Despite The Excitement Of A Long-Awaited Playoff Run, No. 54 Is Noticeable By Its Absence

Obviously, after seven long years out of the postseason, 'Fins Nation is ecstatic to be back in the playoffs. But amidst the euphoria and the head-shaking reality that this team went from one win to 11 in the span of a year, there has seemed to be something missing this week that I couldn't put my finger on.

And then it occurred to me.

Zach Thomas.

Because this is a team that he would have been proud to have been a part of. This was the gritty, physical, hard-working, never-stop-fighting, underdog squad that embodied everything that his playing career has been about. If anyone deserved to be a part of this celebration, it was a former fifth-round pick who had his head run over as a tot and had always been told that he was too small and too slow.

Through 11 seasons and seven Pro Bowls in Miami, Thomas was the spokesman of the team after Dan Marino's departure. He was refreshingly honest and self-deprecating, a guy you could pull for on a team full of underachievers, castoffs and bad decisions.

In late February, the new regime came in, and Thomas got thrown out with the bath water. It was an understandable move and simply a by-product of change, but it still didn't feel good to see No. 54 take down his parking-space sign, clean out his locker and head back to Texas.

It feels even worse to be rooting on the Dolphins at this time when you see what happened to Thomas. He signed on with the Cowboys, the preseason Super Bowl picks, a franchise loaded with high-priced talent and the shiniest of stars. He was the old Subaru Brat in a parking lot full of tricked-out Mercedes; he was the T-shirt and jeans in a room full of Technicolor dreamcoats and bling.

It didn't feel right to see him on a team with T.O., Pacman Jones, Tank Johnson and other divas and thugs. But he deserved a shot at a ring, you told yourself, and he was a Texas native as well. So you wished him well and hoped he got what he wanted, and you nodded your head and thanked him when he said he would "always be a Miami Dolphin."

But then, even as the 'Fins reeled off nine wins in 10 games to end the season, you couldn't help notice Dallas falling apart and attacking itself from within. And it turned out you were right all along; the pathetic Cowboys were not the right fit for him. He didn't belong in a locker room full of selfish, egotistical, heartless, gutless players. He shouldn't have been a part of this forgettable group of headline-chasing frauds and chokers. He deserved more, and better.


He should have been a Dolphin — because he is the anti-Cowboy. He should have reveled in this memorable playoff run and been the one in the corner of the room with tears in his eyes as the "2008 AFC East Champions" hats were passed around.

He earned it. Over and over.

Zach posted 94 tackles and a sack for Dallas this year, in 14 starts, passable stats for a 35-year-old. But you wonder if the disillusionment that must have set in this year may help force him out of the game; you can't help but think that he would rather hang up his cleats then go through another circus in Jerry Jones's laughable, Botox-ridden world.

I wish I didn't have to look at No. 54's old jersey in my closet as I gear up for the first playoff game in many, many years. I wish Miami could somehow sign him tomorrow so he could experience another shot at chasing the Lombardi Trophy.

But the team can't and he can't, and the Dolphins will line up on Sunday in the playoffs without Zach manning the middle. And I'll be cheering them on as hard as I can.

Even though, in the back of my mind, it will be hard not to notice that someone is missing.

Wilson's Knee, Short Round's Kicks End Wolfpack's Miraculous Turnaround

For the first time in my life, I watched a football game where one of my teams was involved and had an 11-point halftime lead and knew — simply knew — that we were going to lose. The second that it was announced that Russell Wilson was out for the second half with a knee sprain after once again toying with another team like he was playing Tecmo Bowl, I knew the game was over. Even if Rutgers had Short Round kicking field goals and extra points.

With the worst punter in America, a pot-bellied backup quarterback who did his best Billy Joe Hobert impression (Hobert once famously admitted that he didn't know the gameplan when he was put into a game for the Buffalo Bills), a 109-pound third-stringer who can only throw passes off his back foot and an exhausted defense, the Pack simply didn't have it. Hope flickered when State regained the lead late, but even that was stymied when the Wolfpack mind-numbingly burned a timeout to run an unsuccessful two-point try that it didn't need anyway. State made its hay in the second half of the season playing mistake-free football, and knew it had to be nearly perfect to win games. That ended quickly against the Scarlet Knights.

It was an admittedly shoddy way to end a season that had gone from 2-6 to a bowl game, but it's hard not to be super-pumped about NC State's future. With Wilson returning and addition by subtraction in the form of certain punters and safeties, the Pack will be a factor from jumpstreet in '09, if it can simply avoid the injuries and bad starts that have hampered the team for the past two seasons.

For now, Wolfpack Nation will simply have to hold its breath for a while pending the outcome of the MRI on Wilson's knee. Knowing the Amato curses and our history of injuries in both sports, optimism doesn't exactly abound.

Now, if Wilson can only learn how to slide. As a second baseman, you figger he would have that down pat … but something tells me he'll learn it toot-sweet, even if it means Tommy O'Irish has to demonstrate himself.

