How many kicks to the groin? 4! UPDATE: 5!

Oh, Crybaby. Here are the rationalizations that I conceded to you, hours before kickoff:

- your receivers suck (no offense, Devin Hester).
- there's a ton of pressure on you as the Second Coming of Sid Luckman.
- your first game is at Lambeau, the belly of the green and yellow and fat, fat beast.

And yet somehow you still (still!) found a way to fall short of my hopes and dreams.

Let's tally, shall we?

1st quarter: You were lucky to have thrown just the one interception. You were basically begging the Packers to pick off your throws. Did you not realize that you were playing tackle football and not, for example, 500? Because with that helmet over your whiny sulky face, I couldn't tell if you were calling out numbers on your throws.

"Hey, Nick Collins, this is right to you, so you only get 150 if you catch it. Al Harris? This one's tough, worth 300."

If that's the case, then maybe you're just stupid, and I feel a little bad. Not a lot, but a little. Let's move on, shall we?

2nd quarter: 2 more picks, which I almost didn't notice, because I got to do my safety dance, thanks to Danyelle - Danielle - Daneal - Danieal - Dan Manning.



In the 3rd quarter it looked almost like you knew what you were doing - the beautiful throw to Hester, the other scoring drive, the lack of throwing to the other team - so I started to give you the benefit of the doubt.

Ah me, and my naive, wild-eyed optimism.

4th quarter, and you better thank Patrick Mannelly that you weren't the worst player of the game. Mr. Mannelly, I'll have you know, is a graduate of Duke University, so not only does he make awful decisions as the long snapper, but he also hates black people and rapes strippers.

So he makes an amazingly bad call to fake a punt deep in his own territory, and the Packers get to score. And still - still! - the Bears are in a position to win the game, right until the end.

And then the defense breaks down and gives up the touchdown pass, because let's face it, Nathan Vasher needs to be shifted over to safety to cover his slow ass. But there's plenty of time, and crazier things have happened.

That's right, it's time for pick #4! Come on down, Crybaby Sulkypants! Join the pantheon of great Bears quarterbacks! Amazing arm, guy! It's you and Jeff George, all the way!

And finally, just as a final thanks for the 2009-10 memories, Urlacher is out for the season with a dislocated wrist. I swear I've seen linebackers play in casts before. Are you telling me that he was able to play entire seasons - and make Pro Bowls - despite the undiscovered and virulent STDs he picked up from Paris Hilton, and yet a simple dislocated joint puts him out for the year?

G-d this season is going to suck.

Huts, Bears and election fatigue

I know, I'm sorry. I meant to post, but then I had this thing, and then my alarm was broken, and I got my foot caught in a bucket, and, well, anyway here I am.

This being the Jewish holiday season there just hasn't been all that much time to get my act together and write something, what with holidays coming every other day, and family flocking in and out. Rosh Hashannah - bam, the Balloon Man and his maiden fair. Succos comes, and the whole Fancy Pants Crew arrives, short one brother and one fiance and one dog. We really missed the dog (and of course the fiance and the brother. What are we, savages?).

Everyone has "their" holiday. Jesus has Christmas, seemingly everyone on my block has Halloween, Brother A shares Thanksgiving with the mighty Chocktaw tribe. Every Jewish mother has Passover, and if you want to share that's fine, just know that by taking their one week of glory you're breaking their heart, and the hearts of every mother who's ever slaved over a hot stove for the brisket you love so much. No, it's fine, take Passover. Here, here's my pancreas, do you want that too? How about my corneas, I hear they're worth lots of money in the black market.

Sorry, it's just that you can't channel a Jewish mother and stop after one guilt joke. You have to keep going until it's a whole thing.

Anyhoo, I've come to realize that Succos is my holiday. My family comes to stay with Wife Child and me, and every year I go out and I build a temporary structure with tarp and poles and bamboo mats. This year I had to get all new material, because for some reason I left my stuff in Boston, in Krazy's basement. Now he has two succahs. Surprise!

Let me say, for the record, that my succah this year was magnificent. The royal blue tarp set off the "holiday" lights perfectly, and the decorations purchased by the Old Rambling Man and the Mac Lady were beautifully done up. The weather held up, and our dining was phenomenal, if I do say so myself.

You may wonder, then, why I have provided no pictures of this glorious structure. That is an excellent question, reader. Give yourself a pat on the back! Round of applause for the astute reader! Huzzah! For s/he's a jolly good fellow, and all that!

