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Saturday, December 15, 2012

We Need You

An Open Letter To Those Lost Souls That Need Encouragement,

I encourage you.

Seriously, I do, for whatever emotion it is that you are feeling this morning, be it anger, sadness, or maybe you're simply in just a state of shock--it's all human.  For better or for worse, we are creatures of our own rationalization and there are times where an answer doesn't pop up.  Nor should it, in this case.

There is no answer.

How could there be?  And would that make you feel better?  There is no rationalization and in its place is a empty hole, a dark nothingness.  And it hurts.  It hurts so bad.

I encourage you to know that out of the dark comes that little voice.  It's so tiny at first but it grows and grows because that's human nature--the ever resilient, refusing to be silent force.

It's going to be okay.

How do I know?  It's simple.  We'll make sure of it, together.

I encourage you to ignore the brutality of the following statement but the world is fucked.  It always has been and always will be and the only thing that we can do, as specks on the world, is avoid as much fuck as we can.  But, in all honesty, the longer we stay here the more fuck we will see and there's nothing that we can do about that.

It is our inclination to band together, grab pitchforks and torches, and march towards the monster when we really should just be sitting in our homes with our loved ones and reflecting.  We should be reflecting that while there is an awful lot of fuck in the world there is still plenty of good as well.

You see, it's a balance.  That's part of the deal that none of us agreed to but are forced to deal with every waking moment.

But that's the beauty of it.  We're all in it together and there's not a damn thing we can do about it so we might as well band together and make the best of it.  That's life, kids, in a nutshell.

So when something terrible happens, that has no reason or rhyme, I encourage you to band together and weather the storm.  I can't make it without you and you can't make it without me.  And just as I tell you it's going to be okay, I need you to tell me too.  That's how that tiny voice grows.

While it may seem like we are simply convincing each other that it's going to get better when it seems like it really won't, well, that's the point.  If just one more person believes it will be okay, then I've done my job.  Then that person will convince another person it's okay.

And then everything is okay.

And Band-Aids don't heal broken legs.

But it's a start in the healing process and a start is what we need.

I encourage you to wake up this morning and go and be the best person you can be.  Regardless of what emotion you have, you are still human, and you must go on.  Band together with your fellow specks and help weigh the balance back in the favor of good.

We need you.

Sincerely,

The Studly Pastures


Thursday, December 6, 2012

Birds of Prey

Kids!  It's December and that means I'm chock full of goodies for you!

That came out really badly and I apologize for that.  Today's post is inspired by a crazy man and a dumb looking bird.  I wish I was kidding.

New Orleans Hornets owner, Tom Benson, doesn't think the Hornets name is very befitting for his city and wants to change it to...wait for it..the Pelicans!

The New Orleans Pelicans!

First of all, if the pelican is the best representation of your city that you have, you have yourself a very shitty city.  Look at it this way, if we all go to war against each other and we turn and see the army marching in with the pelican on their flags, we're wiping them out first.  They should be a cake walk.

I'm not from New Orleans and I've never been to New Orleans so I can't say for sure what kind of obsession level the people have there with pelicans.  I do know that we have them here in Florida and I'm not very impressed.  A pelican has never done anything to make me say, "Boom!  That's totally Florida-status pelican right there!"

But this news did get me thinking.  What if every NBA team changed their names to better reflect their city?  Wouldn't that be interesting if someone put together some sort of hypothetical list of new NBA teams?  But who, who I ask you, would take on such a daunting task?  Read on.



Boston Bean Eaters - People from Boston friggin' love beans.  It's kinda like how regular people like good stuff like candy and pizza but for them it's beans.  It doesn't matter what kind of beans either.  They drizzle that stuff on anything.  Kids are sick?  Have some beans.  You just got laid off from the mill?  Beans.  It's pretty damn gross.

Brooklyn Underground Rappers - Every single underground rapper has come from Brooklyn.  Fact.

New York Scumbags - If you live in New York City, you've probably done something recently to label yourself a scumbag.  But, hey, it's not your fault, it's the city itself turning you into that.  My advice?  Embrace it.  That's the New York spirit anyways.  Stand tall, stand proud and declare yourself a scumbag.

Philadelphia Amish - Pennsylvania is big for Amish territory and while the technology challenged members of society aren't big basketball fans...they could be.  Think about this: no distractions, just a ball and a hoop.  If the Amish get into the game the rest of the NBA could be in trouble.

Toronto Hockey Players - Canada has no business in the NBA and it's high time that they recognize it.  Aside from being an oxymoron, considering it's the NATIONAL Basketball Association, Canadian basketball players would rather kick back with a Labatt's Blue and talk about moose.

Dallas Cattle - I know that 'Mavericks' was a cooler name but when I think about Dallas, I think about Texas, and when I think about Texas I think about cows.  Big, juicy, and delicious cows.  And every time the team was trailing the PA announcer could get them back into it by saying, "It looks like it's time for a Cattle Driiiiiiiiiive!"  Brilliant marketing.

Houston Intergalactic Spaceships - The 'Rockets' was a pretty good representation of Houston...if it were the '60s.  We need to update this stuff!  Rockets?  We haven't blasted off in those since John Glenn was only sort of old and not crotchety old.  Our space program is progressing into some crazy stuff and it's time to reflect that.

Memphis Blues - I am stealing this from the NHL because when it comes to real sports the NHL always loses.  Plus, it's such a great double entendre!  Blues, as in the music that makes Memphis so popular, but also in the fact that if you live in Tennessee you are probably pretty sad.

San Antonio Alamo - Every time they win they could all shout, "ALWAYS REMEMBER!"  And then party with raccoon pelts on their heads.

Chicago Mafia - Why aren't they called this?!  If Al Capone didn't die of syphilis he would be pretty pissed off.

Cleveland Ohioans - Sometimes it's best just to be proud of where you are.  Mostly because there is nothing else to be proud of.

Detroit Temptations - It's Motown, baby, and what better Motown band than the Temptations?  The starting five could shimmy on out to a rendition of 'Get Ready'.  That would be pretty sweet.

Indiana Grain Eating Flatheads - It's a plains state, complete with nothing substantial geographically.  They would only sacrifice their grain for the sake of paving over the entire state and making it one gigantic basketball court.

Milwaukee Beers - Instead of the deers, let's be the Beers!  People relate to alcohol more than they do to Bambi.  Instead of hanging out with a skunk and a rabbit and lamenting on how my mother was shot to death, I'd rather have a cold one.

Denver Mountains - Sorry.  You have to be mountains.

Minnesota Accents - This was a tough one because just like Canada, I feel like Minnesota should stick to hockey.  But I can't say the word Minnesota in my head without it sounding like "Minn-ah-soodah."

Portland Hippies - Portland is stuck in a constant case of the '90s.  Now that it's almost 2013, the '90s have become the new hippie generation.  Weird but true.

Oklahoma City Bombers - Tough to swallow but incredibly accurate.  I didn't even know there was an Oklahoma City until it blew up.  Plus, every time they dunk, the sound effects guy can make that 'pewwwwwwwwwwwwBOOOM!' sound effect.

Utah Mormons - No brainer here.  I can't wait to see an Amish-Mormons match up.

Atlanta Traffic - Have you driven through Atlanta?  Who designed those roads?  It's like trying to navigate a hedge maze but instead of a hedge it's an angry person in a car.  It's a car maze.  I should have just gone with that from the start.

Charlotte Plantations - I know I can't be the only one.

Miami Cubans - I'm definitely not the only one.

Orlando Disney Machine - Literally, there's nothing else.  We're the Kingdom of the Mouse and that's about it.  The best part is that if they did change their name to the Disney Machine they would definitely dominate the league.  Disney would make sure of it.

Washington Monuments - Wait, why the hell are they the 'Wizards'?  Isn't that a little Pagan for our nation's capital?  HOW DID WE MISS THIS?!

Golden State Cereal - I'm sorry, exactly which state is Golden State?  California?  Ah, gotcha.  So, why didn't we just say California?  Stop trying to church it up, California.  We know who you are.  Now you are called the Cereal.  Take that.

Los Angeles Gang Bangers - That might be a little politically incorrect but it's a pretty sweet name.  Oh, this was originally the Clippers by the way.

Los Angeles Kobe's - Lakers now.  Ego abounds here and as the most selfish player in NBA history, you get the team named after you.  Congratulations.

Phoenix Desert - I almost kept the 'Suns' name but that was probably more fitting to a different team in Florida.  As the 'Desert', Phoenix fans can rest assured that it's a very fitting name for their city in that nothing can really survive there.

Sacramento Capitals - Sacramento is the capital of California and nobody knows it because it should be Los Angeles.  Sacramento will never be relevant in the NBA so the least they can do is promote that they are the capital of California.

And, finally, as for the New Orleans Pelicans, go right ahead.  You're now in the class you belong now that I've set it right.  Make sure to get your new team hats in time for Christmas, kids!

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Those Left Behind

For those loyal readers of the Studly Pastures, I apologize, this post will not be as light-hearted as most of my normal work is.  90% of the time I strive to make you laugh and the other 10% I actually encourage you to think.  Due to the events of earlier today, this post will be in the 10%.

Anybody who hasn't heard yet, Kansas City Chiefs Linebacker Jovan Belcher shot his girlfriend after an argument and then drove to his home stadium and committed suicide in front of his coach and general manager who were trying to talk him down from more acts of violence.

As if the dual tragedy wasn't enough, it branches out further.  The couple had a infant child, his mother apparently witnessed the first shooting, and let us not forget the other family members of the victim, the shooter's teammates, the impact this will have on the two men that got to know him and tried to talk him down, and of course, anybody else who has ever been affected by a suicide that has their stitches ripped out every time a suicide pops up in the news.

I know that was a run-on sentence.  Grammar be damned tonight.

