Nice lookin' pooch there, huh? If the domestic terrorists at PETA have their way, that'll be the new mascot at the University of Georgia.
Following the untimely passing of Uga VII, PETA has asked the university to stop using live English bulldogs as their mascot, instead requesting the use of "animatronics" (read: robots like at left) or sticking exclusively to their guy-in-a-costume, Hairy Dawg.
For me, tradition is usually a code word for "We're too lazy or cheap to make any sort of change to anything ever," but the animal attractions that add value to a college football ticket are a huge part of the fun for me.
Bevo the steer at Texas.
Ralphie the buffalo at Colorado.
Mike the tiger at LSU.
Spirit the Malamute at Washington.
Seriously, there are many live animal mascots who embody the fun of a college football Saturday (or even a basketball evening, in some cases) the way no costumed dancing schmuck ever could. Check out a few here.
I can't vouch for the way all of these animals are treated, but I'd gather they're handled with some requisite respect, since few of them have been sued out of existence, even in this hyper-litigious Internet age, where everybody's a private dick...except for the ones who are also dicks in public. (Ahem.)
The Ugas, however, are well-known to be treated like royalty in Athens. The university maintains memorials for all the past Ugas. The current ones reside in an air-conditioned doghouse and sit on blocks of ice during games, as bulldogs are prone to heatstroke.
Bulldog breeding has, over the generations, become progressively more difficult thanks to the breed's narrow hips and large heads, which mean females often have to give birth via C-section. I get that. I'm not convinced PETA's meddling just for the sake of publicity, as I suspect they were with the BatManu case over Halloween.
But still, where else are you going to get a picture like the one here, with Uga and Matt Stafford? These dogs, and, I expect, many other animal mascots, have pretty sweet existences. Lots of affection, well-fed, highly cared for...most people don't live this well. Uga's a part of life at UGA, and if the line ever ceased, I certainly hope to God it wouldn't be in favor of a damn robot. Would you replace Ralphie with a robot buffalo?
...
Actually, a robot buffalo might be sort of cool. Scary, but cool.
RIP Uga VI's Loran's Best (aka Uga VII) Deceased November 19, 2009
On the daily now, we're assaulted by the spectacle of Charlie Weis being ridden to slaughter like a broken-down horse. The breathless speculation on his successor as Notre Dame football coach by the Herbstreits and Schads of the world is sort of compelling, but in much the same way as the results of Afghanistan's election. Neither is a job that any sane person really wants right now, and being the Afghan president might actually be safer than being Notre Dame's quarterback. More on that later.
Notre Dame bagmen, er, boosters want AD Jack Swarbrick to nag Urban Meyer relentlessly until he finally remembers that Notre Dame is his "dream job" and that he's nothing until he's coached there. Because, you know, those two national championships in three years were just an audition for a program that's won two national championships in THIRTY-three years.
Cincinnati's Brian Kelly is considered the front-runner to replace Weis, as he's a bit more of a realistic hire. A guy at a program that's just arriving is a lot easier to pry away than a coach who's already brought back a storied team and has the hardware to prove it.
And if Meyer leaves Florida, a state that recruits itself, or Kelly leaves Cincinnati, a program that may be on the verge of big-boy things, one thing is certain:
That man is an idiot.
I grew up in Indiana. Lafayette, to be exact, which sits 150 miles southwest of South Bend. And you know what? Winters in Lafayette suck. Never spent one in South Bend, but I'm sure they're even worse. I spent three years in Gainesville, Florida, and winters there? Quite nice. The wife and I went to the beach for Christmas one year. Any man who leaves the tropics for the arctic is an idiot.
Paul "Bear" Bryant once said that Florida was a hard place to win football games because, with all the pretty little things running around in their suntans, it was hard to make football the most important thing in a young man's life. Steve Spurrier did a fine job of it. Bobby Bowden did a fine job of it, before the Alzheimer's set in. Jimmy Johnson did a fine job of it. And now, Urban Meyer appears to have elevated it to an art form.
The point of all this is that Notre Dame needs to step back and seriously...SERIOUSLY...evaluate itself. Notre Dame is a mid-major program with a major-league opinion of itself. Tradition is all well and good, but face it. High school players don't care about what Ara Parseghian, Knute Rockne, and Dan Devine accomplished. Most of them would be hard-pressed to tell you who those guys were. Hell, they only know Lou Holtz as that goofy lisping fruit on ESPN. The players care about, "Can I get to the NFL?" That gets done in two ways: play on TV and play in IMPORTANT games on TV.
