Recently in Football Category

Nike and CBS have filed a class action lawsuit against USC's football program, seeking damages for loss of income.

"The impending NCAA sanctions against USC football, which include a two-year ban from postseason play, will reduce the program's visibility, and thus have a severe impact on the plaintiff's bottom line," the lawsuit states. "When the school violated the spirit of the NCAA's commitment to amateur athletics, they should have considered how that act would impact the millions of dollars we have invested in their program."

Pete Carroll, former USC football coach, contested the lawsuit's implication. "The USC I know would never commit recruiting violations or pay our players in any way," Carroll said, "because nothing is more important to us than our corporate partnerships."

The NCAA has yet to comment on the lawsuit. "Our rules committee will review this case as soon as possible," the league said through a spokesman. "Right now, we are preoccupied with completely destroying some conferences."

Here to present his opinion on why a Super Bowl in New York is a bad thing is A Giant Douchebag.

I'm only gonna say this once, because time is money, capisce? Especially my time. I make more caysh in one afternoon than you do all year. I don't know who you are, but if you're 98 percent of the population, what I just said is true.

The Super Bowl should NOT be in a cold-weather city in an outdoor stadium in the middle of December, or whenever the hell the Super Bowl is. We have a Super Bowl so titans of marketing like yours truly can go schmooze and hob nob with other titans of marketing for a week. If you have it in a city like New York, I'll be freezing for those 30 seconds when I'm getting out of my limo and climbing into the stadium shuttle bus.

Some people think snow and cold weather are great for football. Hey numbnuts, get your dicks outta your ears and listen: I could give two shits about football. Same goes for everyone else who goes to the Super Bowl. We're here to party on the company dime and be seen. If everyone else in the industry gathered around a steaming pile of diarrhea, I'd go to that, too, and I wouldn't have to pretend I like a buncha thyroid cases in spandex running around, either.

New York's great, don't get me wrong. Where else could I spend so much dough on so little? I know this place in Soho that sells $7000 fortune cookies. The same exact ones you can get from a take out place. I bought one, cuz I could and you can't.

But how am I supposed to pull up to some hot club in my Maserati in New York winter weather? You know what road salt does to a Maserati? Of course you don't, because you've never seen one. My Maserati's even more special than all the other ones you've never seen, because mine has a special paint job. Oils mixed by Da Vinci. No shit. I have to get it recoated every time the temperature goes over 75 degrees. Costs me a fucking fortune, not that it matters to me.

Here's the other bad thing about New York: the people who work here aren't thrilled to see you. There's too many big shots here already, so when an A-list mad man like myself shows up, no one gives a shit. Not like other Super Bowls I've been to. When I went to Jacksonville, I paid six guys to carry me around on their shoulders from club to club. In Detroit, I ordered foie gras at this one restaurant, ate it, and paid a waitress to let me regurgitate it back into her mouth, like a bird.

You can't get away with that in New York. The waitresses there are all uppity. Even the strippers act like they got dignity!

Hold on, I gotta take this.

NO, I SAID 6:47 FLIGHT, NOT A 6:48 FLIGHT, YOU STUPID CUNT! I SWEAR TO ASS-RAPING GOD, IF I'M ONE SECOND LATE TO SUNDANCE NEXT YEAR, I AM GOING TO MAIL YOU MY SHIT IN A BOX FROM ASPEN AND MAKE YOU EAT IT, AND MAKE YOU VIDEOTAPE YOURSELF EATING IT SO I CAN WATCH IT WITH THE WEINSTEIN BROTHERS!

Gotta roll. Meeting a Murdoch for lunch. Can't remember which one, doesn't matter.

A Giant Douchebag demands to know if you know who he is.

The image below is a screengrab I took from Yahoo! Sports' front page yesterday. Peep the caption below Toby Gerhart's pic and see how long it takes you to get to a needle-pulled-across-the-record moment.

No, it's not the word "evaluator". No, it's not the words "downgrade" or "legitimate". It's those last two words. You know, the ones that have caused a lot of trouble in this country during its entire existence.

The article this links to, penned by Michael Silver, is slightly more provocative, as you might be able to tell from the title "Race Factors into Evaluation of Gerhart". And if that didn't clue you in, the teasers seen in this screengrab I took later the same day would surely clue you in.

The thrust of the article: Gerhart (fresh out of Stanford) is a very good running back who could go to some lucky team in the first round of the NFL draft--if only he were black! Instead, he can only dream of the tarnished glory of being a second-round pick at best. Curse this pasty visage!

To be fair, Silver does not arrive at this conclusion out of thin air. He has quotes from an anonymous scout who reached the same conclusion, and Gerhart shares his experience during a team interview that indicated race was a factor in their thought process. And he is far from the only writer to pen an article on this subject. A quick Google search reveals tons of articles about Gerhart The White Running Back.

Regardless, to say a white guy faces prejudice of any kind while also saying that black guys get all the breaks is, at best, touchy, and worst, foolishly ignorant of what consitutes prejudice. Gerhart isn't exactly being kept down by the lack of color of his skin. He finished second in Heisman voting this past year. He is highly regarded by many talent evaluators. (There are also some who question his ability to play as well in the NFL as he did in college, for reasons that have nothing to do with a lack of melanin.)

The question is not "Will he get picked at all?", but "Will he get picked in the first round?" Basically, it's a question of whether he gets ridiculous first round money or slightly less ridiculous second/third round money.

Is there a perception that white guys can't be running backs in the NFL? Yes. That's a stereotype, but it's not prejudice. Stereotyping is when you say something dumb and racist. Prejudice is when you won't let certain people move into your neighborhood. Words can be hurtful, but they don't compare to someone not allowing you basic human rights.

Gerhart will get a chance with some team. He'll get a very good chance, in fact, because he will likely be a high-round draft pick, which means both big bucks and high expectations. He won't have to play in a separate, all-white league. He won't have to move to another country where he can freely ply his trade as a running back. If he takes the field for an NFL team, he won't have garbage thrown at him and receive death threats against his family.

And if he fails? It will be because he just wasn't good enough, not because there was a vast conspiracy keeping him down. Oh, and he'll have a degree from Stanford to fall back on, which, last time I checked, was kind of a big deal.

Don't worry, sportswriters. No matter what happens with Gerhart, I think white guys will make it through okay.

As I wrote in a recent post, the word "hero" is thrown around a bit too freely in the sports world. However, I heard a true sports hero this weekend.

As I was scooting around on Super Bowl Sunday, I listened to Mike Francesa's "The NFL Now" program in the car, because my brain hates my ears. My beef with Francesa is well documented. Up until this year, most of that beef was confined to his agenda-driven conduct during the baseball season. I still found his football work to be at least listenable.

But as the Jets made an improbable playoff run, he dismissed all of their accomplishments in the same snide, condescending manner he uses to talk about the Mets. When they made the postseason, it didn't count because the Colts and Bengals didn't try in weeks 16 and 17. When they beat the Bengals on the road, it was because of Cincinnati's mistakes. When they beat the Chargers on the road, again it was no big deal the Jets had taken down one of the best offenses in the NFL on their home turf.

Did the Jets draw an enormous amount of luck to get as far as they did? Of course. But who cares? The sheer improbability of all should have been enjoyed for what it was by anyone unlike Francesa, who traffics in misery for a living. It was a sickening, transparent attempt to both tweak Jets fans and get fans of other teams to cheerlead him.

The most frustrating thing about Francesa is that his medium (radio) doesn't allow for any kind of counterpoints he doesn't want to hear. If he wrote for a newspaper or a web site, you could comment on his completely faulty reasoning. Instead, he only welcomes callers who will kiss his ring.

On the rare occasion someone who disagrees with him gets on the air, Francesa merely screams at the poor guy until he gives up. I heard one call a few weeks ago where a reasonable caller accused Francesa of discounting the Jets because he didn't like them, and because their continued success made him look stupid. Francesa's voice got louder and louder with each response, and his counterpoints made such insane logical leaps they could only be explained by quantum physics. Eventually, the man on the phone couldn't get a word in edgewise and had to abandon ship.

Radio also being an ephemeral medium, Francesa doesn't get called out when he makes off-the-cuff, borderline slanderous remarks. Or when he just gets things wrong, like mispronouncing the name of Colts head coach Jim Caldwell. Throughout the football season, Francesa has referred to the Indianapolis coach as CaRdwell. Not once, or twice, or even a few times. All season long.