I'm not a religious person but I am a passionate person.  I care and love for things and those things are mostly people.  The other three are sports, beer, and pizza. (Okay, I'll tell some jokes, it's still ME after all)

And for those that I love, rest assured, I've been mad at you.  I've been completely and utterly pissed off with those closest to me and they've known it.  The reason you have never known it before is because it doesn't make the news because I'm a rational human being that understands the impact of life and the impact of loss.  Anger is an emotion and emotions are ever-changing.  The only people that stay angry forever are Clint Eastwood and Mel Gibson...and Gibson's is due to a chemical imbalance.

Suicide is the most selfish form of death there is.  For one, it's self-inflicted at any given time and interval.  For two, the release is typically quick and painless...for yourself.  No thought is given to those left behind except in a letter containing a weak apology.  Suicide victims are usually parents, children, spouses, friends, and whoever else you managed to encounter in your life.  The victim is never you.  You checked out, what do you care?

I'd like to say that there was something clearly wrong in the brain of Jovan Belcher but I never knew the guy nor am I a doctor.  All I can see right now is that Belcher is a thief.  He robbed the family of his girlfriend their precious baby girl.  He robbed his own family of their son.  He robbed his child the experience of growing up with PARENTS.

And if there was something wrong in Belcher's brain that caused him to commit these acts, where were the warning signs?  He works closely with the same twenty or so people EVERY single day.  Nobody once thought that Jovan was acting a little weird lately?  He started for a team that plays in the NFL.  He's on national television for Christ's sake and NOBODY saw anything?

Did he just snap?  Reports say that he was unhappy with how late his girlfriend stayed out with friends after a concert.  That's what started the argument that eventually ended both of their lives.  To me, that's a five-minute tiff and then I'm over it.  Why did this guy ruin lives because of it?

That's the other horrible thing about suicide.  There are questions that will never be answered.  Everybody that's left behind is left in a state of limbo, unsure of how to move on with their lives because they aren't sure about what exactly just happened to shake up their entire existence.

So what now?  We study his brain, find some dark spots on it and attribute the whole thing to that?  Does the NFL concussion committee have some new evidence?  What happens to the state of the game?

Is Jovan's son going to care?  Not a chance.  His world has affectively ended before it's even begun and that makes me incredibly sad.  How do you stand a chance when there is nobody in your corner?

Back to Romeo Crennel and Scott Pioli, the two men that were trying to get Jovan to put down the gun and stop all the violence/madness: Jovan thanked them for everything and then shot himself.  How sadistic is that?  How do you not realize that you are about to make these two men, who are trying to help you, endure the rest of their lifetime with the thought of, "What if?"

How did everything lose it's meaning?!  Boyfriend, father, son, teammate, friend...none of these labels registered anymore?  WHAT THE HELL, MAN?!

In the end it's just really, really sad.  All my years of journalistic training and honing my writing skills and all I can come up with is that it's just really, really sad.  Always remember kids, you are bigger than you think you are.  There is someone that thinks about you even when you don't.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Selling In

I can't buy in anymore.  The plan is flawed.  It's flawed.

Google owns this site that I post the Studly Pastures to.  And for the last three years they promised me funding by posting ads on my Studly Pastures.  And after three years, and 60 blog posts of hilarious banter, I have earned sixty cents...and counting.

Obviously if I were in this for the money, I would have to be pretty stupid.  Right?  Rhetorical question.  Don't answer it.

So Google informs me today that there is another nifty application I can add to my blog to make money.  Basically, it works like this:

Say for example, I like to be really witty, especially on social media sites, because that's where I get my rocks off.  So I have a really funny Facebook status one day.  Something like, "Hey guys, just wanted to let you know that I'm only kitten around!", and that would be followed by a picture of me and some kitten getting at it.  Hilarious!

And then all of a sudden some 'friend' of mine on Facebook is like, "That was a lame pun, you should feel bad about yourself."  Now I'm sitting here in my room, completely empty of light, and I get the notification.  My 'friend' has just dissed me on Facebook.

Oh, I don't Facebookin' think so!

Now my objective is clear: I have to ruin this person's life.  And not just at the physical level, this person has to feel the pain on a META-physical level.  I'm going to have to go old-school on this person.  They will have to suffer the wrath of several meta-physical wraths.  Boo-yah.

So I disappear for a couple of months, like totally off the grid, I'm in some mountains and stuff.  Let's be honest, I'll probably grow a beard, and learn how to whittle.  People at first are like, "Hey, where is he?" and that evolves into a modest search but nothing that can find me.  I'm like the wind.

While I'm up in the mountains, whittling away, I finally reach an epiphany: BOOM! I remember from various Facebook posts that my 'friend' is allergic to peanut butter.  BOOM!

I frantically get to work on an elaborate scheme to inadvertently get my friend killed by peanut butter.  Hours later, I come up with this fool-proof plan that involves gorillas, classical music, and other things not directly related to peanut butter, but still containing the necessary ingredients that he's allergic to.

Finally, the time is ready, and I make my move.  The gorillas descend from the mountains wearing backpacks containing strawberry jelly, like completely filled with strawberry jelly.  It's oozing through the zipper.  Now they're mad that the jelly is leaking onto their backs and someone now has Hell to pay. That someone is the chimpanzees I have sent from the other side of the mountain to meet the gorillas.

While I was training gorillas to carry jelly in backpacks, I was training chimpanzees to carry peanut butter in fanny packs.  And so they now charged toward each other in unadulterated fury that left most of them dead.

The field of battle is riddled with gorillas, chimpanzees, peanut butter, and jelly.  And then, all of a sudden, my Facebook target walks out onto the field, slips in a pile of peanut butter and dies.

Now, if I had said specifically what brand of peanut butter that was and linked to where you could purchase it, Google would have sent me money.

Rest assured, kids.  The Studly Pastures is off the market and will remain off the market until they come and get me and put me in a padded cell.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

The Kansas City Shuffle

Well kids, it's November, the red-headed step-child of the calendar year.

Nobody cares about November.  One minute it's Halloween and the next everybody's eyes glaze over and all they care about is Christmas.

Local drug stores replace their candy with decorative balls and garland.  By the way, if you just laughed at the whole 'decorative balls' thing, you are my target audience and I thank you for reading.

But why are we so quick to overlook Thanksgiving?  Or as I like to call it, "Fat Person Christmas."

Granted, Thanksgiving is a holiday that originated under false pretenses that ended in eventual slaughter but all "holidays" are like that.  There's still an Arbor Day while the History Channel airs programs about the logging industry.  And who needs trees, right?

Nobody actually cares about Thanksgiving because of the pilgrims and Indians and all that crap.  In twenty years the Mayflower will be just a brand of seasoning salt instead of a ship.  People care about turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, and deviled eggs.  I mean that's going to be my menu this year.

And this is no attempt to chastise America for becoming so commercial that we have forsaken what truly matters and that we shouldn't overlook Thanksgiving because we should really be giving thanks.  I'm just as jaded as the rest of you.  I'm a big proponent of my girlfriend waking up really early the day after Thanksgiving and going to buy a sweet flat-screen HDTV.  I buy into the system.  The system works.  The system is good.

But hey, I have a soul too.  I get it.  I understand the overall demeanor of the holiday season.  That's why when the Boy Scouts put a plastic bag on my door handle I will give them all the non-perishable goods that will fit in that tiny satchel.  It helps the needy and it pays my blood oath.  And this year I'm making a pledge to not fill it with all the nastiest soups I can find.  You're welcome, homeless people.

By the way, don't give them soup.  It's like rewarding an employee with a gift card to where they work.  They have it all the time.

Sheesh, this has really taken a turn for the worse.  Maybe we should get to the sports then?

Screw Andrew Luck.  A year ago I was ranting and raving about how he should take his can't miss talents to Miami and now I'm just a bitter old crone wishing he was playing for us.  I don't hate Tannehill, he's a good little Fuzzby, but when Furby waxed the Miami Dolphins poetically this past Sunday I couldn't help but feel that this is exactly what happens in the Twilight Zone.

At least I'm not a Lakers fan.  Watching the collective sports media shit their pants over how poorly the Lakers, a consensus Super Team, have started the season makes me smile.  It's Deja Vu all over again.  People, the Miami Heat went through the same growing pains.  Basketball is not a plug and go sport.  You need time to gel.  When the Holy Trinity of the Miami Heat started 0-2, everybody lost their minds.  Now they are the defending champions.  Relax, Los Angeles, you're still super awesome and stuff.

Alright then, it's time to get personal.  I generally have a big problem with most of the sports writers of America but if David Price doesn't win the AL Cy Young next week you can consider our differences irreconcilable.  Stop looking at just numbers and look at the overall package.  And if you just laughed at  "overall package", we're destined to be together.

Price pitched for one of the worst offensive teams in the league and managed to maintain one of the lowest ERA's in the league and highest win count.  In most of his losses and no decisions it was usually a one-run game.  Let's also mention how dominant he was for a team that was pressing through the stretch.  Back when I was calculating scenarios about how the Rays could make the post-season, I always gave David Price a win--and I was right.  He takes the Cy Young or the whole thing is irrelevant.

Alright kids, I'm out.  I'll be back before Turkey Day but just in case I slip into a coma, have a happy and joyous Fat Person Christmas!



Monday, October 29, 2012

Ode To Richard Butt

Because I couldn't title it, "How crazy is it that the Miami Dolphins are actually GOOD this year?!!?!?!"  I decided to get a little creative and title this article, "Ode To Richard Butt."

I had the privilege of meeting Richard Butt the other day and I was so mad that he was nice and polite.  I thought for sure he would have been an asshole.  They say that when life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade, but when life names you Dick Butt you should probably change your name.  Or at least hate your parents.

Seriously, who wants to marry into the Butt family?  The Butt family has a strong, proud history of helping form the seat of America.  If it weren't for the Butts we would all be out on our asses.

