John Madden's Got Nothing on Tewks

I am a football genius.

Sure, I may have only gone 2-2 in my picks over the weekend, but even in the games where I erroneously picked the winner, my prognostications were essentially correct.

(I love how He Who Hits Bombs took time out of his busy schedule of touching himself and playing online poker to point out that I was 0-1 after Saturday’s early game. Also, how long is he going to keep bringing up his 2006 Ontario Batting Title? There has to be some sort of statute of limitations on such braggadocio. What have you done for me lately?)

What did Tewks say was of utmost importance for a team to win games in the postseason?

1. A quarterback who doesn’t completely suck and doesn’t kill his team with turnovers

2. A great run game

3. A stingy defence

Dirty Sanchez gave the Jets perfectly serviceable quarterback play. He wasn’t flashy, but he didn’t do anything stupid. Sanchez made short, smart passes and let his run game take care of the rest. Carson Palmer completed less than 50% of his passes and also threw an interception.

I’m going to be honest. I tried to watch this game, but it was just too boring. Neither team deserved to be in the playoffs in the first place. Dirty Sanchez and the J-E-T-S will get demolished by the Chargers next weekend.

The Philadelphia Eagles held up their end of my prediction for a low scoring game. Chunky Soup may well be the “soup that eats like a meal”, but it doesn’t win football games in January.

I think Tony Romo had an “I’m Keith Hernandez” moment on Saturday night. Remember the episode of Seinfeld when Keith Hernandez is dating Elaine and he’s nervous to kiss her after their date? He pumps himself up by running through his stats in his head and vocalizes that he’s Keith Hernandez. He then goes in for the kill and undoubtedly slips Ms. Benes the tongue. Elaine internally wonders, “Who does this guy think he is?” Answer: “I’m Keith Hernandez”.

I’ll bet Tony Romo was warming up on the field before the game and was probably a little nervous. But, then the following went through his mind: “I have intimate knowledge of both Carrie Underwood and Jessica Simpson’s lady parts. Being at the precipice of such earthly delights is way more nerve-wracking than a silly little football game. I’m Tony Romo.”

I was completely right about the Baltimore/New England game, except that I was wrong about which quarterback was going to blow it. Jesus, Tom Brady was terrible. You could tell that his garter was all twisted up from the first play of the game. Three INTs and a fumble? Way to lay an egg, Tommy Boy.

Joe Flacco wasn’t very good either, but he only had one turnover instead of four (Please see item #1 above). And the Ravens had 234 rushing yards (item #2).

Last night’s contest was the best game of the year, hands down. Both offences came out firing. Kurt Warner and Aaron Rodgers showed the rest of the wildcard quarterbacks how the position is supposed to be played.

I predicted 103 points to be scored and was only off by seven. I guarantee no paid football observer was as close as I was. Yes, the final score was a little closer than I expected, but here’s what I think happened.

God, I mean Brett Favre, was willing his boy Kurt and the Cards to victory at the beginning of the game (evidenced by Arizona’s lightning fast start and seventeen point lead). But, then Favre figured the game was out of hand, so he put on a pair of Wrangler jeans and went outside to play touch football with his Labrador Retriever.

His Holiness didn’t come back inside until the beginning of overtime and promptly stuck a pin into the right hand of his Aaron Rodger’s voodoo doll.

To recap, I am 2-2 thus far in the postseason with seven games remaining. And I’m just getting warmed up.

Wildcard Weekend

My interest in the NFL begins in earnest this weekend, with the first round of the playoffs taking place on both Saturday and Sunday. With four games scheduled, it’s a great time to be a fan of the National Football League.

My last NFL playoff preview was an overwhelming success, so I figured I'd take a dip in that pool again.

As always, zero research and a severe lack of football knowledge has been used to make these picks. However, I just finished second in a US College Bowl pool, so my half-baked, ill-informed opinions must count for something.

New York Jets vs. Cincinnati Bengals

Normally, success in the playoffs depends on the ability of the quarterback. He doesn’t necessarily have to be good (How else did the Baltimore Ravens win the Super Bowl with Trent Dilfer?), he just can’t be terrible. Poor passing stats and a noodle arm don’t kills teams, interceptions and turnovers do.

If the quarterback can hang onto the ball and not do anything stupid, a good run game and a stingy defence can take care of the rest. Dirty Sanchez of the Jets and Carson Palmer of the Bengals both aren’t very good, but Palmer sucks the least.

The Pick: Cincinnati

Philadelphia Eagles vs. Dallas Cowboys

Andy Reid and Donovan McNabb have had tremendous regular season success over the last ten years, but have been unable to win the Big One. Dallas hasn’t won a playoff game since the Clinton Administration. However, ties aren’t allowed in the postseason, so one of these teams is actually going to win a playoff game.

It must be an exciting time for their respective fan bases (until the inevitable loss next week, of course).

Both Tony Romo and Donovan McNabb seem to shirk from pressure-packed situations, so I predict a low scoring affair. Who do I give the edge to? Well, Tony Romo has dated Carrie Underwood and Jessica Simpson. Donovan McNabb shoots Chunky Soup commercials with his mom.

The Pick: Dallas

Baltimore Ravens vs. New England Patriots

I literally know nothing about the Ravens except that Ray Lewis is somehow still playing (and dancing like an idiot) and that their quarterback has a unibrow.

I don’t foresee the Patriots losing a wildcard game at home, despite the loss of Wes Welker. Tom Brady has had some up and down games so far this season, but the dude flat out wins playoff games (as his three Super Bowl rings can attest).

Plus, Brady, as a gay man, would much rather spend the next month hanging out with his offensive line in the shower, instead of spending time with Gisele. Look for the Pats to go deep into the playoffs.

The Pick: New England

Green Bay Packers vs. Arizona Cardinals

This is the easiest game to pick of the weekend. Looking at the conventional data, one would assume that this will be a tightly contested affair. And sure, all the football talking heads and gambling aficionados have declared this game to be a toss up. And if you looked at the cold, hard facts, then you would be right.

You would also be an idiot. The true answer is unbelievably simple.

Who is Arizona’s quarterback? Kurt Warner. Who does Kurt Warner love the most, and vice versa? God. Who is God in human form? Brett Favre. Who is Brett Favre’s former team (from which there was an acrimonious departure)? The Green Bay Packers.

The final score might be 100-3.

The Pick: Arizona

Cooperstown Doesn't Have a Cover Charge

I don’t usually like to talk baseball during the winter months, as it makes me pine for spring during these cold, winter nights, but the results of yesterday’s Baseball Hall of Fame vote has forced me to weigh in.

First, I’m not going to denigrate the induction of Andre Dawson, in his ninth year of eligibility, into the Hall of Fame. I never saw the man play and have never really heard much about him except that he has a badass nickname: The Hawk.

