Yes I am, and no, I have no idea

He was a great writer and all, but F. Scott Fitzgerald was a dick. Yeah, Zelda was mentally unbalanced when they met, but his behavior didn't help the situation. But give the man credit, he knew it. He said - and here I'm paraphrasing, if not wholly making it up - that in order to be great, a writer must be a bastard, selfish, and greedy. I don't know if that's the only way to do it, but of the many published writers I know (2? No, definitely at least 3) 14% are complete douchebags. So there's gotta be something to it, right?

Right now, in my e-possession, I have 40-odd stories in various stages of completion. I also have a large unwieldy, thing, codenamed "Olga," that at this point I am consciously avoiding. I also have a wife who is slowly going insane, as the weirdness of moving back in with her parents splits her brain in two. Then there is Child, who at 4 months doesn't need to demand my attention because he gets it anyway, being obviously the smartest, handsomest, and kindest soul ever to inhabit a onesie.

I need time for all that, plus keeping up with the politics thing, and the Jewness thing, and the experimenting with transvestism thing...there's a lot on my plate. So something has to go. And if you'll notice, there is one substantial portion of my focus, one particularly dear to at least two of my six (seven? Is it seven yet?) readers, that is missing. And that would be sports.

Starting today I am giving up my passionate devotion to all sports, except for football.

My first thought was equivocation: I could put this off a month, and wait to see how the Penguins do in their pursuit of the Stanley Cup, whether the Hornets can prove themselves to be a second generation Phoenix Suns, or whether the Celtics can give their fantastically non-clutch superstar Kevin Garnett the title he so achingly desires, or whether Lebron could really take a mediocre Cavs team, less impressive even than Jordan's Jordanaires, all the way to a championship. Then I thought of the Brewers, and all that young talent, and that it looked like maybe Ben Sheets would stick around for 200 innings, and they might give the Cardinals a run for their money, and that could take me all the way to August, when training camp starts for the NFL. Then I realized that this was the sort of thing I wanted to avoid if I was going to do this.

So. Since Friday I have not once logged on to ESPN.com, nor Kissing Suzy Kolber, nor Free Darko. I won't even link to those fantastic sources of information, for fear of getting sucked in once again. And I will continue not checking those websites - or any sports website - or watching games on TV, excepting, again, football, until one of two things occurs: either I publish a story in some obscure, online-only literary magazine with a readership of 12, who themselves were assigned to read it as a writing workshop experiment in awful internet writing, or I finish a draft of Olga.

To put the questions to the answers in the post's title: "Are you fucking serious?" and "Do you have any idea how long you think you can keep this up?"

I assume Brothers A and S will keep me updated somehow, and I am still getting ESPN the magazine, so it's not like I'm going to shack up in the cave next to Bin Laden. But no TrueHoop, no Deadspin, no WithLeather, no Sporting News. No NBA on TNT, no Versus, no ESPN. Don't think I'm not terrified. But it's either this or I get Wife another husband, and she's already had it with the one she's got, so she's not really inclined to get all Mormony.

As a last hurrah, though, here are some thoughts on the NBA playoffs and one or two on baseball, which, now that I don't live in Boston, I don't really have to care about.

- I hate his team, I hate his style, I hate his combover, but Greg Popovich is simply a great coach. He will do whatever it takes to win, even if it means taking the entire sport of basketball down into the Dungeon of Unwatchability, which is what we in the bizz like to call San Antonio. Tony Parker has gotten too good for a French guy married to Eva Longoria, and with all those titles there is no doubt that Tim Duncan is better than Kevin Garnett. This will bear out if they meet in the finals: Popovich will take Doc Rivers into the deep grasses and show him what it is to be a real coach of men.

- I don't know if you noticed, but Chris Paul? That guard on the Hornets (when did they leave Charlotte?) is pretty good. He can dribble, and he's got a bit of touch around the rim, and he can poke that ball away with those sticky fingers, and that 3-pointer looks near effortless, and he throws lobs like parabolic poetry, and his teeth are perfectly white and straight. I bet he's real good to his mama, too.