But yesterday morning, some brave, genius soul managed to get on the air with Francesa. This man not only called him out on his idiocy, but also made Francesa look like even more of an imperious buffoon than usual, as he mumbled he didn't "have time" to bother with getting Caldwell's name right because it was early on a Sunday morning. Yes, you work a whole 30 hours a week--when could you possibly look up the actual name of the AFC champion's coach?



God bless you, Rich in Massapequa. A man can stand up!

Hat tip to the hilarious @MikeFrancesaNY for the YouTube link.

Tim Tebow here, Heisman trophy winning quarterback and future NFL backup tight end. I want to use this extremely expensive chunk of Super Bowl commercial time to tell you an important story. Because I'm a giver.

The story goes like this: When my mother was pregnant with me, she was told by her doctors that she had a life-threatening health condition. Giving birth to me could have severely harmed her, even killed her. She was faced with a terrible, terrible choice no woman should ever have to make.

That's why I'm teaming up with Focus on the Family to make sure no woman has to make that choice again. No, not by helping to find cures for women's reproductive diseases, silly! I mean by banning abortion once and for all. Then, the choice will already be made for all women!

You see, life is precious, especially the life of an unborn child. It's more precious, in fact, than the life of the mother carrying that child, even if--nay, especially if--giving birth to that child will kill her. Why? Because of an incredibly complicated bit of celestial calculus. God's math is different from our earthly, sinful math. It is not up to us to judge God's math. Because unlike you and me, God doesn't have to show all his work.

Focus on the Family is an organization that does just that: we focus on the family. All families. We focus on every single detail of every single family. Where they work. How they raise their children. What TV shows they watch. Who they vote for. It's a big job, but somebody has to do it!

We also want to teach the families we focus on to pay that focus forward. By focusing on neighboring families, for instance. Scrutinizing them. Reporting suspicious families to the proper authorities. Of course, many of the family transgressions we want to focus on aren't illegal. But don't worry, we're focusing on fixing that, too.

We also know there are some untraditional "families" out there, too, headed by single parents and other heathens. We don't really consider them families, but don't worry, we are definitely focusing on them. And we encourage all of our members to focus on them, too. Long and hard, and harshly. Hopefully, your intense, unblinking focus can focus those people right out of your god-fearing town!

Finally, I want to thank CBS for having the courage to not bow to public pressure from liberals and other hell-bound folks, and show this ad. I also want to thank CBS for having to courage to bow to pressure from groups like Focus on the Family and not air that gay dating site ad.

We welcome back Skitch Hanson to the Scratchbomb pages. You may know him from his nationally syndicated sports column, "Up the Middle". You may have also seen him on the ESPN roundtable discussion show, Mouth-Talkers! Or you may have read one of his 79 books, such as The Greatest Game You Never Saw and Possibly Didn't Happen at All. Without further ado, here's Skitch to talk about The Big Game.

Are there any more exciting words in the Sports Universe than "Super Bowl"? Not to this reporter! Except maybe "free buffet" or "case dismissed". There is no word too big to describe this event. Any newspaper man worth his salt, regardless of beat, must be there to take in the whole spectacle.

Sadly, my editor does not agree with that point of view. He thought my talents were better served trying to write a Super Bowl-related human interest story. "The farther away from Miami, the better," he said. I guess he's still peeved at me for what I did the last time I was in Miami for The Big Game.

As you may recall, that was a historic game that pitted two African-American coaches against one another for the first time in Super Bowl history. During the first Media Day press conference, I asked Lovie Smith if he beat Tony Dungy and the Colts, would that be considered Black-on-Black Crime? Some people took offense, but I think Lovie thought it was great. He even ran after me with his arms extended, his fingers grasping toward my throat, as if trying to give me a hug!

I protested my editor's decision, but there was no budging him. Sometimes, talking to him is like trying to get a word edgewise with my wife! Except my editor doesn't chuck whiskey bottles at me!

So I thought to myself, who would make a good human interest story for this Super Bowl? I can't go to Miami, so that eliminates any of the players actually participating in it. So how about players from the past? And who better to interview than ex-Saints players? Men who had to endure The Aints Years, decades of futility and embarrassment and golden tights.

Unfortunately, other folks had beaten me to the punch. I know it's hard to believe such an ingenious idea had already been taken by several dozen reporters, but it's true! By the time I started my research, nearly every person who'd ever put on a New Orleans uniform had already been profiled in one paper or another.

The more obvious targets were not an option anyway. Archie Manning won't speak to me after that time I accidentally shocked him with a pocket tape recorder and burned off all his hair (look, it grew back, didn't it, Archie?). And that kicker with the club foot refused to speak to me because I couldn't remember his name. But even the most obscure former Saints had already been taken by other writers.

The whole process was slow going, because I still do my research the old fashioned way: with a whole lot of elbow grease and shoe leather! And asking the secretary at the office where I can find some out-of-town phone books. The internet may be faster, but it can't make up for a determined, old school reporter. Plus, the last time I tried to look up something on the internet, I destroyed my computer. If a hard drive can break so easily, it doesn't sound so "hard" to me! Unless you're talking about the price to fix it, because that was definitely hard on my wallet, since the newspaper deducted the cost from my paycheck.

Finally, I found a forgotten tight end named Tommy Smith. He was drafted in the third round by New Orleans back in 1987, but never played a single down in the NFL, and retired from the league a few years later.

What a story! Can you imagine the frustration of not being to able to play for one of football's worst teams? What torture must this man have endured? How did it feel to get so close to his dream and yet still be so far away? Did he lay awake at night thinking of what might have been? And also, how is the postgame spread at The Superdome? Because I've heard mixed things.

So I visited Tommy Smith at his home in Abilene, Texas, a ramshackle little cottage on the edge of town. He had an old Chevy up on blocks, and a few sickly dogs running around his weed-filled backyard. It was certainly a hardscrabble existence for Mr. Tommy Smith since leaving the glory of the NFL, if this was his home.

Unfortunately, it wasn't his home. Turns out it was the home of a Tommy Smith, but not the Tommy Smith I was looking for. In retrospect, I had little evidence I was visiting the right address, or even the right town. But to be fair, I had no evidence that I wasn't.

The Tommy Smith I found was a shirtless, bearded man who told me to go away because he was too busy "tweakin'", then used a few words that I can't reprint in a family newspaper. I asked him who he was rooting for in the Super Bowl, and I think he said "Colts", but it might have been a burp. Then he slammed his screen door on my fingers and threatened to grab his shotugun.

Still, I think there's a valuable lesson in here for all of us. My journey to Abilene was a lot like the journey the Saints took to get to the Super Bowl. Years of missteps and blunders and testing the patience of their fans, who wondered if they'd ever pull themselves together. But lo and behold, the Saints have made it to the Super Bowl, and are one big step away from Valhalla.

I did not exactly succeed in my quest to find Tommy Smith, but I did succeed in not getting shot by a meth-crazed indigent. And in a way, I've made it to my own Valhalla. A small town named Valhalla, Texas, that is, and its Fresh-Aire Motel on beautiful route 27. They have wi-fi at only $17 a night, and an Applebee's right across the street. Jackpot!

If there's another lesson here from the story of me and Saints, it's this: don't be too hasty. Stay slow and steady, and success will come. You don't have to go chasing after the first name that resembles that of the man you're looking for, especially if that first name is found in a police report.

Now if you'll excuse me, I hear a Super Bowl calling me--a super bowl of Russian dressing to accompany my bloomin' onion, that is!

I am TRULY sorry for flipping off someone at an MMA fight in Miami this weekend. That behavior was unacceptable and I'm sorry if I EMBARRASSED the Jets organization.

Yes, it was wrong of me to attend a private event and be heckled by drunk idiots all night. In the future, I will be more careful about being in the presence of inebriated, foul-mouthed morons for extended periods of time.

Sure, extending my middle finger to someone was probably the least offensive thing occurring in that arena at the time, as I sat 50 feet away from two men beating each other mercilessly in a quote-unquote sport that's one step removed from bum fights. Not to mention that one of those men was a retired running back whose presence turned an already sordid event into a full-blown freak show.

But hey, none of that makes what I did any less wrong. Nor does the Daily News and Post sanctimoniously tsk-tsking me for my "shocking" actions, while also putting a picture of said shocking action on their front pages. Not to mention that one of those papers has no problem running a regular advice column penned by a former hooker. No, their rampant hypocrisy does not excuse what I did.

Finally, I want to make it clear that my apology is completely sincere, despite the fact that I've been making an exaggerated jerk-off gesture the entire time I delivered it.