Also, Dawson is the only man to win a Most Valuable Player award while languishing on a last place team (the Chicago Cubs in 1987).

From everything I’ve read, written by people much smarter than me, Andre Dawson deserves to be in the Hall of Fame.

I’d much rather discuss the players who fell short of the very strict standards imposed by the Members of the Baseball Writers’ Association of America (with 10 or more years of consecutive service).

How Robbie Alomar was not the first player to be enshrined in Cooperstown wearing a Blue Jays uniform is an absolute travesty. There is no sane explanation why Alomar did not achieve 75% of the vote.

He was the best player in the game at his position for over a decade. He was the best position player on two World Series winning teams. People bought tickets solely to watch Alomar’s offensive prowess and defensive wizardry.

That is the definition of a Hall of Famer.

Yes, he spit on an umpire. It was a reprehensible act, but one for which Alomar has expressed extreme remorse. The umpire in question, John Hirshbeck, has forgiven Alomar and they are now good friends. Hirshbeck and Alomar even raise money for charity together.

I guarantee the writers who didn’t vote for Alomar will get up on their moral high horse and point to the spitting incident for the reason for Alomar’s exclusion.

That is complete bullshit.

Ty Cobb is in the Hall of Fame and he was, by all accounts, a horrible human being. Ray Liotta, in Field of Dream, said it best: “Ty Cobb wanted to play. But none of us could stand the son of a bitch when he was alive, so we told him to stick it.”

And what about all the owners from before 1950 who made a concerted effort to bar black players from playing in the MLB? And who cheated legions of players out of respectable wages? All those assholes are in the Hall of Fame.

The Hall of Fame isn’t Heaven. Its purpose is to celebrate baseball greatness. Robbie Alomar fits that bill.

Bert Blyleven should be in Cooperstown. He has more wins and more strikeouts than any other pitcher currently not in the Hall of Fame. Although, I don’t really understand how he can garner more votes over the years, when he’s stopped playing. Either he’s a Hall of Famer or he’s not. Bert’s case shouldn’t become more favourable as time passes (which just proves the idiocy of the voters).

Truthfully, he should be inducted solely for having the greatest nickname ever bestowed by Chris Berman. Bert “Be Home” Blyleven.

Jack Morris should also be in the Hall of Fame as one the greatest big game pitchers in baseball history. He thrived in pressure-packed situations as the top dog of two World Series winning rotations (Twins and Blue Jays).

He had one of the best pitching performances in postseason history in Game 7 of the 1991 World Series. Morris threw 10 shutout innings to defeat the Atlanta Braves. He was the epitome of a workhorse.

Plus, Jack Morris gave the baseball world the greatest quote in the history of the game. When asked what he thought of female reporters being allowed in the clubhouse, Morris quipped, “The only time I want to talk to a woman when I’m naked is if I’m on top of her or she’s on top of me.”

Sheer brilliance.

Keep on Searching for a Medal of Gold

For all of you tough, manly men, who are so insecure about your sexuality that you can’t watch The Bachelor, here’s a World Junior recap to help you solidify your testosterone fuelled reading choices.

Last night’s gold medal game was one of the greatest hockey games I have ever witnessed on television. Though the outcome wasn’t desirable from the standpoint of a Canadian fan, it was a joy to watch as a fan of the sport.

The thing that struck me the most was the pace and speed of the play. The American team had some of the fastest players I’ve ever seen lace up a pair of skates. All three periods were chock full of odd man rushes and epic races to the puck. I thought Gord Miller was going to have a stroke trying to keep up with all the action.

The game had a little bit of everything: shitty goaltending (both starters looked unbelievably shaky at times) and great goaltending. Jack Campbell, the US’s back up goalie, put on an MVP calibre performance and was the primary reason his team was able to make it to the extra frame in the first place.

The Canadians fought back from a one goal deficit twice and then scored two goals in the final three minutes to send it to overtime (which, at the time, must have been horrible déjà vu for the Americans after their choke job on New Year’s Eve). Canada’s comeback brings me to my next point:

Jordan Eberle is the greatest international hockey player in Canadian history.

The kid is absolutely amazing. I never thought I would have a man crush on someone born in the 1990s, but here we are. His performance over the last two World Juniors was unbelievable and he is, undoubtedly, the epitome of a clutch player.

If I was Steve Yzerman, I might hold a spot for Eberle on the Olympic team. Just put the kid near the net late in the game and he’ll tickle the twine.

Paul Henderson now has company in the annals of Canadian hockey history.

Unfortunately, Eberle couldn’t do it all himself. He needed help and the other big guns on the team weren’t up to the task; specifically, Nazem Kadri.

I don’t understand why everyone fawns all over this kid. Yes, he’s highly talented and is great in shootouts. So am I and you don’t see me getting drafted anytime soon.

Kadri is horrible defensively, is constantly out of position and always tries to make the big hit, at the expense of the teammates he leaves hanging out to dry with his stupidity. Worst of all, Kadri thinks he’s tough guy.

Did you see the throat gesture he gave the Swiss player during the round robin? First off, maybe he should think about picking a more menacing opponent than the Swiss. They’re neutral.

Second, what are you going to do, Nazem? You’re 5’9” and weigh 150lbs. Leave the rough stuff to the real men.

Having Canada lose the gold medal game may actually be a good thing for the tournament and hockey in general. As I mentioned last week, the World Juniors were getting predictable and boring. Having the Swiss make it to the semis and having the US win gold can only mean good things for the future of international hockey.

Specifically, this could be a boon for the game in the US. We all know Americans will get behind anything in which they are the best. And right now, they are the best at Under 20 hockey. I predict greater interest in next year’s tourney from the south of the border (especially since the WJC will be held in Buffalo).

And don’t fret Canada. We still have Vancouver in February.

I Clipped My Wings of Love

There are actually three separate topics that I plan on covering today, but I doubt all three will be of interest to all of you. Therefore, I will list them in order first, and you can scroll down to the item that piques your curiosity the most.

1. Tiger Woods’ Vanity Fair cover story

2. Eric Tillman Sexual Assault

3. Monday Night TV

Tiger Woods in Vanity Fair

This is a prime example of cheap, sensationalistic journalism. Vanity Fair took photos from a shoot done months ago and packaged them with a hastily written fluff piece that draws zero interesting conclusions. Not only that, the cover photo has Tiger shirtless with a menacing glare on his face. Yeah, we get it. Tiger Woods is an awful person, no one knows the true Tiger. Blah, blah, blah.

What I don’t understand is that the thesis of the article states that Tiger Woods is a sex addict. Why is it that in today’s society we always excuse poor behaviour for an underlying condition or disorder?

If a kid misbehaves in class or doesn’t listen to teachers, he is automatically thought to have a learning disability or ADD. Maybe the kid is just an asshole because his parents did a shitty job at raising him.