- Now that Barry Bonds is gone, and Julio Franco is retired, there's no reason to care about baseball. I can't even root for the Diamondbacks to keep up their hot streak because they're an expansion team, and have already won a championship, over the Yankees, no less. So baseball isn't such a loss.

- Oh, and Cedric Benson? Don't think there's not plenty of time between now and August for me to find you, and slice your Achilles tendons while you're not looking. The only compelling reason for me not to bother is that I don't have the time for Chicago to host a parade in my honor, and give me a key to the city.

NBA thoughts, during this week of college ball wonderness

Brother A and I spoke about the Rockets' winning streak, and he asked me how many games they'd have to win in a row before I'd take them seriously. He said 34, thereby compiling the longest streak in NBA history. 

But I've got to say, even that won't impress me. Tracy McGrady, albeit a buttery, slippery serpent on the court, really can't be considered a superstar until he wins a playoff series. In a sport where one superlative individual talent can win 4 of 7 on his own, he has yet to do so, even with a decent supporting cast. 

If he does so this year, though, it will be even more impressive; then he can get on the Kobe-Lebron-CP shortlist. The West is too deep, too talented, for a Rocket playoff win to be taken lightly. If they were in the East, he'd have to measure up in the same way Lebron does, where nothing short of a Finals appearance is noteworthy. But in the West, where real players play, all he has to do is win a series. Then, maybe, he gets my respect beyond his beautiful, oily game.

Still one on five

Brothers A and S are all up in a tizzy about the Bulls giving the Cavs the keys to the NBA title. S bemoans his Bulls' sacrifice, and their swallowing of Larry Hughes in the process. A is literally vibrating with pleasure as adrenaline levels top out at his eyeballs. "Thhhhiiissss issssss thhhhhhe mmmmmmmooooooovvvvvvvve!" he says, trying to keep his glasses from dropping off his face.

And I hear the logic. Delonte West is a beast, a junkyard dog who happens to hit some 3s. Wally Szerbiak is still a decent shooter, spotting up from anywhere. And then there's Big Ben, whose 'fro is still intimidating to those who want to venture into the paint. All solid contributors to a deep playoff team.

But the Cavs were already a deep playoff team. Sure, both the Celtics and PIstons are better this year, with KG and Ray Allen, and the development of their young bench, respectively. But the Cavs had just as much of a shot before the trade of coming out of the East as they did last year. So hooray for a defensive upgrade, and some more shooters, but I still don't see it.

Can Wallace still slow down Duncan? Fine, he d's Shaq, but who gets Barbosa and Stoudemire? Who guards Odom? And when James is being triple teamed, does West have the skills to run the offense? I haven't seen any sign of it.

So S, take it down a notch. A, maybe some horse tranquilizers for you. Because the Cavs are still a threat to beat the Celtics, but they're not winning the title this year, if only because Mike Brown is still their coach.

NBA All-Stars - where the Jason Kidd trade happens?

Random thoughts on the NBA All-Star game...

- Interesting which players shine in this game. Obviously there's Kidd and Nash, who drop dimes with loops and curlicues and drops off the backboard. Roy and Paul are just following in their footsteps. James and Howard, who add power to the flair of the 1s. But the Pistons? Wade? Their form serves function and function alone - if there is no real consequence, they're reduced to dutiful layups and 3's.

- Whenever Anthony and James are in the game, they go right at each other. The rivalry is a sight. What are the odds we ever get to see it in the Finals?

- Nowitzki should be on the team, but shouldn't be allowed to play. There is nothing pretty about his game. Even his jumpshot is all Prussion functionality.

- It's fun, and sad, watching guys who've never played with a real point guard flub passes. Roy dropping that bullet inside from Paul? Stoudemire would've held on.

- Chauncey Billups is a matchup nightmare, and a beast on the blocks. It is for these reasons and more that he should join the German Giant on the bench.

- What does Howard have against Yao? Is he playing defense against anyone else?

- Of course James would be well on his way to a triple double by halftime. The only thing I'm more excited to see is whether Paul can get to 20 assists. Lord he's good.

