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).

Buck is Back!

Buck Martinez has been hired to replace Jamie Campbell as the Toronto Blue Jays play-by-play announcer for the 2010 MLB season. Christmas has come two weeks early this year.

At long last, Blue Jays fans will be saved from the unfunny and generally nonsensical ramblings that Jamie Campbell has forced upon Sportsnet viewers for the past five years.

I don’t want to turn this into an attack on Jamie Campbell the person, as he seems like a genuinely nice guy, but he has no business as a national level baseball announcer for Major League Baseball.

I know most television networks leave the heavy lifting in terms of baseball knowledge to the colour commentators, but viewers at least deserve a play-by-play announcer who has an ounce of familiarity with the game. Some nights, I seriously questioned whether or not Campbell had ever witnessed a game of baseball before. He has zero comprehension of baseball slang and terminology.

And if your play-by-play isn’t a baseball expert, fine, but give us someone with an edgy sense of humour. Tell me some funny stories, anecdotes or interesting quotes. Campbell’s sense of humour can best be described as “nursing home compatible.” The dorkiness and blandness of his “jokes” are something only a grandmother could love.

Baseball fans aren’t getting any younger. Why would you have a guy calling games whose talents are best appreciated by people named Muriel, Ethel, Blanche and Maureen?

However, I am impressed with Campbell’s knowledge of baseball statistics. He knows way more useless statistical information about the game than I could ever dream of remembering. He constantly spouts off a never-ending supply of stats from Blue Jays lore. Unfortunately, does anyone really give a shit how many home runs Doug Ault hit in 1977?

Campbell supporters will claim that it’s not entirely his fault for the lacklustre Jays broadcasts. They’ll point fingers at his rotating band of colour men: Pat Tabler, Darren Fletcher and Rance Mulliniks.

You can be the funniest, most engaging colour man in the world, but if you are asked the following question by your play-by-play guy, “The count’s 0-2; he doesn’t want to take another strike here, does he?” your chance at being witty of insightful just sailed out the window.

(By the way, that actually happened in a game last year)

Don’t get me started on the third man on Blue Jays broadcasts, Sam Cosentino. Hopefully, he’ll be next to follow Jamie Campbell out the door. Everything I said about Jamie Campbell can be repeated verbatim for Sam Cosentino.

True story: I was at a media party last year and Sam Cosentino was in attendance. We both took a liking to the same woman. It was mano a mano for this young lady’s affections.

It was a massacre. Poor Sammy didn’t last five minutes with her before she started looking for a way out of that riveting conversation. I stepped up and did my best Julius Caesar impression: I came, I saw, I saw conquered.

Do you think I could have done the same against a silver fox like Buck Martinez? Absolutely not. This is a guy who made a putout at home plate with a broken leg. He would have slept with her at the party right in front of me.

And that’s why I’m ecstatic for Blue Jays Baseball on Rogers Sportsnet this year. The broadcasts are now in the hands of a true professional.

Tavares Sticking It to His Critics

He Who Hits Bombs is at it again. Check out his comment on yesterday’s Biggest Loser column. Interesting stuff to say the least, although I am impressed he used references to back up his claims—something that is generally frowned upon here at Talkin’ with Tewks.

Also, thanks to HWHB for providing the lady of the day (I’ll bet she does a lot of squats).

The Toronto Maple Leafs defeated the New York Islanders 3-2 last night, despite the best efforts of local boy, John Tavares (Yes, the Leafs are playing well but it’s only been ten games; try not to sprain anything jumping on the bandwagon just yet).

Tavares scored the Islander goals, both with the man advantage, giving him an NHL rookie leading fifteen on the season. His 26 total points lead all first year players and he has New York on the brink of a playoff spot, which is quite a feat for such a moribund franchise.

Of all the accolades Tavares has garnered throughout his junior hockey career, he has surprisingly taken a lot of abuse from critics saying that he doesn’t have what it takes to play at the next level.