From Rotten Fish To Tuna Caviar: The Story Of The 2007-2008 Miami Dolphins

In one memorable afternoon, the Dolphins not only completed the most improbable one-season turnaround in arguably the history of sports with a 24-17 victory over the Jets in the Meadowlands. They not only went from one win to 11, from league laughingstock to division champions. They not only tied an NFL record for fewest turnovers in a season with just 13. They not only boast the shoo-in NFL Coach of the Year in Tony Sparano.

On top of all of those things, they pulled off the sweetest of hat tricks:

1. They knocked the hated Jets out of the playoffs on their home field.
2. They eliminated the cheatin' Patsies from the postseason.
3. They embarrassed and ended the career of one Butt Fraud, who likely spent most of last night being comforted as the pastrami in a Jim Nance-Phil Simms sandwich.

It's been seven years since the 'Fins had a meaningful game to play, and in this de-facto playoff contest, Miami wasn't going to be denied. From undrafted free agents like wideout Devone Bess and kicker Dan Carpenter to up-until-now disappointing draftees like Philip Merling to sage trade pickups like Anthony Fasano and Akin Ayodele (both for a fourth-rounder? Are you f'ing kidding me?), they all had a part in this. They all bought into what Sparano told them all year long, and reiterated in the bowels of the Meadowlands: "Don't let anyone ever say you can't do something."

Indeed.

Why not us? Why not now?

I believe. Now let's get back to business.

Bring on the Ravens. We're already underdogs again. Just where we want to be.

2008 AFC East Champs – MIAMI DOLPHINS

Blind Midget Patrol, Andre Johnson Venture Out Into Traffic Without A Cane

After a sterling stretch run, the Midgies pulled a disappearing act when it mattered most, folding like a cheap suit in the championship game against a quality opponent. BMP lost by 16 points, 98-82, and that's with a rousing three combined points from my two starting wide receivers and my placekicker. I played golf the morning of the title contest and didn't return in time to remove Arizona's Neil Rackers from my lineup, and since he was playing in a Snow Bowl in Beantown, I knew his production would be nada against the Patsies. However, I did drill a 35-foot birdie putt during my round, so it was prolly worth being unable to make a change at the kicker position on my fantasy football team.

What really kicked Blind Midget Patrol in the cornflakes was the milk-carton-worthy effort of Houson's Andre Johnson, my second-half MVP. After torching defenses each and every week, when push came to shove, A.J. bitched me with a whopping two catches for 17 yards—all in the third quarter. When Devin Hester (my brother, a long-suffering Bears fan, calmly put me in place by asking, "You have a Chicago Bears wide receiver on your fantasy football team?!) racked up a point all by himself a night later in subfreezing weather, I knew I was done. It was risky running Hester out there, but he has been due for a long return TD for about a year, he usually comes up big in prime-time games and my big-name draftee at the spot, Roy E. Williams, has been tanking worse than Ohio State in an important game all season long. Even more frustrating is the fact that Hester constantly blows by opposing secondaries, only to have quarterback Kyle Orton throw fluttering moon balls in his general direction that always fall harmlessly to the turf 20 yards behind Hester. I contemplated putting surprisingly resurgent Ravens wideout Derrick Mason out there, but he has been injured and, well, he plays for the Ravens. Oh well.


Throw in the fact that the Texans defense decided not to show up against a horrific Raiders offense, LaDainian Tomlinson continued his weak showings and Michael "The Burner" Turner had a touchdown vultured by Jerrious Norwood, and the writing was on the wall for BMP. Train-wreck fascinated by the fact that New Orleans continued to throw the ball all over the field against a winless Lions team despite an insurmountable late lead, I flipped over to see some of that contest, only to see my opponent's star wideout, Marques Colston, catch two touchdown passes very late, when the game was well out of reach. The Saints's bad sportsmanship, combined with my zero production from three key positions, basically handed the trophy to my foe, so hats off to him. He did have a strong team.

But my guys don't leave without some hardware of their own. I bestow the annual Antonio Gates Memorial M.I.A. Award, sponsored by the Greater Buffalo Area Jim Kelly Hardware Emporium—the trophy is a silver choke chain on top of a platinum milk carton—to Andre Johnson, for unparalleled choking at vital moments in fantasy football championship games.

I'll take my $20 runner-up fee and print out some "Missing" posters for you, Andre.

Bastard.

I Find Tinsel Distracting

With a nod of the head to Frank Costanza ("I find your belief system fascinating"), I wish you all a Happy Festivus for the rest of us!

From the "airing of grievances" to a simple aluminum pole to "feats of strength," I hope your Festivus is lively and humorous, and that it doesn't find you raining blows upon fellow shoppers as you fight for a boy's doll.

And if you would like a really good goddam laugh, check out these "Airings of Grievances."