Oh, little Johnny can’t read well? He must be given special treatment so he doesn’t feel like an outcast. It’s not his fault. Um, yes it is. Perhaps, little Johnny is just a moron whose eventual vocation will involve pumping gas for a living.

Tiger Woods likes to cheat on his smoking hot wife and bang skanks. So, that makes him a sex addict now? Or maybe he just thought that, as one of the world’s richest and recognizable athletes, normal rules of human decency don’t apply to him and he can do whatever he wants.

A sex addict? Let’s stop giving people excuses to make stupid decisions.

“Your Honour, I stole that money from the casino because I’m financially handicapped. If you charge me with robbery, I will sue the state for discrimination.”

(How long until the above is used, victoriously, as an excuse in court?)

Eric Tillman Pleads Guilty to Sexual Assault

When I first heard the news that Tillman, general manager of the Saskatchewan Rough Riders, had plead guilty to sexual assault, I didn’t think much of it. Here was a creepy looking dude in his forties, guilty of impropriety with a 16 year old babysitter.

However, when I learned the exact details of his indiscretion, I was at a loss for words. Apparently, Tillman went up behind the girl, put his fingers through the belt loops on her hips and pulled her towards him. And then . . .

That’s it.

What? How is that sexual assault? Yes, what he did was creepy and wrong, but there is no way that should be considered sexual assault, which is a serious crime.

If grabbing a girl’s hips is sexual assault, then I have to go consult with an attorney after I’m done here. I might be in a little bit of trouble. Has anyone in the Saskatchewan judicial system ever been to a bar on a Saturday night?

I’ve been sexually assaulted worse than that by a bouncer frisking me at the front door. On the dance floor, grabbing an unsuspecting girl’s hips is considered an appropriate icebreaker, not sexual assault.

Eric Tillman: guilty of being a creep, yes; guilty of sexual assault, not a chance.

TV Last Night

I was faced with a very difficult decision last night. My status as a man’s man hung by a thread, as I was forced to choose between watching the Fiesta Bowl and the premiere of the newest season of The Bachelor.

Not surprisingly, I chose to watch The Bachelor (but I swear I watched the game during commercials). This year’s edition features Jake as the Big Kahuna. He is one of the cast-offs from the previous season of The Bachelorette.

I don’t think I’m in the demographic ABC is looking to attract to this show. I say this because we were subject to at least 300 shots of Jake shirtless before the first commercial break. Sure, Jake has a good body. But, I have one question: does he really need to cook breakfast half naked?

Also, I could have done without the shower scene and extreme close up of his abs.

I found it hilarious when Jake said that he had a lot of first dates, but not a lot of second dates (sounds like someone I know). How surprising. Do you think maybe women get turned off when they realize you have no discernible personality, are a complete pussy and throw a football like a girl?

Enough about Jake, let’s get to the ladies looking to be Kelly McGillis to his Maverick:

- Ali is the chick who lost her voice. She is the epitome of sweet and beautiful. I would love to give her the Eric Tillman

- I really liked Elizabeth, the captain in the National Guard. She wasn’t as ‘hot’ as some of the other girls but she seemed cool and funny. The double-sided coin trick was genius.

- Rozlyn is the smoking, hot babe who everyone will end up hating. One chick already said Rozlyn was there “for the wrong reasons.” And what are the right reasons for finding a spouse on national television?

- Vienna is one of the ditzy blondes. I’m only giving her a mention here because she’s cross-eyed.

- Ella and Michelle are the stalkers. They both basically told Jake they were in love with him already. He gave them both roses. What an idiot.

- Channy was only there to meet ABC’s minority quota. And maybe to get a green card.

- Tenley got the first impression rose. I didn’t know that was a name, either. She has also only had sex with one guy and cried after she kissed Jake because she felt like a whore. I’m looking forward to more Tenley in my life.

- My favourite is Elizabeth 2. She’s the one who brought a football and wanted to test Jake’s arm with a game of catch. She wins in my book. I would have sent the other 24 ladies home immediately if she pulled that with me. Plus, she’s got HUGE boobs.

I’m very excited for the rest of the season. The teaser at the end of last night’s episode was fantastic.

I just might have to recap The Bachelor every Tuesday morning.

The Leader of the Pack

With a 22 point performance against the San Antonio Spurs last night, Chris Bosh became the Toronto Raptors all time leading scorer with 9,428 points.

To adapt a quote from Coach Ara Parseghian in Rudy: “You just summed up your entire sorry franchise here, in one instant!”

It is common knowledge that Chris Bosh is not a fan favourite here at Talkin’ with Tewks; in fact, I’m quite certain that Bosh is a charter member of the 'People I Hate in Sports' club. For the record, I do think that Bosh is a good basketball player. He is a perfectly serviceable big man, who can give you 20 and 10 a night.

However, he is not a franchise player, nor should he be counted to lead a team. Bosh is much too soft and complacent to be a truly dominating force in the NBA. He’s also not nearly as good at the game as he thinks he is. This can be blamed partly on the Toronto sports media, who have built Bosh up to the point where Raptor fans (and Bosh) think he’s one of the top 5 players in the league.

Not a chance.

Therein lays the problem with the Toronto Raptors organization. It is a franchise that breeds mediocrity and lauds average efforts and results. After Bosh made the basket to take the franchise lead over Vince Carter, the crowd went absolutely bonkers.

Not only that, announcers Matt Devlin and Leo Rautins all but requested the game to be postponed, so a ticker tape parade could be thrown in Bosh’s honour.

Really? You’re deifying a guy who has never led the team to a playoff series win. What’s more, it’s pathetic that the franchise record for points isn’t even in five digits. Kobe Bryant scores 10,000 points in a little over four seasons. The Raptors have been around since 1995. You do the math.

However, I am glad that Bosh is erasing Vince Carter from the top of the franchise’s record books. At least Bosh puts forth an honest effort (see? I’m doing the same thing as Raptor fans; making excuses for a middling talent. The idea that a professional athlete has to be complimented for trying hard sickens me).

Carter would stop working once he started sweating. It made him feel ‘icky’. Vince Carter will always be the genital wart on the foreskin of Raptors team history. Sure, it can lie dormant and you might forget about it from time to time, but it will always be there.

A closer look at the Raptors record book shows the following name as the fourth all time leading scorer in team history: Doug Christie. DOUG CHRISTIE!!

This is a guy who isn’t even allowed to use the bathroom without his wife’s permission, and only three players in FRANCHISE HISTORY have scored more points than he did. That is the definition of depressing. Did Doug Christie even play with the Raptors after Y2K?

Raptor fans have to stop being willing to accept such a mediocre product. MLSE has no incentive to make the team better if you keep showing up and spending all your money (I could basically write the exact same column about the Leafs over the past fifteen years).