I should stop.

But the Butt is just a name.  What's in a name?  Is it really that precious to preserve a name?  If a man has nothing but daughters that marry other men of different names, is a legacy all of a sudden wiped off the face of the planet?

I don't think so.  Hell, most of our names come from religious backgrounds and people trying not to sound so foreign.  Why is that so sacred?

Names mean little in the grand scheme.  Richard Butt should hold his head high and be proud of his rich, Butt heritage.  It's a firm tradition in the Butt household to never surrender one's backside.

Seriously, I should stop.

Lets talk sports, Dick Buttheads: Miami is awesome.  Okay, maybe I'm riding off the high that the Miami Dolphins just waxed the New Jersey Jets in their own stadium (that the Giants gave to them) but I don't think I am totally off base here when I declare that the Miami Dolphins might be a sleeper for the AFC wild card in 2012.

I don't want to be one of those fans that wins a game and all of sudden becomes "We're gonna win the Super Bowl!".  And I'm not.  I'm talking Wild Card and I'm talking that it's still a long, long shot.

But what's in a name?  The Miami Dolphins have never done anything bold on special teams since I have seen stock footage of Garo Yepremian almost throwing away our "Perfect Season". (That gets italics and caps until someone else does it)

Basically, the Miami Dolphins as a franchise is a conservative group.  We do what is needed and never go outside the box.

Well today, we burnt the box to ashes.  We blocked a punt for a touchdown, blocked a field goal, and recovered an onside kick.  That all happened today for the first time in 20 years, not just for us, but for everybody.

Names only symbolize what you are until you do something different.  Richard Butt was a nice guy and had no reason to be because his name is Dick Butt.  You wouldn't be mad?  I would do my best to live up to the namesake and I just wrote that joke and even I have no idea what that means.

Of course, there is a choking, drowning necessity to make our names proud.  It's pressure.  It's legacy.  And for three families in the world, that's important.  If you are like me, which if you are reading this--you are--sorry, you are not defined by labels.  I love my family and I will love my children and I know that names are not as strong as the human spirit.

I believe in the untapped resources that every person has.

Next time you think a name matters, just watch 'Billy Madison'.  It's a fantastic Adam Sandler film in which the O'Doyle family rules...and then meets their grisly end.

I'm not suggesting you forsake where you came from, I just want you to know that we no longer define people by that measurement.  I'm getting too preachy.  This is a sports blog.  Go Dolphins.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Your Heroes Suck

Down here on the Studly Pastures we try to make an honest living.  It's not easy raising a stud farm for unicorns but in order to do it right it's important to not cut corners.

Everything is legitimate and I'm very proud of that.

Things that I consider illegitimate: the reality shows on Bravo, people that live their life by the phrase YOLO, tofurkey, religious extremists, most of my children, and Alex Rodriguez.

I'm just kidding, I don't have any kids.

But seriously, Alex Rodriguez is a douche.  I drink scotch every Little League World Series I watch when I see those impressionable youths from around the world that declare that A-Rod is their favorite baseball player.

Don't you stupid kids know what happens when you idolize a false idol?  I'm not really sure either but apparently a river of blood is involved and that's enough for me to back out.

Let me put this bluntly: A-Rod hasn't just done enough to embarrass the sport of baseball but he's accomplished enough in his lifetime thus far to make ME embarrassed that he is also a human being.  If A-Rod was a chimpanzee, I could let it slide but dammit it all to Hell, he's a person.

And he's only 37.  I can only imagine what kind of detriment to society he'll apply with the rest of his natural existence.  The selfish moron doesn't even have the sense to die.

How bad is Alex Rodriguez at being a person?  He can't have any pets because when he wakes up in the morning and goes to let them out to pee they just run themselves directly into oncoming traffic so they don't have to live with Alex Rodriguez anymore.

Alex Rodriguez didn't leave his wife to go and date Cameron Diaz.  His wife didn't exist.  It was simply Alex Rodriguez in drag.  He's so narcissistic that he could only marry himself--and then cheat on  himself.

Angels don't get their wings every time a bell rings, they get their wings every time Alex Rodriguez takes a kidney shot.  By the way, that's no way implying that Alex Rodriguez is a creature descended from the bowels of Hell.  He's too much of a Nancy for that. (I apologize to all Nancy's out there that I just offended by comparing you to Alex Rodriguez)

When he broke his hand earlier this season I thought to myself, "Oh no! That's the hand he uses to try and swat the baseball out of the first baseman's mitt!  How will he cheat now!?"

And then I remembered that he takes steroids and knew that everything would be right with the world and I slept soundly that night.

I hate the idea of animal cruelty and this is in no way an endorsement of PETA.  I think those tree-hugging pansies are lame too.  I do, however, have a proposal.  I think that instead of product testing on animals we should just go ahead and do it on Alex Rodriguez.  Whatever happens to him happens.

A-Rod, I'm glad you're on the bench, in New York, during the play-offs, on the verge of elimination.  This is the beginning of your purgatory.  The rest will come when you are traded to the Miami Marlins.

Enjoy the rest of your life being absolutely terrible at everything you do, douche.

Monday, October 1, 2012

It's October. Sorry.

Happy October, kids.  And all that means is that a lot of us are about to have a bad time in Major League Baseball.

For those of you that would rather watch paint dry I implore you to read something else.  For the love of anything that you consider holy, educate yourselves.

I want to vomit.  The atmosphere in the Twilight Zone this time of year gets really thick and it presses down on my stomach and kidneys to where I gag and piss out blood.  It's not very glamourous but then again--not much is in the Twilight Zone.

October signals the end of just about all baseball that anybody cares about, the relevance of your favorite football team, and the start of all things basketball.

For those of you that like good things, this is a really positive month.

For people like me, I'll be in a scotch coma.

You think for someone who surrounds himself in a sportsverse that I would take steps to ensure I have something to talk about all year long.  Well, turns out, masochism is a hell of drug.

The only thing college basketball will be good for me this year is a easy way to blow twenty bucks on a three-team parlay.  I only do twenty bucks because I'll probably do it about fifteen times this year.  I never learn my lesson.

Hell, the highlight of my October will be Halloween when I pass out candy to the local dregs and their offspring.  Don't confuse me with someone who gives a crap about children, I really don't.  I just know the rest of society could give less of a crap if some kids got some candy one day out of the year.  Plus, I give out the good stuff.  I refuse to be caught up in the brainwashed masses that are convinced that candy corn is even remotely edible.  It sucks and needs to be destroyed.

Speaking of gambling, how badly do the Dolphins try and screw you?  They never win but they always cover the spread by losing by a field goal in overtime.  What an awful thing to do.  They wrench your heart and your wallet.

Scumbags.

Vegas is so prevalent in sports these days that it almost pays more to not be a fan.

Correction: It definitely pays more.  You make money and don't suffer the heartbreak.  If only I could stop getting hopped up on this masochism.

Friday, September 21, 2012

To The Good Samaritan

To the good samaritan,

I apologize.  I have let you down.  You tried to help me and I boldly spat in your face.

From someone who is running out of heroes in this world, I find this most distressing.  You went out of your own way to help me.  You didn't have to.  You weren't provoked.  You simply felt it was the right thing to do.

And I agree.  It was the right thing to do and I would have done the same thing had the roles been reversed.  Unfortunately...they weren't.

I haven't revived the Studly Pastures for a couple of weeks because I have been on holiday.  Holiday is what people in other countries call vacation.  I called it Holiday because I need the funding that international hits get me, you cheap bastards.

I took a cruise to the bahamas.  Sounds regal.  Sounds elegant.  Sounds like I needed an excuse to get hammer-slammered in another country.  And so I did!

And boy did I. Well, I decided against it--but my brain synapses were all like "Hey, come on, we only get to take Holiday every six years, let's drink our weight in Captain Morgan!"  And I was like, "Okay."

And thus I lost control of all of my physical abilities (except my bowels, record still intact) and could no longer converse with the rest of society for the time being.  My friend, being my friend, recognized my state of inebriation and immediately tried to get me back to home base.  Unfortunately, her arms are not as big as her heart and I was dragged through Bohemian asphalt until, alas, the good samaritan stepped forward.

I simply know him as Jerry--from New Tampa.  I only bring that up because, Jesus, how annoying is that?  New Tampa?  What the Hell is that all about?  With that said.  This man took his own sweet precious time and dedicated it to helping my drunk ass back aboard my boat.  And I still called him out for saying he was from New Tampa.  Then I proceeded to bleed all over his shirt because I cut my hand when I fell.  I'm a dick, I'm aware.

So to you, good sir, I thank you and sincerely apologize.  But seriously, New Tampa?  Just say Tampa from now on.  It's what people know.

My battle scars?  A cool ass black eye that goes well with my strange resemblance to Edward Norton and stories to tell the grandkids.

Moving on...

The Miami Dolphins are playing the New York Jets this weekend, and okay, I was a bit off on my prediction on the Houston Texans game--but they beat the ever-loving piss out of the Raiders!  So back to the Jersey Jets, I can't foresee a reason why the Dolphins should lose to such an talent-less offense.  Who can match up on the Jets tit for tat for Reggie Bush?  Shonn Greene?  Don't make me laugh.  Tim Tebow?  Don't make me vomit.  And if I take away anything from the week prior, it's that Ryan Tannehill and Brian Hartline have established a true quarterback-receiver connection.

And once again, we reach around (hah! reach around!) that time of year when baseball pundits are counting out the Tampa Bay Rays from post-season contention.  I knew they always had a short-term memory but this is ridiculous.  How can you count out this punchy bunch of nobody's until it is mathematically impossible for them to be in the playoffs?  Did you see Game 162 last year?  I did and I still have goosebumps.

I feel bad for those of you that are true hockey fans.  Your sport continually goes out of it's way to screw you.  Hold strong, watch football.