Giddyup …

Holidays Be Damned, Brees And The Bad-Form Saints Scrooge The Winless Lions In Pursuit Of Stats

Drew Brees must really hate the Miami Dolphins.

Heading into the 2001 draft, I thought the 'Fins had a great chance to land Purdue quarterback Drew Brees. Not only was Miami in dire need of a promising young signal-caller in the wake of Dan Marino's retirement, but Brees represented good value late in the first round as a polished, accurate passer who had proven his mettle in the Big 10, which way back then was a more-than-respectable football conference.

Long story short, Dave Wannstache decided that using a first-round pick on a zone cornerback so he could plug him in as a nickel corner in a man-to-man defense was a strong move, so he snared Jamar Fletcher from Wisconsin. Three years, two interceptions and six starts later, Fletcher was shipped off to San Diego for a nondescript quarterback named Cleo Lemon and a late-round draft pick. Adding insult to injury, Fletcher became teammates with one Drew Brees in San Diego.


Five years later, the Dolphins had a chance to right that wrong—for FREE. Not very often does a team get the equivalent of a do-over in the NFL, but in 2006, Miami had a shot to grab Brees in free agency, after the Chargers had decided to let him go in favor of NC State grad Philip Rivers. Brees was coming off a shoulder injury, but wanted to come to Miami, was willing to accept a fair offer and would require no compensation in the form of draft picks. Instead, in a mind-boggling move that was as ridiculous at the time as it looks now, new 'Fins coach Nick Satan Saban passed up on Brees in order to draft Daunte Culpepper, a fat, overrated, undisciplined, slow-learning quarterback coming off a horrific knee injury. As the cherry on top, Culpepper wanted a huge contract and his current team, the Minnesota Vikings, needed a precious second-round draft pick in return.

Hmmm. Accurate, young, intelligent quarterback with a good prognosis to return from his injury for less money and no draft picks or an inaccurate, unintelligent athlete with a bad prognosis to return for more money and a second-rounder? Well, the Nicktator chose poorly, which has become a metaphor for his life.

Now, Brees is in the midst of his fourth straight 4,000-yard season, and he's trying to stick it to the 'Fins again by waging a full-out assault on one of the game's most untouchable records—Miami legend "Dandy" Dan Marino's epic 5,084-yard performance in 1984 (he also has the No. 5 single-season yardage total of all-time) during what remains the greatest passing performance by the greatest quarterback in history.


By all accounts, Brees is a good guy, giving back to the hurricane-averaged New Orleans region and serving as an inspirational leader on a team that has long lacked one.

However.

The Saints and Brees have had their eye on Marino's record all season long, leading to a lot of garbage-time passing. Through 15 games, Brees has already thrown the ball 586 times—more than Marino's 564 for the entire '84 season. New Orleans has been an enormous disappointment, so this year has seen a lot of Brees throwing and throwing and throwing some more, even as the Saints trail by many points and backups should have been in the game.

The topper, however, came on Sunday, as Brees & Co. victimized the hapless Detroit Lions, who were on their way to their 15 straight loss without a victory this season. The Saints opened up an obviously insurmountable 42-7 lead halfway through the final quarter, sewing up an ignominious (I know what that means) record for the Lions, who became the first NFL team to ever go 0-15. With New Orleans also out of the playoff hunt, coach Sean Payton obviously put in his reserves and younger players to get some action, right?

No.

Instead, up five touchdowns with the clock winding down, Brees was still throwing passes. Yes, you read that right. As much grief as the Patsies took last year—and deservedly so—for running up the score on teams, the Saints shouldn't be off-limits, even though they're far from the spotlight. I mean, even that thing on his cheek was telling Brees it was time to shut it down and give his arm a rest for a while.


I wouldn't have blamed a member of the Lions for taking a late shot at Brees late in that contest, down 42-7 with the anchor of an 0-15 season already hanging around your neck. Then, the uproar would have been about how a Detroit player took out one of the game's stars instead of questions about why Brees is still rifling passes around the stadium for purely selfish and personal reasons. New Orleans's tactic is one used by UNC's Roy Williams, who tends to leave his star players on the court way too long in blowouts, opening them up for possible injury.

These coaches forget that while the opposition may not have talent, they do have pride. And usually, especially in the NFL, what comes around goes around. So kudos to Brees, who needs 401 yards next week against the Panthers to tie Marino's record. It seems pretty important to him to get a record in the wrong and meaningless way. One would think that a franchise that has been through such rough times—both on and off the field—of late would have a little humility in these situations, a little empathy for the plight of the Lions, a little sportsmanship for the good of the game.

But maybe not, right Saints?

Merry Christmas, Detroit. Sorry about that … and good luck getting that first win in your last game.

Some of us still realize that spirit and class can go a long way.