What a horrible time to be a Toronto sports fan.

2010: The Year of Tewks

I don't make New Year's resolutions. They are for Communists and people with weak constitutions.

I do, however, make New Year's predictions. My prediction for 2010 is that I will take the world by storm (or at least a light drizzle).

Whether it will be in the writing, lifting or performance genre, I'm not sure; but I do know that I am expecting big things from myself in the next 12 months.

I am starting the new year off with a bang. I just finished the first draft of my baseball fiction novel. All that's left to do is to find a publisher and watch millions of dollars flood into my bank account.

As my belated Christmas gift, I am providing you with a new book excerpt. This one is not baseball related, but instead follows a group of minor league teammates out for a night on the town.

Enjoy.

A group of Tigers occupied a back table filled with pitchers of ice cold beer and piping hot wings on the patio of Bobby’s Restaurant and Lounge. Overlooking the Atlantic on Ocean Drive, Bobby’s was a great place for the players to relax in relative anonymity. About a mile north of the Riomar Country Club, the bar catered to upscale clientele looking for a middle class experience.

Joining Tewks and Anderson were Gretzpo, Chris Seaboard and JR Coltrane, a starting pitcher from Thousand Oaks, California. The conversation stuck to baseball while the guys ate, but as the food cleared and the pitchers of beer sunk to dangerously low levels (only to be replenished by their increasingly attractive waitress), they began to take notice of some of the female ‘talent’ around them.

“Oh shit, look at that one,” Gretzpo nodded towards the entrance.

A raven-haired beauty swiveled her shapely hips across the patio towards their table. She wore a tiny pair of denim jean shorts that would make Daisy Duke blush. The shorts were perched atop a statuesque pair of silky smooth, olive skinned legs. Upstairs, she wore a dangerously tight, yellow spaghetti strap shirt which barely concealed her bountiful breasts. Her cup literally runneth over.

Gretzpo stared at Miss Duke with his mouth agape: the rest of the boys used a bit more discretion but there was no denying that she was absolutely gorgeous. She also knew exactly what she was doing. An alluring smile pasted to her face, Miss Duke confidently strode past the Tigers and joined her two friends, also possessing attributes sought by the superficial male, at a nearby table.

Anderson whistled and shook his head. “A broad like that will get you in all kinds of trouble.’

Prying their gazes away from the three Sirens, the guys embarked on a time-honoured tradition and requisite of male bonding: the trading of sex stories. Quickly, the stories devolved into a juvenile game of one-upmanship similar to fisherman telling tales of fish caught. ‘I swear to God, it was this big!’

Gretzpo was the only one not participating in the discussion; not because he didn’t have any stories, but he was completely transfixed by Miss Duke and her friends.

“Jesus, Gretzpo, at least blink. She’ll think you’re a serial killer,” Tewks quipped to his roommate.

“I love this chick,” Gretzpo replied hungrily.

At that moment, the three ladies got up, checked to make sure every pair of male eyes was honed on them, and strutted into the bar to terrorize the dance floor.

Seaboard leaned across the table and smacked Gretzpo in the shoulder. “Hey Bonus Baby, you’re going to have to bring out your wallet to seal this deal.”
"You sure you can handle this?” Coltrane inquired sarcastically.
“Fuck you guys, I’m going in.” With that, Gretzpo jumped up from his seat and bounded into the bar.
Tewks shook his head and smiled. “The kid’s got balls, I’ll give him that.”

Fifteen minutes later, the patio door burst open and Gretzpo stepped through the threshold with a megawatt grin stapled to his boyish face. Miss Duke and her gal pals trailed close behind like he was the Pied Piper leading rats to the river.

The guys exchanged glances in astonished wonder, impressed at the game of their brash teammate. Gretzpo and his new friends joined the Tigers at their table. The sequence of events became clear when their waitress emerged onto the patio, carrying a tray full of shots and set it down in front of the group.

Gretzpo whipped out his credit card in an elaborate gesture and handed it to the waitress. The display of plastic and copious amount of drinks was not lost on the ladies. They had found their meal ticket for the night.

Gretzpo passed out seven shots and kept one for himself; this barely made a dent in the tray. Things were going to get messy.

“What is this, tequila?” asked Coltrane.
“Yeah buddy. Patron.” Gretzpo shot a look to the ladies. “Only the good stuff.”
As the group brought the shots to their lips, Tewks wavered. “Shit I can’t do tequila anymore. It wrecked me in college.”
Gretzpo admonished him. “Come on Tewks, don’t be a pussy. This isn’t your college bullshit tequila; it goes down smooth.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.”

Miss Duke, privy to the conversation from her spot across from Tewks, unsteadily rose out of her chair and leaned suggestively over the table. She flashed him her most devastating smile. “Oh just have some shots with us. We’re lots of fun.”

Her chest was directly at Tewks’ eye level. He considered her for a moment, studying the intricate details of her yellow shirt.

Tewks looked at Anderson to his left and said with a conceding shrug, “How can I say no to that face?” He slammed the shot down his throat and signaled Gretzpo to give him another.

I will be back on Monday, as I won't be coherent enough to post anything tomorrow.

Happy New Year!!!

Sherlock Holmes, I Presume

Yesterday’s discussion on the lack of excitement at the World Juniors (which continued last night, with Canada’s 8-2 drubbing of the Slovaks) led Thy Drunken Rookie to weigh in on the feeling of “not having a chance” when competing in various arenas.

He said that he has never “encountered such queasy uneasiness in the sexual arena—best compliment of all time: ‘you could get any girl you want.’”

Thy Drunken Rookie only has the capacity to spout off such egotistical ramblings because I taught him everything he knows about seducing women (that was a short lesson). He was a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed teenager with no discernible game when we first met. In fact, he lacked the courage to even approach girls at the bar. It was quite pathetic.

However, through intense instruction, he learned and developed the necessary skills to become a full-fledged lady killer. And I give credit where credit’s due: guy’s a pimp. But he must not forget where he came from. Hubris is not a good colour on him.

I saw Sherlock Holmes last night.

I had no pre-conceived notions of the characters or the legend of Sherlock Holmes (evidenced by my misuse of a famous quote in the column title), as I’ve never read one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s books.

I went in fresh. That being said, I was thoroughly entertained during the entire movie. The chemistry between Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law was excellent. They played off each other very well and were completely believable in their roles.

Throughout the movie, I couldn’t help feel like I was watching a 1800s British version of an episode of House. The resemblances between Holmes and House (Hugh Laurie) are uncanny.

They are both geniuses with the ability to ‘see’ things an average person cannot. They both derive tremendous deductions from seemingly mundane circumstances. Plus, Holmes and House have wicked senses of humour, terrible bedside manner and enjoy recreational drugs.