We're into the waning seconds of regulation in the NFC championship game, all tied at 28, the Vikings have the ball, and they are on the precipice of field goal range. Now...wait a second, Minnesota just received a penalty for 12 men in the huddle. That will cost them five yards of precious field position.
Joe, that's because Brett Favre is so focused on the game. A lesser quarterback might have noticed there were too many players on the field, but Brett has a one track mind, which is what you really need in a winning quarterback.
I agree, Troy. Now the Vikings will try to get back into field range. Favre drops back, he's got some room to scramble, but he decides to throw for some reason, and the pass is picked off by Tracy Porter. Do you think that was a good decision, Troy?
Absolutely, Joe. What you saw there was Brett Favre trying to make the big play. He thought he could bounce a pass right off of Porter's helmet and into Bernard Berrian's arms. That kind of circus catch would have taken the wind right out of the Saints' sails. It didn't work out, but you can not blame Brett for trying. You simply CAN NOT.
Indeed, Troy. Brett Favre is not to blame here. Not for anything, ever. But that pick means we go into overtime. New Orleans wins the coin toss, so they will receive and try to drive down the field for the winning score.
Watch Brett Favre watching the game on the sideline. That is the way a true champion sits and watches. Head up, looking at the action. Not to the side, or above or below, but at the action.
You wanna talk about a champion watcher, Brett Favre is every bit of that. Oh, and Garrett Hartley nails a 40-yard field goal to win the game for the Saints. Now, Brett Favre will rise from the bench and head down the tunnel into the locker room.
This is a player who KNOWS how to walk into a locker room. One foot in front of the other. We are watching a professional.
It is just a joy to watch him walk. He walks like a little kid out there! And now he's in the locker room, and he's taking his socks off. And he's placed one of his socks on his right hand, and he's talking to it. And now the sock is "talking" back to him, like a puppet.
Again, this shows leadership. I don't know any other QB in the NFL who can talk to his socks like that. He is truly greater than Jesus.
Now he's popped the top off of a AA battery with his brute strength, and he's pouring the battery acid down his throat. Do you think that was a good decision, Troy?
I do, Joe. Most coaches in this league will tell you they don't want their QBs ingesting caustic chemicals, as would most doctors and rational human beings. But Brett Favre didn't get this far by listening to the so-called experts.
We'll take a break. When we come back, live coverage of Brett Favre lying on the floor, convulsing and foaming at the mouth. And if we have time, a few shots of the team that is technically going to the Super Bowl.

Before Saturday's MIND BLOWING playoff win in Cincinnati, I handed out a full practice and travel schedule to my team, which included a trip to the Super Bowl. And I took a lot of heat for being so presumptuous. But who's laughing now? Rex Ryan, that's who. And Rex Ryan is ME.

I handed out that schedule because I believe the Jets are that good. There is no reason we can not make it to the big dance. Hell, there's no reason we can't go to the Super Bowl eight years in a row. I DEFY you to tell me we can't.

In fact, this team can do anything it puts it mind to. I honestly believe this isn't simply isn't the best football team of all time, but possibly the most talented collection of individuals to ever walk the EARTH.

If we decided to play baseball, we'd be better than the 1927 Yankees. If we decided to play basketball, we'd be better than the Jordan-and-Pippen-era Bulls. If we decided to play hockey, I have no idea who we could be compared to because we'd be so good, we'd obliterate all memory of previous teams. And also because I'm not that big a hockey fan and can't think of any historically good hockey teams.

We are possibly the most skilled artists in the world, too. You should see Justin Keller's watercolors. He painted a prairie landscape that, I'm not ashamed to admit, brought me to tears. Nick Mangold is singlehandedly reviving the lost art of mosaics. And Braylon Edwards' mural work is, quite frankly, UNPRECEDENTED. If Picasso were alive and saw his murals, he'd set that piece of shit "Guernica" on fire and kill himself out of shame. That's a FACT.

We're also the greatest congregation of literary wits ever. You should hear the conversations we have during the postgame buffets. They make the Algonquin Roundtable sound like a buncha retards. Darrelle Revis let me read the manuscript for his new novel, and it was the most moving thing I've ever read. It changed me. It will ROCK American letters, just like he rocks unsuspecting wide receivers every Sunday.

Look, every coach believes in his team. That's half a coach's job. I just think that one day, people will worship the New York Jets instead of Jesus Christ. Why is that so outrageous?

* knock knock *

Hey Mark, it's Eli from next door.
What's up?
You know how the mailman is always mixing up our deliveries? Well, I got this package and I opened it, but I didn't realize it was for you. Sorry about that.
No problem, it happens. What's in the package?
A really shitty performance in a must-win game to close out your stadium.
Weird. I didn't order one of those. In fact, the UPS guy just dropped off a surprisingly dominant performance in a must-win game to close out a stadium.
Huh. You sure that wasn't for me?
The label said "Jets" on it.
You're sure it said "Jets"?
Positive.
Aw geez...now that I look at this package closer, yeah, it does have my name on it. I just, you know, was hoping maybe it didn't. It seems like the kinda thing you'd get.
Well, I didn't, so...
Like maybe the labels got mixed up at the...factory...or something...
So that's why you waited a week to bring it by?
It's the holidays. You know, everybody's out of town, and parties...and stuff...I've just been so busy, you know?
Listen, I gotta go pack for the playoffs, so...
Playoffs, huh? Those are fun. I won a Super Bowl, you know.
That was like three years ago, right?
I still won it!
And that was awesome! But I gotta split, okay? See you at the new place, okay?
/ slam
You're still gonna help me move, right?

As a fan of the Jets, of course I wanted them to beat the Colts on Sunday. But as a fan of non-douchebags, I wished Indy could stay undefeated. Because that would mean they had a chance to win all 19 games, and thus threaten the sore winner tyranny of the 1972 Dolphins. Up until two weeks ago, I hoped both the Saints and Colts would go undefeated in the regular season and win the AFC and NFC championships, thus ensuring there would finally be a completely undefeated team to knock those old crabs off their cheap throne.

In every other sport, when a record falls, the previous record holder (or his family) is on hand to congratulate the new champ and wish him/her well. Even Hank Aaron begrudgingly tipped his cap to Barry Bonds when he beat the all-time home run record. If anyone ever had a reason to flip off the guy who supplanted him in the record books, Aaron did. But Aaron decided the game was bigger than him and paid tribute to Bonds, because he's not a huge dick.

The '72 Dolphins don't suffer from such humility and perspective. They're like mountain climbers who've scaled Everest, and decide to take sniper shots at anyone else who attempts the feat. Each year, they literally pop champagne when the last undefeated team takes a loss--and brag about such poor sportsmanship, on top of it all. And make commercials about it, too.

They insist to whoever will listen about how they're the best team of all time, which, considering how much football has changed in the last 37 years, is borderline insane. Athletes are conditioned so much better in every single sport now, but especially infootball. Can you imagine the '72 Dolphins trying to block the linebackers of today? Just look at these guys. They'd be mashed into the ground by the Lions, let alone a decent team.

Oh, and they played one of the easiest schedules in NFL history. Not in the NFL that year. In NFL history. Their opponents that season had a .396 win percentage. They are in the 99th percentile in terms of ease of schedule, all time. An NFL team is less likely to play such an easy schedule every again than a person is likely to be born with a dorsal fin.

Two years ago, when the Patriots were in the midst of their undefeated (regular) season, Don Shula got all a-snitter about how Camera-Gate invalidated their accomplishments. He conveniently neglected to mention that his '72 Dolphins were not without their own ethical missteps.

He also tried to poke holes in many other grand achievements, on this very web site. It was quite a coup to get him to open up, I must say! You can take a trip down memory lane and read all about it here.

MINNEAPOLIS--Football fans tuning in to Monday night's battle between the Green Bay Packers and the Minnesota Vikings, which featured Brett Favre's first start against his former team, were treated to long stretches of silence. The culprit, according to scientists, was a psycho-energetic anomaly known as a "word squall" that rendered ESPN's Monday Night Football broadcast team incapable of speaking the phrase, "He's just having fun out there!"

"We're still not sure what causes the word squall phenomenon," said University of Minnesota physicist Jeff Gunderson. "Our theory is, sometimes the atmosphere is so filled with a certain series of words that it literally becomes saturated with them. In the leadup to the Packers/Vikings game, so many people had spoken that particular phrase that the air could not handle it any more."

Unable to physically utter those words proved trying for the play-by-play men. During the second quarter, Mike Tirico stammered, "Favre...looks...looks like...it kinda seems as if he's...enjoying himself...on the field."