Limerick Friday LXXXXXV: Butch Davis Is Only Good At Math When It Comes To Raises

Over-recruiting headed up by UNC's shady Bitch
For scholarship rules and math he doesn't give a stitch
"I'm sorry it's not going to work out," he tells a third-stringer
"We need your scholarship for a freshman humdinger"
The waiver wire is in effect as loyalty gets tossed in the ditch

Auburn hired some dude named Gene Chizik
A 5-19 record made fans give him the business
Gave the boot to Tuberville, Tommy
Since 'Bama had passed him like a tsunami
Now they hire a guy who is far from the shiznit

Drama is in full effect on the PGA Tour
Golf nowadays is anything but a boor
Tiger's caddy calls Mickelson a prick
Paddy Harrington thinks Sergio is a dick
Ready to see a fight in the teebox? Fore!

More sketchy doings going on over on the Hill
Haven't learned from the Joe Forte debacle, still?
The school has given Hansbrough's mommy a new job
At the School of Dentistry, where she can hobnob
Plenty o' Novocain for rickets, for both Tyler and his Will

The most versatile player in history, according to the NFL
He passed, kicked and intercepted until many records fell
Even played minor-league baseball for a while
'Til he took football by storm in his own unique style
R.I.P. to Slingin' Sammy Baugh … what stories he could tell

Last time …

Blind Midget Patrol Braces For Showdown

On Sunday I'll be playing for the championship of my 12-team ESPN league, with the hopes of salvaging a frustrating, disappointing and controversial fantasy football year. I'll be chasing my sixth fantasy football title over the past five years or so, so it would be a nice one to take down.

That being said, my opponent has a pretty loaded team, as well as a pretty disturbing and gay-ish team name of My Johnson Goes Deep. Even if your last name happened to actually be Johnson, it would still be creepy and sophomoric. With an unrelated name (which is the case here), well … let's just say this sounds like someone who has an unsurpassed knowledge of Megan's Law.

With Manning, Portis, Boldin, Ronnie Brown, etc., I have to respect the depth and talent of his squad. As a result, I have to be right on time with my roster decisions this week, and after adding Matt Cassel (really? He was available?) in a shrewd move recently, I have the happy problem of choosing between:

Matt Cassel at home vs. Arizona

OR

Matt Schaub against Oakland on the road

I should say that I've hitched my wagon to Schaub over the past two weeks and he's come up with one tremendous performance and another that was more than respectable. Also, with arguably the league's best wideout, Andre Johnson, on both my team and his, I've been able to double up on points generated from their connection.


However, Oakland's problem this year has certainly not been on defense. They're actually pretty underrated and stout on that side of the ball, so even tho the Raiders don't have anything to play for and the Texans are fighting to cling to tiny playoff hopes, I could still see the air attack struggling somewhat on Sunday. In that scenario, I'm leery of having two players (Schaub and AJohnson) suffering from the possibility of a poor offensive showing.

Cassel has been lights-out as well, and Patsies-Cardinals would figger to be a shootout, considering New England is in the playoff hunt as well and Arizona was embarrassed last week by Minnesota. Also, Cassel is a pretty accomplished runner, providing the possibility that he could score on the ground as well; meanwhile, Schaub is injury-prone and one hit away from yielding to Sage Rosenfels.

To a lesser extent, I'm also pondering:

Chicago defense/special teams vs. Green Bay

OR

Houston defense/special teams at Oakland

The Texans D/ST was another pickup for me this week, and I'm certainly leaning that way. On the other hand, the Bears were destroyed at Lambeau earlier this year, and I'm sure they'd love nothing more than to pound the Packers into submission in what is sure to be a cold and possibly snowy Monday night game. Chicago is also always a threat to score in the return game or on defense, even tho I counteract that somewhat with Devin Hester, who always seems to shine in primetime games.

With a little cabbage on the line and some interesting choices to debate, I'm more than happy to hear any thoughts, tidbits, opinions or even jokes. Have at it, and …

GO BLIND MIDGET PATROL!

The Favre-sbury Flop Coming To The NFL?

It's bad enough that most of the media covering the NFL is comprised of guys who once coached Butt Favre, guys who played with or against Favre, guys who want to spend a week in a hot tub with him, or guys who gush over getting his cell phone number like they just pried the digits out of Charlize Theron. It's bad enough that he repeatedly held hostage the franchise that treated him like royalty for 15 years, cried like a bitch at a press conference, then came back like the drunk uncle who was politely asked to leave the kids' Easter Egg hunt and wants another shot. It's bad enough that he's the Teflon man with a Vicadin addiction and an affinity for creepy jeans commercials.

And it's bad enough that he got another undeserved trip to Hawaii for the Pro Bowl, despite leading the league in interceptions. He easily trailed more worthy candidates like Philip Rivers (3,515 yards, 28 touchdowns, 11 interceptions), Matt Cassel (3,270 yards, 18 scores, 11 picks) and Chad Pennington (3,218 yards, 14 touchdowns, six interceptions), when compared to 3,052 yards, 21 scores and the aforementioned 17 picks for Favre. What a joke, considering Favre's performance has plummeted woefully as the season has gone on and opposing defenses have started loading the box to stop Thomas Jones.