I’m convinced that House was inspired by Sherlock Holmes in some way.

Also, Watson and Wilson (Robert Sean Leonard) are strikingly similar. They are the long-suffering best, and only friends, of Holmes and House respectively. They are the only people who can stand H and H’s presence for more than a few minutes.

The scene where Watson returns from injury and Holmes asks how he’s feeling is tremendous. Everything about their relationship and their obvious admiration for each other is said in fifteen seconds of silence.

(Actually, I just checked IMDB and apparently House is, in fact, a tribute to Sherlock Holmes. Right down to having the same apartment number. The lesson: I’m an idiot)

Back to the movie:

The action scenes were very well done and the story had just enough twists and turns to keep you guessing. However, at the end, the plot got way too convoluted and nonsensical for my liking (it was like watching Law Abiding Citizen all over again).

Also, Rachel McAdams was woefully underused. She is fantastic and her role in this film was completely useless. She didn’t need to be in it at all. However, you get to see her naked back which was more than worth the price of admission for me.

I understand and look forward to the inevitable sequel, but I like my movies to be a little more subtle when setting up for a future film. I mean, Robert Downey Junior pretty much turned to the camera and said “Stay tuned for Sherlock Holmes 2”.

We get it. You have a very profitable film franchise on your hands.

Verdict: 4 Rachel McAdams Naked Backs out of 5

World Junior Tourney Losing Its Lustre

It pains me to say this, but I fear that the World Junior Hockey Tournament has jumped the shark. Thus far, the tournament doesn’t seem to resonate as greatly on a national scale of interest as it has in past years.

I have yet to watch one minute of game action. Yes, I’ve had other things to do, but I usually make these games appointment viewing throughout the Christmas season. I am not alone, as the TV ratings have been less than stellar, and there has been a smattering of empty seats in the arena for both of Canada’s games.

The reason for this apathy stems from the widening chasm in talent levels of the have and have nots. Realistically, there are only three countries that have a chance to compete for the gold consistently every year: Canada, Russia and Sweden.

The rest of the countries aren’t even close and the disparity is growing larger every year, evidenced by the 22-0 combined score Canada laid on Latvia and the Swiss.

Does anyone even truly enjoy watching these types of games? They are boring and uneventful and the fact they are taking place at a world class event is embarrassing. As Canadians, we should be concerned for the future of this event if such landslide scores continue to be the norm.

Let me give you an example: does anyone actually take women’s international hockey seriously? Nope. Why not? Because it’s Canada and the US at the top and no one else is even close. Every year at every major event, the Canadians and Americans meet in the final. It’s boring and predictable.

No one else in the world gives two shits about women’s hockey for that reason. If a country can’t field a competitive team, why bother? Their funds earmarked for athletics can be better spent elsewhere.

The same has begun to happen in the men’s game. Not many countries can match our financial contributions to developing hockey talent or match our talent pool for prospective players. Canada has a built-in competitive advantage that cannot be matched by other teams.

The disparity is so great that it’s not worth it to the Latvias and the Switzerlands to attempt make up that advantage. Eventually, their programs and interest level will dry up, they’ll divert funds elsewhere and we’ll be stuck with a three team tournament in the next decade.

How exciting.

Sports are built on unpredictability, drama and excitement. When that disappears, so do the fans. There’s a reason why there’s such a buzz in the air for the Olympics in February. We didn’t even medal in Turin in 2006. No one knows what’s going to happen in six week’s time. Will we redeem our hockey pride? Can anyone stop the Russians?

The only question mark surrounding the Canadian World Junior team is, ‘will they ever break a sweat in the third period?’ Snore.

Hopefully the intensity level picks up when we face the Americans on New Year’s Eve (I don’t hold out hope for Slovakia to give us a challenge tonight).

Undefeated No Longer

Can someone please explain to me how yesterday’s loss to the New York Jets helps the Indianapolis Cots in their pursuit of a Super Bowl victory?

The idiotic move by the Colts management to remove Peyton Manning and their top defensive players midway through the third quarter was made under the guise of ‘resting’ their big guns for the playoffs.

These guys are professional athletes for Christ’s sakes! They should be able to play all sixteen games of the regular season. The New York Jets are fighting for their playoff lives; you didn’t see Rex Ryan giving Dirty Sanchez the fourth quarter off.

What a terrible message this decision sends to Indy fans. Thousands of them spent their hard earned money to come watch the team’s quest for perfection and they were forced to watch the Colts give away a victory.

And that’s all it was. A complete giveaway.

Yesterday’s defeat doesn’t ‘get rid of the pressure of a perfect season’, nor does it ‘alleviate the strain on your first string’; or even ‘give your scrubs some playing time just in case’ (who gives a shit about the playing time of backup players anyway; this isn’t peewee. A disgruntled father isn’t going to pull little Jimmy off the team because he’s not getting any action).

All the loss does is eliminate any momentum the Colts had heading into the New Year. The positive mojo Indianapolis acquired over their impressive regular season win streak has been destroyed with one bone-headed managerial decision.

It would be one thing if the Colts played the scrubs for the entire game and still lost. But Indy was clinging to a tenuous lead when they decided to throw in the towel and, for a lack of a better word, quit (and that’s what they did; you can’t convince me otherwise).

I’m glad Colts fans voiced their displeasure so vehemently. Because I was feeling all warm and fuzzy from the Christmas season, I almost felt bad for the derisive booing fostered upon Indy’s backup quarterback, Curtis Painter.

Then I put myself into the position of a paying customer and realized, ‘Would I want to pay 50 bucks a ticket to watch some guy who should be bagging groceries at Wal-Mart instead of playing quarterback in the NFL?’

Indianapolis was on the precipice of greatness and was feared by every team in the AFC. Now, they’re going to play their second string again next week, have a bye week after that, and then face a hungry opponent on a hot streak in the divisional round.

Peyton Manning and the high-octane Colts offence won’t have another meaningful snap for three weeks. That does not bode well for a team which depends so greatly on the machinations of a well-oiled passing game.

Tis The Season To Lift Heavy

Most people use Christmas Eve as an excuse to drink and eat to excess and sit around on their ass all day. I, on the other hand, have a Christmas Eve tradition that involves me, and a rotating group of friends, throwing some serious iron around.

Every year, I have an impromptu lifting competition on this day against my previous year's self and anyone else who has the huevos to join me.

The competition is a one rep max back squat, a one rep max strict press and a one rep max deadlift. This is better known as the Crossfit Total. You add the three weights together to get your score. If you can achieve a score over 1000, you are a complete badass. Anything above 900 and you are well on your way to having your posterior chain registered as a lethal weapon.

One caveat about the squat. I am talking about a true, deep, below parallel squat. To achieve this depth, the crease of your hip must be below your knees in the bottom of your squat. Anything above that and your lift does not count.