- Allen*, Sheed and Pierce are adding nothing. Wasn't there some sort of jumpshot showcase last night, something about 3-pointers? Sunday night is for slashing and driving, unless you're eight feet behind the line.
* - 4th quarter update: OK, fine, the 3 is compelling. Sometimes.

- Antawn Jamison? Really?

- Is the All-Star Game the essence of freedarko.com-style liberated fandom? Or a glorified playground game? And is there a difference?

- The problem with Kobe playing his 2 minutes is he killed in its infancy my dream lineup in the West - Nash, Paul, Deron Williams, Iverson, and Roy. What can I say? I'm a dribble and pass kind of guy.

- Would it be more interesting if the league suspended its rules about kicking for the game, just to see what Nash could do?

- Would the game be more fun if they cut out the 3-point line?

- Boozer and Nowitzki, two sides of the same uninspiring coin. Maybe Boozer should take a cue from Karl Malone, his predecessor in the post, and buy an 18-wheeler, maybe develop a cute free-throw shooting ritual.

- Is it too obvious to say that Kevin Garnett is the most vocal dad on his kid's pee-wee football sideline? Is he just as passionate when watching golf?

- Is it too much to ask for the 4th quarter to erupt into a monster Stoudemire - Howard throwdown showdown? I want to see them go one on one every time downcourt, just so I can keep seeing physics upended.

- Has anyone yet established which of the three is the better dribbler, Paul, Nash or Iverson?

- It's fitting to watch Billups school Nowitzki in the 4th quarter.

- Steve Nash has a lazy eye? And I hope to G-d he actually blew his nose in Craig Sager's hankie.

- Shaq's job in Phoenix is to convince Stoudemire that everyone he plays is Dwight Howard.

- Is Paul deliberately not passing to Nowitzki? And can anyone blame him?

- Oh, that's right. Wade = guts. Forgot about that.

- Are they really going to make the All-Star game end with free throws? That's it, 8.2 seconds to go, and I'm going to bed.

We're undefea- wait, what?

So this happened.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

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.

Have you heard of "video?"

Espn.com is currently hosting a vote of the 100 Greatest Highlights from The Babe calling his amphetamine-and-hot-dog-fueled shot, to Trinity College's 54-lateral game-winning touchdown.

I don't know how much you know about sports highlights, and maybe you're not as picky, not as demanding as I am. But when I think "highlights," the first thing I think of is my upcoming tip-frosting appointment. The second thing that comes to mind is VIDEO replays of famous events. They say pictures are worth a thousand words. And sometimes those words are useful. But still shots, holding themselves out as full-on highlights - you know what those 1,000 words are? "Screw you, sports fans," repeated over and over.

ESPN is usually up to the task of reporting scores and showing video of great plays. But this time, when they want us to vote for the greatest highlight of all time...now they want us to go somewhere else for our video. And I have no problem with Youtube, it's where I get to see squirrels waterskiing (Look! Look at the little guy go!).



But if want highlights, I think, maybe, I should get to see them at the site where they want me to vote on them. I don't know, maybe I'm crazy.

One last thought before I leave you. Some of the events on the list are too old, or too obscure to have video evidence of their occurrence. And yet they're included on the "Greatest Highlight" list. Just because an athlete did something amazing does not mean it should be a Great Highlight. The barest, lowest threshold these things should meet is that there is video, like, say, the rest of the highlights on ESPN. Consistency is all I ask for.

That was close

I've been publicly humiliated before. There was the Passover dinner when I showed up as Jesus, the weekend my sophomore year of college when all my pants got ruined in the wash, along with all my non-leopard print bikini underwear, of which, honestly, there's like one pair - I don't know what it is I love about the leopard g-string, but it makes me feel...special.

But narrowly missing embarrassment? That's a new one on me. I don't know what it says about Senator Mitchell's staff's investigative skills, but I can't believe my name wasn't on that notorious list.

Did I just do that good a job hiding it? I'll admit my fastball doesn't sink like it used to, and my changeup has gone from filthy to merely unkempt. But look at my forehead! It's eight inches tall! Ben Affleck wants to know what product I use to cut down on the glare. Vince Vaughn is worried I'm going to cut into his acting opportunities (don't worry, Vince, no one can be as satisfied with themselves as you are).