Those things are bad.

But maybe the worst part of it all is that now, almost predictably, Favre is trying to bring the flop to the NFL. If you watch any of his games, he now plummets to the ground when anyone brushes near him as he's throwing, fish-flopping to the turf like he's trying to earn a scholarship offer from Coach K. The biggest problem facing the NFL right now is the mind-numbing overprotection of its quarterbacks, spearheaded by the fact that they are seen as the moneymakers who drive the league's popularity. Now, on top of that unfair protection, you have an over-the-hill fraud trying to draw charges and play off of the referees' quick whistles when it comes to defenders coming within a three-yard radius of a signal-caller.


As if undeserved recognition, media coddling and overhyping aren't enough, now Favre thinks the honorable thing to do is to do his best Shane Battier impersonation and take advantage of the NFL's misplaced rules focus. It reminds me of the end of John Stockton's career, when his heady play for the Utah Jazz was eventually replaced with his embarrassing flopping, staggering around and crashing to the floor when anyone touched him, like a WWF wrestler hit with a fake metal chair. At the end, you felt sorry and ashamed for Stockton, instead of appreciating the greatness with which he played the point guard position for like 20 years in the NBA. If Favre wants to end his career with more rug burns than Paris Hilton and further tarnish his legacy among real fans by trying to singlehandedly bring the flop to the NFL, hopefully an objective journalist will finally call him out for it.

I won't hold my breath on anyone with any credibility pointing out his flopping, though. In fact, it's more likely to "earn" him an honorary degree from Duke instead.

W (Lame) Ducks Flying Air Iraqi Shoes

So during a press conference over the weekend, a disenchanted Iraqi journalist (is there any other kind?) decided to take off his shoes and whip them at Bush while screaming, "This is a farewell kiss, you dog" and "The end!" I can just hear Flavor Flav rapping, "Eyewitness news, Channel 7, more shoes at 11."

Coupla quick thoughts:

First of all, when did Rex Grossman join the Al-Jazeer network and why is he rifling errant shoes all over the place?

Second, gotta give some kudos on the reflexes shown by the prez. He (lame) ducked those size-10s like Ted Ginn Jr. dodges passes over the middle. Then again, you gotta figger he's had plenty of practice in trying to avoid stuff being thrown at him at this point.

Nancy Reagan Jokes + Footy Pajamas Cracks = High Comedy

OBAMA SLAMS NANCY REAGAN...AGAIN - watch more funny videos

Kudos to Jordan Peele for the Obama impersonation, although I've seen him do it better elsewhere …

Limerick Friday LXXXXXIIIV: Laugh, Think And Cry Today

It's a week for remembering the late Jimmy V
And all that he meant to so many, including me
His legacy is one of never, ever giving up
Now more than $80 million in the collection cup
His fight against cancer defined him and set him free

It's the PapaJohns.com Bowl for the Wolfpack
After an incredible late-season comeback
Wish I could make it down to Birmingham
With empty wallet and shaking head I say, "Damn"
But there will be plenty of fans supporting the Pack Attack

From Baton Rouge all the way to the bayou
So little time, and so very much to do
An afternoon spent in the French Market
The rental car was trapped when we parked it
Then every bathroom within 10 miles smelled like poo

He lit up the Big 12 yet again, but he's no Sooner or Gator
Nearly 5,000 yards and 41 touchdowns for this Red Raider
He led his team to 11-1 and seventh in the BCS
Now he's dealing with some Heisman political B.S.
Not a finalist?! Shame on you, every Graham Harrell hater

K-Rod joins the bullpen to help end losing ruts
Also added a proven reliever humorously named Putz
After another season went up in smoke
Mets are out to try to remove the label of "choke"
But it'll take more than a coupla new pitchers to find some guts

Last time …

Hopalong Cassidy Meets Dick Butkus: The "Sugarfoot" Story

Thanks to another in a long line of neat twists of phrase by Stephen King, one of my favorite answers when someone asks me how I'm doing is, "I'm busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest." Well, that phrase takes on new meaning when you consider the story of Carl "Sugarfoot" Joseph, a recent inductee to the Florida High School Athletics Hall of Fame.

I can't do as much justice to Joseph as the video can (there's even a requisite Dan Queerdorf quote included), so going against my normal tendency, I'm going to shut up and let the images speak for themselves.

Blind Midget Patrol Sees The Light … Yes, Pun Intended

Coming on the heels of the disappointing and controversial ouster of The Scooters from playoff inclusion, my faith in fantasy football was admittedly rocked. Coming out the lone loser in a five-way tiebreaker, the results of which I still don't fully comprehend, I basically threw in the towel on the 2008 fantasy football campaign.

