season. I think I’ve seen them play maybe … seven or eight times in my entire life? This includes when they were in St. Louis. And somehow I don’t think the crew of NFL Live – at least the on-air talent – is going back to review anything before speaking from a position of false knowledge. I guess I don’t even really expect them to, but having never heard so many people talk about my favorite football team before, it’s a bit amusing to see how much they get wrong. It’s like being let into a secret club (well, not entirely secret, but fans of the Browns, Lions, Jags and Texans are where I was a couple weeks ago) but the shibboleth to secret entry is knowing fuck-all about anything. If I ever meet an Arizona Cardinals fan, it’s something I’ll wish to discuss.

I’d like to write more, but I just got a call about appearing in the Pro Bowl, and frankly, I don’t have anything else going on. It’s a good thing there’s labor peace, a salary cap in place and no plans to move the draft to a Thursday or anything next year, since it would be a little worrying if the new and terrible commissioner had a chance to ruin those things as well. Enjoy the Super Bowl! Baseball got a lot more interesting after it changed things up in 94 just like football will.

Moments in Saints History: Mike Ditka’s First Draft
Jan 26th, 2010 by Ice Cream Jonsey

In celebration of the New Orleans Saints going to their first Super Bowl, we’ll be discussing moments in Saints history for the next two weeks.

You may remember Mike Ditka and Bill Kuharich’s last draft for the New Orleans Saints. They traded their entire draft to the Washington Redskins, so the Skins could draft a bunch of shitty players and LaVar Arrington. Well, their first draft was almost as great a comedy of ineptitude.

The Saints had the second overall pick in the draft that year. They had some enormous holes – the offensive line was something the team wanted to address, and I was psyched to see who they’d plug in. Another bookend tackle to go with Willie Roaf would be outstanding. Or possibly a lockdown corner in Shawn Springs. Great players were going to be available.

Lofty players.

The Saints got none of them, instead trading down with Oakland. Don’t get me wrong, Oakland fucked up too (they took the late Darrell Russell) but rather than stay at #2 and draft Walter Jones, Ditka and Kuharich lock up guard Chris Naeole. Chris Naeole! Who trades down to lock up a fucking guard? LeCharles Bentley was a greater player in every respect (until his knee got Clevelanded) and he went in the second. How bad was this pick? Before dying, Darrell Russell still made the Pro Bowl. And then he died. And was / is still inarguably a better player than Naeole.

Chris Naeole eventually went on to be a serviceable guard for Jacksonville. The rest of the draft sucked for the Saints, too: Rob Kelly, Jared Tomich, Troy Davis, Danny Wuerffel – look, I had heard of Troy Davis and Danny Wuerffel. They had amazing college careers. I think they both ought to go to the college football hall of fame. Nobody in professional football ought to be drafting all the players from the NCAA that I’ve heard of.

Ditka didn’t wear a dreadlocked wig for this draft, but his inability to get a single impact player after a 3-13 season was really why he was fired after just three seasons.

New Orleans 31, Minnesota 28, OT
Jan 24th, 2010 by Ice Cream Jonsey

I’m house-sitting for Benjamin “Pinback” Parrish and he and his lovely girlfriend have an amazing high-definition television. I watched the game with four dogs (Boomer, Harley, Jango and Parker), two cats (Sam and Girl Cat) and two spiders (The Destroyer of All Souls and Oo-Topos-Tupperware). I’d never seen a game on such a nice TV.

I was watching without a spine when the Vikings had the ball for their last drive in regulation. Kickers have been so unpredictable, who knows what Longwell coul- OH MY GOD! MY GOD! HE THREW IT TO PORTER! GO! GO GO!~!!

Overtime was an unwatchable mess, the officials deigning to take three booth reviews they didn’t overturn. WTF was happening to the offense? (The Vikes’ D is just that good.) Pitch to Bush – nooo! A bailout call on a ball Dave Thomas couldn’t have caught to make up for some of the nonsense earlier. And then… Garrett Hartley to line up for a field goal.