As the teams headed to the locker rooms for halftime, Jon Gruden had similar difficulty. Each time he attempted to say the word "fun", it came out as "funicular". "I have no idea what that word means," he said. "Jaws, I'm scared." Ron Jaworski attempted to calm down Gruden by mentioning how much game film of Favre he'd watched over the years.

The situation came to a head in the game's waning minutes, as Favre aired out a pass to a receiver deep down field that fell incomplete. Unable to explain such a play by means other than a phrase they could not say, the broadcast trio began foaming at the mouth, then collapsed in a heap. All three were rushed to nearby hospitals and are listed in stable condition.

Gunderson said that the word squall seemed to have passed sometime last night, sufficiently enough for Dick Vitale to use the phrase 742 times on Mike and Mike in the Morning. But this remains one of the worst incidents he's ever seen. "Almost as bad as last year, when we had one involving the phrase 'oh what a play by Jeter!', and Michael Kay had an aneurysm."

Coach, the Patriots didn't put up any points at all in the second half, and they were limited to three field goals in the first half. Was that due to the Jets' defense, or is Tom Brady still rusty?

They have a good team no doubt. They have some players on that team, and those players executed.

Coach, did you feel your team was sufficiently prepared to play the Jets this week, or did your players maybe take this game for granted?

Our players always come to play. We don't take any opponent for granted. This team needs to execute.

Coach, even though Julian Edelman had a good day, do you think the absence of Wes Welker hurt the Patriots?

Everyone who played came here to play, and that is why sanitize on the pancake drip.

Huh?

Salmon fish stain curbstone Archuleta.

Patriots PR Man: Sorry, folks. We just upgraded his operating system, and it's a little buggy.

BAD COMMAND OR FILE NAME

Patriots PR Man: Here, let me try force quit...

ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO QUIT 'BELICHICKOTRON-2003'?

Patriots PR Man: Yes. Ugh, I hate this. Just watching the little CPU Usage register...I hope the file recovery feature works this time.

YOU CHOSE TO QUIT THE PROGRAM. DO YOU WANT TO SEND AN ERROR MESSAGE?

Patriots PR Man: No. Does anybody read those things? Now, let's see if this works...

EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!

Patriots PR Man: Oops, had it set on Dalek. Okay, here we go.

Execute. Execute. We need to execute. And also execute.

Patriots PR Man: There, back normal. Let me know if his casing gets too hot. Sometimes the hooded sweatshirt blocks his vent and he gets overheated.

Goddammit, I just built me a brand spankin' football palace, and my team played like this was a sandlot! You fellas should be ashamed a' yerselves! This was a disgrace, and I wants some answers! My boy Romo threw three picks last night. That is inexcusable! His head needs to be in the game! Someone dropped the ball on this one! What do you have to say for yourself, Franz Ackerman mural?
Yeah, I know that one pick was kind of a freak thing, but it came on a terrible throw! And what about our defense? We just let the Giants march up the field in the last minute and take this game! After we had 'em pinned at their end of the field, first and 20! Two third-down conversions! It's like you've never dealt with a two-minute drill before, Gary Simmons' "Blue Field Explosions"!
And special teams! Jesus, don't even get me started on the special teams! I can't even think of something particular ya did wrong, I'm so angry! An absolute embarrassment! You better have a damn good excuse, Doug Aitken lightbox sculpture!

In a complete non-shocker, Brett Favre has unretired.

The Worldwide Leader reacted the way it always reacts to any Favre news, which is to say, batshit insane. ESPN brought its viewers live aerial footage of Brett Favre driving to Vikings training camp. A local hospital was kind enough to let them use a Medivac chopper for this historic event.  

But ESPN didn't just show Favre driving to camp. Oh no. They showed us Favre exiting his car. They showed us Favre hugging random people. They showed us Favre climbing stairs.

And when he was finally inside the Vikings facility, out of the reach of helicopters, ESPN brought us extended coverage of the bare stage where he would eventually conduct a press conference, in a room that looked like a high school utility shed.

It was like the most boring student film you ever saw. For a whole day, ESPN abandoned sports news and dedicated itself to Andy Warhol-esque film experiments. ("Next up: Colin Cowherd stars in our remake of Sleep!")

But who are they airing all this garbage for? Packer fans feel betrayed. Vikings fans are unenthused (to say the least). And everyone else is sick to death of this manipulative goober. Even Peter King is a little pissed at getting jerked around by him, and King was Favre's number one jock sniffer as recently as two weeks ago.

There's no point in piling on Favre when the entire world (outside of Bristol, CT) hates him. I pretty much agree with Big Daddy Drew's sentiment: this guy doesn't love football (as all his admirers in the media have gushed over the years), he just loves being the guy on the football field that gets the glory. All the stuff you have to do to attain that glory (watch film, actually attend training camp) is for the other slobs, not superstars like him!

So no more Favre bashing from me--linebackers will be doing enough of that this year. But if you feel like guzzling some Haterade, enjoy this post from just around this time last year, when Favre royally dicked over the Packers for the first time. Original post here.

* * * *

Michael Vick, the ex-NFL quarterback recently released from prison, has promised to turn over a new leaf and is already making great strides to do so. According to sources close to Vick, he did not kill a single dog during his first 24 hours of freedom.

Reporters camped outside Vick's Hampton, Virginia home, hoping to get a glimpse of his first hours of freedom. Vick was seen greeting family and friends, eating dinner, and watching television. No muffled canine screams were discerned, nor did Vick repair to his backyard to dig any shallow graves by the light of the moon.

"It's hard to get used to life back on the outside," said a family friend who wished to remain anonymous. "He just got out of the joint. He's gonna wanna do all the things he used to do. He told me that when he walked in the front door of his house, the first thing he wanted to do was sit on his couch and watch a doberman get electrocuted.

"Before he went away, he totally woulda done it, too. I really think he wants to change."

"Some people can kill just a few dogs a day and stop," another friend told reporters. "But if Mike's around people who are killing dogs, he's gonna keep on killing and killing. So we can't be bringing our terriers around here to get their throats slit no more.

"He can't even throw a dachshund down a flight of stairs. That's gonna take some willpower."

Publicly, at least, Vick has vowed to curb his impulses. "I must admit, I tried to bargain with myself," he said at his post-release press conference. "I thought that I'd be okay if I just killed one dog a day, or if I restricted myself to killing only smaller dogs, like chihuahuas.

"But I realized that if I did that, I would wind up back in prison again. Not a prison of iron and concrete, but a prison of constantly killing dogs. That is not a prison I want to go back to. And I'd probably wind up in real prison, too, which is no picnic either.

"I can't think of it as 'Oh no, I can never kill a dog again.' I have to say, 'I'm not gonna kill a dog right now.' When I walk down the street, I have to say to myself, 'I won't crush that pitbull's skull with a cinder block'. One not-killed dog at a time."

I know I said that my New Year's resolution was to stop listening to WFAN, but consarnit, I'm a weak man. Last week, as I was dropping off laundry, I turned on my car radio and tuned into The Sports Leader. I will note, however, that it was Steve Somers, who is totally allowed under the parameters of my resolution.

However, even The Schmooze gets terrible callers, and on this occasion I heard a real doozy. I can't remember the guy's name. Let's call him Joey from Riverhead. First thing he says to Schmooze is that he's a huge Cowboys fan--despite having the thickest Lawn Guy Land accent you've ever heard. Strike one.

This baffles me. Whenever you listen to WFAN during football season, you will hear guys call in who have clearly never been further west than Weehawken in their entire lives, and yet root for teams that are over the map. I don't know what's crazier: that, or the fact that the hosts never call them on it. "Wait, you're from Yonkers but you call yourself 'a die-hard' Dolphins fan. How the hell did that happen?"

Next, he says that he can't get into the Super Bowl since the 'Boys aren't in it, so he can't wait for pitchers and catchers in a few weeks so he can "start watching god's other team, the Yankees." Strike two (pause to vomit before making the call).

I guess that explains his Cowboy fandom. He figures his favorite baseball team is the richest one in its sport with the most entitled, spoiled, arrogant fans. So obviously, he figures he'd pick the football team that fit the same bill.

The capper: he says he's rooting for the Cardinals because he doesn't want Pittsburgh to "steal" the crown of having the most Super Bowl rings, a distinction they used to share with the Cowboys before winning Super Bowl XLIII.

Strike three, you are the worst human being ever.