And the bacne - let's just say I'm not allowed to turn away from Wife anymore. I have to back out of the room so she can convince herself my back looks fine.

The worst is that I've lost my testicles. They tell you horse steroids will make your jewels shrink, but did you know that African elephant steroids are available in any convenience store in Thailand? Mix that with some essence of squid duodenum, and you've got yourself a .650 on-base percentage. And nothing in your cup, but ask Barry Bonds, he knows it's worth it.

So thanks, Senator Mitchell, for leaving me off your list. I'd send you a campaign donation, but a sudden onset of roid rage compelled me to break ever writing implement in my house. Stupid penmanship, that'll show you!

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.

Sorry Mr. Halas

I am not a good fan. Unworthy to wear the blue and orange.

I went to watch the game with my friend Philly Boy, decked out in his Eagles finest. We shared a bench, some homoerotic caressing explained away as high-fiving, and a plate of nachos, while watching our teams ineptly try to play the great game of football. All around us on the other TV's were visions of proper tackling, of big plays and red-zone offenses that actually led to touchdowns (the Titans’ achievement notwithstanding).

We watched as McNabb, the Bears' future prodigal son, over- and underthrew receivers who dropped even his well-placed passes. We railed against the ineptitude of our defenders as running backs and receivers somehow slipped through grasping hands, and arm tackles. I cursed the only effective Eagles strategy, that of kicking away from Devin Hester. Maybe people are picking up on the fact that he can’t score unless he touches the ball. Hell, if Andy Reid can figure it out, who’s next? Tom Coughlin? Mike Sherman?

Here we are, then: my moment of shame. Having watched McNabb somehow slice and dice the Bears for a go-ahead touchdown, and knowing the Bears had already squandered their timeouts, and understanding that it was not John Elway under center, nor was it Joe Montana, or Johnny Unitas, or even Don F-ing Majkowski, I expected the game to be over.

Obviously I was mistaken.

Which is less expected – Brian Griese leading a brutally effective 2-minute drill culminating in a game-winning touchdown bullet to the Moooooose, or the Spanish Inquisition? Well, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition, but at least their chief weapons are surprise, fear, ruthless efficiency, an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope, and nice red uniforms.

And Brian Griese has Muhsin Mohammed, Greg Olsen, Devin Hester (who by now everyone expects), Desmond Clark, and Cedric Benson. So, we’re going to have to go with Griese’s achievement. But is this just another Bears QB tease, like the Neckbeard’s sexy sexiness, or any of Rex Grossman’s passes that weren’t picked off? I can only assume yes.

But then, since I’m a completely worthless fan, who am I to cast stones?

We're going to try a poll question, maybe mix things up a bit. Answer at your leisure, but only if you pronounce it le-shure, and not lee-shure. Because here at the Fancy Pants, we love British crap.

Welcome Back, Ron Turner

First, I want to welcome the tight ends. Desmond Clark, and Glorious Greg Olsen, enjoy your time in the offense. You're the only decent receivers we have, so get comfortable. Can I get you guys some drinks? Anything you need, you just let me know.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around a win where neither the defense nor Devin Hester scored. Is this how normal teams win? Crazy.

Charles Tillman, you magnificent bastard. 2 forced fumbles? Your hands are like claws, ferocious with razor-sharp talons and with the swiping and mauling and humiliations. Mr. Jones, Al Michaels couldn't stop talking about your great hands, and I agree. Your hands are wonderful. Not so much for catching and holding on to footballs, but with your long, sinewy fingers you could be a hand model. You might want to look into that as Brett Favruh hunts you down on his Alabama farm.

Obviously this was all about turnovers, and the important rule for all you offensive coordinators to remember: when the other team is reeling from coughing up the ball in an embarrassing manner, take a shot downfield on the next play. John Madden called it, Ron Turner took all his thinking about this game and shoved into 2 plays - the touchdown after Favruh's interception, and the playaction pass to Clark on 3rd and 2. Magnificent.