It all comes down to this.

My brother called to tell me how miserable the booth reviews were. Three of them in overtime, none of them overturned anything. I asked him if he’d stay on the phone with me until the field goal attempt. The network showed a highlight from a few weeks ago, where owner Tom Benson celebrated what he thought was a successful kick as time expired against Tampa Bay. My brother thought that was uproariously funny. (Brief aside, I celebrated a kick John Carney attempted in the Superdome against the Patriots while I was there. The angles are weird in person.)

My brother said that the Vikings would call a timeout to ice Hartley. They did so. I thought he was just making a prediction.

Hartley lined up to kick and apparently the feed my brother had was a few seconds ahead of me. He started freaking out on the phone. He chortled. (He’s a chortler.) “RIGHT DOWN THE MIDDLE!!!!”

And then I saw it unfold, in front of me. Garrett Hartley made a 40-yard kick – New Orleans 31, Minnesota 28. My phone started blowing up. Greg called. The Milker called. Fodge, Pinback called. Texts came in, from Gerrit and Brew and Roody. My phone told me I had e-mail as well. I always had the impression that I was the token Saints fan among everyone I’ve ever met.

I can’t believe he made that kick.

As I said before, I was able to catch a game in the Superdome this season – it was my first experience there. I wrestled for a week to try to talk about the experience, but ultimately, I just couldn’t process everything that happened. The football team in that city means more to the people living in it than any other fanbase I’ve ever been around. When Brew and I walked into a casino for an hour, all the dealers had Saints jerseys on. There was a veritable, palpable playoff atmosphere to the Patriots game. Brew used to work for ESPN, and as such, was able to get us free tickets – that was all well and good, but I was also able to get a tiny bit of information from his friends and former co-workers that were around both teams. Having even the slightest bit of “inside info” was great – I got to chill in the same hotel the Saints were staying at, and I saw Mark Brunell and Charles Grant before the game.

(I also lost my Reggie Bush jersey on the trolley, but that’s this whole other thing. Some little whodat had a terrible Christmas, as the thing was faded into ridiculousness. BUT STILL.)

It’s about an hour after the game at this point, and I think I’ve calmed down. My mom called, mostly because she’s my mom and it’s Sunday, but also because she, more than anyone else, knows what it’s been like for me to engage in this ridiculousness for 30+ years. She and my dad took me to a game where I glomped onto the “wrong” team, and every single Christmas – years before you could order this crap off the Internet – she would order up Saints jerseys and shirts and hats and pennants from Louisiana, to get it all here before Christmas. Brew and I walked into the Black & Gold shop before the Saints/Pats game, and I am pretty sure it was one of her go-to stores when I was a teenager. I bought a Robert Meachem jersey and JESUS CHRIST, I have no idea where mom and dad got the money for this (waves hands) ANY of this when I was a kid. They really were the best parents ever. I mean, not just because they got their weird, dorky kid his out-of-state football stuff… but it sort of speaks volumes about them, all told.

Mom asked if I was crying afterwards. I definitely choked up when she asked that, but honestly, not because of anything that happened on the football field.

EDIT: One last thing regarding Brett Favre. Favre is terrible at being a celebrity. The constant coverage of him makes me hate this hobby a great deal. Hearing Kornheiser bring him up two years ago during a Packers/Saints game, with him nowhere near that game ranks high in the halls of the worst sportscasting ever. His ads for Sears trying to humanize him make me despise that smug prick even more. HOWEVER, I would want to work as hard at my job as that son of a bitch does at his. It was the gutsiest performance I’ve ever seen. Everytime I thought he was through, he got right back up again. What an inspiration. I don’t think he’s got a fan left in the world after betraying Green Bay and his last throw for three straight franchises being an interception, but he’s got guts. We should all work that hard.