The impetus for this outlandish criticism is that Tavares, while supremely gifted offensively, lacks the skating ability to play at a high calibre in the National Hockey League. Correct me if I’m wrong, but do the following accomplishments sound like they belong to a guy who can’t skate very well:

Granted exceptional player status and entered the Ontario Hockey League at 14 years old. A Canadian Hockey League record of 72 goals scored in one season by a 16 year old. A total of 215 goals scored over four seasons to set a CHL all time record (the guy in second place scored 213 and it took him five years). An incredible 15 points in 6 games at the 2009 World Junior Hockey Championships, a tournament in which he was named an All Star, Top Forward and MVP.

I may not be a hockey genius, but I’m pretty sure the point of the game is to put pucks in the back of the net. Therefore, I think it would be prudent to have a guy like Tavares on my team, who seems to have a knack for doing just that.

Is he the fastest player in the league? Of course not. Is he the fastest player on his line? Doubtful. Do I want him on the ice late in the game and my team down by a goal? Absolutely.

Do you know who else wasn’t a very good skater? Wayne Gretzky. I think Johnny Tavares will be just fine.

I have a theory why critics have tried to nitpick Tavares’ game and downplay his tremendous talents. The kid has been in the public eye for so long, it’s inevitable that people will try to find chinks in his armour.

If you stare at anything long enough, you are bound to start looking for flaws, whether real or imagined. Try staring at the picture of Carrie Underwood from Tuesday’s column for thirty minutes.

You’ll start asking questions like “Is she really that attractive?”, “Her chest could be a little bigger”, “She could be in a little better shape”, “Is her face slightly asymmetrical?”

Are the questions ridiculous and stupid? Of course they are. Carrie Underwood is a goddess visiting us from Mount Olympus. She’s perfection personified.

It is just as stupid asking questions like “Is John Tavares a terrible skater?” The kid is a great hockey player.

Case dismissed.

Amanda is My Biggest Loser

Please allow me a few sentences to gloat. Back in October, I extolled the physical virtues of Amanda, one of the contestants on this year’s edition of The Biggest Loser. I predicted she would be a stone cold fox by the finale and, judging from the picture above, I was wholeheartedly correct in that assertion. Girl’s a knockout.

My stream-of-consciousness thoughts on the finale:

Host Ali Sweeny was dipping into some of the The Biggest Loser kool-aid methinks. Not that she wasn’t attractive before, but she looked like she dropped 10-15lbs so she wouldn’t be outdone by the now skinny contestants.

She and Amanda looked like sisters (full disclosure: I may or may not have had a dream where I had a workout-related threesome with both of them. I need help).

Rebecca went from a sweet, wholesome cutie to a domineering vixen with just a little too much skank for my liking. I did not like the blond hair. She also looked somewhat gaunt up top—kind of like a coke addicted fashion model.

Was it just me or did she seem to have a cocky, holier-than-thou attitude all night long with her preening and prancing? Also, I feel for bad for her boyfriend, Daniel. The guy is too young and innocent to be able to keep up with her now. And judging from his facial expressions, I think he knows his time with her is limited.

Fifty bucks says Rebecca went “Tiger Woods” on Daniel at the after party.

Tracey had the biggest transformation of all the women. She went from a roly-poly mound of goo to a tank with biceps Madonna would kill for. She also seemed to have less excess skin than everyone else. I guarantee that’s because she hit the weights hard, while everyone else stuck to cardio and lost primarily muscle and water weight.

However, Tracey may have gone too far because her boobs are history and she looks like she just came off a cycle of HGH.

I’m not sure I like Antoine’s decision to propose to Alexandra. Not to be insensitive, but let’s just say he looks a little more committed to keeping the weight off than she does. Her facial reaction when the scale revealed that she weighs more than he does was priceless.

Also, I understand professing your undying love to someone is an emotional experience, but that proposal was an embarrassing display. Getting choked up and teary-eyed is one thing, but Antoine could barely construct coherent sentences due to his blubbering. Man up.