Griese was serviceable, and I won't blame him for the interception. It was tipped; that happens. Of course, if his name was Rex, I'd be sticking my Adidas flip-flop up his rectum. Poor Rex - who knows when you'll ever see the benefit of the doubt again?

Cedric Benson continued his quest to prove he was a huge bust, and can't carry a load on his own. Ced - if you're a top running back, and you get 25 carries in a game, you gain over 100 yards. I know it's complicated, but write us here at the Fancy Pants and I'll send you the formula with which you can work out the answer on your own. There's calculus and quantum mechanics involved, and also talent. Good luck.

Oh, and Brett Favruh, and the rest of your Packer buddies? I hope to god this is your last year, if only so you know that your archrivals walked into your house and made love to your hottest daughter in your living room, in front of your dear mother. Oh, and they also beat you like a red-headed stepchild. Choke on it.

Finally, the Bears Recap

Isn’t it weird to use the words “epic late-season collapse” and not continue with the words “Boston Red Sox?”

That will be the only baseball-related item on this here website this year, unless the Cubs win the World Series, in which case I shall hand over the Fancy Pants to a Cubs fan, who will right some tearful nonsense about ivy, Ernie Banks, and the glory that is Alfonso Soriano.

In other news…Thomas Jones, I never meant the awful things I said. That other running back was just a fling, baby! You know how it is with younger players – they’ve got new, interesting numbers, and big pretty muscles, and high draft positions. But I’m more mature now. I know what I’ve been missing. Ron Turner has your picture up in his locker, and Mike Brown, injured knee and all, makes Cedric Benson watch your game film each week until he breaks down and admits he’s half the man you are. So let’s stop all this fussin’ and a-feudin’. How bout I get you some ice cream, and we’ll snuggle while we watch Grey’s?

I’m also sorry for what I said about the Sex Cannon. It’s not your fault there’s no running game. Or coherent offensive scheme. All you do is cock and throw, baby. That’s all we can expect. At least you’ve got an interesting fictional persona. All Griese has is a famous father.

Does anyone know where I can get some antibiotics? This injury bug is killing us (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA- puns are funny).

Welcome back, Devin Hester. Loving you is like my crack addiction. It burns hot and fierce after each hit, and I’d step over my own mother for just one more. But in the end, the vicious cycle of highs and lows will probably make my heart explode.

Kitna’s resurgence may in fact be a harbinger of Jesus’ return from Elvis Presley’s alien vacation home. But couldn’t he come up with a cooler vessel? Now, if Vick gets off, comes back to the Falcons and rushes for 1,500 yards while throwing for 3,000 during the last half of the season, and credits it all to the J-man, I might actually be inclined to switch teams. But Kitna? All I want to do now is pray to my god that Kitna gets a scorching case of herpes.

Rex, what did I ever do to you?

Oh. Rex. You’ve satisfied many a young coed, and you’re so potent Olin Kreutz had an uncomfortable discussion with his wife as to how he was able to bear your child. But you’re no HipHopopotamus. You’re not even a rapping jellyfish. You’re just a useless waste of space who makes me long for Kyle Orton’s neckbeard. At least he doesn’t have the arm strength to throw the ball to the other team.

YOU ARE NOT BRETT FARVRERVERUH. Bitch. And now you're being replaced. So suck it. Although here's your response: I’m Not Going Down Without A F--k!

There is a special place in hell for you, Bernard Berrian. It will be you, Todd Pinkston, Plaxico Burress and Reche Caldwell. You’ll all be standing over a pool of lava, and Satan will be twenty yards away with a Juggs machine. All he’ll do is fire little cherubic babies right at your hands, and you’ll have to watch as those little chubbers drop, one after the other, into the boiling magma below because you can’t catch, you pathetic pieces of warthog intestine.

Does anyone remember Dante Hall? Keep that in mind the next time you think you’re the nuts, Devin Hester.