Atlanta’s Got The Hands Team Out
Nov 4th, 2009 by Ice Cream Jonsey

This was not called offensive pass interference last night.

Now look – the teams involved don’t matter. I’m not bitching about the call here. The fact that my team was involved in it doesn’t matter, it’s just the call I remember most from the last few weeks. But CHRIST is the officiating terrible in the NFL this year.

There’s another picture floating around of Darren Sharper clearly losing the ball before scoring a touchdown, with a ref staring right at him and getting the call incorrect. It’s so abysmal, it’s a little worrying.

The first round of the draft is going to be on Thursday, or something equally stupid. Labor peace is breaking apart, and it looks like the salary cap is going away. There’s actual discussion from the commish about his plan for getting a team in London. The Bucs are fielding a squad that is something like $40 million under the salary cap. (The fact that Pinback and I spend ten minutes talking about who the five worst teams in the NFL are, and always lament not being able to include teams with zero wins or a single win is more funny than anything else. So I’m not counting that.) But it’s BAD out there now.

Baseball used to be on top and invincible, too. The World Series was just out-drawn by a regular season NFL game. The NBA was much, much bigger than it is now, and it’s pretty much certain that they’ve fixed the outcome of games to best get the match-up in the finals they wanted, so fuck the NBA. I love watching football, but my prediction is that it’s got this season and next before it’s forever ruined. We’re well on the way.

Did You Forget The Roller Derby Title of 83?
Sep 3rd, 2009 by Knuckles the Clown

What exactly does Sounders’ Open Cup title mean?

“Aside, congrats Seattle on its first title since the Sonics in the late 70’s”

did you forget the roller derby title of 83?

Or the horseshoes title the Seattle Ringers won a few years back?

Does a title drought really end when the title won is in a sport nobody cares about?

I gotta mention, saying the Sounders winning some made up event ends a title drought is equally as moronic as people who say Pat Summitt broke Bobby Knights record for all time Div. I college basketball coaching wins.

And we get your “sport”. It is dull and boring with broken rules. Teams are inclined to play a passive do nothing snorefest, and the game often gets decided by a sub game that has nothing to do with the actual sport. Having 22 people run around for fours playing keep away is made pointless when you just line up guys for penalty kicks at the end of games.

Maybe football should line its best defender at the goaline and the other teams running backs each get a chance to run past him for overtime.

Maybe baseball should line up just the pitcher and hitter and have him try to hit the ball behind him to end extra innings games.

Awful sport, defended by people were not talented enough to play other sports, and A LOT of fun to ridicule.

I just cant help it, I come to the PI to read up on the Seahawks and Mariners. Then I see these multiple serious articles about a 4th rate soccer league and a human money toilet of a womans basket ball league and and it blows my mind. The PI really uses this many resources to cover two boring awful leagues?

2008: The Year in Television
Jan 13th, 2009 by Ice Cream Jonsey

Here’s a list of all the television shows I watched, from start to finish, in 2008. They all happen to be Saints games. One is missing, the one in Denver, which I didn’t see on TV, but instead paid $65 to have ruined for me.

They are in order from “most enjoyed” to “least.”

Week Four: Saints 31, 49ers 17.
In 8MM, Nicholas Gage says to Tony Soprano, “I will never get tired of hurting you, Eddie!” I feel the same way about the modern-day Saints beating the shit ouf of the modern-day 49ers. I hope the Niners are terrible forever.

Week Twelve: Saints 51, Packers 29
I have always resented the Packers and I don’t know why. This game, everything finally clicked for the Saints, and they won two in a row the only time this season. It was a MNF game, so everyone got to enjoy this absolute battle-raping. Tony Kornheiser brought up Brett Favre literally every 8 or 9 minutes.

Week Eight: Saints 37, Chargers 32
This was the last gasp of hope, for Saints fans this year. Christ we BEAT THE CHARGERS! Granted, it was in fucking London, which is hilarious, because 21 hours’ worth of travel is pretty much what the Saints WOULD need to exhaust the Chargers to where they could beat them, meaning that the two places in the world the Saints come out on top here would be England and half-way to the moon.