So while I had no vested interest in the outcome of this year's Big Game (c) (r), other than wanting it to be a good game for once, part of me rooted for the Steelers. Because with a Pittsburgh win, I could imagine this guy slumped in his rec room chair, crying bitter, bitter tears, then flying into a rage and tearing down all of his Cowboy memorabilia that says MOST RINGS EVER. Because you know he had like five posters that said that. And 6 commemorative plates. And several sets of Franklin Mint coins and Liberian-issued stamps with Roger Staubach and Troy Aikman on them.

So thank you, Steelers, for making that dream a reality.

I wanted to get some Super Bowl predictions from football experts, but then I realized that  football experts tend to be horribly, horribly wrong most of the time. So instead, I decided to think beyond the usual expert parameters and ask some other types of people for their takes on the big game. Our next guest is Congressman John Boehner (R-OH), House minority leader.

Who did Obama pick? The Steelers? Then I'm going with the Cards.

You guys are going with the Cards, right? I don't wanna see no Republicans picking the Steelers or so help me, I'll sic Rush Limbaugh on you! Don't think I won't!

I wanted to get some Super Bowl predictions from football experts, but then I realized that  football experts tend to be horribly, horribly wrong most of the time. So instead, I decided to think beyond the usual expert parameters and ask some other types of people for their takes on the big game. Our next guest is Nation of Ulysses/Make-Up/Weird War frontman and talk-show host Ian Svenonius.

I care not for the opiate of professional sports. It is just one limb of the vast and multi-tentacled corporate puppet casting its shadow across this nation.

"Fan-dom" is but a masturbatory, nay, necrophiliac exercise. I care only for the destruction of nostalgia, the shakedown of the great zombie that is America.

Let the walking dead engross themselves with this contest. Let the snackers gorge themselves upon winged treats and corn-based amnesia. They see nothing in our pursuits, nor should they.

I will focus on those bold and hopeless citizens, intoxicated with riddles, smashing idols, driving the money-changers from the temple. We shall array ourselves in finery of our choosing. We shall strike their names from the history books, and begin a glorious new reign in The Year Zero.

And if you can get Cards +6.5, you'd be nuts not to take Arizona.

I wanted to get some Super Bowl predictions from football experts, but then I realized that  football experts tend to be horribly, horribly wrong most of the time. So instead, I decided to think beyond the usual expert parameters and ask some other types of people for their takes on the big game. First up, professional Diet-Coke-and-snack vacuum Mike Francesa.

I've like the Steelahs chances to win the whole thing for a long time. A long time. Week 3, I think I liked them. A lot to like about this team. A lot. There's a lot to like. With this team, there's a lot to like.

Cawdnals aren't just gonna lie down, though. Dey're here to win. Dey're gonna play tough. Dey're a tough team. Dat is a tough team, the Cawdnals. Tough. That's what I'd call them. A tough team. No doubt, they're a tough team.

Butcha gotta like Roethlisberger. He's been there. He knows what it's like. He's acquired knowledge through prior experiences. Roethlisberger's someone you gotta like. You really do. A lot to like with him.

You know who he reminds me of a little bit? Bradshaw. Just a little bit. The teensiest bit. A little bit reckless. Not too much book smarts, but he knows how to win. Bradshaw was like that. Ben's got just a bit of Bradshaw in him. Just a bit.

/inhales entire 2-liter bottle of Diet Coke

But hey, you gotta like the other guy, too. This ain't Warner's first trip to the Big Dance, either. He's been through the wars, that guy. Through the wars. He is a warrior. You do not count him out. A warrior, that guy.

You name the guys, any guy you can think of. Warner's not with those guys. But he's close. Real close. He's almost one of those guys.

Alright, let's take some calls. Tom in Riverhead, you're on the air.

Hey Mike, I love yer show, I think you are the best thing to happen to radio, I worship the ground you walk on. I was just wondering if we could talk a little Yankees right now...

A little Yankees? A little Yankees? It's Super Bowl Friday and you wanna talk a little Yankees? Let me tell you somethin, you wanna talk baseball on Super Bowl Friday, you are lost. Lu-host. You do n-hot talk baseball the Friday before the Super Bowl.

This is gonna be a close game. I see it bein close. Back and forth. Someone leads, then the other team leads, then the first team leads again. It's gonna be a dogfight. A close game. A real close one. Game. Close. Football.

Originally posted 1/26/09

Scratchbomb has its own man embedded in the doody-storm that is Super Bowl Media Week. Frequent contributor Skitch Hanson will be providing us with breaking news and other updates via his Twitter page, which you can view by clicking here.

If you have any questions for Skitch or you want him to check out anything in particular, just comment on this post and the word will get his way. I'll be bumping this post frequently as a friendly reminder to the curious.

Scratchbomb hands over the reins to nationally syndicated sports columnist Skitch Hanson, as we've done many times before. You may know him as the author of the highly popular syndicated column "Up The Middle." You may also have read his best-selling book I Liked It Better When Home Run Hitters Drank Like Fish. He's also a frequent guest on ESPN's sportswriters panel show 4th and Forever. Without further ado, here's Skitch.

Within the week, we could witness something truly historic. Something that people have been waiting for, hoping for, some even praying for, for years. Centuries, even. And when that moment happens, I will stand and applaud with my fellow Americans, maybe choke back a tear, and wonder what wonders the future holds for all of us.

Of course, I'm speaking of the possibility of an all-Pennsylvania Super Bowl.

Some people like to think of how far we've come, but I wonder why it's taken us this long. Do you realize that before this weekend, two Pennsylvania teams had never even made the semifinals of any major professional sport at the same time? That is a shame our nation must live with.

Skitch Hanson will be joining us later this week to preview the NFL championship games. In the meantime, I have finally added his Scratchbomb oeuvre to the new site. If you'd like to revel in his mastery of the sporting language, click here.

You can also check out Skitch Hanson's exciting Twitter updates here.

"Most N.F.L. stadiums now post telephone numbers for fans to send text messages to summon security personnel...By using text messages to summon security guards, offended fans do not have to confront fellow spectators who may react with verbal abuse or violence; they need not look obvious when seeking ushers or guards." -- NY Times, 1/10/09

philly fan taunting me bout mets collapse even though i'm wearing a jeter jersey. help!

just saw guy in freddie mitchell jersey. srsly? wtf!

blinded by tom coughlin's red red face

sitting in sec 127, clearly see mcnabb not harrassed all day. disgraceful.

cannot see field, too many yellow flags.

huge fat ass blocking like 90% of my view. oops, sorry, it's andy reid.

puked into urinal, can't flush it down. lil help?

pickin up weird sense of superiority and entitlement from philly fans. think apocalypse is upon us. repent!

Today, we preview the weekend's playoff games with a whole buncha celebrity guests. To discuss the exciting Baltimore-Tennessee matchup, here's Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis, who agreed to talk with Scratchbomb as long as I didn't broach certain subjects.

This has to be a great season for the Ravens. No one expected you to do anything this year, and now you find yourself one win away from the AFC Championship game. How does that feel?

I always believed that we could cut through the competition in the AFC, ever since training camp, when I saw Joe Flacco firing those absolute daggers down the field.

He's turned out to be quite a draft steal.

I bet there's a lot of teams out there who feel like stabbing themselves for passing him up!

That's a curious turn of phrase, but yes, I would think so. Of course, the backbone of your team remains the defense, with veterans like you and Ed Reed. How do you stay so fresh after so many years in the league?

I don't know how you can't stay fresh! This is the greatest job in the world! Every time I go out on the field, it's like the first time I put on pads. I just wanna go out there and slash that offense to ribbons!

So how do you explain your continued success? Is it a strong work ethic or a rigorous training regimen?

Any success I have in my life, it all comes from my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Through Him all things are possible. When I let Him into my life, it was like I'd been stabbed in the soul with a 13-inch knife. But His knife filled me with love and forgiveness, rather than caused me to bleed to death from my carotid artery.

That's some curious religious imagery.

Faith is a curious thing. To the faithless man, it may make no sense. But to those who believe, it's an exhilirating, transcendent feeling. The only thing I can compare it to is, oh, I don't know, stabbing two guys to death and totally getting away with it.

C'mon, you're not even trying anymore!

It's so hard, man, it's so hard.

SB prediction: Ravens 24, Titans 12.

Today, we preview the weekend's playoff games with a whole buncha celebrity guests. To discuss the exciting San Diego-Pittsburgh matchup, here's Chargers running back LaDainian Tomlinson.

First off, are you feeling okay? Right now, there's still some question about your availability for the game in Pittsburgh. Groin injuries would be bad for any running back, and especially for your type of game. Can you be 100 percent effective this weekend?