Thanks to N(D)BC, Notre Dame can certainly deliver on one of those scores. And, to be fair, the Irish players who do show out do still get drafted...somewhat. From 1999 to 2006, the Irish had 37 players drafted...unfortunately, less than a third of those players are still in the league. The total fell to four in 2008, and only ONE in 2009. By contrast, mighty Abilene Christian had two players drafted this year, and both Johnny Knox and Bernard Scott appear to have some NFL game.
Then there's the academic standards. One of the big factors in Urban Meyer not chasing his "dream job" was his understanding that Notre Dame's higher academic standards would chase off some talented athletes who were indifferent toward their studies. Is it a failure to keep the "student" prefix in the term "student-athlete"? Absolutely. However, athletes have been failing to remind themselves to be students for generations, it's only now that we have media in every corner trying to complain about it. Why should a player go somewhere where he has to work even harder in the classroom just to go out and freeze his tail off on gameday when he can do just enough to get by and play in sunny Florida, where the women are scantily clad ten months out of the year instead of six?
In Gainesville, UF players are absolute rock stars, as I suspect they are in college towns across America when the team is doing well. In South Bend...the quarterback's getting popped in the eye coming out of a restaurant with his girlfriend and parents. This is a fan base passing denial and barreling straight into the anger phase. I fear for wives all over South Bend if the Irish finish it off by tanking against Stanford. Why? Read this.
Face it, folks, no matter how many shoutouts Notre Dame gets from Regis Philbin every morning, Irish football stopped mattering the moment Lou Holtz walked out that door.
Bob Davie, Ty Willingham, and Charlie Weis combined to lose 66 games in 13 years, an average of five per year. Parseghian and Holtz lost 47 games in 22 years, an average of just over two per year. Players can go anywhere in the Internet era. Recruiting is much easier for the mid-major conferences and smaller programs. Notre Dame's name doesn't sell itself anymore. NBC helps, but what will also help is getting coaches whose credentials haven't been puffed all to hell, like Captain Schematic Advantage up there.
Get someone quiet and unassuming who's willing to come in and work hard. At the same time, try somebody who has a vested interest in returning the program to the success of the Holtz era, perhaps someone who has a legacy of his own staring over his shoulder.
When Lou Holtz took over the Irish, his career record stood at 116-65-5, a winning percentage of .637. He was 6-4-2 in bowl games at the time. There's a coach at a mid-major program right now who has a record of 67-44, a .604 winning percentage. Only 1-2 in bowl games, but considering where his program was when he arrived, getting to bowl games is a pretty good job. And his name's still rather familiar to Irish fans.
Jack, forget paying $8 million per year to Urban Meyer. Just call Skip Holtz. He can't be any worse than Moby Weis. And if he is, maybe NDBC will put every basketball game on the air.
Hines Ward and Ric Flair now have something in common. Namely, the title of "Dirtiest Player in the Game." Different games, but one thing is the same: in both wrestling and football, calling someone dirty is essentially thinly veiled whining.
Sports Illustrated recently gave us a poll where almost 300 NFL players voted on who they felt was the dirtiest player in football. Ward got 11.6 percent of the vote, almost twice what runners-up Albert Haynesworth and Joey Porter received. Remember, that's the same Albert Haynesworth that tried to give Andre Gurode some free plastic surgery.
You'd think that, a decade into his career, people would be used to Hines Ward by now. The guy's a linebacker who runs pass patterns, and he has no qualms about lowering the boom on somebody. If the other guy's not looking (as Keith Rivers apparently wasn't when Hines broke his jaw), that's the other guy's problem.
The "Dirtiest Player" poll is essentially little more than an excuse for players to whine about people that have historically made them look bad. Is it a coincidence that the top ten vote-getters here have a combined 30 Pro Bowls between them?
Jared Allen (2 Pro Bowls), Troy Polamalu (5), Harvey Dahl (0), Richie Incognito (0), Cortland Finnegan (1), Kevin Mawae (7), Roy L. Williams (5), Joey Porter (4), Albert Haynesworth (2), and Ward (4) were your Top 10.