Both Rudy and Danny set show records by losing over 200lbs and more than 50% of their previous bodyweights. They both looked fantastic—I wouldn’t recognize Danny if I wasn’t told it was him.

However, he looked unhappy and overwhelmed by the entire experience. My bet is that he’s just hungry and dehydrated. And that’s the problem with having a cash prize for the winner. These people get to a point where they are at a healthy bodyweight, but continue trying to lose pounds to win the 250 grand.

There have been rumours of diuretics and other unhealthy methods being used by contestants to lose the last few pounds. Most of them appeared to have lost serious muscle mass in order to get as skinny as possible, which is just moronic.

The prize should go to the person with the largest percentage of FAT lost, not total weight. Or just have the prize awarded once the contestants leave the ranch and then just have the reunion show three months later as an update. I’m sure the fear of appearing fat on national TV will be more than enough incentive for these people to keep losing weight.

Plus, they’ll be more concerned with looking as healthy and strong as possible. They won’t be worrying about getting rid of any excess water in their bodies so they resemble one of the Body Worlds exhibits.

Carrie Gives Me Underwood

I may have to hand in my man card after my television viewing choice last night. I eschewed both the Leafs game and Monday Night Football to spend two consecutive hours watching Carrie Underwood: an All Star Holiday Special.

And you know what? I am not embarrassed at all with my choice. I mean, sure I’m questioning my status as a straight male, but I was thoroughly entertained throughout the entire program.

I have been creepily infatuated with Carrie Underwood since she first appeared on American Idol in 2005. Obviously, she’s beautiful but, I must admit, I’m a fan of her music as well. I have more than a couple of her songs downloaded on my computer as we speak (Jesus, I need to go to a hardware store or something).

I knew going into the special that Carrie would be performing a bunch of her biggest hits, which was the impetus for me tuning in, and she did not disappoint. She rocked Cowboy Casanova and Before He Cheats and then slowed it down with the moving Jesus Take the Wheel (she has the right mix of down to earth sweetness, southern charm and badass sexpot to be completely irresistible).

I even found myself enjoying the comedy skits between musical numbers. In the hands of a lesser performer, these scenes would have fallen flat and, truthfully, they were a little corny. However, Carrie’s personality, surprising comedy chops, and willingness to poke fun at herself made the skits cute and endearing.

I really liked the 60s pop medley with Carrie, Christina Applegate and Kristen Chenoweth dressed in pink dresses and beehive hairdos (there’s a sexual fantasy in there somewhere).

Dolly Parton was a special guest and the only thing I have to say about her is: they look great.

Carrie and Dolly sang a magnificent duet of I Will Always Love You which brought tears streaming down my face throughout the performance.

My only problem with the show is that it was referred to as a ‘Holiday’ special and not a Christmas special. Look, we celebrate Christmas here in North America, always have and always will. Let’s stop trying to please everyone by referring to December as the holiday season. Enough of this PC bullcrap. It’s the Christmas season. If you don’t like it, take the train.

Also, I was somewhat disappointed with the dearth of Christmas songs, but Carrie’s rendition of O, Holy Night was terrific. The single spotlight gave Carrie an almost angelic appearance and me a funny feeling downstairs.

For those of you bemoaning the fact this is supposed to be a sports blog, here you go:

Carrie Underwood is dating Mike Fisher of the Ottawa Senators. My jealousy of him knows no bounds. I hope he gets a puck in the face next game.

I love you Carrie.

Roger Goodell Can Suck It

So, I sat down in my favourite recliner yesterday afternoon prepared to watch an ungodly amount of NFL football.

My rage and frustration from the ‘unpleasantness’ stemming from Friday’s post had slowly dissipated after a nice weekend and I was left content and smiling by the time Sunday rolled around.

Better yet, I was able to toggle between two of the day’s early games which featured the two remaining undefeated teams in the National Football League: the Indianapolis Colts and the New Orleans Saints.

I could not think of a better way to spend my Sunday afternoon than to watch Peyton Manning and Drew Brees lead their teams to victory on their respective marches to a perfect season.