/stares soullessly
/watches own breath fog and crystalllize
Alright, we don't have to talk about that. But it has to be frustrating to be injured during the playoffs for a second year in a row. You work hard all season, and it's like deja vu all over again. You must feel down sometimes. How do you work against that and get yourself pumped up for this game?

/stares soullessly
Okay, let's just drop the injury talk altogether. Assuming you do play, you can't be looking forward to playing against that tough Steeler defense. Do you think your offensive line can open up some holes for your to do your thing? Or do you think the new threat of Darren Sproles will allow you to go unnoticed and sneak up on Pittsburgh?

/bikes furiously
I get it, you don't wanna give away any secrets. Here's a fun question: You've been one of the best fantasy players for the past few years. I mean, there's not a lot of players out there who can run, catch and throw touchdowns! Would you pick yourself first in a fantasy league?

/stares soullessly
/adjusts shoulder pads
/stares soullessly
Last question: Are you LaDainian Tomlinson or the Ghost of Christmas Future?

/stares soullessly
/extends bony finger from droopy sleeve.
SB's prediction: Steelers 17, Chargers 9.

Today, we preview this weekend's playoff games with a whole buncha celebrity guests. To discuss the exciting Carolina-Arizona matchup, here's Cardinals backup QB, Matt Leinart.

Last weekend, the Cardinals played their first home playoff game in over 60 years. It must have been exciting to be a part of that historic event.

Yeah, whatevs. Mind if I burn one? Coach was really ridin' my ass in practice today. I'm like, "Sheesh, it's not like I'm gonna play," and he's all like, "blah blah what if something happens to Warner?" Total buzzkill.

Um, okay. After enjoying so much success at USC, is it hard to sit on the sidelines and watch Kurt Warner take charge, or are you just happy to be along for the ride?

Bro, the only thing that's hard is me, when I'm checkin' out the primo babeage in the crowd. Runnin' slant routes in my pants, if you know what I mean.

Eww...So what does Arizona need to do take care of business in Carolina this weekend?

An experienced wingman and endless Jagerbombs for the ladies. Keep 'em comin'!

I was talking about the game.

So was I bro--the game of 'tang. And when you play that game with the Lein-man, you always win. You just strap in for three minutes of pure adrenaline.

Ick. Wow, you really are a factory-wrapped douche, aren't you?

Got a Sonic 'round here? I could drink like a hundred of them cheesecake shakes.

SB prediction: Panthers 28, Cardinals 10.

NBC's Football Night in America Wild Card Weekend Something or Other is proud to welcome former president of the Lions, Matt Millen. Thanks for being such a good sport and being with us, Matt. I have to say, though, I'm surprised your head is so big. I thought for sure it'd be canteloupe sized. Or at the very least, more of a pinhead shape.
No, no, I have a normal head.
Fascinating. So you are not legally required to wear some sort of helmet? Not even for insurance purposes? Because surely your skull is as soft as a newborn baby's. I imagine it as one big fontanel.
All the seams in my skull knitted together a long time ago.
How about a dunce cap, do you usually wear that? Or a propeller beanie? Maybe one of those floppy crowns like Jughead wore?
I don't care much for hats.

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.
Hail Gorlaqk!
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?

"Hey chief, this just came over the wire: Bill Cowher has no interest in Jets job."

"This is definitely going on tomorrow's back cover. Now, we just need to find an appropriate photo, something that will convey the contempt and disgust we have for a man we desperately wanted to come to NY just yesterday."

"I got one here, chief. This was snapped right after he bit into a meatball sub and got it all over his shirt."

"No, we're not going for embarrassing! We're going for nauseating! This is the first picture millions of people are gonna see this morning when they're having their breakfast, drinking their coffee, riding the subway. We want them throw up in their mouths when they see this thing!"

"I think I got one, chief. Check it out--he looks like a cross between Hitler and an orc."

"I can barely contain the vomit churning in my stomach. And you can totally see up his nose, too! This is gonna sicken millions--I love it! Take it down to the art guys and see if they can widen his nostrils in Photoshop, add some more hair up there."

"Do you want them to add some stink lines, too?"

"No, we got in trouble the last time we did that. The Dalai Lama was not happy. But I like the way you think, kid!"

All the little fledglings who left my nest, see how their wings have been clipped. First Romeo, then Eric. Charlie is surely not long for Notre Dame. It shan't be long before they come begging for refuge. And I shall refuse them. Not because I am cruel, but because they must learn for themselves the pain we must all endure in this vale of tears.

And also because I am cruel. Quite a bit, actually.

I shall, however, pass along these words of advice on what to do once the axe has dropped.

When you clean out your office, everything goes in the shredder. Playbooks. Game film. Third string tight ends. Shred it all to ribbons. Then shred the ribbons. Then burn the shredded ribbons. Then eat the ashes of the burned shredded ribbons. The next time you take a dump, you do it in a 12-foot-deep hole, which you then fill with cement. And before the cement hardens, throw some pit bulls in it. That will keep neighboring children away.

You now have a choice to make. In the wake of this incident, you can choose to be humble and take your lumps. You can choose to discover within yourself a kindness and charity you never thought possible.

These would be the wrong choices. What you must do is recognize this humiliation for what it truly is: a forge in which you shall rehsape your soul. You shall hone it to a sharp point, and you shall use that soul-blade to smite your enemies! 

This is also an excellent opportunity to update your Enemies List. I prefer to do this on a daily basis, but I realize that simple weekly checkups may suffice for most coaches.

Some head coach somewhere shall offer you a coordinator's job. He shall count on your desperation to ensure your fealty and a cheap price tag. Accept the position and the pittance it pays, but do not forfeit your allegiance. For no one deserves it but Gorlaqk.

Yes, Gorlaqk is responsible for my coaching prowess. You didn't believe it was due to intense study of game film and inspiring leadership in my players, did you? No, all my achievement flows from the fount of Gorlaqk, as deep and rich as blood from a freshly sliced throat.

All hail Gorlaqk the Dread! Tremble before his mighty talons! Lay before him your first-fruits, and he shall reward you with riches and success, and many, many hooded sweatshirts!

Today, Scratchbomb hands over the reins to nationally syndicated sports columnist Skitch Hanson, as we've done many times before. You may know him as the author of the highly popular syndicated column "Up The Middle." You may also have read his best-selling book Numbers Don't Lie Except When They Do . He's also a frequent guest on ESPN's sportswriters panel show Tiny Elf-Like Men Shrieking. Without further ado, here's Skitch.

I want to thank The Scratchbomb for having me back. I've turned into a bit of a "pariah" around the office ever since I got back from Beijing. My newspaper didn't appreciate some of the charges I ran up during the Olympics. I tried to explain to my boss that it wasn't my fault, but he hasn't trusted me since the Rental Car Incident of 2003.

(My loyal readers will remember that well, but for the rest of you, let's just say that you should never try to force a cassette tape into a car stereo CD player, no matter how badly you want to hear "Sweet Baby James". And remember: even if you're trying to be helpful to the good people at Hertz, marinara sauce is no substitute for transmission fluid.)

Here's what happened: One night in Beijing, I ate a crazy vegetable the locals call "egged-plant" and found myself in some gastric distress. A friendly cabbie brought me to the local pharmacy to get some Pepto Bismol, after I made myself understood with 15 minutes of an embarrassing set of hand gestures.

When we go to the pharmacy, the cabbie asked if he could borrow my corporate AmEx. He said he needed some medicine for his sick wife. I know it sounds crazy now, but I felt I owed the guy. Plus, I wasn't really sure this place was a pharmacy at all. I've never seen a drug store that had crap tables and roulette wheels, and guys guarding the doors with switchblades.

So imagine my surprise when I get back to the States and the only pharmaceutical purchases on the statement were 500 gross of Viagra! Plus 17 flatscreen TVs, and a bunch of charges to some Web site called LithuanianBrides.com. That sounds like a place where you could get something nice for your wife, so maybe the cabbie wasn't totally lying.

Okay Brett, I've come down here to Hattiesburg to meet with you. I hope we can come to some sort of peace agreement and end this whole unpleasantness.
Unpleasantness? What're you talkin' about? Ain't no unpleasantness out here, Mr. Murphy. I just wanna get out there on the football field and have some fun.
Of course you do. But if you showed up at Packers camp right now, it would just be a huge distraction for everyone involved. We need to decide the future of our relationship and proceed from there.

'Relationship'? That's some pretty fancy talk. Brett Favre don't know from fancy talk. He's just a simple guy who wants to toss the pigskin around and have some fun. Just like in this here advertisementation.