No defensive player likes the idea of getting put on his ass by a wide receiver, most of whom are the most likely players to come out of a game because "OMFG, I SO broke a nail!" Especially when that wide receiver played QUARTERBACK in college. Ward's not supposed to be anywhere near heavy contact, and yet he's often the one seeking it. That damages the ego of a defensive player, who must instantly call the contact "dirty" to make his own psychic boo-boo feel better.
For my money, Haynesworth's head stomp to Gurode is one he'll likely never live down, and Williams' popularizing the horse-collar tackle led to one of those rare safety rules that I can totally get behind.
Likewise, griping about offensive linemen like Mawae, Incognito, and Dahl is pointless, as just about anything can happen when the lines collide. In there, it's pretty much anything goes...as long as you're not attacking the eyes and the testes. More on that in a moment.
Hines Ward is a tough bastard. If you think otherwise, it's probably because your team's defense is filled with pussies who just got stuck in the dirt by a QB-turned-WR who forgot he's supposed to be a little priss.
Far as I'm concerned (and I'm fairly far from a Steelers fan), Hines can keep doing what he does all the way to Canton.
========================================================= Now, back to the eyes and testicles.
Specifically, the eyes of Georgia running back Washaun Ealey being nearly introduced to the fingers of Florida linebacker Brandon Spikes.
You want dirty? There it is, kids.
There's no way to sell that as an accident.
Spikes claimed it was retaliation for similar treatment earlier in the game. Possible, but still...the best way to retaliate in a football game is still to stick your shoulder pad in a back's chest, separate him from the ball, and then lay on top of him and talk about how he just hocked up his manhood when your team recovers the fumble.
Brock Lesnar and Georges St. Pierre, two leading practitioners of what John McCain once called "human cockfighting," aren't allowed to go for the eyes. There's no call for Brandon Spikes to be doing it, either.
And Urban Meyer doesn't get a pass on this one, either. I'm a bit of a Meyer fan, but ye gods, what the hell do you gain by suspending someone for a half? By halftime against Vanderbilt, most of the starters wouldn't be in anyway, so what's the point?
Spikes has now "suspended himself" for the entire game, and it seems like a nice gesture. To whom, I'm not sure, but still. I highly doubt that it was Spikes' idea. Urb's probably gotten a whiff of the whole teapot tempest that his limp-wristed "punishment" started and needed a way to cover himself without LOOKING like he was covering himself. This way, Spikes looks like a "responsible young man" seeking atonement for his actions, and the Gators get a few extra bonus points for "overcoming distractions" and beating Vanderbilt shorthanded.
Since, you know, Vanderbilt's 2-7 record is pretty intimidating and all.
Yes, boys and girls, that is Manu Ginobili swatting a bat out of mid-air on Halloween night. Yeah, doesn't seem like a coincidence to me, either. More on that momentarily. While others were undoubtedly practicing their "EEEEK"s and diving under seats, Manu simply said, "Hey, we got a game to play here," and took the matter into his own hand.
This morning on 104.5 The Zone in Nashville, Mark Howard seemed like he was reprimanding Manu for taking down a helpless, defenseless little bat. While I'd expect it from a card-carrying member of everyone's favorite domestic terrorist organization (hint: their acronym could just as easily stand for Pushy, Egotistical, Terroristic Assholes), hearing it from a card-carrying member of the sporting media was a bit disappointing.
Aren't we usually of the mindset that "the game must go on"? Why stand around and allow a game to be held hostage by some jackhole who decided that letting a bat loose at a basketball game on Halloween would get a few laughs? And yes, I'm fully convinced someone smuggled the poor creature in. No way it's a coincidence that a bat invades a game on Halloween night. All arenas hosting Easter games need to be on the lookout for canaries. While we're at it, why not check people for turtle doves...or French hens...or calling birds...or geese a-laying...or swans a-swimming on Christmas? They should be easy to spot, as it's pretty hard to hide seven swans on one's person.
Unless it's in San Antonio, since the Spurs' arena security staff is obviously riddled with EPIKPHAIL.
PETA's response to the "Bat-Manu" incident, which you can read by clicking the above link, tells us that "bats always try to avoid contact with humans." So, isn't a person bringing a bat into the arena (most likely under a jacket) doing more to torture its fragile little psyche than a guy trying to defend himself? We don't know what kinds of diseases the bat might be carrying. So swatting it out of the air before the arena staff comes with a net to REALLY antagonize it might have been the best course of action.
