The Ultimate Fighter

I hate computers.

I hate them with a passion.

I just wrote a terrific, humourous piece on the UFC and my fat little fingers accidentally deleted the entire thing.

I hate blogger.com, I hate the QWERTY keyboard, I hate everything.

I'm not writing it over again because I am too depressed. Twenty minutes of hard work down the shitter.

Go back and read archived articles to get your Tewks fix today.

I'm going to drink myself into oblivion.

If I'm still alive and have a functioning liver, I'll be back on Monday.

Otherwise, it's been fun.

Fuck.

Ballard Named Marlins New Hitting Coach

What a weird week for the National Hockey League.

A rash of freak injuries has overshadowed a great regular season thus far. Joe Corvo, of the Carolina Hurricanes, had his calf slashed open by an errant skate and is expected to miss 8-12 weeks (oddly enough, this is the same injury suffered by Hurricanes' number one goalie, Cam Ward).

It's surprising lacerations like that don't occur more often, considering every player in the game is skating around on two razor sharp blades. I always cringe when guys are checked ass over tea kettle into the bench and their skate blades fly towards unprotected faces like the guillotine favoured by the Jacobins during their Reign of Terror (where else on the web do you get equal doses of comedy and references to the French Revolution?).

Maple Leafs goaltender Jonas Gustavsson was removed from a game against the Montreal Canadiens on Tuesday due to concerns about his elevated heart rate. The precaution taken by the Leafs organization was understandable considering the ablation procedure Gustavsson underwent during training camp to fix his abnormal heart rate.

What I don't understand is that the concern this time was for his elevated heart rate. I mean, the guy is playing professional hockey--it's not like he's having a spot of tea and playing Internet scrabble. I would expect his heart rate to be elevated throughout the course of the game.

I was stapled to the bench for the majority of my hockey career, so my heart rate rarely got above resting levels, but I would imagine these guys are pushing the outer limits of their aerobic capacity, thus an elevated heart rate should be the norm.

The weirdest injury of the week was undoubtedly Keith Ballard's two handed baseball swing upside the head of Tomas Vokoun, his OWN goaltender. What was he thinking? Check it out here. The amazing thing is that Ballard doesn't even seem fazed that he almost decapitated his goalie. He just skates away like nothing happened.

If he did that to an opposing player, he would be suspended for the rest of the season and would probably face criminal charges. Luckily, Vokoun was not seriously injured. Should the Panthers discipline Ballard internally?

He should at least have to sit out one game for being a moron.

I'd love to hear a conversation between Elin Woods and Keith Ballard discussing proper swing mechanics. They are like the Ted Williams and Joe Dimaggio of assaults with a deadly weapon.

Ballard looks to be more of a line drive, singles type hitter with that flat, downward swing plane. Whereas I'm sure Elin has more of power hitter's uppercut capable of reaching the windshield of a Cadillac Escalade.

And, of course, Ballard is a purist who likes to hit with wood and Elin prefers the sweet ping of metal for added distance and power (not to mention rearranging the facial symmetry of a cheating husband).

The (Wandering) Eye of the Tiger

I didn't plan on writing about Tiger again today, but I don't mind for two reasons: my fantastically shrewd column title and the opportunity to post another picture of Mrs. Woods (truthfully, her prone to violence only makes me more attracted to her. She must be a spitfire in the boudoir).

Well, I was correct in two assertions I made in yesterday's column:

1. For the following passage: "This is what I really think happened with Tiger. He probably has stepped out in the past, but there were media rumours of a dalliance with a lady Down Under, so Elin rightfully lost her mind and probably beat the shit out of him."

Lo and behold, out of the woodwork comes other women claiming to have been at the business end of Tiger's flatstick.

2. That my female readers would be upset with me. Their vitriol was especially impressive. It felt like I was attending a taping of The View. Ladies, stop waving your ovaries around like 17th century weapons of mass destruction, and allow me a chance to rebut your comments.