Week One: Saints 24, Bucs 20.
In an episode of the Kids in the Hall, Dave Foley (as a teenager) tells his parents that it’s not just a D he received in class… it’s a Dwith promise!Week one of the NFL season was like that.

Week Sixteen: Saints 42, Lions 7
Here’s the best part of this: both the GM and coach of the Lions got work within a few weeks of being fired (the GM, on tv, and the coach is the new defensive line coach for the Bears), while the rest of Detroit suffers through some of the worst unemployment in the country. What a giant fuck-you to everyone who is at least competent at what they do.

Week Eleven: Saints 30, Chiefs 20
I remember watching the tail-end of some Chief games before I saw this one. I am convinced that you could give Herm Edwards a time piece, and a caveman all the individual parts of one, and by the end of one regulation football game, the caveman would tell you the correct age of the universe, and Herm would have found a way to go back in time and destroy all human life on earth. (Is this OK as a clock management joke? I don’t want to repeat what anyone else has ever said of him.)

Week Fourteen: Saints 29, Falcons 25
YAAY WE BEAT A TEAM EVERYONE THOUGHT WOULD BE THE WORST IN FOOTBALL BEFORE THE SEASON – there was no pleasure here.

Week Six: Saints 34, Raiders 3
Everyone on the Saints was pretty much stat-whoring by the second drive. I think even Shockey caught a touchdown. (No he didn’t, he didn’t do that all year.) I’m not going to pretend that beating the crap out of a JV team is remotely entertaining.

Week Seventeen: Panthers 33, Saints 31
The Saints were already eliminated, but Brees was less than 20 yards away from breaking Marino’s record for passing yards in a single game. He still had over 400 yards passing on the day, which lead to Panthers cornerback Ken Lucas braying about howit was a matter of prideto not let Brees break the record. Throwing for 400 fucking yards in a game was apparently okay, though. The last time the Cardinals won a playoff game was in like 1998, so I am not kidding when I say that before today there were probably less than 53 people not collecting Social Security who would have to stand forward if asked, “Did the Cardinals ever beat you in a playoff game.” (The 98 Cowboys were the team here.) The fact that we can now add everyone on the fraud that was the 2008 Panthers to this exclusive company is fantastic, as far as I am concerned. I hate them, and I always will.

Week Thirteen: Bucs 23, Saints 20
I’m trying to remember what the hell happened this game, but I can’t. I assume I was drunk, and I assume that I could simply check my text messages to gsdgsd and get my memory refreshed. As I’d like all the memories of this season to be used for anything – everything – else, I’m not going to do that.

Week Ten: Falcons 34, Saints 20
“Don’t we need this game??” we all thought. Though we didn’t admit it, we knew that if we couldn’t beat the Falcons, we had no business thinking playoffs. Too much ground to cover, too little time.

Week Two: Redskins 29, Saints 24
I had actually called my brother up before the game was over. 90% of people on CBS Sportsline picked the Saints to win, and I was laughing, saying, “Usually when that happens, the team picked that heavily LOSES!” Then Santana Moss burned our secondary (people on the WhoDatZone have said it was Tracy Porter, who was our best CB, but I am suspect of this) and boom, the game was fucking over, Redskins win and what I was cackling about came true. The best part is – it’s not even the first time I had seen that “type” of game. Curtis Conway did the EXACT SAME FUCKING THING in the 4th quarter for the Bears back in 1999.Here’s the goddamn box scoreto show I am not lying. Ashley Ambrose held Conway in check all game, but got bitch cramps in the 4th, and Conway ran past ex-49er Tyrone Drakeford two times to win the game.