This will come as a complete shock to the globogym meatheads who are partial to inflating their squat totals by restricting range of motion. You know the guys I'm talking about. They load up a barbell with 405, put it on their back, bend their knees five times and say they can squat 405 for five reps. Um, I don't think so, fellas.

A quick tip from Tewks: 95% of the time, when a guy from a big box gym tells you how much he can squat, automatically take off 100-150lbs off of his answer. This rule does not apply for any Crossfitter.

The other part of my tradition involves watching two movies to get myself psyched up: Rocky Balboa and Rambo 4. That's right, Christmas Eve around the Tewks household is a testosterone and carnage fest. I usually tell women to stay at least 50 feet from me at all times today, because the 'eau de man' emanating from my sweat glands is enough to get you pregnant.

Check back around 3pm for my lifting results.

Update:

I had a total score of 900. A 315lb back squat, 155lb shoulder press and a 430lb deadlift. Plus, I got three girls pregnant. 

This is my last post of the week. 

Merry Christmas to all of my readers and I will be back with a vengeance on Monday.

A bientot.

Searching For Six

I just wanted to quickly touch on the comments from Monday’s article. I need that first one translated into English, but I’m slightly concerned that the result will be a recipe for dog burgers.

I’d like to thank Thy Drunken Rookie for his kind words and book suggestion, but I will ask that, in the future, he refrain from using words I don’t know.

What the fuck does ‘epistemological’ mean?

The World Junior Hockey Championships begin on Boxing Day with the best players under the age of 20 vying for hockey supremacy.

The tournament is always one of my favourite traditions of the Christmas season. We rally around these kids, ensconced in a patriotic fervour only surpassed by the Olympics. It also helps that Canada is pretty much a lock to be in the gold medal game every single year.

This year’s team is striving for Canada’s sixth straight gold medal. For some reason, the World Juniors are taking place in Canada again, which hardly seems fair to the other countries, but who really gives a shit?

If you can’t be xenophobic during the holidays, when can you be?

It is this national pride that leads me to today’s column topic. If I’m eligible to play in this tournament, I’m playing no matter what (and judging from my hockey skills on that video I posted a while back, my only detriment in not suiting up for Canada is my age).

This is why I can’t understand that every year Canada fails to dress its top players as there are always a few tournament-eligible players playing their rookie season in the NHL.

I understand that the NHL is ultimate goal of every youngster to lace up a pair of skates in this country, but that doesn’t mean they can’t take two weeks off at Christmas for one more chance at World Junior glory.

A quick and less than thorough search has given me the following list of players who could play for Team Canada on Saturday, but are currently on NHL rosters: Ryan O’Reilly and Matt Duchene of the Colorado Avalanche, Tyler Myers of the Buffalo Sabres, Michael Del Zotto of the New York Rangers and John Tavares of the New York Islanders.

That is quite a bit of firepower that Canada could have at its disposal. That could be your number one power play unit for Christ’s sakes!

Obviously, NHL teams are reticent to loan out their valuable assets for the tournament, but wouldn’t it be prudent for these kids’ development to be the alpha dogs for Team Canada instead of playing ho-hum regular season NHL games at the end of December?

I would think playing in the pressure cooker that is the World Juniors and having the expectations of a nation on your shoulders would be a boon for these players’ progress into bonafide NHL stars.

You can play in the NHL for 20 years; you only have a finite number of chances to represent your country at this tournament.

I would love for one of these guys to stand up and say that they want to suit up for Canada on Saturday. National pride and patriotism seems to be at an all time low in this country. We need to get that back.

Unfortunately, a couple of Russians are leading the way. I love the declaration by Alex Ovechkin and Evgeni Malkin that they will take a break from the NHL to represent Russia at the 2014 Olympics in Sochi (whether NHL players participate or not). Consequences and forfeited salary be damned.

That’s a fantastic precedent set for national pride and hopefully some of our boys follow suit.

Go Canada Go!

I Hate Mike Fisher

Carrie Underwood is engaged.

Really?

This is the news I have to wake up to this morning?

This, after I spent yesterday pouring my heart out in tribute to a beloved pet—not only that, but I spent an entire column two weeks ago professing my love to Ms. Underwood.

Come on!!!!

Call me old-fashioned, but I do not appreciate my future wife getting engaged to someone else. I don’t understand why she would break my heart like this.

What? I’ve never met her before and she has no idea who am I?

Well, be that as it may, I am still a human being with feelings and stalker-like tendencies. I could have at least been consulted before that dickwad Fisher took it public when pressed by reporters yesterday.

I don’t really know who Mike Fisher is, but I suppose he must be a somewhat decent guy if my Carrie has decided to shack up with him.

Unfortunately, I am a small, petty man, so I am going to try a little experiment to see how powerful this World Wide Web truly is.

In this era of sensationalistic journalism, even the most ridiculous and untrue stories can have a brief stay in the mainstream media consciousness. Therefore, I have just been handed a hot little rumour from my spy in Ottawa.

He tells me that “Mike Fisher has been caught cheating with a Kanata-area Tim Horton’s employee.”

I repeat “Mike Fisher has been caught cheating with a Kanata-area Tim Horton’s employee. And she has the texts to prove it.”

There we go. Now, all I have to do is wait for this post to make it onto the gossip websites, have Carrie find out and go all Before He Cheats on Mr. Fisher’s Ford F150.

I love the internet.

I suppose I should at least pretend that I’m following the world of sports, so how about that Marty Brodeur? He has officially established himself as the greatest goaltender to have ever played the game with his record setting 104th career shutout (to go along with the record for wins and games played).

Why is it that Brodeur doesn’t have the same media cache as Patrick Roy? Is it because Roy is an attention-seeking blowhard and Brodeur is a consummate professional who keeps his mouth shut and goes to work everyday?

That, friends, is what is called a rhetorical question.

I actually just looked up some stats (Wikipedia) and Brodeur has completely re-written the goalie record book. The guy is #1 in everything, but he also seems to somehow be slightly underrated.

Also, do you realize that the Vancouver Olympics will be Brodeur’s fourth? And third as an integral part of the team (he didn’t dress in Nagano). Undoubtedly, he will be the number one guy in February because, at 37, he is on pace to have one of his best seasons statistically.

Martin Brodeur. Greatness personified.

I still hate Mike Fisher.

We’ve got a ‘Situation’ On Our Hands

Sometimes, a television show comes along that transcends the entertainment medium and, instead, provides gripping social commentary and a blueprint for how a functional, well-adjusted, human community should operate.

MTV’s Jersey Shore is that show.

For example, I had always been under the impression that life is a complex journey with many twists and turns, highs and lows and infinite possibilities that depend on the myriad of choices you make every day.