Also, where were my male counterparts coming to my defense? For awhile there, the only guy to make a comment, Allan, wished me bodily harm. Methinks he should spend a little more time working on his weightlifting and a little less time on the internet.

Luckily, I had my boy Dwight from Scranton come to my aid with some positive feedback and regular reader He Who Hits Bombs weigh in on the estrogen fest.

Rambo brought up an interesting hypothetical. If roles were reversed, is it socially acceptable for female professional athletes to take part in the same behaviour? I will answer your question with another question. Is there such thing as a female professional athlete?

Women are attracted to money, fame and power. Men are attracted to looks (broad generalizations yes, but bear with me). I don't know any guy who wants to have sex with Hayley Wickenhesier or some 6'5" mutant from the WNBA.

Bestie, I have to agree with HWHB. When you brought up the "sanctity of marriage", I tuned out. Really? That's what your basing your argument on? Listen up Ann Coulter, leave the religious babble to the talking heads on Fox News.

K-Star pretty much summarized what everyone was trying to say and, for the record, I agree with it: "if you don't want a commitment, don't get married." It's a salient point.

As Marie Antoinette said, you can't have your cake and eat it too.

Look at George Clooney. He has been with hundreds of chicks (undoubtedly a few have overlapped) and women still love the guy. He is living the dream and apparently plans to stay a bachelor for the rest of his life.

I've never understood why so many 21 and 22 year old baseball players get married so young. That's like going to the Mandarin for dinner, seeing different food options as far as the eye can see, and deciding to stick with the sweet and sour chicken balls.

Broaden your horizons, fellas. There's plenty of time to get married and do the family thing once your career's over. Plus, this way you'll avoid getting beat up by your wife at 2:30 in the morning on Thanksgiving.

Good work everyone.

Catch a Tiger By His Tail

I planned on waiting to weigh in on the Tiger Woods situation until all the facts had been determined but, if respected national publications like the New York Times have no problem pouring gasoline on the rumour mill fires, why should I?

They have journalism ethics to worry about; I just have to remember to cover up my man area before I go outside to get the mail.

Tiger, Tiger, Tiger. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

There are two possible stories circulating around the Web but both involve one established fact. Woods was involved in a single vehicle crash in his driveway when he struck both a fire hydrant and a tree.

There are only four possible ways a person could drive so badly: drunk, medicated, injured, pissed off, or some combination of all four. That's it. No person under normal circumstances could pull off such an an accomplished feat of terrible driving (unless it was a woman driver--Ba-dum-cha!)

After the accident, one story has us believing that Tiger's wife Elin smashed the rear window of his SUV to extract Tiger from the vehicle. I'm not a paramedic or trained in emergency services, but if your goal is to extract someone from the FRONT seat, why are you smashing the back window?

The other story is that the window was smashed BEFORE the accident as a result of a domestic dustup between Tiger and his Swedish wife. I wish there was some way the Florida Highway Patrol could figure out how to use a time stamp/CSI wizardry to determine the time of the window smash. Maybe get that math nerd from Numb3rs to come up with some complex club velocity/distance travelled by broken glass logarithm.

Why was Tiger in such a hurry to leave his Orlando residence? There are rumours of possible infidelity on his part. If that's the case, then maybe his reported facial lacerations didn't result from the accident but from the tiny fists of fury of Mrs. Woods.

Now, I have a theory about professional athlete infidelity that will most likely not endear me to my female readers (in fact, I ran the idea past Mama Tewks and she very nearly went Elin Woods on my forehead).

Having extramarital 'associates' is one of the unwritten rules of being a professional athlete. You're on the road the majority of the year and you have women throwing themselves at you in every city. It's inevitable that you would sample the forbidden fruit at some point.

Look, the wives of professional athletes know what they're getting into when they marry these guys. In exchange for the money, wealth and privilege of being an athlete's wife, you are expected to look the other way in such situations. What happens on the road stays on the road.

Unfortunately for these gals, this is not a two way street. Look twice at the pool boy and expect the money train to cease making stops at your station. Is this fair? Nope, but marrying a pro athlete is like making a deal with the devil.