However, in my second league, a 12-team collection of former co-workers, my solid Blind Midget Patrol squad wouldn't stop fighting. After an uneven 5-4 start that was hampered by underachieving efforts from LaDanian Tomlinson and Roy E. Williams (apparently, the "E" stands for "enema"), my team caught fire, winning four of the final five regular-season games. Using a record 144-point outing in a key matchup, BMP got into position for a winner-take-all regular-season finale. Winner takes the division and goes to the playoffs; loser goes home despite a more-than-respectable record.

The result was a 106-69 pounding for the good guys, sending Blind Midget Patrol to postseason play as the second-highest scoring team in the league (one point behind the leader, 1,266 points to 1,267). I grabbed the No. 2 seed with a 9-5 record, with the hope being that LT remembers who is, the Bears defense comes out of hibernation and my quarterback situation becomes respectable (Matt Schaub had a huge game last week, but Jeff Garcia has disappeared). Playoffs start this Sunday, so I'm working my guys to death out on the practice fields this week.

In odd years, Blind Midget Patrol is reincarnated and plays under the moniker "The Wrenchpants." This year, however, BMP has responded to a level that would even make a diminutive, squirrel-hands-having, wrenched-pants-wearing, tiny-Dudley-Moore-looking, Durham-dwelling, blind, bitch-ass midget proud.

Back In The Big Easy

"We want our city. And we don't want it to come back like no Disneyland for adults. It was getting that way anyway. We don't want that. Just give us a chance to collect ourselves."
—Wynton Marsalis, as quoted in Rolling Stone

One of the many reasons I never get tired of going to New Orleans is because no matter how many times you visit, you're always going to find something that you've missed. There's never enough time to see all the things you should see, that you need to see.

This time, I wanted to see Pirates Alley, located alongside St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square. Later on, I found out that I was standing right in front of the house where William Faulker wrote his first novel … and I didn't even know it.

Even for an all-too-brief afternoon hustling around the Quarter and the French Market, it was worth it. It always is. And I always leave a small part of me there.

Limerick Friday LXXXXXIII: Unemployment Tends To Diminish Fun Of Holiday Shopping

Layoffs pile up as our recession still does swoon
And half a million more will be jobless soon
Every week, another friend told to hit the bricks
Tough time of year to be job-hunting in the sticks
Hopefully the iPresident will lead an economic boon

A battle royale between the Gators and Tide
A national title is what this game could decide
'Bama has a Nicktator who can coach but is rude
Florida has an Urban who is one cocky dude
Everyone watching tomorrow is in for quite a ride

No better idea than an 8-year-old with an Uzi
Surrounded by adults who were quite boozy
Now he's dead on site at a pointless gun expo
Have we learned nothing from that jackass Plaxico?
Even Charlton Heston thinks this was an avoidable doozy

A fantasy football season to wrench your soul
Bad luck, injuries, then my playoff spot stole
A game that's hard to figure, even in the best times
The only way to play is with many Coronas and limes
Now my only hope is my last team—Blind Midget Patrol

All Wolfpack fans just want a bowl from some fat Santas
About any other gifts, we don't give a damn-as
Hottest team in the league after a dismal start
Thanks to all the seniors, who all played their part
But even Batman wears Russell Wilson pajamas

Last time ...

Meanie Words = Indefinite Suspension, Cheap Haymakers = Play On!

The NHL vs. the NFL. They're certainly not on par when it comes to popularity or relevance in the United States, but occasionally it's interesting to see how each league elects to handle sticky situations.

On the frozen pond, Sean Avery of the Dallas Stars thought it would be a good idea to gather the assembled media and deliver a blast directed at Calgary defenseman Dion Phaneuf. Did he attack Phaneuf's manhood on the ice? Did he denigrate his skills? Did he question Phaneuf's ability to match up with Avery? Nah. He basically called Phaneuf's girlfriend a tramp.

You see, Avery once dated actress (term used loosely) Elisha Cuthbert, who is best known for playing Jack Bauer's daughter on "24" and portraying a porn star with a heart o' gold on "Girl Next Door." So, Avery thought it would be humorous to call attention to the fact that he "knew" (in the biblical sense) Elisha early and often, long before Phaneuf arrived on the scene. It was also a reference to the fact that Avery once dated the ex-Mrs. Rod Stewart, model Rachel Hunter, at one point, and Hunter now resides on the arm of Los Angeles Kings defenseman Jarrett Stoll.

"I just wanted to comment on how it's become like a common thing in the NHL for guys to fall in love with my sloppy seconds," said Avery, with a mock look of disgust. "I don't know what that's about, but … enjoy the game tonight."



Apparently, it is widely accepted around the NHL that Avery is an "instigator and knucklehead" (in the words of the Chicago Sun-Times), so while his words didn't exactly catch everyone off-guard, they were certainly met with ridicule. While I don't know whether Elisha pulls the train at the All-Star Game or is being passed around the NHL (apparently, she also used to date Montreal defenseman Mike Komisarek), I do know that the comments were in poor taste, out of bounds, below the belt, uncalled for, immature, childish, and basically whatever other way you want to describe them. Agreed.