Right. So the succah was blown over by a gigantic wolf looking for some piggies.

For all I know that could actually be the story, because I went out on Friday afternoon to set the table for the holy Sabbath, and lo and behold, the succah had fallen over. Tipped right over the table that Wife hates so much because it's huge and ugly. Yanked the nails right out of the 2X6's used as a base. Crushed all the pretty decorations. Sullied the royal blue tarp, which it turns out were actually quite effective sails. Next year we're entering the design into the America's Cup race.

So for next year I'll be taking suggestions on how to build my succah. And if you suggest a Kit, well then you can kiss my ass. I am a man: I have crafted the wheel, and invented fire. I can grow a mustache over the course of seven years. I can open jars with my bare hands.



So I'll use a kit for my next succah. Just as soon as I get my bikini line waxed.

Some of you may wonder why I didn't have anything rageful and hilarious to say about last week's Bears game, and Lovie Smith's squib kick decision. And I have to say, I was a little disappointed in myself for not taking the time. But then today happened, and now I feel like they're useful bookends on this season.

First, Neckbeard is playing way above his pay grade. WAY. What's with all the throwing? And the catching? And the yardage? Maybe it's secretly the Sex Cannon back there, but he's had a lobotomy, which since he's such an idiot in the first place it's actually made him a smarter player, and that's why whoever is under center is so good. Because otherwise, honestly, I have no idea what's going on.

Then there's the defense, the one that gave up the game-winning drive in Atlanta, and 41 points to the Vikings. Atlanta makes sense - three of our top four corners are injured (and yet somehow not Mike Brown, but it is still early in the season), and that's going to put a dent in anyone's Cover 2 defense. But 41 points to the Vikings? another 100+ yard game for Adrian Peterson the Greater? Not going to win many games like that, guys.

Finally, this is the second straight game that Kali Hester has gotten hurt on a return. He is our one reliable offensive threat, and yet Lovie keeps putting him in situations where he gets injured. How about larger pads? Or a gun, Last Boy Scout-style?



Either way, get him some blockers, man.

On a less funny note, I decided not to finish either of the books I was reading these past couple of weeks. Liberal Fascism and The Bulldozer and the Big Tent are so ridiculously biased and focused on right-left that they were equally insufferable. And that's sad, because I like Todd Gitlin. I think he's got great insight into modern media. But when it comes to politics he's just another Republican-hating liberal. Which is fine, I don't like them so much either, but I guess I'm just sick of all the election insanity. I mean, did you see the last debate? Obama is playing from so far ahead it will be a KKK miraKle if he loses. He knows it. McCain knows it. Hell, by this point I'm sure even Sarah Palin has figured it out, although her flow chart's probably written in crayon (sorry, forgot she's a lady. "Written in lipstick." Better?).

The whole debate was McCain trying with his wiggly eyebrows and awful, exaggerated facial expressions to get a rise out of Obama, and it didn't work at all. And do you know why? Because Obama is in the lead, and he's also not a whacked-out former POW who loses his temper at the drop of a hat.

Until, I don't know, there's some book that explains the current stock market train wreck in small words that I can understand, I'm not reading any books on politics. I'm going to read more books like Samedi the Deafness, with weird crazy plots with unreliable narrators who admit to being chronic liars. Fantastic and confusing. I have no idea if I "got it."

Happy 5769. Haha! That's funny, because 57 is a funny number. Because of Heinz, and ketchup, right? Ketchup! Hilarious.

What is sexier, Kyle Orton's neckbeard, or Ann Coulter's long shapely legs?

Yesterday history occurred: Neckbeard threw for more than 2 touchdowns in an opponent's stadium. This is what is defined as a pass-happy attack in Chicago. As long as we keep winning 34-7, though, I'm pretty ok with the outcome.

Everyone got in on this one, as they should have. Playing the Lions is really just about stat-padding until they wash the Millen stink off their franchise. Alex Brown was a monster, Forte ran and caught and did not fumble - all three indicators that he is not Cedric Benson - and Kali caught a TD pass, which is a nice change from having to weave through all 11 defenders himself.

That's...that's all I've got on the game. What? When the Bears play well, there's not much to say. They didn't squeak it out despite 4 turnovers like they did against the Eagles, and even though the Lions are in the NFC North, they're not really a rival. To be a rival they'd have to play football, and not Whiny Bitch Brigade, which I'm told is what the Cubs are playing these days (my love for Chicago extends into Soldier's Field and a little bit into Skokie, and that's about it).