There is one caveat to this unwritten contract. The guy has to ensure he is being discreet about his extracurricular activity. He cannot embarrass his wife by being photographed with a groupie or have rumours of his cheating hit the airwaves.

Once you're caught by the media for an extramarital tryst, all bets are off. You're on your own pal. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. You screwed up your end of this great deal. Time to face the consequences.

This is what I think really happened with Tiger. He probably has stepped out in the past, but there were media rumours of a dalliance with a lady Down Under, so Elin rightfully lost her mind and probably beat the shit out of him.

That's why he was trying to get out of Dodge so fast.

(Tiger, one last bit of advice: tradeups only. I mean look at the pic of Elin at the top of the post. She is smoking hot. The alleged other woman looks like a dude. Come on man, get your head in the game.)

Canadian Football Really Shows Me Something

Big thanks to He Who Hits, and Hits Bombs for handing me today's talking points on a platter. He posted the following to Friday's article last night:

As much as your humble, plump little tush didn't want to watch your alma mater in the Vanier Cup, it turned out to be quite the game. Any change of heart?

And for the culminating CFL game, do we congratulate the win? I mean, winning is winning. At the end of the day, winning is what it's about, but there's also something to be said about losing a game.

Should Rider Nation demand answers? Whose fault was it they had 12 men on the field? Or should we take the high road and high five the Al's for a great comeback win, and leave it at that?

Unfortunately, my humble, little tush was busy on Saturday trying to further my entertainment career and become gainfully employed, something a miscreant like HWHaHB knows nothing about. Therefore, I did not witness the terrific comeback by Queen's University.

But the Grey Cup was basically the same game as the Montreal Alouettes did their best Queen's impression by snatching victory from the jaw of defeat with a furious second half comeback of their own (down 14 at halftime and, more amazingly, down 16 in the fourth quarter).

Before addressing the weird finish to last night's contest, I want to discuss the little things that make Canadian football so quirky.

In the interest of full disclosure, last night was probably the first time in my life I ever watched a Grey Cup game in its entirety, so I really noticed the nuances that make the CFL so uniquely Canadian.

First, how big is that field? It looks like an airport runway. On TV, it appears to be as long as it wide (that's what she said). I'm pretty sure I could throw for at least 200 yards given the opportunity.

I like three down football. It makes the game move so much faster and provides more opportunities for offensive explosions. Also, it ensures that no fourth quarter lead is safe (with last night providing a perfect example).

How do the final three minutes of the game work? Sometimes the clock would stop on a running play in bounds, but start up again before the ball was snapped? The clock appeared to stop after every down no matter what happened. Can someone please shed some light on this for me?

How great was Blue Rodeo in the halftime show? They are a terrific band and played a tremendous set last night. Give me a band like Blue Rodeo any day of the week and twice on Sundays over the formulaic pop drivel pumped out by our friends to the South.

The performance had an intimate club feel, right down to the small crowd congregating around the stage. There was a moment during 'Lost Together' that was quintessentially Canadian: a close-up of a husband and wife combo slow dancing to the song clad in full Riders regalia.

Back to the game, I say we congratulate Montreal for the win. Just so my other readers don't think you're an idiot HWHaHB, if the Riders indeed only had 12 men on the field, then we would be talking about a Saskatchewan victory right now. The Riders had THIRTEEN men on the field in the dying seconds.

I don't know who is to blame for such an egregious mistake, nor do I want to point fingers. But I love how the Riders handled that very question in the postgame interviews. Amidst a crushing defeat, it would have been easy to start throwing guys under the bus but the Riders handled the situation with great class.

They basically intimated that they made the Grey Cup as a team and they will lose as a team. Would that ever happen in the 'me-first' NFL? Not likely. I have officially adopted the Saskatchewan Roughriders as the official football team of Talkin' with Tewks. Pass the watermelon.

And, as a nation, let's pat ourselves on the back for a great weekend of football.