I understand, defense. You’re on the field all the time, because Rex Grossman hates his own receivers. And the injuries are once again piling up: Brown is out again for the year, Briggs went down, Vasher hurt himself, Ogunleye is banged up, and insert further synonyms for getting the piss knocked out of you. But you know what? You are the Chicago Bears defense. Have some self-respect, you pikers. Another tight end goes off on you? Dick Butkus and Bronko Nagurski are going to come to your homes and eat your children, because you don’t deserve to reproduce. And you’ll only have yourselves to blame. Sure, Grossman throws the ball like he spreads his seed – that is, indiscriminately. But he has no high-level brain function. His upper lobes were severed in a freak orgy-related accident (a lesson for all you kids – oral sex is not for amateurs). Urlacher, we all know about Paris Hilton and her powers of mental retardation. And Archuleta, it’s not your fault you have the physique of a thirteen-year-old bulimic girl. Or maybe it is your fault. I don’t care. The point is, tackling is important.

Oh, and Robbie Gould? You kick, you don’t pass. Remind Lovie.

I feel like I'm talking to the same people every week. Muuuuuuhsin! Make some plays, dammit! I guess I'll give some bang to Mark Anderson for his monster sack. But none of the rest of you get any cookies.

This year I'm breaking down the Bears games, because I was too lazy to blog last year, when it really would have been fun.

First, I'd like to thank Bruce Babich for showing some stones and letting the D rush Rivers. If the other half of the team had taken time out of their busy schedule of sucking and fondling infants, perhaps San Diego wouldn't have walked off with an ugly, but foreordained win. The only quibble I have is the LT-to-Gates TD. That caught you off guard? Really? The pass from the running back who wasn't running very well, to the tight end who slept with Urlacher's mom and never called her again? That's a shocker.

I'd also like to thank Mike Brown's body, which, aside for the Sex Cannon's useless brick of a head, is really the only reason to doubt a return to the Super Bowl. What was that, Eagles fans? Your team can come back and play the "no respect" card when your boys remember to call a fair catch once in a while. Until then, we're the goddamn defending NFC champs, so shut it.

Bernard Berrian - run the route you're assigned, you short-bus-riding freakshow.

Sexy Rexy - I will never doubt your ability to get all of the ladies in the area pregnant. But I will doubt your ability to transfer the ball through the air to players on your own team. Knute Rockne called it the forward pass. Perhaps some of those newfangled doodads in the direction of the end zone, toward where one of your receivers is running? Just a thought.

Adam Archuleta - welcome. You're not worthy, but it's up to you to make up for Mike Brown's absence. That means guarding players like Antonio Gates, who piles up a bunch of undersized white safeties on his plate, uses them to sop up some syrup, and eats them for breakfast.

Tommie Harris - if you'd like, I'll bear your children. Just don't think you'll get to shoot through the neutral zone, getting to the ball before the quarterback, before any more snaps. Fumbles are great, penalties worthy of a strong punch to the kidney. It's my kangaroo court, and I'll hand out judgments as I see fit.

Favorite Mike Vick Posts

Just in case some of you are getting these posts transcribed by Maori medicine men and then tied to the feet of peregrine falcons, who then fly these missives to you in your underground bunker somewhere in Pakistan (sorry to out you, Osama. Maybe if you'd just sign in when you comment, I wouldn't have given you up), Michael Vick is pleading guilty to a number of charges that will land him in Federal ass-raping prison for a good long while - certainly long enough for him to lose his gag reflex.

Here are some of my favorite writings about the ordeal.

From the twisted folks at Kissing Suzy Kolber: The Offseason Adventures Of Michael Vick! Episode 9: Betrayed!

Deadspin.com, the source of sports blogs and fantastic nicknames: Inmate Number Ookie

In fact, it's almost impossible to find a sports blog these days that didn't start as a bunch of commenters on Deadspin saying to each other: hey, that was a great Family Guy reference. Let's start a blog!

And for ESPN's straight take: Lester Munson, who is actually Thurmon Munson's least favorite grandson, doesn't think people should make jokes about how Joey Harrington gets to be at the helm of yet another team going nowhere.

“He brings peace! Break his legs so he don’t get away!”

I am cursed with a special torture. Everywhere I go, the home team wins a championship.

Once I thought this was a mere coincidence. In high school, when I was exiled from America’s Dairyland to the City of Windy Shoulders, the Bulls threepeated™. Easily explainable – Jordan, Pippen and Jackson, with some Rodman for insanity garnish.