And now that I'm back from Holiday, expect to see a lot more of me.  If there's anything I have learned about a good product, it's not to flood the market.  And if you happen to have a mediocre product then you should flood, flood, and flood away.

I went to the Dana White school of marketing.  Have a good UFC night, kids!

Monday, September 3, 2012

Signs of the Apocalypse

The Miami Dolphins are going to defeat the Houston Texans on September 9th.

Guaranteed.

Okay, I understand all the surrounding facts, I really do.  And just in case you don't, I will take the liberty to fill you in.

First, the most glaring in my eyes: The Miami Dolphins have never defeated the Houston Texans.  Ever.

Second, the Houston Texans have seemingly built a solid franchise coming off their first playoff year ever.

Third, the Miami Dolphins are not even close to what I just said about the Texans.

All conventional signs point to a horrible lopsided loss for the Dolphins.

But listen to me.  The NFL is not a conventional sport.  The only thing that is a bettor's worst nightmare is college basketball.  You can't ever accurately predict what will happen in the NFL.  And the NFL thrives on this.  It loves it's parity.  It's anybody's game at any time.

I also understand why you think "of course he'll say the Dolphins will win, he's a Dolphins fan!"
False.  While I hinge my entire heart beat on the play of the Dolphins, I will always tell you like it is.  It's my nature.

So here it is, kids, why the Dolphins will beat the Texans.  How about the wild card effect?  The Miami Dolphins are unveiling a new head coach, a new offensive coordinator, and a new starting quarterback that is fresh from college.  How do you game plan against that?  You have no idea what this trio is efficiently capable of.  Secrets are our best ally right now.

In 2003, in their second year of existence, the Houston Texans opened the season against a heavily favored Miami Dolphins team.  The Texans won on a last second field goal.  How about the retaliation card?  Why can't we return the favor to a playoff hung-over team that is not expecting a fight from a dog that has no business fighting?

The Texans' greatest weapon is Arian Foster, a running back.  The Dolphins have a staunch running defense.  Their middle is solid and the ends are fast.  If Foster does find room, the Phins will be in trouble, but if he is shut down...who knows?

Also, something should be said for the team that has everything to prove and the team that really doesn't give a crap.  The Tannehill Dolphins have things that they need to establish as early as week one.  Matt Shaub and his Texans?  They can take a week off.  Their division, the AFC South, is pretty weak.  The Texans are a favorite to win it all--forget the division--so why can't they overlook a team like the Dolphins?

I'm telling you.  Dolphins beat the Texans 31-28.

Friday, August 31, 2012

The Quietest Week

The silence is deafening.  And I have others.

By others, I mean oxymorons that drive me absolutely nuts.  The silence is deafening?  Screw you.

I hate the people that try to be profound when they eat applesauce through a straw in the gap in their teeth.  It's so uncouth.  I don't use big words often but when I do it's to enact natural selection and hope that most of the world will leave me alone.

This is the quietest week in sports because you learn so much.  If you like baseball, you find out if your team has the chops to make the post-season.  True, the season doesn't technically end until next month but if you study the sport, you know.  You know.

Football fans will welcome this week as the opener.  It's Week One.  Everybody has a chance.  Unless of course your favorite team rhymes with Flyami Flophins.  Then you're screwed.  You're gonna have a bad time.

I was surprised to hear today that Andy Roddick is announcing his retirement from competitive tennis after this U.S. Open.  I was surprised because the last relevant thing that Roddick did was marry Brooklyn Decker, a supermodel.  I feel bad for Roddick, but not really.  After Sampras and Agassi retired, America was all "OH MY GOD WHO WILL WIN AT TENNIS!?!?!"  and Roddick came along and America was all "OH THIS GUY WILL! GO USA!"  But he didn't.  Sure, Roddick won some things but he was never dominant.  And right when Roddick should have come into his own, the unholy trinity of tennis greatness came into being.  Nowadays, you can't mention men's tennis without uttering either Federer, Nadal, or Djokovic.  Sign of the times.

2012 is definitely the apocalypse: Roger Clemens is not in prison and might pitch for the Astros later this week.  I am so thankful that I am not an Astros fan.  That has to be so goddamn embarrassing trotting his 50-year old ass out there for strictly a publicity stunt.  Why?  Why?  For God sakes, why?  So what if he resets his HOF timer for another five years?  Is there going to be a sports reporter on this planet that doesn't associate him with cheating?  You're done, old man.  Give it a rest.

You know what else happened today?  Boise State lost a game.  That is notable because it has only happened twice in the last four years.  They lost to Michigan State, which, who can blame them?  Their coach looks like he drinks innocent baby blood for sustenance.  There's probably a lawsuit in that last sentence and it's probably a good thing that I could care less.

The Rays lost tonight on a play at the plate.  They are no longer in the Wild Card lead and the hated Yankees are fighting the Orioles.  With that said, I'm a Dolphins fan.  If you don't hear from me for a couple of months, you know why.  College basketball doesn't start until late October...

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Transcending

You know what separates something great from something not great?

Repetition.

You do something enough and it becomes the new standard.

Even if you have the balls to do something original, what do the people want?  For you to do it again.

And even if you do something shitty, trust me, do it enough times and it becomes 'your thing'.  You'll be famous for it.  It's how people will know you.  Just ask a serial killer.

Derek Jeter is 1,000 hits shy of reaching the all-time hits record.  Even though I have vowed to never approve of anything Yankee related I have still, for some god-forsaken reason, felt this way: "Eh, I've always liked Jeter."  I like the guy.  Still, it is completely unreasonable for me to believe that he will touch the all-time hits record.  It's one of those records in baseball that took a real psycho to achieve.  Pete Rose is a sanctified piece of whacko and Derek Jeter seems like a nice guy.  You lose, Jeter.

I am a normal human being.  I get stopped in my tracks when I see breaking news on ESPN.  My eyes widen, I start drooling, and my ethereal tail starts wagging.  Then I see that Augusta has admitted two women to their club.  Really ESPN?  We all know that Augusta lives in a bubble that is forty years prior to our own.  Why should the reasonable, present-day public care that some bigots FINALLY decided that "okay, I guess we can allow TWO" should ever, ever be breaking news?  The Masters is only the The Masters because...they named it the Masters!  I wish I could hold a 'I'm fucking crazy contest' and pronounce myself the unanimous winner every year like they do!

Apparently the car racers are reaching their climax of the year.  I've always appreciated the way they do it too, as if it's New Year's Eve and we're counting down the races until the apple drops!  I immediately take that back.  This is not a NASCAR friendly blog.  I don't get it.  I won't ever get it.  And if you passionately care about it don't waste your enthusiasm on trying to get me to get it.  It won't happen and I would hate to dissuade you from something you care about so much.  The Chase?  Are you kidding me?  Is that preceded by The Flirt and followed with The Divorce?  For Christ-Bud-Heavy-Drinking-Sakes...

I wish I could get jacked for college football like some people do.  Unfortunately for me I cheer for a school that I actually went to.

Whoever the guy was that calculated that Mark Trumbo leads the MLB in home run distance needs to come and join the Studly Pastures.  I need that kind of statistical bullshit to make myself feel good too.

The EPL has started again and I'm not too concerned with that abbreviation because the only people who won't know what that stands for have already been alienated by my NASCAR hate paragraph.  I like the EPL but it's very similar to the NBA and that makes my blood boil.  Each year, the good get better, and the bad go and battle it out in a gladiator-like scenario.  Seriously though, the EPL and the NBA would be the same thing if we regulated the Wizards and the Warriors to the D-League last year.

Alright kids, I've depressed myself.  Enjoy.

Monday, August 20, 2012

The Things We Miss

Dearest children of the ever expanding Internet,

I'm mad as Hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore.

It's my solemn duty in life to make sure that you all grow up understanding the joke and I feel like I might be letting some of you down.  I was naive enough to think that I could go once or twice a month with imparting you with my words of wisdom but apparently that's just not gonna cut it anymore.

Well, I apologize, I really do.  I vow to step it up.

In less than 51 hours it will be the annual celebration of surviving another 365 days and the annual countdown to death for me, so forgive me if I am flooded with several strange emotions and thoughts.  I don't handle mortality well and I'm working on a cure.

It's just too damn tricky with all the scientists tied up working on various ways to create bacon flavored objects.

So, instead of using this space to lament my time here spent on Earth, I figured I might as well give you some sports musings.  At least this way you'll be entertained and I'll be distracted and then maybe one day I'll whore out enough to make a profit.  Too droll?  Eh, screw it.

Watching today's linebackers in the NFL makes me really miss Zach Thomas.  What an under-appreciated, over-achieving sonuvabitch he was.  His career was cut short to concussion trouble and his solution is to donate his brain to science when he dies so scientists can break away from the bacon stuff and find a solution to all the brain trauma NFL players are going through.

Speaking of retired players that I really miss: Daunte Culpepper.  I bought a Dolphins Culpepper jersey online a few years back.  I paid for the large youth size because I have the body of a thirteen year old girl.  The shipping cost more than the actual jersey.  I rocked that thing to sports bars for years until this past year it bit the dust in the dryer.  R.I.P. Culpepper jersey.  Maybe I'll upgrade and get a Jay Fiedler jersey this year.

4/5 of sports analysts were wash-outs in their respective sport...why should we care what they have to say?  I think we should have a complete changing of guard in who we listen to when it comes to sports.  Dolphin fans don't want to hear Tim Hasselbeck or Herm Edwards telling us the Dolphins suck, they want to hear people like me that go into depression when they lose.  Would you rather listen to a guy getting an undeserved paycheck or a guy that will honestly tell you like it is?