Meanwhile I'm halfway through my conservative reading, and what I've learned most is how conservatives think of liberals. Jonah Goldberg is very much caught up in what liberals and conservatives use to name their policies and selves. His argument, if I understand it correctly, is to say that all of the things that liberals today hate, and refer to as fascist? They started out as left-wing ideas. That leads to the fear of conservatives, which is that all those awful policies will come back under the guise of contemporary liberal politics. "See?" Goldberg says, "All those things you hate about us? Well, well, you did them first, so there! Thbbbbpttttt."

The problem is the difference in the way liberals and conservatives look at the past. Liberals, or progressives, are constantly looking for change, and new ideas, for good or bad. They tend to give less weight to the past, and historical evidence. Conservatives by definition are on the other side of the coin. They like how things were, and aren't all that big on change - hence, "conservative." And that's what makes them racist, or chauvinist, or what-have-you - because racism and sexism and prejudice were all okay in the past. And if you want things to be the way they were, and not change, then you have to answer for all those things you think are so great.

I really thought I wouldn't make it through Ann Coulter's book. I admit I never brought it out of my house. I was embarassed to carry it, even though it's a library book so she didn't get any royalties or anything. I didn't know that "If Democrats..." was basically a greatest-hits collection of her pull-quotes on everything from Bill Clinton to abortion. So in structure it was not unlike a book by George Carlin, or Jerry Seinfeld.

Brother A and I talked about who would be Bizarro Ann Coulter, the left-wing equivalent of her fire-breathing anti-choice madness. All we could come up with was David Cross, the stand-up comedian.

But here's the thing: Ann Coulter is not funny. She thinks she is, but she isn't. So the outrageous things she says are just insane and inflammatory, as opposed to the crazy things David Cross says that are jokes, and thus laughed at.

There are a couple reasons I came up with for why Ann Coulter isn't funny:

1) She's hot. Not drop-dead model style, but I have no problem saying that I would have sex with Ann Coulter. She's got a great body. She can yell whatever crazy crap comes into her head while she's naked, and it wouldn't matter much, because she probably looks pretty good naked. And therefore, she's never had to be funny until she wanted to be for her career, or to get on TV. And now that she's trying, it doesn't really work. Less talking, more nudity, Ann.

2) She's religious, and completely unconflicted by it. You can be a religious comic. Wasn't Bill Hicks a reverend? Doesn't Stephen Colbert go to Mass every week? But those guys are conflicted about their religion. And if they're not, their personae have no problem mocking religion in general, and sacrificing some seriousness for laughs. Coulter, though, has no sense of humor about religion, or Jesus, or the Catholic church. That's why it's not funny when she says that Bill Clinton should die - according to the Bible, she's completely right to say that. That makes her religious; it also makes her not funny.

3) She seems sincere. If she doesn't actually believe what she says, she'd almost be better off being more transparent about it. But I don't believe she's insincere, because then her entire career would be a performance piece, a work of art to rival any of the great masterpieces of human history. Hers would be the Taj Mahal of performance art. And she's just not that good. And therefore, again: not funny.

4) She goes back to the same well too often. Ann Coulter has three jokes: Bill Clinton and blowjobs, Ted Kennedy and drunk driving/murder, and liberals are godless traitors. Boring. Mix it up, Ann! If you're too predictable, then you won't be funny. Unless your audience is staring at your boobs. But fortunately for us liberals, we've been rigorously trained by our coconspirators the feminists not to stare at womyn's chests while we're talking to them, so your powers have no effect on us.

And maybe that's why we don't think you're funny.

Rushing is Matt's Forte (see that? That's a pun. Laugh at it.)

Before I get to the Bears' win in week 1 of this new football season of the National Football League (does anyone actually call it the NFL anymore? Is this because the league is now old enough to be addressed with dignity and respect, or because people were forgetting what NFL stands for?), a quick word about two different quarterbacks.

Goodbye, Tom Brady. Kissing Suzy Kolber says it best - as usual - but it's important for me to emphasize the glory of Tom Brady's reverse-engineered knee. Not only do we not have to hear about the Patriots this year - except in the context of "What if?" - but we also don't have to hear about "18-1," which is almost as annoying as "1918." Oh, to be in Boston to hear the wailing, and the gnashing of teeth. Even Steeler fans are less overbearing. Although that could be because Pittsburgh is actually a football town, and Boston always has been and always will be the home of the Red Sawx...and some other teams. It could also be that the Pittsburgh accent is less grating. Either way, seeya next year, Tom.*

* - Please discount entire paragraph if Matt Cassel turns out to be the Second Coming. If that happens, well, that's 2 Apocalypse horsies, only 2 to go.