Week Seven: Panthers 30, Saints 7
I watched this at a sports book in Las Vegas. I lost twenty dollars on this game. Reggie Bush, who is probably second only to Roy Halladay, Rickey Jackson and Mark Recchi as my favorite entertainer of all time, and of the four, the only one where I have seen every game they’ve played, tore his meniscus, and was out for four weeks right before half-time in this one. I was also amazingly thirsty because it was the desert and I had been drinking the night before, and I wasn’t sure if I had to tip the cocktail waitress for water.

Week Five: Vikings 30, Saints 27
With Reggie Bush having microfracture surgery this off-season, it is likely that he will never be the same With that in mind… you know what, I already talked about this shit with Pinback, so I will just provide the chat log:

ICJ:That Minnesota game on MNF was in doubt the entire game, and Reggie was singularly the best player in football at that moment… And they still fuckinglost.
ICJ:Fuck this, FUCK this
ICJ:I don’t even get the, “The team was playing like shit, but REGGIE BUSH pulled them through!” story.
ICJ:I DON’T EVEN GET THAT

Pinback:That was the game when I learned to love, and yet be glad I don’t actually root for, the Saints.

ICJ:Yeah
ICJ:… yeah

And the absolute worst thing I saw on television in 2008…

Week Fifteen: Bears 27, Saints 25
I will always hate the Chicago Bears. I will sum up why by simply stating that Lance Briggs shot his retarded mouth off to the local media before the game, saying that Drew Brees has no experience playing in cold weather.

Lance Briggs was born in California, and played college ball in Arizona. I am not joking when I say it is probable that he had never seen snow, literally never seen it, before he was drafted by the Chicago Bears, a team he loves so much that he publically threatened to hold out until he got the contract he was looking for.

Drew Brees played college ball in Purdue, which is in fucking Indiana, where it is currently 24 degrees. It takes a special brand of NFL player to be thought of as THE FUCKING DUMB ONE, but congrats, Briggs: you’re a winner here.

Fuck the Bears, fuck the NFL, fuck television.

(Also, I didn’t see the Super Bowl in its entirety, so that is why it is not on the list.)

(I caught parts of other playoff games and other NFL games in 2008, but I would wander back and forth, that’s why they are not on the list.)

(I saw most of Roy Halladay’s games in 2008, but through a shitty Flash player, not on a real tv, so that’s why they are not on the list.)

Rod Parker vs Rod Marinelli & Everyone Else
Dec 22nd, 2008 by Ice Cream Jonsey

Well, the Lions lost to the Saints 42-7 on Sunday. After the game, a reporter for the Detroit News, asked Lions coach Rod Marinelli the following:

“On a light note, do you wish your daughter would have married a better defensive coordinator?”

Here is an article calling for Parker to be fired. Here’s a quote from the above article that speaks to the reactions from the FOX analysts:

I think FOX’s Terry Bradshaw said it best when he called Parker a “flat idiot.” Actually, each of the analysts on FOX’s wrap-up show took turns bashing Parker. Michael Strahan said that Parker shouldn’t be a reporter; he should be an ex-reporter. Howie Long said “Rod Marinelli, through all of this — the good and bad — has handled himself with class; I don’t think that reporter can make that statement.” Finally, Jimmy Johnson called him a jerk, which is 100% true.

(I find it a little funny that these ex-players and coaches can’t wait to pile on a guy working for the press when it’s okay to do so, but that’s another story.)

However, this isn’t the first time that Parker has been involved in controversy. From his Wikipedia page:

On March 28, 2008, Parker declared on ESPN’s First Take that he had low expectations for college players Tyler Hansbrough and Kevin Love in the NBA, because they are white.

The African-American Parker is not shy to discuss the racial aspects of current sports events, such as the NBA off-court dress policy, or the lack of African-Americans in NFL coaching positions. He recently penned a much-debated column where he called Hank Aaron a “coward” for declining to attend when Barry Bonds would break the career Major League home run record.

In October of 2008, Parker erroneously reported that Kirk Cousins, a quarterback for the Michigan State Spartans, was involved in a fight with hockey players. After being publicly reprimanded by head coach Mark Dantonio at his weekly news conference, Parker was suspended by the Detroit News for two weeks.