Things that seem like coincidences but aren't: The New York Jets are the only team so far this preseason to not score an offensive touchdown.  This isn't a coincidence because they hired Tony Sparano as Offensive Coordinator and they have Mark Sanchez and Tim Tebow as their quarterbacks.  Together they form the unholy trinity of attempting field goals.  When Sparano was head coach of the Dolphins, our MVP was our punter.  Pair him with two guys that have a better chance of being day-shift managers at a gift shop in a hospital and you're not going to have a good time.

I guarantee that the Miami Dolphins will score more points than the New York Jets but lose more games.  Sometimes it sucks living in the Twilight Zone.

This preseason Andrew Luck has done nothing to dissuade me from the fact that he is the next psychotic robot quarterback of the NFL.  He'll be Rookie of the Year and will start racking up MVP's as soon as four years from now.  It really is disgusting.

My final musings tonight, after two weeks into the preseason?  My Super Bowl prediction.

From the NFC, I like the New Orleans Saints.  This is a team that embraces the "fuck everyone else, we're going to rally together and we'll show them!"  Drew Brees will probably throw for 6,000 yards this year just to prove a point.  They're making the big show for sure.

From the AFC, which is a perennial crap-shoot between the New England Patriots and everyone else, I'm taking the Baltimore Ravens.  No, this isn't a ploy to make my girlfriend smile, it just seems like this team is on their last hurrah as a team that's been primarily together for a decade.  They rose up and embraced it before and I think they'll do it again.

Saints and Ravens.  There you have it.  By the way, if it turns out that I'm way, way off...it's because I'm hammered.

Love you guys.


Monday, August 13, 2012

The Chad Show

If you have ever glanced at this blog before you probably know that I love the Miami Dolphins.  A little too much.  It's pathetic, I know.  And I know that it's even more pathetic that I know it's pathetic and still do it.

I have unbridled loyalties into things for absolutely no reason.  It's my cast and my crutch.

The strange, twisted life I'm leading is nothing compared to some individuals in this world.  Some people decide to make their life a Truman Show, everything is scripted and broadcast on television.  When that fails to grab attention, for these attention grubbing whores, they introduce a little anarchy.

It's a circus.  A production put forth for entertainment value only.

As a relatively sane individual I can't live my life that way.

Chad Johnson can.

Johnson, maiden name Ochocinco, was recently arrested for head-butting his wife over a condom dispute.

Why condoms?  Why head-butt?  Why marry a reality television star?

Because RATINGS, baby!

Nobody would give two shits if Chad Johnson got in a petty argument with his wife over a disputed merchandise purchase.  But Mad Lib the shit out of that sentence and all of a sudden people are shitting their pants over Chad Johnson head-thrusting his bitch because she found some penis covers!!!!!!  BOOOOOYAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

So the Dolphins release him.  He's too big of a distraction and that's something we don't need on this impressionable team.

Admirable.  The Dolphins are making a bold statement.  They're saying that they don't care about ratings over morals.  They're gonna take the high road.

The ironic thing?  They probably should care about ratings considering they are the focus of a prime-time cable show right now that just lost their star actor--but I digress.

And before the smoke could clear of the firing of Chad Johnson, Karlos Dansby, a Miami linebacker, went on record to say that he was disappointed that the team didn't stand by their man.

Really?  The NFL really needs to advance their studies on the long-term effects of concussions because clearly Karlos Dansby is not using his thinking machine properly.

I'm all for team loyalty but if we have to extradite one person I'm putting the guy who head-butted his wife under the bus first.  I don't even have to think too hard about that one.  "Who should we cut guys?"  "How about the wife-beater, Coach?"  "Hmm, yeah, definitely the wife-beater."

Chad Johnson is a man who decided that his life was going to be a joke.  Most lives are jokes but his was broadcast on television, that's the difference.  He always told us though that the fine line between being funny and being a scumbag was not going to jail.  Oops.

I guess that line has been crossed.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Phelps is First

Michael Phelps, America's beloved swimming champion and poo-brained Subway marketer, now stands alone at the pinnacle of Olympic greatness.

Phelps, who already has the most gold medals in history, now has the most medals overall as well.  His performance in London 2012 hasn't been nearly as dominating as it was in Beijing 2008 but he is still in every medal conversation.

And speaking of conversations, there seems to be some debate about whether or not Phelps is the greatest Olympian of all time or not.

And I'm not really sure why.  Where's the debate here?

He has the MOST medals of out anybody else in the entire history of the Olympics.  Seems pretty simple to me.  He's the greatest.  Like, for sure.  It's pretty definite.

Let me explain something here: in every sport there is something that is to be attained, some sort of goal.  Whether it's trophies, medals, ribbons, gift certificates to Denny's, bejeweled crowns, women, etc.  Whatever it is, when you have the most, you are the greatest!

Oh you beat me once or twice?  That's nice.  I have the MOST!

Michael Phelps is so good that they interviewed him after somebody else won a gold medal.  Not to mention that they interviewed him and he can't even speak!

In Beijing, he entered eight events and won every single one of them.  That's never been done before.

So, he's had a better individual performance at an Olympics than everybody else and now his career Olympics records is better than everybody else.

I never understood why everybody has a problem with trying to decide who is number one in a sport with such an expansive pool of competitors.  I get what you are saying.  It's impossible to determine which sport is more difficult than the other one.  It's also hard to compare athletes of twenty years ago with the athletes of today thanks to advances in technology and training.

But if you are going to focus on something at the Olympics, you focus on medals.  That's the measuring stick and last I checked Phelps was at the top.

And that number is still rising, by the way.  Literally as I type this, Phelps is winning more gold.

Monday, July 23, 2012

Population: Crazy.

A month ago I exercised my critical thinking and told you that there was way more to this Penn State scandal and gosh darn it, turns out I was right again!

By the way, I hate myself for referring to this as a scandal.  Can we stop it with the scandal talk?  This has been upgraded to a full-blown shit storm.

I also told you that there was nothing that could be done to give back those boys' lives.  However, just like with families of murder victims who can't get their loved ones back, there is some form of justice that can be carried out to give some sort of closure.

The NCAA swore that today.  They promised me that they were going to deliver 'unprecedented' punishments against Penn State.

Per usual, the NCAA let me down.  I guess it's really my fault.  How many times can I get my hopes dashed to pieces before I stop caring all together?

The punishments?  No bowl games for four years.  Which, really goes hand in hand with the stripping of scholarships because you aren't reaching bowl games with no talent anyways.  Penn State was also fined $60 million.  To me and you, that's a pretty big matzo ball.  To Penn State?  They wipe their asses with that kind of paper.

The thing that really irks me is that Penn State is being forced to vacate all wins since 1998--which was the first time that people covered up for Sandusky.  You know what happens when the NCAA vacates a school's wins?  The record books won't change to show that the other school won, they will just be blank.  They get ERASED.

How convenient it must be for the NCAA to just erase all their problems when the rest of us have to live with ourselves every waking moment of the day.  We all wish we had some magic machine to take us back to the moment when shit first happened and just have it all not happen in the first place but that shit doesn't exist.

I've already told you that there is nothing that can be done to take back what happened.  How do you try and fix what happened?  I'm not really sure.  I don't even know if you can.

But if you make an attempt to, you have to do it way better than this.  You just have to.

I didn't need the Freeh report to tell me that this place was evil.  I could see that for myself.  I sat here this morning and got really bummed out at the NCAA for not burning Penn State to the ground.

How do you start to make this better?

For starters, give them the 'death' penalty.  For five years.  No football program, whatsoever, for FIVE years.  If the new Penn State leaders want to come out and say that this isn't about football, it's about the victims and their well-being, prove it.  Put your money where your mouth is.  Don't play football for five years and reflect on what you've become.

What went on at Penn State was unprecedented.  It was unprecedented evil.  A total lack of human compassion of every single level.  Nobody chose to do the right thing from top to bottom.  The punishment could never fit the crime in this scenario but you could do a lot better than that, NCAA.

I can't think of any scenario where an institution of higher learning failed to serve their purpose than Penn State did.  This is it.  This is the mountain top of failure.  You can't let the worst of the worst off with a wrist slap.  You just can't do it.

This has just been a terrible month for the human race.  I'm embarrassed.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Going For The Gold

A week from now, ESPN the Magazine will unveil their new 'body' issue.  If you are unfamiliar with this, it's where athletes pose nude so we can marvel at their Zeus-crafted bodies.

It's also misleading advertising because they don't show any nip and they include dudes too.  A rather disgusting affair, if you ask me.

However, in this particular issue of ESPN the Magazine is a rather intriguing article by Sam Allpour about what goes on in the Olympic Village.

The 2012 Summer Olympics are slated to begin in London at the end of this month and it turns out what we really thought was a friendly, peace-keeping worldly tradition is really just a big excuse for an international sex orgy.

That's right, kids, it's plausible to believe that Michael Phelps will win the 200m butterfly and then head back to the Olympic Village to butterfly a Czech while a Russian watches.  Okay, maybe that's not as plausible since Phelps has quite a large amount of 'tard in him, but it definitely happens for the normal athletes.

From Allpour's article, Hope Solo, the extremely attractive American women's goalkeeper said herself, "There's a lot of sex going on."  And Ryan Lochte, Phelps' main competition this summer said, "I'd say it's 70 percent to 75 percent of Olympians."

Good lord.  How can we possibly cheer on the good natured competition between our countries when three-quarters of the time we're just going to go back to our bunks and bang each other?

Of course, once you sit back and think about it, it's all fairly obvious.  We've assembled together the world's fittest and toned bodies, who have just spent the majority of their life working on their routine, and crammed them all together in a room and told them to govern themselves.  That's like letting a fat camp have a sleep-over at a bakery/pizzeria.

You're just begging for all hell to break loose.  And now that the cat's out of the bag about the promiscuity going around the Olympic Village, hosting cities are ordering prophylactics in huge numbers.  The going rate right now is 100,000.  100,000 condoms are being sent to London right now, just for the Olympics.  Awesome.