I was so wrong. Last night I learned that the only things that truly matter in life are the ability to tan (either the solar or fake variety), regularly get a haircut and do bicep curls until my arms resemble cured hams. Who knew life was so simple?

I also learned that having clothed intercourse on the dance floor, with someone who is not my significant other, doesn’t necessarily constitute cheating because it depends on the type of music playing over the sound system. “House” music appears to offer some sort of diplomatic immunity.

(Tigers Woods could have used this morsel of knowledge. “I know I slept with 14 women, Elin, but we were listening to House music the entire time. It doesn’t count.”)

You are only truly cool if you have a nickname. Bonus points if you give that nickname to yourself.

If I lift my shirt up at the bar, exposing my orange, hairless chest, women will flock to me like bees to honey.

Instead of saying you had sex with a girl, it is more gentlemanly to say that you “smushed” her.

Hair gel is my friend.

Fist-pumping is the only acceptable form of dance.

If you are a girl and have hair extensions, fake eyelashes, fake nails, a fake tan, fake boobs, abhor underwear and have a looseness in both your morals and your, uh, ‘downstairs’ area, then you are deemed a ‘slut’ and or a ‘skank’. If you are a girl and possess all of the above, but live in a house that is filmed by TV cameras, then you are a ‘cool chick.’

Philosophers like Voltaire, Descartes and Rousseau were ignorant compared to the genius of the one, the only, Mike “The Situation.”

I missed the first episode of Jersey Shore, but I believe the Situation refers to his impressively defined abs. But he also calls himself the Situation. So, I think he’s a Situation within a Situation. But he also gets involved in situations where the Situation plays a role in getting the Situation into the situation in the first place.

Make sense?

The Situation (the person) is one of the most fascinating personalities on television. He is so completely and utterly cocky and overconfident that it’s awe-inspiring to watch. However, he’s far from one dimensional.

This confident façade is just a complete overcompensation for rampant insecurity. The guy vacillates back and forth so quickly between cocky and pathetic; it would warrant an acting award was it not so painfully real.

Trying to pick up women is where this dichotomy comes out in full force. The Situation tries to play the suave, cool, “I don’t give a shit” asshole when talking to girls at bars. This is a fantastic game and it works beautifully in the right hands, but he’s too insecure to make it believable.

If the girl exhibits any trepidation in coming back to the house for a ‘Jacuzzi’, he immediately starts whining and begging the girl to go home with him. But in the next instant, he’ll tell the girl he doesn’t care what she does, it’s her loss to not experience the Situation (the person or the abs or the act of sex, I’m not quite sure).

He switches back and forth so quickly and convincingly between both characters, I’m convinced he has bipolar disorder.

All the Situation talks about is how skilled he is at picking up women. True, he’s brought a few girls back to the house, but I think that has more to do with cameras being present than the Situation’s flirting ability. He tries a little too hard to let us know that he’s a ladies man. Methinks he doth protest too much.

The surprise twist I’m betting on for the finale: The Situation will reveal that he enjoys male on male situations.

He made a fan for life when he described the bar scene using a military analogy. When he described he and his douchebag buddies as soldiers and ugly girls as grenades, I lost it. It was like reading Shakespeare for the first time.

Here was his exact quote: “Pauly D. was with the grenade. When you go into battle, you need to have some friends with you, so that just in case a grenade gets thrown at you, one of your buddies takes it first.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

(Also, there’s a Jersey Shore nickname generator. I dare you not to enter your name. Mine was “Hard Hat”)

In Pursuit of Perfection

The Indianapolis Colts play the Jacksonville Jaguars tonight on NBC’s Thursday Night Football. The Colts, having won 22 consecutive regular season games, look to run this season’s record to 14-0.

For the past few weeks, I’ve had to listen to football pundits tirelessly debate the pros and cons of going for a perfect season. I don’t understand why there is even a discussion in the first place. As my good friend Herm Edwards posited, “You play to win the game!”

The entire point of the sport is to have more points than the other team when the clock reads 0:00. It’s that simple.

You don’t play hard for thirteen games and then coast into the playoffs. I don’t care that Indianapolis has already clinched home field advantage throughout the postseason, that doesn’t mean you take your foot off the throttle now.

The case for resting your starters now, in supposedly ‘meaningless’ games, is a classic example of sports people over-thinking an easy decision (luckily, we don’t have that problem here at Talkin’ with Tewks).

The thought process is that you are risking injury by playing your starters in games that have no effect on playoff seeding. Peyton Manning could get hit by a car crossing the street tomorrow; does this mean backup quarterback Jim Sorgi should be doing all of Manning’s walking until Indy’s first playoff game?

There is something to be said for staying sharp and getting game reps right up until the playoffs begin. The Colts went 13-0 in 2005, clinched home field advantage and then rested all of their big guns until the playoffs. What happened? Indy lost 3 of their last 4 games and was eliminated in the divisional playoffs by the Steelers.

Also, why is it that every year some team barely squeaks into the playoffs with stellar late season play and then wreaks havoc on the postseason? Look at the Arizona Cardinals last year. They rode a hot, late December run all the way to the Super Bowl. Why? Because they peaked at the right time.

Is Indianapolis’ coaching staff really so conceited to think that they can turn it back on again once the playoffs roll around?

There’s the magic of history and legendary status at stake here as well. Can you name the last ten Super Bowl winners? Nope? Neither can I.

Can you name the teams who have finished the regular season with unblemished records? The 1972 Miami Dolphins and the 2008 New England Patriots. That’s the list. That’s it. Are you telling me Peyton Manning doesn’t want his Colts to join that list?

Come on Indy, go for the perfect season.

Black Wednesday

I don’t even know what to say. The day has finally arrived. I have been preparing for this moment for the past six months, but it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.

Roy Halladay is no longer a Toronto Blue Jay.

I should have written about this yesterday, but the deal hadn’t yet been confirmed, and I still held a glimmer of hope that Halladay’s agent wouldn’t be able to negotiate a contract extension and the deal would fall through.

Obviously, that was not the case. I don’t want to turn today’s column into a dissection of the deal (although, I am shocked that the Jays were unable to get ONE major league ready player in exchange for the best pitcher in baseball). Instead, this is a tribute to Roy: the greatest pitcher in Toronto Blue Jays history.

What can I say about Roy Halladay? Here’s what I wrote about him back in July:

He has been nothing short of amazing during his 10 or so years with the Jays’ organization. Halladay is a consummate professional, a warrior on the mound and has been a terrific ambassador for city of Toronto.

He has taken the ball every five days, pitched in front of shit teams, mediocre teams and decent teams without ever once complaining about a lack of run support. The guy throws over 200 innings a year and has been invaluable in showing Jays’ prospects how to properly prepare for a start and hone their craft.