However.

Were they strong enough that they merited an indefinite suspension for Avery? Were they crass enough that his own team said they would have suspended him if the league had not stepped in? Keep in mind that not only did Avery never refer to Phaneuf, Stoll, Cuthbert or Hunter at all, but that, despite being considered the league's most-hated player, Avery has never been suspended. Yet NHL commissioner Gary Bettman acted swiftly, citing Avery's "inappropriate public comments, not pertaining to the game." A day later, Avery delivered a forced apology prior to a mandatory meeting with Bettman in New York, but it was way too little, way too late.

Compare that to the NFL. In the Nov. 23 game at Miami, New England left tackle Matt Light got tangled up with Dolphins linebacker Channing Crowder on a field-goal attempt. Light ripped off Crowder's helmet, grabbed him by his dreadlocked hair and began raining punches down on him. Mind you, Crowder was attempting to extricate himself the entire time, not punching back but trying to dance away as Light pulled his hair like a girl. On watching the event live, I assumed a multiple-game suspension for Light, especially considering the league's stance on fighting and basically any type of hard hitting on the field at all, much less sans helmets. The outcome? Both players were fined $15,000, and neither was suspended.

So, basically, Crowder got to pay $15,000 to have a roided-up cheater yank off his helmet, pull his hair and punch him repeatedly about the head and face. Light got to pay $15,000 to take some punishment-free swings at a defenseless player who, admittedly, is annoying and whose bark is much fiercer than his bite. Keep in mind that this is a league that issues fines and 15-yard penalties for breathing on a quarterback (check the last line in the below video, from Dan Queerdorf: "This is not hockey.").



Do you think that the Patriots' following-week matchup against the sack-happy Steelers, in a game with major playoff implications, had anything to do with commissioner Roger Goodell's decision not to suspend an essential offensive lineman for the Pats? Goodell, based on his long-standing relationship with New England owner Robert Kraft, has been a staunch Patriots apologist, even when the Patsies were caught cheating redhanded. Luckily, Pittsburgh beat the shite out of the Cheatriots anyway, but it was another telling development in the NFL's protection and favoritism shown toward New England. Despite their well-documented cheating and Tom Brady's absence, the Pats remain the NFL's favorite sons, demonstrated by favorable rulings, timely penalties against opponents at key moments, and a complete disregard for the infraction of holding against New England at any time.

For those of you scoring at home, in one league, it's OK to attack an unprotected, defenseless player with unreturned punches. In another, if you hint that another player's unnamed girlfriend might be an unmitigated skank, you're basically banished from the league.

Needless to say that, much like "wags" in Europe, Drew Barrymore with losers and Kate Hudson with musicians, Elisha Cuthbert can't resist toothless NHL defensemen. But it looks like Avery would have been better off just punching her instead of questioning her chastity. Because everyone knows that, if you hint that she gets around the NHL more than a Zamboni, you won't only have to worry about Jack Bauer killing your family and destroying your country, but you'll have to deal with the NHL's resident Mr. Bean—Gary "She seems like a sweet girl" Bettman.

And you thought "As the World Turns" was the best soap opera on TV. Not even close.

"The Invasion" Won't Put You To Sleep

Based on "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," the cleverly titled "The Invasion" is sparked by an opening that will have you glued to your seat and unconsciously mouthing, "Wow." The great, terrifying opening sequence turns out to be something of a flash-forward, since the true opening documents a shuttle explosion that leaves a trail of debris 200 miles wide from Washington, D.C., to Dallas. There's an immediate fear that the debris could contaminate the nearby population, and that fear is realized when a strange spore is found within the crash area.

Quickly, a government scientist (Jeremy Northam) investigates some of the victims and some of the areas that have been damaged, and he immediately begins acting stranger than Crispin Glover on Quaaludes. Somehow, he has procured a super-hot girlfriend, and then we learn that his ex-wife is D.C. psychiatrist Nicole Kidman, who parades around the movie in lingerie breakfast wear and a pushup bra, so let's just say this guy is doing something right. Kidman's colleague/love interest is the dude who plays James Bond, and the two team up to start investigating some strange organic material that shows up on her son's Halloween candy. I think you can see where this is going.

The camera shadows Kidman (Carol Bennell) to show her everyday routine, which we suspect (rightly) is about to be broken with some well-placed anything-but-normalcy. As the day progresses, we begin to see signs that people are starting to experience side effects from being affected by this spore, punctuated by a highly disturbing scene where we notice people throwing up in tea at a convention and serving it to the unaffected. The contamination is alien in nature, and results in the infected basically walking around in a dream state, feeling and experiencing nothingness.

The question quickly becomes, "Who can you trust?" The affected are embarking on finding and infecting those who have thus far avoided contact with the spores, so there is a pocket of the population who has to try to pretend to be the zombie-like, eyes-forward products of the infection. The terror is only increased by the ease of transmitting disease, which is scary for a lot of reasons in our current political climate. What is diagnosed as the flu quickly escalates once the victim falls asleep, and the result is a cross between "Stepford Wives" and "A.I."