I'll never make fun of a male gymnast again.  Hell, I won't even be able to watch them this summer without thinking, "You lucky bastard."  Sure, he's got to do a floor routine in an embarrassing sequined one-piece but he's going to bed at least three girls that don't even speak his language later.  It's a give and take thing.

And it really is too bad that Michael Phelps has the doo-doo brain.  Apparently the Olympic Villagers consider the swimmers and water polo-ers to have the best bodies.  Not to mention that Phelps is the most dominant force to hit the Olympics in this era.  With that deadly combination he could probably spread his seed enough to take over the world in the next decade.

Prospective fathers, I encourage you, push your son towards something stupid like badminton, or kayaking, or even that stupid horse shit.  Trust me, he'll thank you in the end.

It can't be that hard to make it in those events and that's all you need for him.  Just to get his foot in the door...

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Holy Crap, I'm Three!

Hey kids, guess what?!  It's the three year anniversary of the Studly Pastures!!!

I know exactly what you're thinking too.  You're thinking, wow, for something that's been around for three years it's pretty antiquated and not very popular.

And you would be right.

I tried to sell out, I really did.  I put advertisements on here that have earned me almost fifty cents.

My most-read post was about Charlie Sheen during the height of his craziness.  In fact, being a blogger for three years has pretty much taught me the ropes.  Any time I mention someone like Sheen, or LeBron James, or Justin Bieber, or Katie Holmes, or Fidel Castro, or the Beatles, or Scooby Doo, or Santa Claus, or Steve Buschemi, or McDonalds, Google will pretty much put me at the top of the list for anybody that's searching for anything remotely close to any of those people.

It's pretty interesting to know that I can write entire posts without any sort of substance in it and all I have to do is name drop a few times and then BAM I'm front page.

That's the glory of today's communication process.  People haven't gotten smarter or more profound--or hell, even literate--they're just easier to hear.

I have a very simple answer for why I operate the SP.  I'm narcissistic and love to go back and read about what I thought about certain events in life.  True story.  I really could give two craps about what you think.  I don't even know you.  To me, you're just some faceless statistic that I check every now and again to see exactly how many faceless entities are actually reading my soap box declarations.

If I want to write about how Steve Nash going to the Lakers is what makes me hate the NBA and why just about every other major sport is run better than this one and I blather on and on just like I would sitting in a room by myself, I find it really bizarre that someone from Moldova would read that and be like, "Yeah, you tell them!" (Or however that would translate in Moldovian.  I'm not even really sure if they speak Moldovian, I'm not doing any research.)  (Sorry, Moldova.)

I'm huge in Eastern Europe by the way.  I'm their David Hasselhoff.

I guess what I'm getting at is that the system is wonderfully flawed.  There is absolutely no reason why a blog based on a fictional stud farm for unicorns, run by someone who boldly refers to himself as The Creator, should have ever pandered on for three years...let alone be actually read by people.

It's ludicrous.  Shame on you.

But I love you and I try my best for you, faceless entities.  I wish I could tell you I put my blood, sweat, and tears into this thing but I have air conditioning and a fear of blood.  Plus, men don't cry.

Thanks for three great years and here's to at least fifty million more!

Sunday, June 24, 2012

The Road To Glory

Former Penn State defensive coordinator and child molester, Jerry Sandusky, has been found guilty on 45 of 48 charges ranging everywhere from corrupting minors to being an all-around scum bag.

The guilty charges carry such a weight that Sandusky will be spending the rest of his natural life in prison.  However, the best course of action for him at this point would probably be to grab the sharpest thing he can get his grubby little mitts on and drag it across his jugular.  Something tells me that prison isn't going to be all puppy dogs and rainbows for him.

As the verdict rang out, I had one thought in my ever expansive mind: phase one complete.  Paterno is dead, Sandusky will be soon, and now you go after the institution.  Brick for brick this place was evil and brick for brick it will be taken down.  There is too much in the shadows of every corner for the whole 'we didn't know' schtick to work anymore.

People knew and they covered it up.  This whole thing has been shady since 1998 when they tried to get Sandusky for the first time.  The Pennsylvanian District Attorney who was originally piecing a case against Sandusky disappeared for Christ sakes!  He just up and went missing and they found his laptop in a river.  That doesn't scream cover up, does it?

I had to stop myself but when Penn State released their statement on the verdict and how they were committed to finding out the truth about the former staff, I started laughing.  They sounded like big tobacco trying to get me to smoke because there wasn't any parallel between cancer and smoking cigarettes.

George Costanza once said that if you truly believe something then it isn't a lie.  These people had their heads up their asses for so long that they don't know any better.  They have become so naive that they think they can say whatever they want and we'll just blindly nod our heads in approval.

I think the best way to handle this situation from this point on is exactly what you would do if you had a house with a history of murder in it.  You would bulldoze it.  That's exactly what should happen to Penn State.  Erase it off the map.  It has a taint to it that no statement or amount of bleach would be able to fix.

Raze it to the ground.  Hey, build it again for all I care, just don't build your foundation on ruining young boy's lives and then covering it up.  It tends to scare away the recruits for your football team.

There's going to be a lot more to this firestorm in the coming days and months.  Sandusky's lawyers are going to do their best to make sure their client doesn't get skull crushed in the first thirty seconds that he's been administered to the state.  And the good state of Pennsylvania is going to do their very best to find and prosecute everybody who had a dirty hand in this mess.

The thing that cannot be lost though is that some things can never be fixed.  No matter what happens from this point on is just retribution and not redemption.  There are lives, for better or for worse, that will never be the same or ever have the potential that most of us get.  And that fucking sucks.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

The Magic Man

Rumors are swirling out of Orlando that former Magic player and movie genie, Shaquille O'Neal, wants to be the new general manager of the Orlando Magic.

Before we get too far ahead of ourselves here, let's keep in mind a couple of things: one, the report was made by Chris Broussard who I wouldn't trust to sell me a sack of oranges.  Secondly, Shaq has zero official front office experience and this is a really crucial time for the Magic to not make any mistakes when assembling their front office team.

But the beautiful thing is that the Studly Pastures doesn't need to be the pinnacle of journalism integrity and I get to do fun things like assume that Shaq not only interviews for the GM job but is also hired for the position.

First off, Dwight Howard would be a veritable moron if he didn't think Shaq would be perfect for bringing talent of a superstar nature to Orlando.  This is the same guy that once convinced Gary Payton and Karl Malone to come and play for the Lakers for twenty bucks and a ham sandwich.

And if Dwight does decide that, yes, he is indeed a moron, then Shaq would execute a trade that wouldn't put the Magic in purgatory for the next five years.

But the thing that might be even more important than either one of those things is that Shaq brings about a grandiose about him that would keep the Magic in relevancy as long as he was here.  They would always be in the news.

Shaq has always been the class clown of the NBA and his presence outside of basketball has been equally strong to his on court persona.  He made movies, most of them shitty, he made rap albums, most of those shitty too, but his video game was semi-okay.  His permeation into mainstream culture would keep people curious about the Orlando Magic.

However, there are also a few eyebrow raisers that would point to Shaq's career and wonder if he would treat his front office job the same way.  You see, Shaq went about his NBA life as the most dominant force of his time and never really seemed to care that he was.  There was never any Jordan Killer in him, or hell, any Kobe Killer for that matter.

There is no indication that he would be different as a GM than he was as a player.  Shaq's concerns were always with turning Shaq the person into Shaq the brand.  And it worked for him but would it work as the man in charge of a franchise?

What the Magic need to decide is if they have the chops to handle the circus.  If they do, then Shaq is their man.  If they don't, then they throw a bunch of cash at Doc Rivers and pray.

The future of basketball in Orlando is currently hanging in the balance.

I just can't believe I wrote this entire thing without referencing Kazaam even once!

Monday, May 7, 2012

Cole Hamels, Douchebag M.D.

The Washington Nationals played the Philadelphia Phillies last night in a baseball game.

I shouldn't give enough care about this to even know that they played each other, let alone write about it on the Studly Pastures, but something interesting happened in the game.

Go figure.

The Nationals have what most baseball critics consider the best prospect in baseball in Bryce Harper.  Yep, his name is Bryce Harper.  I know he sounds like some guy with bleach blonde hair working at Pacific Sun trying to sell you flower patterned board shorts but he's actually pretty legit.

Well, at least he will be, for right now he's only 19.

When I was 19, my major achievement was failing a statistics class.  I showed up to class and the professor said, "today we are going to learn about discrete random variables."  I threw my hands up in the air and said, "that's it, I'm done!" and promptly walked out of the class.

So Bryce is getting some playing time in the majors this season due to injury to regular left-fielder Ryan Zimmerman and last night he faced against Phillies pitcher Cole Hamels.

I think I need to warn you before you read the rest of this post.  I am completely biased from this point on.  I hate Cole Hamels.  I think he's a douchebag.  He had one good season, back in 2008, and played good enough to make sure that my Tampa Bay Rays didn't win the World Series.  Screw Hamels.  I hope he gets penis rot and trampled by a stampede of wild boars.

Anyways, Harper stands in the batter's box in the first inning of a baseball game in May and Hamels pops him square in the back with the ball.

What?  It's May.  It's the first inning.  It's the Nationals, they were a Canadian baseball team ten years ago for crying out loud.

Side note: By the way, how torturous was it being an Expos fan?  They were never good, not even close to being good, got threatened with bankruptcy, got threatened with being moved to Puerto Rico, and then eventually they just imploded the whole thing and started a new team in Washington D.C.  Yikes.

After the game, Hamels tells the press that, yep, he hit Harper on purpose.

What?  You admit it?  How big of a dumb ass are you exactly?  Have you never heard of deny till you die?