That’s the thing about Roy. Not only is he a great pitcher, but he is a throwback to a different era, when players were tough and pitchers finished what they started. Pitchers are given a bad rap these days--described as self-absorbed, injury prone, prima donnas who care more about personal stats and money, rather than winning games.

Doc wants to win, period. I can’t wait to see him pitch in meaningful games in September and October. Baseball fans were impressed with the playoff performances of Cliff Lee? They haven’t seen anything yet. Halladay will throw gems on three days rest the entire postseason if he has to.

I have always thought of myself as a Jays fans, but this trade has me seriously questioning my loyalty. Halladay has far and away been my favourite Jay over the last decade. He’s my favourite pitcher to watch in all of baseball. I planned my social calendar around his starts.

Who am I supposed to cheer for now? Vernon Wells? Lyle Overbay? Ricky Romero? Dear God.

Most Toronto fans are glad he’s out of the division. Me, I wish he was still in the American League, so I could watch him pitch more often.

I’ll watch the Jays this year, but I don’t know if I’ll live and die with the games as I’ve done before. However, I guarantee I’ll be constantly checking for Phillies updates all summer long.

Honestly, I think Doc was underappreciated by Toronto baseball fans. He isn’t flashy and didn’t ring up gaudy strikeout totals, and he was always somewhat guarded in interviews. He doesn’t have a sparkling personality and I think some people had a hard time relating to him.

Halladay doesn’t play baseball to provide pithy quotes. He plays because he loves the game and he possesses a mastery of his craft that was truly a treat to watch every fifth day. As a pitcher myself, it was an honour watching Roy attack hitters, make guys hit his pitches and have complete command of the strikezone.

Doc personifies everything a pitcher should strive to be and more.

I have nothing to more say about him, as words cannot accurately describe what Roy Halladay meant to me as a baseball fan. Therefore, once again, allow Tina Turner to take over for me.

Roy Halladay. Simply the best.

Tiger Will Be Back Sooner Than Later

It appears that I have to, once again, be the voice of reason in the ongoing Tiger Woods saga. Before I address his “indefinite leave of absence” from the game of golf, allow me the opportunity to comment on the developments over the past week or so.

The mistress tally is now up to 14 ladies and counting. At this point, does it really matter anymore? Once it became public that he cheated on his wife more than once, the damage was done. One infidelity he could shrug off as an egregious lapse in judgment; multiple women are proof that he’s a serial adulterer.

I will say one thing for Tiger though. If he was going to cheat (ignore the moral and ethical dilemma for a moment), I suppose he might as well get his money’s worth. Go big or go home.

However, I do have a problem with the quality of his mistresses: a litany of cocktail waitresses, porn stars, hookers and other stereotypes typical of white trash. One of the girls is a Perkins waitress for Christ’s sakes!

Are you kidding me, Tiger? I could have sex with a Perkins waitress and I’m a nobody (albeit an extremely handsome one). You’re Tiger Woods. Global Icon. Billionaire athlete. I think you can do a little better than Perkins. Maybe IHOP?

Apparently, Tiger and Elin have run off to Sweden to escape the media circus and to try to repair their relationship. Once Tiger publicly admitted his infidelities, this was the smartest decision he could make. Get out of the country and allow the media maelstrom to blow over (which it will).

I’ve had to listen to a lot of people (mostly women) say that Tiger’s endorsement career is over, he will never recover from this scandal, and, even, he will never play golf again. Wrong, wrong, and unbelievably wrong.

Did Tiger commit a crime? No. Did he do something bad? Yes. Did he do something that dozens of people in the public eye have done before? Absolutely (the former President of the United States to name one!).

Sure, he’s going to lose some endorsements over this (which he already has), but they have been extraneous and have nothing to do with golf. He will be a Nike pitchman for as long as he wants to be. He is too valuable to their golf brand.

Does Tiger even need endorsement money? All told, he made $100 million last year. Let’s say he invested 10 percent ($10 million) into a savings account that provides 1 percent interest each month. That means he receives $100,000 EVERY month for doing absolutely nothing. I don’t think Tiger will need money anytime soon.

Will he recover from the scandal? Kobe Bryant was accused of rape, and also cheated on his wife five years ago. He now has the best selling jersey in the NBA. Michael Vick went to jail for 18 months because he killed dogs. He is back in the NFL and received a standing ovation when he returned to Atlanta to play the Falcons earlier this month.

A lot of women think that Tiger’s “indefinite leave of absence” means that he will play golf again only when Elin gives him the go ahead. Not a chance, but that’s exactly what he wants the general populace to believe.

Tiger was put on this Earth to do one thing: win golf tournaments (and maybe have sex with lots of women). Do you realize there are no tournaments that Tiger regularly plays in until February? He has a self imposed leave of absence every year at this time.

Maybe he’ll push his return back a little bit, but I guarantee he will play in The Masters in April at Augusta. If Tiger doesn’t play in The Masters, I will donate $100 to the Human Fund: Money for People.

In his career, he has only missed a major championship due to injury. If he is physically capable of playing in April, then he will be there. Nothing will stop Tiger on his quest to break Jack Nicklaus’ record of 18 major titles.

Self Promotion at its Finest

A quick addendum to Friday’s column about Jamie Campbell: avid reader, CSzem, commented that we SHOULD be attacking Campbell’s character. CSzem states that if Jamie Campbell “was really a good person, as you suggest, he would have resigned years ago, so I didn’t have to listen to him. So, I’m going to assume he’s as much a jerk as he is an abomination to broadcasting.”

I’m inclined to agree with CSzem’s logic, however, let’s look at this from Jamie Campbell’s perspective. You travel around with the Blue Jays all summer and get to watch baseball for a living. You’re friendly with the players, you fly first class and stay in the best hotels.

You have a dream job for a baseball fan. I don’t care how nice you are, there’s no incentive for you to quit, even if thousands of fans want you gone.

Let me use a personal analogy. Do I know what I’m doing in the bedroom? Not a chance. Do I know how to please a woman? Nope. But I’m still somehow able to sleep with members of the opposite sex.

Even though the girls aren’t getting any pleasure, what’s the incentive for me to stop sleeping with them? Sure, I’m doing the female gender a huge disservice and leaving legions of women disappointed, but I’m not about to quit the romance game. Why would I? I have the dream job.

So, basically I’m the Jamie Campbell of the casual dating scene.

Now, an introduction to today’s self-promotion: my readers know me as Tewks, an immature man-child who enjoys “all you can eat” ribs and pink lemonade. However, that is just my blog persona. My Superman, if you will.

The following clip is an example of my real world, Clark Kent persona. It’s from a segment I host on local television called “Can I Do That?” where I visit different sports teams and clubs to see if I have what it takes to do what they do.

Enjoy.

(Yes, this is just a thinly veiled excuse to not come up with a regular topic today).