The Colts, after a few lucky breaks and improbable comebacks over the past couple of weeks, returned things to business as usual with a cold, calculated dismantling of the Tennessee Titans. Indy jumped out to a 24-10 lead and never allowed the Titans a chance to get back in the game. This was the Colts’ 21st consecutive regular season victory, which ties the mark set by the New England Patriots two years ago.

With that outcome never really in doubt, I focused my attention to the surprisingly competitive contest between the Saints and the Washington Redskins. New Orleans, possibly suffering the effects of an emotional hangover after their beatdown of the Patriots on Monday night, looked listless throughout the game.

The Saints did not hold the lead at any point and found themselves down by ten late in the fourth quarter. A field goal made it a one possession game. The Redskins began their march downfield. Could New Orleans really lose their perfect season to Washington?

What happened next? How the fuck should I know?

The Fox feed carrying the game switched over to the beginning of the 49ers/Seahawks contest.

Are you kidding me?

I spent the majority of my afternoon emotionally invested in this highly entertaining game and Fox had the audacity to switch to the beginning of a game I wouldn’t watch with a gun pressed to my temple.

I hastily began making plans to bomb Rupert Murdoch’s house in protest, when a few minutes of research told me that Fox is forced by the NFL to abandon the early Sunday games at 4:15pm sharp to show the late games in their entirety.

And you know why the NFL does this? To appease their greedy owners with the promise of full network coverage. Nevermind that thousands of football fans got cheated out of one of the most exciting finishes of the season.

The Skins botched a 23 yard field goal attempt. The Saints ran down the field and Brees bombed a 53 yard touchdown strike to Robert Meachem with 90 seconds left. Washington fumbled on their first possession in OT and New Orleans won the game on a field goal of their own.

Why would I have wanted to watch that?

Instead I got to watch Alex Smith complete more passes to guys on the sidelines in dress clothes than his receiving corps on the field.

I blame you, NFL commissioner Roger Goodell, for being at the helm of a league who doesn’t give a shit about the enjoyment of the fans who put money in your overstuffed pockets. You must be a smart guy. Let’s use a little common sense.

How do you expect to create new fans or keep casual ones by abandoning games at their most pivotal juncture? Oh, the game went on too long? Well, then stop having so many fucking commercials.

Maybe spend a little less time jerking off geriatrics like Al Davis and Jerry Jones and spend a little more time improving your product for public consumption. Jackass.

Now I’m in a bad mood again. My left arm hurts and I’m having radiating waves of pain. That’s your fault, Roger.

You are officially the newest entrant into Tewks’ “People I Hate in Sports” pantheon, joining the likes of Chris Bosh, Vince Carter, JP Ricciardi and Patrick Kane.

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.

La Coupe Grey

I am surprised to admit it but I think I have a mild case of three down football fever. Over the past two weeks I, with increasing interest, have been following both the CFL and CIS playoffs and, for the first time ever, actually care about the outcomes of the title games this weekend.

My alma mater, Queen’s University, is vying for the Vanier Cup against the University of Calgary tomorrow afternoon. I have always had a strong distaste for Canadian university football and this stems from my time as an undergraduate student.

When I was at Queen’s, the football team was beyond awful; I mean historically bad. On the other hand, the baseball team, of which I was an integral cog, enjoyed back to back National Championship appearances, culminating in a win in 2004.

What team got more respect and notoriety from the school media and administration? The football team, which was total bullshit. We had a top notch program and struggled to get any sort of funding from the university, while the football team, which couldn’t lose by less than 25 points, got whatever their little hearts desired.

Funding should be based on team success. Queen’s football is great right now and the baseball program stinks (coincidentally since I left); therefore, the football rightfully deserves more money.

While I will be cheering for Queen’s, I won’t actually watch the game. CIS football is terrible to watch, especially compared to the US college game. I went to one game in my freshman year and was appalled to see quarterbacks not able to throw further than 30 yards and kickers who were happy to get the ball airborne. No thanks.

