As chairman of the New York Douchebag Sportswriters’ Guild, I, Mike Lupica, call this meeting to order. First item of business, all praise and worship be due to Gorlaqk the Dread.
Indeed, Murray Chass. Second item of business, it looks like Eric Mangini might have a job interview with the Cleveland Browns. Do we think this is the next best move for him? The floor recognizes Phil Mushnick.
No. Not only did he lead the Jets to a disastrous end, but he didn’t heed a word of our invaluable advice!
Shall we cut him any slack because that advice varied wildly among all of us from minute to minute?
Surely you jest! There is only one honorable thing for Mangini to do: take his own life.
My mustache and I agree. To go on living would do nothing but bring shame upon his ancestors. It would also make it seem as if our pointed barbs did no damage to his fragile psyche–which surely cannot be true!
I concur, Bob Raissman. So we’re agreed that Eric Mangini can only truly find peace in the icy grip of the grave. The question follows: What would be the best method?
should fall upon his sword and die with honor, like a warrior. But not
before writing a suicide note that says everything we ever wrote about
him was completely correct.
Except for two years ago when we called him Mangenius.
brings me to our next item of business. It seems that some of us
were singing Mangini’s praises once upon a time. And by “once upon a
time”, I mean a month ago. In fact, some of our readers have been
impudent enough to point this out. Some have also had the effrontery to
note that we have changed our tune just as quickly about Brett Favre.
The ungrateful swine!
The question before the Guild is, how shall we punish our readers for their insolence?
I shall withhold my Dudes and Dweebs column for one whole month!
I shan’t be developing any hilarious acronyms for new baseball statistics I don’t understand!
I shall cease warning of the dangers of t-shirt cannons! Let the fools reap what they have sown!
Excellent ideas. For my part, I shall sit out the next three tapings of The Sports Reporters.
viewers will beg to have me back after several weeks of unfettered
Mitch Albom! And Mitch shall beg to have me back, since he can’t reach
the coin slot in the ESPN Zone change machines unless I give him a
He loves that Cruisin USA…
Well, it looks like that should do it for this week’s meeting. So until…oh shit, it’s Wallace Matthews!
I thought you took away his key!
I don’t know where he keeps it, and I sure as shit ain’t touching that
guy! Now, just pipe down and I’ll try and get rid of him. *ahem* Hey,
Wally, how’s it goin’? You look, um, good?
assume you’re referring to the apparatus?…[whirr]…Yes, I’ve had my
lungs and most of my other internal organs replaced with a…[whirr,
chunk]..series of servos and pulleys. I found the vagaries of the
Ick. I mean, great! Look, Wally, we’re just on our way out, so…
Michael…[whirr]…I would like to run this column idea by
you…[whirr, hiss, clunk]…My premise is, Lou Gehrig used to get drunk and fire a
tommy gun into orphanages.
Is that even remotely true?
Truth is a word that has no meaning to me…[whirr, skree]…there is only data…
I mean, Jesus, why would anyone want to read a story like that?! Why would you want to write it?!
Because my eternal enemy is joy…