When people start chasing after me with a net (I call it Tuesday), I get tempted to fight back. And so it may have been with the bat. If the bat had bitten someone and given them rabies, I'm sure PETA would still be objecting to its destruction...since, after all, they're the only ones allowed to play God with the animal kingdom.
And speaking of rabies, Manu's going through shots as a result of his daring swipe. From all accounts that I've ever heard, rabies shots are a whole metric ton of not fun. It takes a real man to voluntarily put himself in that kind of situation for the potential well-being of others, and by God, Manu Ginobili clanks when he walks, if you catch my drift.
Besides, the usher to whom Manu handed the beast claims that it did, in fact, fly away once outside. If the bat's not dead, and the game got played, and Manu's smiling through the pain of his shots...then I guess all that's left to say is this:
The New York Times best-seller list may get a couple of new entries from the sports world in the next couple of weeks. Jackie MacMullan's When the Game Was Ours once again joins Magic Johnson and Larry Bird as the faces of the NBA in the 1980's.
Then, a couple of weeks from now, we'll be treated to Andre Agassi's Open. That one's already generating huge buzz over Andre's "I used crystal meth" admission. More on that later.
First, Bird and Magic. They started out as two guys who would just as soon gouge each other's eyes out as have to look at each other, and now they seem buddies. Magic and Isiah Thomas, however, seem to have gone the opposite direction.
Almost immediately after Magic was diagnosed with HIV in 1991, rumors flew about how he contracted it. Many reports prior to this have painted Isiah as the architect of the one that had Magic being gay, and according to TrueHoop's Henry Abbott, those reports were already somewhat public in 1992.
No one seems to be doubting that Magic knew of Isiah's role in the rumors from Day One...so why has he sat on it for eighteen years? Why has he still greeted Isiah warmly when they meet, taken friendly pictures with him, etc.? Why the hell did he recommend Isiah to the Knicks (allegedly), unless it was a diabolical conspiracy to completely trash New York basketball? (If it was, at least that mission was accomplished.)
It's pretty fucking weak to smile in a guy's face and mutter curses at his back, but it seems like that's the approach Magic has taken. Although, maybe it should be a bit more understandable. After all, Magic being angry at anyone kind of goes against the happy-go-lucky, never-met-a-stranger persona that The Smile has cultivated for him all these years. We as humans find it quite easy to smile in the face of unpleasant people when our money might be at stake. Just go to work tomorrow and look at your boss. Point proven.
People that tell others where they can get off usually don't get endorsement deals. Unless you're Chuck Barkley. This is why you can never get Michael "Republicans Wear Nikes, Too" Jordan to admit that he has any personal beliefs aside from "Being a shoe-and-underwear-shilling robot is a pretty sweet gig." So, obviously, while he was trying to get his various businesses off the ground, Magic wasn't about to commit such an egregious breach of decorum as slamming Zeke for telling everyone he caught the most fatal disease of the 1980's by playing the wrong skin flute.
Now, here we are, almost two decades later. Magic's a full-fledged entrepreneur, feel-good survival story, and the all-around embodiment of the American dream. Isiah's run two teams and AN ENTIRE LEAGUE into the ground, been sued for sexual harassment, been placed on suicide watch, and now starts over with his basketball legacy, becoming head coach of a fourth-rate basketball program at a university whose provost didn't even know his name.
Seems like a good time to smack Isiah with one more piece of character Kryptonite, doesn't it? Forget kicking a guy when he's down, this is kicking a guy after he's been shot with a cannon, run over by a train, had his entrails pulled out his nose and fed to a pack of coyotes, set on fire, and watched a four-year-old kid come over and piss on what's left.
And what about that reboot, Isiah 2.0, if you will? How does a story like this play in high school basketball stars' living rooms? Would you like your son to play ball for a guy who allegedly spent the 1990's endeavoring to dig up dirt on his best friend's sex life, especially when said guy has failed out of the NBA in spectacular fashion?
Forget HIV, Magic may have just given Isiah a real disease to worry about. It's hard as hell to make Isiah Thomas into a sympathetic figure, but honestly, I kinda do feel for Zeke right now. Even with that said, I'll be surprised if Thompson...er, Thomas isn't the biggest leper in college basketball come recruiting season.
==================================================================== And now, back to Mr. Agassi.