The above note is dedicated to the Kinney and the Sweater-Wearing Hippie. Enjoy your football season now, suckas!

Staying in the AFC East, we turn to Old Man Fav-ruh. I am still adamant in my glee that he is gone from the Bears' division.

HOWEVER. Perhaps going to a less prominent media market would have been a sweet relief (I hear Tampa Bay has a great QB retirement plan). But no, he had to be traded to New York, where any and all exploits - great and thoroughly average alike - will be picked apart and glorified ad infinitum ad nauseum, until Peter King gets lockjaw.

Essentially someone needs to kneecap Brett Fav-ruh. Or tell him about the super-cheap Vicodin in Toronto.

There was something else I wanted to talk about...something having to do with a neckbeard slowly choking the life from one Peyton Manning...

Oh yeah, Matt Forte ate some tiny horses for dinner last night.

I have to admit, it's weird writing about a complete and thorough domination by the Bears that really didn't have a lot to do with one Devin "Kali" Hester. But I'll take it.

Some fun facts:

This was the first time the Colts have lost before November since 2005. Losing in September and October is known as "being the Detroit Lions."

Kyle "Neckbeard" Orton threw no touchdowns, but no picks, either. The family of nuthatches living just below his chin celebrated by not crapping down his jersey.

Matt Forte needs a nickname. It's early, but I'm thinking "Walter Payton Mark II." It'll have to be shorter somehow, but we'll work on it.

After the game Brian Uhrlacher was interviewed by Random Female Sideline Reporter, and she asked him whether he thought before the game that the Bears could pull of an upset. Before he answered Uhrlacher took a long look at the lady, like she'd just farted on his plate of ribs. After he finished glaring Uhlracher just said "who said it was an upset? We came here to win." Then he grabbed her head and ripped it right off her body. Former girlfriend Paris Hilton says that Bri-bri is so cute when he's angry!

Cedric Benson spent last night offering sexual favors to elderly men in exchange for table scraps. At least he ate well.

The guys in the booth referred to Bears' TE Desmond Clark and WRs Rashied Davis and Marty Booker as "weapons." I giggled, until I realized he was serious.

On his way out of town Lovie Smith left a flaming bag of dog crap on Tony Dungy's front porch. The bag was made of a program from the 2007 Super Bowl, and Rex Grossman's right testicle. Never fear ladies, the Sex Cannon has 8 more.

Here's your gold watch, Brett

I've gotten so many e-mails these past couple of days. "When are you going to spew some good old-fashioned hate on Fav-ruh?" "Let's hear it for retirement!" "I am Mbenga from Nigeria, and I need your help to obtain fo nds from bank in Switzerland, in amount of 10$ million, please to respond 011-84-95-19005-426." And there were some other promotional e-mails for medications that did not, in fact, work. But there's nothing on the bottle to indicate what I should do if it starts glowing green. Call a doctor, I guess, right?

If you haven't heard already, Old Man Favre retired. 17 years of misery are finally over, and he can go back to hunting, barbecuing squirrel a la tire track, and having inappropriate relations with an immediate relative. Meanwhile the Packers and Aaron Rogers are floundering. Sure, he's a 4-year veteran, but when all you've learned to do is hold a clipboard, to have to jump to getting sacked on a regular basis is a bit, well, jarring.

And how do the Bears respond? Other than throwing a nice retirement party for their arch nemesis, management resigns the Neckbeard and the Sex Cannon, and trades Greasy. The other major move they've done is to ignore the best running back on the market, Michael Turner, because the last thing you want to have on the field in December is a solid, thick runner who can hammer out yards. Better to just throw some interceptions and hope the other team has to kick it to Kali Hester.

But this is about Brett. 17 years we've been together, sharing ridiculous shovel passes and annual questions about drugs and retirement. So forgive me if I'm not entirely convinced. Vicodin is expensive, and once Brett learns he'll have to stock his own medicine cabinet, he may come running back to the green and yellow.

Plus I don't think ESPN and Sports Illustrated are ready for him to go. Maybe one more year, if only for a whirlwind Kareem-style retirement, to receive gifts from all the cities he's demoralized over the years. Is this shocking, that we of all blogs are advocating this? Maybe it's all this peyote I've been smoking, but I want the Bears to have one more chance. They can abandon all pretense of defending, and just blitz until they break his hip. That, to me, is a worthy send-off.