What a colossal douchebag Cole Hamels is.  Now you're going to be suspended and nobody is exactly sure why.  You intentionally hit a 19-year old square in the back with a baseball in the first inning of a meaningless game...for intimidation purposes?

I'm not defending Bryce Harper because, well, if I was a pitcher I would be intentionally hitting batters left and right, so I get it.  For example, Alex Rodriguez would never see a pitch from me.  I would hit him with the ball every time he stood against me until they threw me out of the game.

But I would never admit to intentionally doing it.  That's only something morons do.

The only thing that I can think of is that Cole Hamels woke up yesterday and realized that he was only relevant for a brief period of time four years ago and decided he would do something bold to try and bring himself back to relevancy. 

Well Cole, you've made it.  You're on the Studly Pastures, congratulations.

Then Harper stole home on you.  Congratulations.  Only a douchebag intentionally hits somebody and then lets them steal home on them.  I really wish that after Harper slid into home and was ruled safe that he jumped up, looked at Hamels, and yelled, "Suck it!" and did the hand gesture where you chop yourself in the crotch.

I really don't know how to describe it better than that.  I hope you all know what I'm talking about and don't consider me some sort of weirdo for that whole crotch chopping thing.

Suck it, Hamels.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Draft Dodger

Alright kids, the NFL Draft is pretty much over now that we're midway through the fourth round and I have the analysis that you've all been waiting for.

 Most professionals would probably take the time to break down each pick by each team, you know, to keep things fair.

Well, screw that.

 I'm talking about ONE pick from ONE team.

 Come on, I'm sure by now that you're probably used to this sort of treatment.

 The Miami Dolphins had just a shitty enough year last season to hold the rights to the eighth pick in this year's draft. Being in the unique position of having a completely horrible team, the draft provides a lot of options for you. When you couple that with the amount of talent that has since departed the team, well, you could pretty much take anybody and have it be a good pick.

The Dolphins hate to love to disappoint and took a guy who appeared on draft boards about a month and a half ago.

 I don't know Ryan Tannehill. I've never watched a Texas A&M game in my life. I've followed sports my whole life and I still don't know squat.

 I, however, do recognize a trap. It's a trap!

Remember when the whole world was going nuts over Furby? Furby was the little toy creature that would open it's eyes and speak in some gibberish whenever you approached it. I didn't really understand it but I knew that everybody else was eating this thing up. When the cool kids at school decide to get a Furby, even if you don't understand it, you know that you need a Furby now too.

So you go to your mom and tell her, "Hey mom, I need a Furby." And her response? The obligatory "Well, Christmas is coming up soon, maybe Santa will bring you one."

 And to that you say, "Mom, I'm 26-years old, just buy me a damn Furby."

Nevertheless, Christmas morning finally arrives and you're bursting with excitement. Finally, your time has come! You'll have a Furby just like all the cool kids.

You search for the right shaped box, tear open the wrapping paper, and come face to face with your brand new...Fuzzby?

A Fuzzby?! Are you freaking kidding me? I specifically asked for a Furby!

Mom says, "Well, the store didn't have any more Furbies but the man said that this was just about the same and could even be more popular than a Furby in a couple years!"

Mom never seems to understand. It's just not the same. It never is.

Fuzzby goes deep into your closet and is never spoken of again. That's my summation of the Ryan Tannehill pick. He's a Fuzzby when all you really wanted was just a damn Furby. But hey, there's a silver lining! He's got a really, really attractive wife. Seriously, she's got the goods. Photobucket What's she doing with a Fuzzby?

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

The Dictator and the Douche Bag

Ladies, please, let me be the voice of generally sane male individuals aged 10-40, and let me tell you that I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

This world has churned more than high tides on full moons (which is a saying that nobody has used ever but I'm hoping it catches on to make me some sweet cash) and the end result has been men that simply do not get the joke.

The joke, is of course, life. You can choose to accept it and live out your merry days as a blogger for a prominent sports blog that's popular in Russia or you can be a complete douche bag. The point is, the choice is yours, and yours alone.

So, when Ozzie Guillen and Bobby Petrino jump fully clothed into the douche bag pool, I am not surprised, but I am sorry.

You never should have to put up with this.

These are the guys your father has conniptions about you dating. I don't trust this guy, he says weird things, and he never addresses me as sir. I have yet to date a girl that I want to refer to her father as 'Dad' but I have still upheld the simplest form of respect and that's a handshake and a 'sir'. It's not hard to show respect, unless you are disrespectful.

Ozzie basically says he sympathizes with Fidel Castro.

You work in MIAMI!!!

Are you kidding me? Stop it with the "I said it in Spanish but I thought it in English" bullshit. I'll save you the time. That doesn't make any sense. What you did was say something that you thought was straight up, crazy, pure Ozzie, and lo and behold it bit you in the ass. Hard.

Ozzie, you probably don't read this since you are not in Russia, but you should have lost your job. The five game suspension is a laughable punishment. If the Marlins were serious about embracing their strong Latin community, you would be gone. Your presence there dictates otherwise.

And I feel really bad for the Miami community, considering most of them are refugees from Castro's dictatorship, they were excited for the new 'Miami' team and the new 'Miami' stadium, and for a manager they thought would sympathize with them. So sorry.

And then we have the stand up guy that is Bobby Petrino. This guy has been a snake for years.

When he straight up abandoned the Atlanta Falcons, mid-season, he became the coach of the Arkansas Razor Backs.

When you coach for Arkansas, pretty much all of Georgia hates you anyways, let alone the one time you abandoned their star football team. Nice going, douche bag.

Well, Bobby "Trusty" Petrino crashed his motorcycle earlier this month. Turns out the married man, with children, lied about being alone. He had a female half his age on the bike with him.

Stop right there.

We've already established that Bobby Petrino is a douche bag. He is. A big one.

What I need to establish, at this present place and time, is that there is still a lot of good out there. There are plenty of people like me that don't condone the actions of Ozzie Guillen and Bobby Petrino and hope and pray that two assholes don't control the flow of the universe.

There's already enough out there to adjust for the good that it just makes sense that people have given up.

Well, fear not, we are still here. We battle tooth and nail for the righteousness of man and we will not give up or give in. The good ones are still out there and I implore you to keep looking.

Guillen and Petrino are just two public figures that have yet to figure out the joke.

A co-worker of mine has a young son that I love talking to because he's a fucking gem. He talks better than you, trust me.

He looked at me dead nuts and said, "Thank you for walking with me to my home, I hope you come back and visit really soon."

If a toddler can get it right, why is it so hard for you? Take some notes.

Monday, April 2, 2012

Return To Glory!

Loyal readers of the Studly Pastures probably noticed that I have been absent from posting.

I'm talking to you, Latvia.

Relax, I haven't been comatose, or traveling the world, or even been remotely busy with anything else that would have kept me from my SP duties.

Quite simply, it's been a rough sports month for me.

OK, quick recap, the Miami Dolphins missed out on Peyton Manning, they missed out on Matt Flynn, they traded Brandon Marshall, they signed David Garrard, they don't seem to have any plausible draft strategy for the end of this month, and nobody in the front office seems to give at least two shits.

Side note: That's all I'm going to say about the Miami Dolphins for right now. They don't deserve their own post and only talking about it further is just going to raise my blood pressure to unnatural levels. I'm almost out of scotch because of those ignorant morons.

The University of Nathan Curtis had a decent tournament run until our point guard, Kendall Marshall, broke his wrist. He's only the guy that runs the offense and sets the plays, you know, no big deal. With him gone, the Tar Heels were simply treading water until those grain-eating flat-heads from Kansas put them out. They aren't smart enough to not build their houses in a tornado hotbed but they sure are purdy good at puttin' the ball in the hoop! I'm just kidding, people of Kansas, but it's only natural for me to be hateful. Oh, and, just to make sure there is little to root for next year, four of our five starters are going to the NBA. Last time that happened? UNC lost to Dayton in the NIT final. I need to invent some new expletives. The old ones aren't cutting it anymore.

I WAS getting excited for baseball season to start with the arsenal of pitching the Rays are set to deploy this season. Then our outfield started dropping faster than Brandon Marshall in clutch time. Who has an outfield collision in spring training?! I didn't even know that was physically possible. I love the tenacity behind it but when it means you are now going to miss time playing REAL baseball because of the injury you sustained in FAKE baseball, maybe take a dive next time. We're already going to score the least amount of runs in the game, we need you out there chasing down fly balls, BJ Upton and Sam Fuld!

So where have I been? I've been sitting in the corner of a dark room, rocking back and forth, wondering about why everything I care about sports-wise is circling the drain. Sometimes it really sucks living in the Twilight Zone.

Then I realized that I was being really selfish. The people need to hear my words of wisdom to get them through their idle lives. It was my fault that I gave them a little taste and then rudely denied them for so long. I pledge to be here more often to fulfill your lives of depravity.

Still looking at you, Latvia.

By the way, kids, I'm working on developing a podcast so that instead of just imagining my voice of gravitas in your heads, you will actually be able to experience it first hand! Then all you'll have to do is picture my svelte body in your heads! Convenient!

There's just a small technological hiccup that I have to get ironed out first. By 'small technological hiccup', I mean that I don't understand the technology involved and when I try to set it up I end up just mashing the keyboard with my palms and yelling incoherent gibberish.

Once I get some more scotch though I should be able to figure it out. Stay tuned!

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Things I Notice Watching CSI: Miami

The team will set up an elaborate sting operation and the unsuspecting suspect will fall right into it and then...SURPRISE!...he's a All-American track star capable of parkour stunts!

The white guy that has the black hair must be hated by the writers. He's been shot in the eye with a nail gun, denied sex by a hot chick, almost drowned by a huge black guy, and is constantly saved by the rest of the team.

The blonde would be much cuter if she didn't talk like that.

I feel like the blonde talks like that in real life.