For you SAT fans: CIS football is to American college football like the Special Olympics are to the real Olympics.

However, I am legitimately excited for the Grey Cup on Sunday. The game is wrought with interesting storylines. Can the Montreal Alouettes, with their high octane attack and tremendous regular season success, finally win the big one? Can the underdog Saskatchewan Roughriders pull off an upset?

The Riders are supposed to have the most passionate fans in all of the CFL and why wouldn’t they? What the hell else is there to do in Saskatchewan? Organizers are expecting a decidedly partisan crowd, so will the transplanted home game for the Riders be their key to victory?

I’m leaning towards a Saskatchewan victory, only because they are led by a trio of Canadian receivers: Robb Bagg, Andy Fantuz, and Chris Getzlaf.

Getting back to the topic of political correctness from Tuesday, I saw a newspaper headline that pissed me off. It was a Grey Cup preview and it said that the Roughriders offense was led by “Slow, white, Canadians’? How is that appropriate?

What if an analogous article was written about another team pinning their success to “Fast, black, Americans? I’m pretty sure the discrimination police would have their panties in a twist.

For the record, I have no problem with the original heading. I just hate the double standard and the fact everyone has to be so damn sensitive about everything. Life is hard enough as it is, let’s all lighten up a bit.

Have a good weekend.

Who is the Worst Winter Sports Team in Toronto?

Ordinarily, I would pick the Maple Leafs hands down and not think twice.

(FYI, I am not impressed by the Leafs’ current mini streak where they’ve garnered five of a possible six points in their last three games. They are still 29th in a 30 team league. Plus, in typical fashion, the Toronto sports media can’t get back on the bandwagon quick enough, evidenced by the Toronto Stars’ ridiculous ‘The Road to Redemption?’ headline in this morning’s sports section. Thanks for proving your stupidity, guys!)

However, I watched the Toronto Raptors play the Bobcats last night and a new contender has emerged for the title of worst team in Toronto (a 35 point loss tends to put you in the running). Ok, well I didn’t so much watch the game as I checked out two minutes of highlights this morning, but I have such an attuned sports eye that I can disseminate the fortunes of a team in one highlight package.

We’ve been told all year how great the Raptor’s offence is. That’s great to hear and makes for exciting basketball to watch (I’m told), but let us not forget that there are two ends in a basketball court.

The Raptor’s defence is TERRIBLE. In 120 seconds of highlights, every defensive possession had at least four Toronto players standing around, not moving their feet, and not within an arm’s reach of an opposing player.

I’m not a basketball genius, but I believe it’s prudent to maybe put your hand in someone’s face when they’re trying to shoot or, oh I don’t know, block their path to the basket. Apparently, such defensive strategy is lost on the Raptors.

Usually, you blame defensive miscues on the coach, but Jay Triano is the only member of the organization with a little grit and sandpaper in him. Have you seen the footage of Triano snapping the dry erase board over his knee during a timeout last week? Fantastic stuff.

To play good defence in the NBA you need blue collar guys not afraid to get their hands dirty and relish opportunities for physical play. You need a certain degree of toughness that can’t be taught—it’s an innate skill burned into your DNA.

Do any of the following players sound like they possess the above: Andrea Bargnani, Marco Bellini, Hedo Turkgolu, Chris Bosh or Amir Johnson?

I don’t see one guy capable of playing with a stubbed toe, let alone a monster in the defensive zone.

The Raptors are soft. They get pushed around on a nightly basis because they have no one on their roster capable of stepping up to opposing tough guys.

The softness starts with the guy responsible for hiring all of these defensive stiffs: general manager Brian Colangelo. He is a European-styled dandy who looks like he should be one of the contestants on Project Runway rather than the GM of an NBA team.

I’ll bet Colangelo falls to pieces if his $600 Italian loafers get a smudge; how are his players supposed to project a rough, tough exterior when they have Liberace as their boss?

The Raptors should get rid of Colangelo and bring back Charles Oakley as an assistant coach. Then Bosh and the boys will get on the job training in truculence.