The fact that Agassi used any kind of substance is not, in and of itself, surprising. After all, this is a guy who once thought that wearing a muskrat pelt on one's head (see left) was a good look. (Appears he's also got some kind of furry animal poking out of his shirt collar, but that's beside the point.)
Seriously, no sober person I know would wear something like that.
What is most surprising to me is the kind of message that Andre's sending when he describes the results of the "spiked soda" that he used as a scapegoat when he failed a drug test shortly thereafter:
"There is a moment of regret, followed by vast sadness. Then comes a tidal wave of euphoria that sweeps away every negative thought in my head. I've never felt so alive, so hopeful - and I've never felt such energy. I'm seized by a desperate desire to clean. I go tearing around my house, cleaning it from top to bottom. I dust the furniture. I scour the tub. I make the beds."
Dude, seriously, knock that shit off. You've probably just done every bonehead mixing toxic and explosive chemicals in the back of his garage an enormous favor. If this was a symptom for everyone who used meth, my wife (and probably millions of others like her) would be bringing me crystal by the truckload and shoveling it into my cereal.
I know people who've done crystal. Oddly, none of them were great housekeepers.
As a bonus service provided only here at Starr*Rated, a few pitches for potential sports best-sellers of the future:
The Athlete's Guide to Parenting by Shawn Kemp and Travis Henry --Who better to give advice on raising children than two guys who have 18* children between them? (*-number is conservative estimate, as we all seem to have lost count) Henry's half of the profits will go directly to the Travis Henry Legal Defense Fund...since it likely wouldn't be enough to cover Christmas gifts for all the kids. Kemp's half, judging by the 300-plus pounds he was lugging in Orlando, will likely go to his local Golden Corral.
Left Behind by Dale Earnhardt Jr. --A novel. Doug Earhart II loses his father in an auto accident, and descends down a slippery psychological slope resulting in a deathly fear of right turns. The most harrowing passage is a minute-by-minute account of a downtown excursion that covers three blocks...in five hours.
Nice, Huh? by Derek Jeter --The Captain presents a coffee-table book of all the fine tail he's partaken of during his career (allegedly). The Internet masturbation crowd will, sadly, pan the book, saying "I can seez pix of half these bicthes NAEKD!!~!~!!!!`111111~1~1!1!!"
On the Line by Serena Williams --What? This one's already been written? Well, bummer. All I can say is that I'd only be buying this version.
Next week, I fully anticipate being able to chuckle over another Vikings game featuring 50+ passes and the complete ostracizing of Adrian Peterson.
For those wondering why I didn't post an action shot of Mr. Brady...um...look at the picture again. Me personally, I'd rather look at "action shots" of Mrs. Brady, but as far as we know, none exist. No disgruntled staff in that house, apparently.
Week 6 was quite nerve-wracking for me, as my surviving my second straight week of potential Redskinning came down to whether Matt Prater could outkick Nate Kaeding...AND Tony Scheffler. Elsewhere, a brotherly battle had one throwing up his hands and threatening quitting.
If it's any consolation, Jay, I was pulling for ya. It'd be poetic justice for the Redskin fan to be the one to end someone's long losing streak. In the even bigger story, Da Shark has now opened up a two-game lead on the field, but I'm not 100% sure that the regular-season winner has ever carried it all the way to the championship. Someone's gonna have to verify me on that one.
This week's All-3FL team...well, no points for guessing which NFL team dominated. Especially since they inspired the title of this post.
QB: Tom Brady (51.7 for Salsa Shark) WR: Randy Moss (35.9 for Mooby Mafia) WR: Wes Welker (33 for Salsa Shark) RB: Ray Rice (37.4 for PopaCapInYoAss) WR/RB: Maurice Jones-Drew (37.3 for Mules) WR/TE: Marques Colston (27.6 for Carpet Munchers) K: Ryan Longwell (16 for Salsa Shark) DEF: Broncos (29.12 for Gutter's Tools)
Amazingly, for the first week this season, there was no one on anyone's bench or the FA wire who would have put up All-3FL scores. Yes, there's no one floating about in the middle of nowhere who could roll up 150 rushing yards and 3 TD's. We're that good.
Justin's tied Amanda with 8 All-3FL performers, and just like her, his are coming in spurts. She had six in the first two weeks, he's had six in the last two. Hopefully for him, this doesn't mean that he's due for a four-game losing streak.
Yahoo's Point Spreads had three of the games looking close this week, and two of them actually delivered. Both of those actually featured favorites failing to cover the spread.