If an episode opens up with four young people driving down a road in a convertible, it's probably a safe bet to assume they are all about to be shot by escaped convicts from a crashed plane. Yep, all four of them.

There's nothing greater than the cross-over episodes with CSI: New York and you can just tell Gary Sinise is trying really hard to not punch David Caruso square in the nose.

I really wish Gary Sinise would punch David Caruso square in the nose.

All crime lab scientists are gorgeous.

10 cut scenes? Forget it. 20 cut scenes? Laughable. 30 cut scenes? Go on. 100? Bingo.

It's probably not the best idea to reveal exactly what the answer to the grand mystery is with more than half of the episode still to go, yet they do!

They have technology that makes Steve Jobs look like Forrest Gump.

This is Miami. We're gonna need at least one under-age chick in a bikini per episode.

The Spanish guy never really does anything except listen in on interrogations.

David Caruso's acting range is from guy who doesn't care at all to guy who is so unsure of himself that he just speaks in ambiguous statements all the time.

They put men and women in the same holding cell.

Does original CSI watch this version and shake their heads like you do for your child that constantly disappoints you?

I don't understand how AMC takes themselves seriously by putting on Braveheart and following it with episodes of CSI: Miami.

Did they name him Horatio because Bill was taken? Seriously, there's over the top and then there's waaaaay waaaaaay over the top.

I am pretty sure this is the worst show in television history.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

U-G-L-Y, She Ain't Go No Alibi

I want to begin the March edition of Studly Pastures with a great travesty that I learned about today.

Normally when I hear the words "Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader Auditions" I get all tingly inside and start salivating like I just sat down in a fancy steak restaurant after being stranded out at sea for a few months.

So when I read those words today followed by these words: "Grandma, 55, to audition", I went into a complete meltdown.

THE Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders?! The Mount Everest of chicks in skimpy skirts, loose fitting tied-off shirts, and pom-poms?! Those Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders?

You have got to be kidding me.

Where does this grandmother get the audacity to desecrate something so pure and beautiful? Why doesn't she just set fire to the American flag and piss on the ashes? At least then we'll still have the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders to comfort our nation in our time of grief!

This woman is completely insane. She thinks that just because she trains in national fitness competitions that there is no difference between her damn near 56-year old body and those of the nubile 19-year old bodies she will be directly auditioning with.

Just typing that is making my blood boil.

There's no difference between a 19-year old's body and a 56-year old's body? That's like saying there's no difference between something awesome that everybody wants to see between something horrible that should be locked up in a closet. A 19-year old gets naked and she's put in a magazine. A 56-year old gets naked for a mole screening. This is just ridiculous.

My only explanation is that she's some spy put here by either Russia or North Korea or something to try and divide our nation's patriotism. What other national sanctity did we have left other than the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders? This is like 9/11 had a baby with Benedict Arnold!

The absolute worst part of it? She's not even that bad looking. I am not going to post her picture up on the SP because this is an American institution, dammit, but if you want to look her up for your commie selves her name is Sharon Simmons.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and try and find some more proof on 19-year old bodies being better...

Happy March Madness, kids!

Thursday, February 23, 2012

The Fine Line

Question: In what universe can a Harvard graduate with an economics degree and a budding second career in professional sports still have to preface his resume with the fact that he's Asian-American?

Answer: This one.

I stay up late at night, drinking scotch, worrying about the future of Jeremy Lin. Okay, I would probably stay up and drink scotch anyways but that's beside the point. I wished I smoked cigarettes then I wouldn't have to drink as much.

As simplistic and narrow-minded as you can get, Jeremy Lin is an Asian, playing a black man's game, in a white man's world. Isn't that right, nutcases?

I stand here on my little soap box and vaunt over how there are good people in American media and how proud I was to once associate myself with them.

And for a while they didn't let me down. Jeremy Lin was a great story because he came from nowhere in the NBA stratosphere. He was cut by TWO teams, two really shitty teams actually, got scooped up by the Knicks as bench fodder, found his way into the starting lineup due to injury, and started lighting it up.

The guy's been in the D-league three times. That's essentially basketball purgatory and he's been there thrice. Now he's the starting point guard in Madison Square Garden.

On top of all that, he seems like a completely good-natured man, humbled by his success, but still goes out there and has fun on the court every night. He'll celebrate a big shot, showboat a little bit, and chest-bump his teammates. You know, things that EVERY basketball player does.

I found myself in a weird situation. I was on eggshells waiting for this train to crash. You see, I've been here too long and I'm very cynical and still very disappointed most of the time. Scotch helps.

Jeremy Lin is three years younger than me and he is on a much bigger stage right now, for the first time in his life.

So I stay up late at night wondering if Jeremy Lin knows that the grass hides snakes. Then I thought harder and realized that it wouldn't be long for someone as high as him to notice the snakes.

I was right.

When I first saw the "Chink in the Armor" headline--I thought it was a really tasteless joke. Hell, that still might have been what it was, but it was still real.

For about five minutes, I still clung onto the thought of good in the world. "This can't be real." "There is absolutely no way that this would happen." "It's ESPN, the pinnacle of sports journalism integrity."

That's when it hit me. ESPN is a huge company and there's bound to be a few screws loose. There's editors, and watchdogs, and ombudsmen but if everybody shares the same view point it gets passed all the way through. I'm sure the Ku Klux Klan has a newsletter or something, right?

I jumped off my soap box, kicked it over, and walked off in disgust. I know better than to associate the acts of a few nutcases with the rest of American media, but it was still really depressing.

It was premeditated. Someone was waiting for this opportunity. Doesn't that depress you?

It depresses me. Still, the pendulum swings both ways. For every person that wants him to fail because of the color of his skin there's one that wants him to succeed because of it. And some people like their toast butter side up and some like it butter side down.

It's all the same.

I want Jeremy Lin to succeed because he shouldn't. He should have dropped out of the NBA and gone and taught economics at a university after the Golden State Warriors said, "No thanks, you're not talented enough for us." He shouldn't be sinking game-winning threes at buzzers or leading the Knicks on seven game win streaks.

I love that shit. That's the kind of stuff that I loved writing about and the stuff that made me love sports journalism in the first place.

American media isn't bad, there's just bad people in American media. They haven't stopped me and I certainly hope they don't stop Jeremy Lin. I'm not sure there would be enough scotch to drink on that day.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Super Blaaaaagggghhhh

This is a really fun weekend for me. Being a sports fan, the Super Bowl is about as good as it gets. I take solace in knowing that the two best teams around have made it to the big game.

END SCENE.

When I think of this weekend, I want to make up my own word. The best one I can come up with is shitacular. The exact opposite of spectacular has to be shitacular.

Boston versus New York?! Are you kidding me? Doesn't the general public get their fill of this during the baseball season (and to a lesser extent, lesser sports) that we can reserve the Big Game for, uh, I don't know...SOMEBODY ELSE.

New York against Boston is about as compelling as shooting myself in the foot with a nail gun. Initially my reaction is justified but then I'm just another guy with a nail in his foot.

First off, the Patriots have made it to another Super Bowl. If I awake Monday morning to Satan himself telling me that this has been my own personal Hell this whole time, I would not be surprised in the slightest. A life in which Tom Brady and Bill Belichick are the most successful quarterback-coach tandem is a life most tortured.

Another one?! Another Super Bowl? Go screw yourselves. Rooting for the Patriots is even worse than being Atheist. At least I stand for something.

Tom Brady reminds me of that douche bag from 'Tin Cup'. He hates children, old people, and dogs.

Second of all, the New York Giants don't even have the pride (money) to play in actual New York. They have to put a Band-Aid over Jersey and declare it Giants Stadium as if we are all oblivious to zoning laws.

Eli Manning is an enigma. He's had a bad case of Older Brother Syndrome his whole life and it's gone straight to his tiny head. Eli wins games--in the fourth quarter no less--but if I get to choose a franchise quarterback for my up and coming team, he's not in the top five. He just simply isn't. You don't take Eli before Rodgers, Brees, Brady, Rivers, or even Stafford.

However, with the exception of Brady, none of those quarterbacks are playing for their second title in five years. That's why Eli is the enigma. You always count him out, but yet there he is in the championship game.

It shouldn't be any surprise to anybody that reads this blog or knows me in person that I want nothing but pain and suffering for the New England Patriots. That's exactly what they've caused me the past decade, so it's only natural to wish upon them the same. As I begrudgingly hope the New York Giants win the Super Bowl, I have some concerns.

I hear you talking, Giants, about how you are in Brady's head and blah, blah, blah. Stop it! Are you kidding me? The Patriots are a machine. They have no emotion, no brain, and no psyche for you to get into. They take your best weapon and neutralize it. You aren't in Tom Brady's head, you are in your own heads.

Which brings me to 2007. The Patriots were supposed to cruise to their perfect season and crush the Giants in the Super Bowl. Well, it didn't happen. The Giants won and we all danced around like the munchkins after the Wicked Witch found herself on the giving end of a house. It was eerily similar to how the Patriots won in 2001 against the "Greatest Show on Turf" Rams.

Now? Everybody is walking around with swagger like they own the place. It's disturbing.

There's nothing I like more than confidence. With that said, just shut the hell up, Giants. Shut it. Don't talk, at all. Hey, I hope you do sack Tom Brady on every single drop back, but stop talking about it!

I'm telling you, Belichick goes home and stares at the wall and thinks of ways to hurt teams. He's not a Zen master, he's not brilliant, he's not a legend--he's an asshole in a hoodie, that's it.

So, regardless of the outcome, either New York or Boston will have another title. Whoop-de-doo. I'll try and contain my excitement.

I'm from New York--and I CAN'T STAND THEM! Not just the Giants, but the whole deal. And the Patriots? I almost just threw up.

Just like last year, go ahead and wake me up in April for the draft.