After a quick Google search shows Bennell that many people are describing situations in which "my son is not my son" or "my wife is not my wife," she realizes that strange things are afoot at the Circle K. When her infected ex-husband insists on having their son visit him, she panics when she comes in contact with an infected person and sees the results. Upon trying to rescue her son, her ex-husband vomits on her (literally and figuratively), giving her the infection, which won't kick in completely until she falls asleep. Her mantra then becomes, "Do not trust anyone. Do not show emotion. Do not fall asleep."

As she heads through downtown D.C. attempting to pose as an infected person and avoiding eye contact, she comes across a scene where people are jumping off a roof, similar to "The Happening." Director Oliver Hirschbiegel (yes, that's his last name) then begins to interweave future scenes and events with the present and past scenes and events with the present, which is a neat tactic when done correctly and somewhat confusing when it's not. In this case, it is handled well by Hirschbiegel, setting up some impending doom and tension.

In attempting to kidnap her son from the home of his best friend, a creepy little fucker named Gene who is a disturbing combination of Short Round and Chuck Manson, there is a tremendously tense stare-off between the mother and the son, in which both don't want to give away the fact that they're not infected yet. It turns out that the son is immune to the infection due to a childhood disease, leading Bennell's scientist friends to embark on trying to identify a cure. Mother and son are eventually discovered to be pretending, leading to a terrific chase scene that includes a scary stop at a convenience store that involves the Mom having to shoot James Bond and the son plunging a syringe into his mom's heart to wake her up and ends in a rooftop helicopter rescue.

Eventually, a cure is found and disseminated, and the media asks one of the scientists whether society is going back to normal. "Pick up a newspaper," he says with a sigh. "For better or worse, we're human again." Charmingly, it is revealed that James Bond survived the shooting and was cured, and is now rocking breakfast at the therapist's house. Bennell has apparently gotten custody of Gene to go with her son, and she constantly recalls the words of a colleague: "In the right situation, we're all capable of terrible crimes."

Bolstered by a stellar trailer (below), "The Invasion" turns out to be a worthy remake of a classic, marked by a fitting soundtrack that highlights the many memorably intense scenes. It's a good length at 93 minutes, though the ending is a little simplistic and the real reasons behind the contamination and infection are unexamined. Still, if you're looking for an easy watch and some hair-raising (*add your own Kidman/pushup bra joke here*) moments, this is one that's worth checking out.

Café McDonalds' "NuggNuts": Now With Reefer!

Now, McDonald's usually has pretty smart commercials. Yes, a tad cheesy, yes, somewhat overly sentimental for super-processed fast food, but almost retro-cool. So their recent attempts to boost sales of their Pigeon McNuggets—er, Chicken McNuggets—by asking people to become "Nuggnuts" was somewhat surprising in its naivete.

Referring to their product as a "nugg" is sketchy at best. Ergo, I'll refer you to the Urban Dictionary (I will do so rarely) for the most widely accepted definition of "nugg."

Nug (noun)
1. A high quality bud of marijuana.
2. The Dank.
3. See ganja.
Ex. "Gayle packed her last nug into the bowl and smoked it on the way to work."

Nug (noun)
1. A small chunk of weed … not a chicken nugget.
Ex. (sic) "yo pack that nug in the bowl so we can toke this shit"

In the sense that smoking a "nug" of an afternoon will give you a craving for "nuggs" (or Funyuns) toot-sweet, then yes, I'd say Ronald is on to something. Still, tho, this is an advertising campaign that Mickey D's may want to rethink somewhat (hell, they already have a FaceBook application and some sort of creepy pledge that you have to take).

"Da, da, da, da, da … Tyrone's lovin' it!"

Add "Queerdorfies" To Your Breakfast Table!

I think most rational people would agree that Dan Dierdorf is the worst football commentator of all time, and I posit that he's the worst sports broadcaster, period, that has ever stumbled off the assembly line. Cliches, mispronunciations, horrific jokes, man-crushes, repetition … he's got it all. And, as an added bonus, he provides a stunning lack of insight or knowledge for someone who allegedly played the game. How he has sustained a lengthy career for CBS only leads me to believe that he has a picture of the president of CBS in a compromising position with a goat, stealing the tactic used by his doppelganger, Matt Millen.

Since the Dolphins are an AFC team and CBS carries AFC games, I've had to endure Queerdorf for longer than I bear to remember. I always cringe when I hear his voice leading off a Miami game, both for myself and for his partner, Greg Gumbel.

Dan Dierdorf has two dreams in his life: to be the meat in a Tom Brady-Joe Montana sandwich and to eat his bodyweight in Funyuns. Not many can claim to have maxed out their lives' hopes and dreams by age 40, so kudos to you, Douchedorf.