PS=Projected Spread AS=Actual Spread Diff.=Difference (If the difference is positive, then the winner covered the spread.)
Mooby Mafia favored over Lady Shark (PS=1.53, AS=1.09, Diff.=-0.44) Pop-Up Campers over Valhalla (PS=4.21, AS=2.12, Diff.=-2.09) BRM over Kirbdogs (PS=31.28, AS=48.34, Diff.=17.06) SuicideSquad over Salsa Shark (PS=1.6, AS=-15.46, Diff.=-17.06) (Whoa...see the Diff in the above line. Damn, that's trippy.) Gutter's Tools over GRH (PS=15.24, AS=34.01, Diff.=18.77) Mules over Carpet Munchers (PS=20.54, AS=26, Diff.=5.46)
Jon was finally favored for the first time, and nearly coughed it up. Meanwhile, Steve keeps bringing gaudy projections, and backing them up exactly 50% of the time. He and Amanda are fifth and fourth in the league in scoring, but combine for a 5-7 record. Kirby's ninth in scoring, and sits 4-2. Sometimes, there's no justice.
I may have officially waved the white flag vis a vis the Swami award this week, as I totally brainfarted the voting process. I blame the sightseeing train the wife and I took on Saturday. Eight hours of looking at fall foliage in bright sunshine can be fun...looking at it on a dreary-ass, overcast, intermittently rainy day can turn your brains to tapioca faster than TV.
That commercial's still seriously fucking disturbing. Everyone else made it look like a pretty predictable week.
For the week: Kirby: 5-1 Justin, Dave, Steve, Tim, Mireya, Jason, Bill: 4-2 Amanda: 3-3
Being in the rare position of voting underdog can only help Justin pull away in the F-U Award standings. As I said last week, it's hard to vote against him right now, unless someone wishbones Tom Brady again and he has to turn to Mark "Dirty" Sanchez. Funny enough, he voted against HIMSELF this week. For some reason, I suspect the loss of some alcohol-induced wager, because that's just not typical.
And with that, I jet once again. Just in time for Week 7's games to start. This week, I get to see how much punch God has in his Right Hand, Dave takes the next shot at slowing Justin's roll...and barring an absolute miracle, we're going to be down to one winless team next week, as Jason and Mireya face off. If there's a tie, get to the bomb shelter, because the Apocalypse is coming.
Yeah, I'm late. Sue me. Four midterms and a job that keeps you until 2 AM most nights can put you behind on some things. Luckily, one place I wasn't behind in Week 5 was on the scoreboard.
After owning all of our souls in the first two weeks behind dominant Drew Brees performances, Amanda's crashed back to earth with scores of 65, 79, and 85 in a three-game skid. Meanwhile, Jason's broken 98 in three of his first five games and still can't beg, borrow, or steal a win. As for who's broken 100 in each of their first five games...that list is as short as the list of undefeated teams, and has the same name on it. Justin's low game so far has been 104.88.
The All-3FL team is finally made major by a massive member of the Mafia, and for the second week in a row, a RB play that looked like a gamble paid off large.
QB: Matt Hasselbeck (35.69 for Carpet Munchers) WR: Roddy White (38 for the Mafia) WR: Andre Johnson (27.1 for Salsa Shark) RB: Ahmad Bradshaw (30 for BRM) WR/RB: Nate Burleson (25.08 for SuicideSquad) WR/TE: Kellen Winslow (27.7 for Salsa Shark) K: Lawrence Tynes (14 for Mules) DEF: Vikings (21.56 for Salsa Shark)
This makes four straight weeks that our All-3FL kicker has carded exactly 14 points. Doesn't mean shit, but it's a hella coincidence. Andre becomes the third All-3FL repeater, and the first who wasn't representing SuicideSquad.
And, once again, there's quite a list of people who could have been contendas:
WR Miles Austin (43.96 as FA) WR Jeremy Maclin (30.2 as FA) RB Michael Turner (27.7 on BRM's bench) WR Austin Collie (25.7 on Lady Shark's bench) Seahawks DEF (26.28 as FA)
Once again, these people benching their #1 picks. Oy vey, I may be getting all verklempt. Talk amongst yourselves.
Yahoo expected a tight game between Justin and Steve...and in return, they got the week's biggest keg of whoop-ass. Other than that, nothing was expected to be close, although a couple of games got fairly tight.