Today, Scratchbomb hands over the reins to nationally syndicated sports columnist Skitch Hanson, as we've done many times before. You may know him as the author of the highly popular column "Up The Middle." You may also have read his best-selling books "What I Really Meant Was... " and "The Top 100 Lists of Top 100 Sports Lists ". He's also a frequent guest on ESPN's sportswriters panel show Who's the Loudest? Without further ado, here's Skitch.

Last year's Super Bowl pitted two black coaches against one another for the first time, and in so doing, completely eliminated all traces of racism from our country. This Sunday, we will witness another clash, one even more historic: a clash of destinies.

I asked a prominent scientist who asked to remain nameless, how do you determine which team's destiny is greater? How do you measure the surface area of fate? What is the body mass index of karma and kismet?

He told me that all of these things are ephemeral concepts and therefore immeasurable. So I asked him, about the teams' density ? That sounds like "destiny". You can measure that, right?

Grant "Rocky" Rhodes is America's oldest living sportswriter. He first rose to prominence in 1921, when he struck an early blow for civil rights with his groundbreaking article on the Negro Leagues ("Colored Players Not Totally Inhuman"). His weekly sports column, "The Cat's Pajamas", appears in 7000 newspapers nationwide when not bumped for "Hints from Heloise" or "Gardening Weekly". Today, he graces Scratchbomb with his nine decades of sports wisdom to talk about Sunday's NFC Championship game.

We got this one attendant at the home, Frankie. A little stupid, but a good kid. So this morning he tells me that the Giants are playing the Packers in the NFC championship game. "That probably reminds you of old times, huh?" he says. "Back in the days of Vince Lombardi and stuff like that. I bet Lambeau Field was a pretty exciting place to be back then."

Sure, it was exciting, if your idea of exciting is freezing your nuts off in the middle of Ass-Nowheresville. Ask a sportswriter his idea of hell, and he'll say "Green Bay." That place makes Amish country look like Weimar Berlin. I knew a guy who cut off his pinky rather than go there for the '61 NFL Championship. A week of eating nothing but cheese and brats and I couldn't get unblocked if I stuck a stick of dynamite up my rear end.

It was nothing like the championship games of the real old NFL. I mean, the real Paleolithic days, when there were no helmets, cheerleaders, or common sense. Guys sacrificed their bodies and minds every Sunday, for little money and even less notoriety. But I'm sure all of them would do it all over again if they could, and if their softened brains could still grasp the concept of decision making.

You wanna talk about a championship game? In 1937, I saw the Providence Steamroller beat the Chicago Cardinals 2-0 in the parking lot of a Studebaker dealership in Davenport, Iowa. It was definitely the best damn football game I've ever seen, and I'm sure my fellow spectators, all three dozen or so, would agree.

1937 was the year the NFL tried to increase scoring by changing the ball's shape to oblong. Before that, it was angular, metallic and sharp. Of course, the old shape was totally impractical, but the league held on to it for a long time because they paid a lot of money to some fella named Calder to design it.

Of course, they hadn't started filling the balls with air yet. No siree, they still filled 'em up with good ol' fashioned concrete. The only score in the game came when the Cardinals' quarterback dropped dead from exhaustion in his own end zone. A linebacker tripped on his corpse and fell on it to record the safety. He was the championship's only casualty, which was quite rare in those days. Most every game back then would end with at least three guys in the morgue.

Providence's star player was Stan "Running Back" Wisniewski. He was the perfect man for the team's patented "run straight up the middle" offense. Stan only averaged 1.2 yards per carry, but he still led the league in yardage every year--mostly because they handed him the ball on every single play.

Back then, you were allowed to call one play in your first game of the year, and you had to stick with that same play all season. It would be another few years before Weeb Ewbank invented something called "strategy".

"Yup, you really missed out by being born so late," I told Frankie. "Those were the days where men were men, and football was football. You'll never get to see something like that in your life so long as you live."

"Yeah, but I also don't have to pee in a bag," he said.

Touché, Frankie.

Hey there, Interweb-Land, Ron Paul here. Maybe you know me from seeing my name on thousands of highway overpasses across the land. Perhaps you recognize me from my scintillating fifth-place finish in Iowa, or my breathtaking YouTube productions. You might also be familiar with my millions of loyal followers who post angry responses in all-caps to any blog post that mentions my name.

What's that? You don't recognize my name? That's because the liberal media is afraid of me and my suspiciously well-organized grassroots campaign, so they never mention me among the other Republican candidates. If you don't believe me, just listen to my spirited rebuttals on CNN, Fox News, C-SPAN, Good Morning America, The Today Show, A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila, and three dozen other programs.

Fact: I have a blimp! No other candidate in either party has any sort of dirigible. Mike Huckabee used to be zeppelin-sized, but I don't think that counts.

But I'm not here to talk about outmoded forms of air travel. I'm here to talk about the BCS, which is in desperate need of a Ron Paul makeover. Just like our great nation, college football's bowl system is a mess wrought by bureaucrats and meddlesome eggheads and their stupid computery computers.

When Ron Paul takes over, all computers in the nation will be destroyed, and I will give out free Common Sense Thinkin' Caps to every citizen. I will also not allow evolution to be taught in schools, unless all science teachers doing so follow every statement about this theory by yelling BULLSHIT.

The BCS is just like the income tax: nobody's happy with it, but nobody's got the guts to do anything about it. Except guess who? That's right, yours truly, the Paulinator. No, please, hold your applause until I'm finished.

My solution: tear down the whole damn thing. But don't start over. Just let the schools stomp around in the rubble and let them figure it out. How about, everybody play everybody, all the time! Or play the same team over and over! If Michigan wants to play Ohio State three times a week all year, let 'em! Oregon can play itself for all I care. Hell, they got enough uniforms for seven teams.

Eventually, the glorious free market will decide who's champ, without the expense and fuss of a newfangled bowl system. You see, Americans are frontier people. Things run best in this country when we let 'em run wild. Who can do their job with the nosy NCAA or federal government waggin' its finger at every gosh darn thing?

Say you're a big agribusiness company, and you wanna save some dough by feeding Styrofoam peanuts to your poultry. Or you're a toy company and you feel like using some delicious lead paint. Guess what? You can't, 'cause the dang ol' government says you can't.

But when Ron Paul is supreme executive, I mean, president, that won't be a problem, 'cause we won't have an FDA or an FTC. In fact, we won't have any office that can be spelled in all capital letters. Probably do away with that stupid Supreme Court, too. All we need in Washington is me and enough Congressman to field a softball team.

I'm sure there will be some unscrupulous companies that'll do crazy stuff, like slap Gerber's labels on sulfuric acid and sell it as baby food. So you, as a consumer, can choose to not by caustic chemicals for your infant. You vote with your dollar, see? And you'll drive the no-good-niks outta business, leaving only righteous capitalists standing.

Unless the sulfuric acid guys buy out all the other baby food companies. Or they pay off enough newspapers and networks so you never hear about their sulfuric acid. But hey, that's the free market. Don't like it? Go to Cuba, commie.

I'm sure my BCS solution will captivate the nation, just like my solutions for Washington have taken root in the political consciousness. Why, here's unsolicited testimony from a concerned citizen.

LAUPNOR: IF YOU WANT TO KEEP THE BOWL SYSTEM YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE CONSTITUTION ALSO THE IRS IS ILLEGAL AND EVERYONE WHO DOESN'T THINK SO SHOULD BE BURNT AND TORTURED AND TIM TEBOW IS NOT MY HEISMAN WINNER. HOOK EM HORNS!

I like the way LAUPNOR thinks!

New England's 9-0 start has many fans calling this year's Pats the greatest team ever. Of course, those proclamations have raised the elderly hackles of Don Shula, football's official parade-rainer-on-er. In his opinion, because of Camera-Gate, all of the team's achievements are tainted--unlike his beloved 1972 Dolphins, which are completely free of the stain of any wrongdoing.

And who also played fewer games against a far weaker schedule in a still-growing NFL with no salary cap, no free agency, and a sliver of the media attention it gets nowadays. However, I digress.

But Coach Shula doesn't save his disdain exclusively for the Patriots' impressive play. His extensive research shows that nearly every accomplishment wrought by the hand of man pales in comparison to Miami's legendary 17-0 season.

Hannibal Crossing the Alps: I been to the Alps. I been to a lotta places! But I been to the Alps, and I seen they got a buncha them, whatchamacallit, gondolas. These little booths that take you right up to the top of a mountain. I bet they got over the Alps with them things. Probably brought the elephants along just to show off.