OK, Parker’s not an angel. And I hope that Rod Marinelli gets fired and is instantly hired to run the New Orleans Saints’ defense, as there is no way to gauge his performance, with everything else that has happened since Matt Millen took over to run the Lions.

While Parker crossed the line, honestly, I see so much shitty reporting in sports, it’s hard to fault him for asking a question sarcastically. Let’s take a look at what some other writers produced last week. Gregg Easterbrook wrote the following:

Drew Brees played every down against the hapless Lions, on the field and still throwing when the Saints were ahead 42-7 late in the fourth quarter. Brees ended the game needing 402 yards to break Dan Marino’s single-season passing yards record. This seems unlikely, since New Orleans closes against the Carolina Panthers, who will be playing to win a first-round bye. (A Cats defeat coupled with an Atlanta victory would give the Falcons the division.) New Orleans fans will want the Saints to go all-out to get Brees the record — might as well salvage something from the season. But what about Marino? He will feel compelled by protocol to say he wishes Brees luck in breaking the record. TMQ has always felt that record-holders should be honest and say, “Tarnation no, I don’t want my record broken.” In this case, if Brees succeeds, it will be essentially a stunt, given the finale game has no meaning to the eliminated Saints. Marino’s record year came as the Dolphins reached the Super Bowl — those were all yards the team needed to win pressure games.

Gregg… Marino’s Dolphins were 14-2. The team they played in the second-to-last game of the season (the Colts) were barely better than the Lions. You couldn’t look that up?

Peter King said the following about the MVP race this year:

Philip Rivers is going to win the 2008 passing title. But it’s another title he wants. Rivers cannot be the MVP, not on a team that will finish .500 at best.

Peter… the most valuable player of the NFL does not have to be on a team that finished better than .500. You’re very fucking stupid to think that, but going after your terrible sportswriting is fish sitting in a barrel.

So I have a real hard time thinking that Rob Parker crossed some line. In 2001, the Saints, who I had seen win a single playoff game in their history, needed to beat one of three lousy teams in the last three weeks to make the playoffs (the Vikes, Panthers and Bengals).

Our quarterback, Aaron Brooks, hurt his shoulder. Jim Haslett wouldn’t play our backup, Jake Delhomme. (The current QB of the Panthers.) He cost us a playoff spot, trotting out Brooks when he wasn’t 100%. Haslett has acknowledged as much in recent years – would have been nice if we had some reporters out there challenging him, but I’ve never really seen that with the NOLA press.

I was too young to properlyenjoy the 1980 Saints 1-15 season, but I am going to guess what Detroit fans are going through is pretty goddamn terrible. When you’re that miserable at your job, with that much money at stake, with that muchexposure -is it that bad to get called out on it? Really? If a guy is going to hire his son-in-law as defensive co-ordinator, and stick with him through 15 winless games, I think it’s all right to bring it up.

Lovely Vegas, Part Two
Oct 22nd, 2008 by Ice Cream Jonsey

Saturday started off with me trying to count the drinks I had the night before – I had an initial count that was low, and would actually remember them as the day went on, like they were lousy quarterbacks that skulked about the history of the New Orleans Saints. (“Oh, yes, someone poured a Miller Light for me! I never drink that! … Billy Joe Tolliver!”) Funnily enough, I think I hissed at the memory of some of the drinks more. There is the spirtual pain of seeing John Fourcade start the season under center, and then the very real pain of several drinks that were stronger than anyone currently on the Saints, except for Jeremy Shockey (I didn’t try any absinthe).