PS=Projected Spread AS=Actual Spread Diff.=Difference (If the difference is positive, then the winner covered the spread.)
Valhalla favored over Mooby Mafia (PS=17.17, AS=-6.36, Diff.=-23.53) BRM over Salsa Shark (PS=0.5, AS=-67.48, Diff.=-67.98) Kirbdogs over GRH (PS=12.33, AS=24.36, Diff.=12.03) SuicideSquad over Carpet Munchers (PS=16.48, AS=-5.03, Diff.=-21.51) Gutter's Tools over Lady Shark (PS=13.48, AS=20.81, Diff.=7.33) Mules over Pop Rocks & Coke (PS=25.28, AS=49.8, Diff.=24.52)
Adam and Jon haven't gotten much love from Yahoo's prognostication program, having both been underdogs each week so far. And, as was mentioned in Week 4's recap, Steve is still perfect after being favored to beat Justin this week. If only Yahoo wasn't completely full of it, eh?
In seasons past, Justin would routinely put some posts on the league message board depicting him doing depraved shit to Chris Berman. Seriously, I think Justin may need to hire a lawyer, because I think the writers of the Saw movies have been biting his material for the last few sequels. This season, though, he's contented himself with merely being a better Swami than Berman's ever been. Thankfully for Berman's entrails.
For the week: Tim, Mireya: 4-2 Justin, Dave, Kirby, Scott: 3-3 Steve, Amanda, Jason: 2-4 Jon was busy crying into his pillow, "Lord, why does my team's QB suck?" after he kept Donovan McNabb's 264 yards and 3 TD's on the bench in favor of Jason "More Sacks than a Supermarket" Campbell. Between McNabb and Ray Rice, he'd have had enough points to win...somehow...again. Adam was also crying into his pillow, wondering why mean old defenses had to go and start covering Jacoby Jones.
For the season: Justin: 18-12 Dave, Steve, Tim: 16-14 Mireya: 14-10 Kirby: 14-11 Amanda, Jason, Scott: 14-16 Bill: 12-12
As if Justin wasn't owning the rest of us hard enough already, he's also pulling even further away in the F-U Award standings. We're reaching the point where voting against him is sheer lunacy, especially now with Marshawn Lynch returning to back up Ryan Grant and Kevin Smith. Not to mention that he's our winner of the "Holy Shit, I Gotta Go Get the OTHER Steve Smith" sweepstakes. Every league's got one.
Valhalla 9 votes, Mooby Mafia 1 (Winner: Mafia) (And no, I wasn't the one who voted for me. Heh.) Salsa Shark 6, BRM 4 (Winner: Picante Clownfish) Kirbdogs 6, GRH 4 (Winner: Kirbdogs) SuicideSquad 7, CM 3 (Winner: CM) Gutter's Tools 7, Lady Shark 3 (Winner: Gutter) Mules 8, Lil' Poppa 2 (Winner: Mules)
For the season:
Points
Justin
33
Jon
22
Kirby
22
Bill
21
Dave
10
Tim
9
Adam
6
Steve
1
Scott
-3
Amanda
-5
Mireya
-12
Jason
-32
Amanda, welcome to Negative Island. The next ferry leaves with Week 6's games.
No Goods and Bads this week, since I'm behind enough already, and I had enough fun poking at Jon's wasted 50 points.
Week 6 has already passed, but I'll keep this one spoiler-free and run it like this: I had to face yet another winless team, and the standings got pretty congested. I'll cover that tomorrow...before I start on a 5-page history paper. Bleh.
I'll spare everyone the pity party...but that doesn't mean Big & Rich will.
Sports can be universally debated, and I do like to debate. One day, I aspire to be a master. Welcome to my training ground. Feel free to step in the ring and spar any time.
I frequently post these same pieces on Bleacher Report, but it's only here that you'll find the "Director's Cuts," so to speak. These are the articles the way I intended them before some editor starts hacking them up and making sure that each paragraph equals no more than 12 words. Since obviously, the average B/R reader must have the attention span of a fruit fly, or so they think.
Stop by and leave some comments...and not just a thumbs-up on Facebook. You know who you are. :-P
Nice lookin' pooch there, huh? If the domestic terrorists at PETA have their way, that'll be the new mascot at the University of Georgia.
RIP Uga VI's Loran's Best (aka Uga VII)