Then, I went to college in the Big Rotten Suck-Ass Apple, and the Yankees go on a tear. I can’t rationalize the Marlins in ’97, though – I don’t even think G-d has a decent excuse for that nonsense.

Now, here in patriotism’s birth canal, I have seen the Patriots become a dynasty, and the Red Sox end 458 years of futility. This phenomenon can no longer be rationalized with some karmic quadratic equation. I am damned to watch other’s teams shower themselves in champagne like so much acid rain.

So here’s what I’m going to do. All those cities out there that could really benefit from one of their teams winning it all will get to bid for my services. Minimum bid is a house, couple of cars, and $1 million, post-tax, in cash.

Seattle: I know your town needs a championship. A ring would keep the Sonics in town, a Lombardi would allow everyone to stop bitching about the refs in the Super Bowl, and a World Series win would stop all that heckling Ichiro gets when he goes home for the offseason.

Phoenix: a ring proves that glorious passing and speed can beat rebounding, sound execution and lock-down defense. A Lombardi would really piss off football purists who understand the truism that is Cardinals suckitude. And a Cup would make everyone forget Mrs. Gretzky’s gambling problem.

New Orleans: you need a championship so people can move on from that natural disaster from a couple of years ago. Sandstorm, wasn’t it? Avalanche?

Chicago: you had your chance. Now you’ll have to wait another 44 generations for a new golden ticket. You blew all my mojo on the Bulls. You couldn’t let Barkley win just once?

Orlando: I’ll move there on one condition – I get to use Walt Disney’s zombie frozen head as a soccer ball.

Dallas: see, I really hate the Cowboys. Almost as much as the Packers. So I’ll need the services of Mark Cuban as my personal valet for 2 weeks out of the year, during which time I will be entitled to make personnel changes to the Mavericks, and wardrobe changes for Mark. How many billions of dollars does it cost to get a normal shirt, buddy?

Wisconsin: the Packers slipped in a Super Bowl win when I wasn’t looking. That alone is reason enough to withhold my powers from the Brewers. And they’re awesome this year – scrappy, young, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. It’s just too bad Brett Favre is a pill-popping hick. Trade him to the Lions, and maybe we’ll talk. But I doubt it.

A Terrible, Terrible Confession

I'm going to admit something, and it's really embarrassing. I'm ashamed to state this, but in light of the Yi drama, and the Mo Williams contract, this is something I have to say.

I am a bad Bucks fan.

FreeDarko's Dr. LawyerIndianChief makes an interesting point about the Bucks, and their relationship to the overrall status of the NBA. If he's correct - and let's assume, arguendo, that he is - then I may not only be a bad Bucks fan, but I am also a bad NBA fan.

I love good basketball. Smooth transition offense, lockdown defense, absurd athletic achievement encapsulated in a split-second freakish outburst, like, say, 5'9" Nate Robinson handing Yao Ming his nuts. But what I cannot abide is poor passing, selfish play, and no effort - ugly basketball. I can't watch it, can't support it. And too often the Bucks have embodied this hideousness, or worse, they're simply boring. I don't make a point of watching them, I keep an eye on their stats, but if Michael Redd - maybe the league's finest example of function over form, a plain unpleasant and uninteresting scoring machine - drops 50 one night, am I going bonkers, and flipping my Sidney Moncrief jersey at random passersby? Nope.

Can't I still love the league? Maybe. I can be post-team like the FreeDarko ilk, I guess, but that just seems like a cop-out. Especially since I'm so hard up for the Chicago Bears. Sure, it's a different sport, but that's the thing about being a fan. You have to support your team, through thick and thin. Otherwise you're just an observer, enjoying performance art. And no one buys Miranda July's new Nike AirForce kicks.

Back to the NBA: if the Donaghy thing, after the nonexistent trade excitement - Let KG go! - and the crappy regular season, puts me off pro ball, then I am not sticking up for it through thick and thin, I am in fact dropping it like greasy marbles.

I don't know how I feel about all that. Maybe I should go watch more crazy highlights and sort it out.