So goodbye, Brett. Good luck with the rest of your life. I'm just glad I never have to see you again.

Glory be to Kali

Someday someone will learn. And from then on Devin Hester will be no more than a talisman, an ancient cursed relic standing, waiting behind the wedge of blockers for a kick that will never come. Until then he's going to keep running them right up your ass.

Although if he's going to keep catching bombs between over and under'ed double coverage, defensive coordinators are going to have to start leaving sacrifices of virgins and bulls of magnificent carriage for the omnipotent Kali. Oh, and his celestial sidekick, the Great Neckbeard.

The defense was not so transcendent, but Alex Brown seemed to slither and storm through the Saints' line like some sort of snakey hurricane. Maybe, in all this talk of Mark Anderson and Tommie Harris, he finally said to himself, in the darkness before his nightly slumber, "Why not me? Wherein shall my name be proclaimed to the very heights?" And finally the gods responded: "Make some fucking plays, Alex!" And so he did.

Today the offseason begins. There are playoffs this year, so I'm told, but they'll be dominated by some team from, I think, Vermont. Pot-smoking hippies and bloody communists, for all I know. Meanwhile I'll be building a new altar to Kali, wondering what we'll have to give up for McNabb, and hoping against hope that we don't let Lance Briggs go without some sort of compensation in the form of draft picks or some undiscovered magnificent linebacker. Just like Briggs. Or we could, you know, try and keep him. Just a thought.

You thought I forgot, didn't you?

While many of you were celebrating Jesus' birthday (poor kid, he always gets screwed because it's on Christmas), I was basking in the reflected, protracted glory that was the Bears' victory over Old Man Vicodin. Wait, did I say victory? I meant SWEEP, suckas. Sure, we missed the playoffs, becoming yet another example of the Super Bowl Hangover. But the season was not lost, because we put the smackdown on those green-and-yellow freaks. Say what you want about tradition, but those uniforms are hideous. Much like Green Bay women (oh no, he didn't. Yes, yes he did!).

Urlacher is now back on my happy list, with that phenomenal pick-six, his first since '01. And of course there were the plethora of flubbed and blocked punts, directly attributable to the Packers' terror at our patchwork front four. I think Robbie from Wrigley Red Hots started at defensive end on Sunday.

And there was the Neckbeard, completing passes all over the field. Over 50%! It's a Christmas miracle! Adrian Peterson the Lesser showed he's not Lesser by much, gashing the Packer defense for 100+ yards. A blowout, and Kali doesn't even score? Who knew it was possible?

I've been adamant about my desire for Fav-ruh to retire finally, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe he should come back, just so we can knock the walker out of his shaking hands.

Excuse me, I have to go drop $50 in an envelope and leave it under this guy's car

Goodbye, Cedric Benson.
Hello Adrian Peterson the Lesser.
I'm conflicted about rooting for Benson's injury. Wait, that's not uncertainty - that's euphoria. My bad.

For all of you who don't understand the obsession with the Sex Cannon, see the 4th and goal pass to a lunging Bernard Berrian at the end of the game. Brian Griese doesn't make that pass. Actually, we'd never know if he could, because he wouldn't have led 2 touchdown drives in 4 minutes to set up the play. The complete list of quarterbacks who could make that throw:

- Tom Brady's jaws
- Peyton Manning's forehead
- Tony Romo's killer abs (he's a Wisconsin boy, who am I to knock him?)
- Brett Favruh
- Grossman

Again the defense was lacking, and again I shall explain it away by citing injuries to the secondary, and the brain mites slowly consuming Brian Urlacher's medulla oblongata.

11 runback touchdowns in 27 games. The record is 13, in 227 games. When will people stop kicking to Devin Hester entirely? G-d bless special teams coaches, who persist in thinking their coverage teams are sufficient. Don't forget your shortbus pass, guys.

And can someone start working on a quality nickname for Mr. Hester? I think Jesus Christ is already taken, but maybe we can call him Kali, after the many-limbed Hindu goddess of death.

All in favor? It's settled, then. Kali, back to return the kick...Oh my lord, he's flying down the field, consuming the souls of would-be-tacklers! It's horrible, but I can't look away...What a cutback! Touchdown, Kali!

UPDATED: Suck it, Pats fans.