Transcontinental Railroad: Lay down ties, lay down iron on top--what's so hard about that? They had to go through mountains? Big deal. Get some dynamite, blast a hole, get some Chinamen to dig out the rocks, boom, you're done. They dragged it out for years so everybody would feel sorry for them. And I happen to know that the golden spike was actually made out of a spray painted hunk of cookie dough.  

The Moon Landing: Everybody knows we didn't really land on the moon, but it ain't for the reasons you think. Nope, the real reason the US faked the moon landing was so's they could artificially drive up sales of Tang and appease the powerful powdered drink lobby in Washington. You don't wanna get on those guys' wrong side. Believe me, they run that town. Joe Gibbs told me some stories that'd make your head spin, fella.

The Great Wall of China: Did you know it's not a whole wall? I seen pictures--there's huge chunks of the thing missing. To me, a wall's one big piece. Otherwise, it's just a big pile of rocks, some space, and some more rocks. How do you keep the damn gophers and teenagers off your lawn with a wall like that? Not impressed, buddy.

Theory of Relativity: Okay, Einstein did determine that the space-time continuum is curved because of the effect of gravity. And yeah, he showed that events are perceived differently by different observers depending on the motion of said of observers through space and time. And yeah, he also showed us that there's no such thing as an absolute rest or absolute frame of reference, and matter and energy are equivalent, and the speed of light is a universal constant. But Einstein's dismissive attitude toward quantum mechanics late in life betrayed an almost childish clinging to the theories that had made him famous, which made him appear more concerned with protecting his legacy than further advancing scientific thinking. Also, he had funny hair.

Today, Scratchbomb hands over the reins to nationally syndicated sports columnist Skitch Hanson. You may know him as the author of the highly popular column "Up The Middle," recipient of the 2006 Mitch Albom Award for Most Self-Righteous Moralizing in a Single Sports Column. You may have read his best-selling books "Numbers Prove Nothing Except When They Do" and "No One Will Ever Be Better than Willie Mays Because I Said So". He's also a frequent guest on ESPN's sportswriters panel show Four Paunchy White Guys . Without further ado, here's Skitch.

Many Yankees fans are calling for Joe Torre's head, now that he's failed to deliver yet another World Series title. But if you cut off Torre's head, then the Yankees will literally lose their head as well.

No, make that figuratively. Figuratively lose their head. In any case, it would be bad.

But since there's no way that Cleveland was simply a better team than the Yankees, someone must be to blame. If you want to know who's really responsible for the Yankees' postseason failure, there's only one man you need to look to. And I know this won't be a very popular opinion, but I have to say it anyway.

That's right: Alex Rodriguez.

CHRIS BERMAN: Welcome to ESPN's Spook-tacular NFL Playoffs Preview! Brought to you by Budweiser, Coors Light, Heineken, Levitra, and Budweiser! I'm your host, The Boomer, Chris "Oz Never Did Give Nothing To The" Berman. Because the NFL playoffs are so huge, ESPN is preempting its round-the-clock poker coverage to give football its due. First off, the NFC. How do you see the senior conference shaping up, Ron Jaworski "Huh! Good God, Y'all-ski! What Is It Good For-ski"?

RON JAWORSKI: It's been a disappointing, mediocre year in the NFC..

CHRIS BERMAN: Absolutely nothin'! Say it again-ski!

RON JAWORSKI: Last year's conference champs, the Seahawks, just barely staved off the 49ers to take the NFC West. And I'm pretty sure the 49ers' offensive line is actually made of popsicle sticks. No one in the NFCreally scares you. There are compelling reasons why each of the conference playoff teams couldn't go all the way.

MIKE DITKA: Except for the Bears.

RON JAWORSKI: Actually, the Bears have many glaring question marks, such as Rex Grossman's horrid passer rating, which can make babies cry from across a room.

CHRIS BERMAN: Boomer here, barking atcha for another slam-dangle, froo-farah, mama-say-mama-sha-mama-kusah edition of NFL Countdown LIVE! Or whatever the hell we're calling it now. There's a full slate of roast-'em tenderize-'em down-ya-go action this Sunday, but rather than focusing on all the exciting matchups, we figure our audience would rather watch ex-players in suits scream at each other. The big battle this week is happening in foxy Foxboro, Taxachusetts, where the Ponies gallop in to take on the Patriot Act. Of course, my question has no real answer, and one could make a case for either side depending on personal preferences. So let's debate it as if it's a friggin' North Korean nuclear summit. Who is the better QB, Peyton "Place" Manning or Tom "Three Times A" Brady?

MICHAEL IRVIN: I wanna tell ya Chris, [unintelligible] Colts [garbled] not T.O.'s fault [possibly Sanskrit] "White House" [still garbled] so that wasn't my pipe, know what I'm sayin'?

RON JAWORSKI: You're right, Boomer, there really is no answer here. Manning and Brady are both excellent quarterbacks. Manning is a more gifted athlete, of course, but Brady has the rings, so...

MIKE DITKA: Ron, allow me to interrupt you and completely dismiss you as a human being. The NFL is about winning, unlike all other sports leagues. Brady has won three Super Bowls, while Manning's barely won any playoff games at all. Until Peyton can capture as many championships as Brady, he's a worthless piece of shit who should thank whatever horse-headed pagan god he believes in that I haven't killed him yet.

BERMAN: So Coach "I Know What You" Ditka "Last Summer", you're saying that Tom "A Very" Brady "Christmas" is vastly superior to Peyton Manning "The Torpedoes"?

JAWORSKI: By your logic, Jon Kitna is a much better quarterback than Peyton Manning simply because he rode the Ravens' defense to a Super Bowl ring.

DITKA: The ring proves it. In this league, jewelry trumps natural ability. Brady's Pats could lose 85-0 to Manning and Colts, and Brady would still be the better QB in every way.

JAWORSKI: Just so I'm clear, you just said,using your brain and your mouth, that Brady could lose to Manning badly, like he did last year, but still be better than him. [shakes his head violently]

IRVIN: I wanna tell you, you wanna talk about the championship bling, Brady's got it. [grumbling, throat clearing] interception [ancient incantation that almost awakens a demon] mink coat [an car engine backfiring] It's snowin' backstage, you feel me?

BERMAN: For the record, I think that Peyton "A" Manning "For All Seasons" is better than Tom Brady "Brook Farms Turkey", because saying so allowed me to use two more wacky nicknames.

JAWORSKI: Of course you can make the argument that Tom Brady is one of the best "field general" quarterbacks of our era. But the debate is less clear cut when you consider...

DITKA: No no no no, I will not waffle on this issue. You are dumb and wrong and you used to play for the Eagles and you're wrong. Peyton Manning will never be better than a piece of dog shit stuck to the bottom of my shoe--unless and until he wins the next seven Super Bowls on one last-second Hail Mary pass that also somehow rescues a little girl from a burning building.

IRVIN: They gonna be some Patriot Games up in Foxboro, you feel me? [irrecoverable error, some data may be lost] Cleveland steamer [static between radio stations] y'all remember that group EPMD?

JAWORSKI: Jesus fucking Christ, are all of you people retarded?

TOM JACKSON : I'm not, Jaws. I just wanted to come on the air and say that Tiki Barber is dead to me. You hear that, Unibrow?

BERMAN: Okay, when we come back, another useless, unresolveable debate: Is this the week that we finally make a passer out of Michael Vick "Of It All"?

IRVIN: Ron Mexico!

DITKA: The point of being a quarterback isn't to pass--it's to win ballgames for his team, and Michael Vick always does that, except when he doesn't. Even when the Falcons lose, he helps his team win.

JAWORSKI: [swallows arsenic tabet]

I finished up my year of NFL picks at MSN Sports Filter on a decidedly sour note. Two bad weeks in a row; my week 8 tallies were 7-7 win/loss, 6-8 points. That showing brought my tally on the season to:

Win/Loss: 77-36
Points: 57-56

Obviously, I need some high-powered help. So this week, Scratchbomb.com is pleased to welcome a guest handicapper for our NFL picks. You may remember him from such unbridled successes as "the Valerie Plame scandal", "the Mark Foley cover up" and "you forgot Poland". Here's Republican strategist/pork vacuum Karl "Turdblossom" Rove.

Atlanta at Detroit: A good solid red state versus a city full of, um, traditional Democrat voters. Try and guess who I'm picking! I don't know if Michael Vick will continue his chuck-tastic ways, but it won't matter much against the toothless Lions. I know Vick's a lefty, but I forgive him. Atlanta by 8.