Not That There's anything Wrong With That

Before I begin, an excellent comment was posted on yesterday’s diatribe against technology. He Who Hits and Hits Bombs made a salient argument for technology when pointing out that my carousel of boner-inducing ladies is only made possible because of advances in technology.

A similar picture would be a pixilated disaster on the original Nintendo Entertainment System. I salute technology for giving us the ability to view sexy babes in high quality from the comfort of our living rooms. And thanks to HWHaHB for bringing this to my attention (and also for suggesting today’s babe).

The big story reverberating around the sports world this morning is the admission by the son of Toronto Maple Leafs General Manager Brian Burke: Brendan Burke is an openly gay man.

Now, I’m not going to get up on my moral high horse and declare that homosexuality is a sin because it says so in the Bible. The Bible also says that premarital sex and excessive alcohol consumption are sins, so it’s not really a piece of literature I want to associate myself with.

If you’re gay, be gay. I don’t really care. That’s your choice (especially if you’re a hot chick willing to experiment). I didn’t initially understand why this story even constitutes news until I read that Brendan Burke is a student manager for the Miami University (Ohio) hockey team. He watches and breaks down scouting video of opponents and keeps goaltender statistics.

The ESPN.com article that broke the story was a tremendously positive piece of journalism that detailed how accepting everyone was to Burke’s admission that he was gay. I think it’s fantastic that the Burke family was so accepting of their son and brother, but I find it hard to believe that the Miami hockey team was 100% supportive of this admission.

Look, I have played on dozens of different sports teams and the locker room is not a place for the faint of heart. Guys make fun of and insult each other constantly; it’s what we do. That’s why I can’t buy Miami coach Enrico Blasi’s assertion that the players “are very sensitive to language and how they talk in the locker room.”

Bullshit.

You could walk into any locker room in North America and within five minutes you would hear one guy call another ‘gay’ or a ‘fag’ for doing something stupid. It’s not meant to be derogatory; it’s just part of the sports team culture. You will get insulted for being different. We make fun of people for being stupid, short, fat, skinny, black, white or Asian. Nothing is off limits.

It’s not meant to be malicious, it’s just that making fun of each other is how guys show admiration for one another. Is it politically correct behaviour? Of course not, but we don’t give a shit.

We have to be politically correct in pretty much every facet of life; give us the locker room to do as we please. It’s really no one’s business except the guys on the team.

Would I have a problem with Brendan Burke being my team manager? Absolutely not.

Where the situation gets tricky is if Burke was a member of the team and took showers after games and practices with the guys. There would be some players uncomfortable with being naked in front of someone who could theoretically be interested in them sexually.

There’s a reason why teams with mixed gender players have to shower and change separately. There is a fear of things becoming sexual. I’m not saying I would be worried a gay player would try to come on to me while I’m soaping up, but there would be some slight trepidation.

I look at it this way: would I be uncomfortable getting naked in front a straight girl to whom I had zero physical attraction? Yes. This is the same issue. Just because I don’t want to be naked in front of the guy doesn’t mean I hate him or am repulsed by his sexual orientation.

And don’t call me homophobic; I watch Will and Grace for Christ’s sake.

I Don't Like Technology

I am really hurting for a column topic today for two reasons: nothing is piquing my interest from the sports and entertainment realm and my new laptop was shipped to me yesterday afternoon and I am currently trying to figure out how to use it.

To my chagrin, the new Windows 7 operating system very closely mimics the setup of a Mac. I have never liked Macs or their users: pretentious arts nerds who spent all of their free time sitting in Starbucks writing the next great screenplay.

Listen up losers: no one cares what you are writing about. Maybe if you spent more time constructing interesting dialogue and convincing character interplay instead of looking around to see whose watching you while you sip your mocha frappachino, you’d have written more than three pages in the last eight months.

I know Microsoft made all these changes under the guise of creating a more user-friendly computing experience, but I am more confused than ever. No, I don’t want to personalize my laptop by setting up the background theme and mood of my computer. What the hell does that mean anyway? I’m not using the Hal 5000 here.

