Football

Op-Ed: A NYC Super Bowl Is a Bad Idea, by A Giant Douchebag

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

sbdouche.gifI’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.

Baseball

The Baseball Purgatory of Joe Buck

joebuck2.jpgOn Saturday, we visited friends to take in game 2 of the Subway Series, a rare evening Fox broadcast. These friends are Yankee fans, but we agree on this point: Joe Buck is awful. Much of our in-game conversation revolved around his hideousness. (We pretty much left Tim McCarver’s performance alone; at this point, making fun of Tim is like busting on the fat kid in your grade who’s been left behind three times.)

As the game ground to a conclusion, Joe Buck sounded positively crestfallen. And when Frankie Rodriguez finally struck out Francisco Cervelli to end it, Buck was despondent. I thought maybe it was because he expected the Yankees to mount a comeback (an effort the Mets’ bullpen did its best to aid). Especially since the general tenor of the broadcast depicted the Mets as little more than an inconvenient molehill in the mountain that is the Yankees’ season.

But my friend countered with something that really struck a chord. “He’s not sad because he wanted the Yankees to win,” my friend said. “He’s just sad because he realizes he still has to call baseball games.”

This is a theory I’ve had for a while and written about more than once, but I’ve never heard put quite this way before. I’ve said that Buck secretly hates baseball and unfavorably compared him to Chip Caray, another legacy broadcaster who also sucks but who is at least animated. I’ve even thought Buck is trapped in a purgatory of his own design.

It never occurred to me that maybe Buck hopes that each baseball game he calls might be his last. Perhaps a wildcat work stoppage will grind the big leagues to a halt. Perhaps MLB will get fleeced by a Bernie Madoff-esque con artist and lose so much money it’s forced to close its doors. Perhaps some strange psycho-social event will alter the collective American consciousness so much that professional sports will no longer be a viable industry.

Maybe he thinks that if he just does just this one more game, he’ll be released from this Faustian bargain, the one where he asked for fame and fortune in exchange for going into the family business that he hates. Is there any realistic chance it this Last Game will ever come? Of course not. But he has to think there is or go mad.

In a book I read recently (I want to say it’s Paul Auster’s Invisible, but I’m not 100 percent sure about that, so don’t quote me), two characters wonder if the damned would have hope. They come to the conclusion that in order for Hell to have any meaning, the damned have some kind of hope. If they didn’t, they would resign themselves to the horrors of hell, no matter how bad they were, and it wouldn’t truly be hell.

Therefore, Buck must believe that he will be released from his torture, even though only the grave will release him from this obligation. It would be chilling, even sad, if it wasn’t happening to Joe Buck, who is fucking horrible.

Baseball

Today’s Subway Series Headlines

2010subwayseries.jpgDaily News

OH CAPTAIN!: Jeter nearly fields three ground balls in valiant effort

Plus: “How the Mets managed to win despite having a so many Latinos,” by Bill Madden, and “What this series means to me, personally, and no one else,” by Mike Lupica

New York Post

YEAH, I GUESS: Mets hold on to win ultimately meaningless series

Plus: An apology for the premature online posting of original game story: K-WRONG: Closer blows lead and as Mets lose series that meant everything to them

New York Times

Struggling to Fit As Many Words into a Sports Headline as He Possibly Can, Our Editor Adds Countless Qualifiers Until the 6-4 Final of Last Night’s Contest Between the Mets and Yankees Is Completely Obscured

Newsday

METS WI–

To read more, please sign up to get behind Newsday’s curiously anachronistic paywall.

ESPN New York

YANKEES DEFEATED BY NON-RED SOX TEAM
Champs travel to Minnesota after off day to take on another non-Red Sox team

Plus: “Watch me shit all over the Mets’ series win because it made a few people happy,” by Wallace Matthews

A potentially explosive collection of verbal irritants