Here’s how bin Laden has ruined America: I assume I can’t bring anything on the plane with me that has to do with personal grooming – in fact, my hair gel was found by Homeland Security and discarded. On the other hand, some of the DHS agents this week look pretty hot, so nobody question my patriotism any time soon. I therefore didn’t try to bring any ibuprofen, because it was going to be in a container that was greater than three ounces. In retrospect, I should have just downed 40 of them before flying and try to cover myself for the whole weekend, but that’s another story. So yeah – I was unable to take some painkillers before going to bed, and had my first hangover since I was in my late 20s. I could have received some from the hotel front desk if it was “that” kind of a hotel, but, well… yeah. You might think that I needed a hangover like I needed a hole in my head, but as discussed yesterday with the strip being shut down directly outside, I could have had both.

(It all actually only went away when I had a vodka/cranberry thing late Saturday night, so trying the hair of the dog that bit me really did work. Amazing. What other wisdom is there in clichéd sayings?? Also, I know that Alt-130 is the messed-up “e” now, so expect that to be a recurring character, so to speak, in future blog entries.) 

 

 

The best idea I could personally come up with to cure a mild hangover is naturally getting onto a roller coaster, and luckily, New York New York provides for just that. Across the street was a mess of arcade games, and after lunch, I was able to play some Centipede with my buddy Fodge, and his wife. The Gameworks is on the card reader setup, so while he was trying to get it to go, he accidentally put nine credits into the Centipede. We also did some virtual bowling. I love that a $15,000 bowling lane with simulated results was developed. This should be the next market taken by the people who did Rock Band: after having delivered the experience of playing in a band at home, plastic bowling would also be great. The side benefit is that everyone’s french fries would be better, as nobody has ever had bad fries at a bowling alley.

By this time, Fodge had to get ready for the wedding. My friend Greg called while I was walking the two (I think?) (I actually just looked it up, it’s 1.9 miles) miles back to the hotel. Greg was a few drinks ahead of me, thanks to being in opposite time zones, but he demanded that I fly out to Atlanta during what would be this weekend. Greg, I will, shortly! I need to see Gerrit anyway and shoot a movie next year! Greg, I am asking you to act in a movie in front of all these people to embarrass you into accepting. 

I got back to the hotel and took another nap – apparently I have the stamina of an 80-year old, but I’m not going to lie here, lying about Vegas comes way afterwards. The wedding was going to be at seven, and I was determined to get a cab. 

I was also determined not to dress nicer than the groom. The wedding was at their hotel room (which was amazingly nice) and I was led to believe that Matt was going to be wearing shorts and a baseball cap – I grabbed my favorite pair of jeans and a button-down, black shirt. I was prepared for anything: being lied to about the expected dress, not being able to find a cab and having to huff it, finally giving into the endless stream of guys who give cards for callgirls, being thrown into a room with an angry pitboss on account for general smugness.

I arrived at the wedding just in the nick of time. It was great. Fodge did a wonderful job as the best man, and there was a lot of food and other pleasantries. Fodge, Luddy, Keith and I sat down to play some euchre afterwards, and it was just like old times, just like being a freshman in college. Euchre really never gets old. When I play cards, or eat, I don’t like to have anything in my pockets, so I put my phone and glasses on the table. 

My phone is a flip phone, and was free with a year’s extension through T-mobile. It is also purple, because I run caltrops.com. This did not go over well! It really got out of hand within a couple minutes, and I was being aggressively mocked for owning a purple phone, all by people I did not really know! But it was very funny (and fun) and I think my argument was essentially that it would be gray to the colorblind. 

I don’t remember anything else that happened that night. 

***

The next day was spent at the sports book, where I put money on the New Orleans Saints. Guess how that went? Reggie Bush blew out his knee and the game was never in doubt after the first few drives. The Saints have disappointed me in every single way, in the last 30 years, but I had never actually lost money on them. They were getting three points, and lost 30-7. I would not have had it any other way, har har har. 

That’s essentially it, except for successfully avoiding the lizard men at Denver International Airport on the way back. I’d say, “I can’t wait to return to Las Vegas,” but it has a way of making me intend to be back, regardless of my intentions. Right on. 

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