All I want from a laptop is the ability to write on a decent version of Microsoft Word and to watch porn. That’s it. That is all I require from a computer. Now I have to deal with prompts asking me to “Discover Windows 7”, “Personalize Windows”, “Share with a Homegroup” and “Change UAC Settings.”

Look, I’m sure early adopters love all the technological advances available on this new operating system, but I consider myself to be old school. I’m a modern day Renaissance man who is resistant to change. I try to limit my subservience to technology. I don’t take my cell phone with me to the gym or the movies, I don’t watch TV with my computer on my lap and I don’t use the Internet to find love (you know who you are).

I feel the same way about video games. I haven’t been able to play video games in over 10 years because they are too hard and the controllers have too many buttons. Have you seen the Xbox 360 controller? I bet the Apollo program contained less technology and was easier to navigate than that monstrosity.

My video game expertise ended with the original Nintendo. Give me a controller with two buttons, a directional pad and a scrolling 2D experience and I am a video game wizard. I implore anyone to beat me at Blades of Steel; I assure you it cannot be done.

I don’t understand the fascination of playing games that take 10 hours to figure out and require you to converse with other losers over the Internet on microphones. Do I need to immerse myself in a virtual world for eight hours a day because my life is a pathetic mess (don’t answer that)?

I would much rather lift weights and engage in amourous embraces with willing, REAL, members of the opposite sex. That way I don’t risk overstimulation and accidentally shoot my wad on the screen because I made it to level 4 on Call of Duty 2.

The Stinker Bowl

(Quick addendum to Friday’s column: thanks to Thy Drunken Rookie for posting a comment informing me that the statute of limitation for retroactive drug tests is eight years. There’s a lesson for the rest of you: if you post a name and a helpful comment or question, I will mention you in a future column)

The NFL season culminates in February with the grand daddy of all sports event spectacles: The Super Bowl. It typically pits the best two teams in the league against one another to decide the greatest team of that particular season.

Therefore, I find it only fitting that, at close to the midpoint of the season, the National Football League gave us one of the worst regular season matchups in recent history: the woeful Detroit Lions versus the pitiful Cleveland Browns (a more fitting team nickname I cannot fathom) yesterday afternoon.

Heading into the game, both teams had identical 1-8 won-loss records and offenses that could best be described as anemic. I already made my feelings clear on Brady Quinn last week; Lion’s quarterback Matthew Stafford hasn’t fared much better. However Stafford has more of an excuse because he’s a true rookie and is forced to play behind Detroit’s porous offensive line.

So what happened when Browns and Lions collided? Naturally, a shootout took place. Both quarterbacks played extremely well. Together, they combined for nine touchdown passes and 726 passing yards. What does this tell you?

Well, it tells me that despite how bad Quinn and Stafford have played this year at the helm of terrible offenses, the Browns’ and Lions’ defences are somehow WORSE. That is a terrifying thought. What happens if either Cleveland or Detroit has to face a hot quarterback with a, you know, good offensive playbook?

We could be at the forefront of witnessing the NFL’s first team to put up 100 points in a single contest. If given the opportunity, Peyton Manning could literally throw for a mile of offense against either team. His arm would fall off by halftime and every Colts receiver would be wearing oxygen masks.

I must say, The Stinker Bowl was an extraordinarily exciting game to watch. It was a back and forth affair that had a terrific denouement: a desperation heave into the endzone by Stafford, a shaky pass interference call and a short TD toss by Stafford with no time remaining to give the Lions their third victory in two calendar years (that is not a typo).

Kudos to Stafford for bringing plenty of M-A-N to the contest—he hurt his shoulder on his Hail Mary bomb when he was bludgeoned to the turf by a Cleveland lineman but, instead of coming out of the game, he hung in there long enough to win the game for his team. It was an impressively gutty performance, which undoubtedly won him the respect of his teammates.

Brady Quinn still sucks.