And that's it for today. Talk amongst yourselves. Something may happen Sunday. Or Monday. Maybe we'll post, maybe not. I'm out.

I'll be headed up north to Norton, MA to stagger around the Deutsche Bank Championship with this individual and spending my night in Warwick, RI.

As you wish, David Hume.

If anybody has any recommendations for what to do in Rhode Island besides join the mob or solicit a prostitute, please email me and let me know. Oh, and if you know anyone who can score me some mushrooms there, I'd appreciate that too. I want to make an omelette.

Thanks for your continued support of Deadspin. Have a nice long, relaxing internet-free weekend, you crazy diamond heads.

I say "sort of" because, in a decision that was as baffling as it was poorly timed, this site's esteemed editor, Alejandro Jamario Daulerio, decided to invest the entire week's budget in bacon futures. Consequently, I was informed that we didn't have the funds available for me to write about ten whole humans, and that I had to limit myself to ten specific body parts instead. Even worse, I was told that Roy Halladay's aura of invincibility did not count as a body part. What is this, Russia?

In any event, here is this week's list. Apologies in advance to all you vestigial tail fans, but the news has been pretty quiet on that front. Unless my Google Alert feed has failed me.

Dikembe Mutombo's Left Knee. Specifically, its rupturing during last week's game against Portland. Even before Mutombo announced his retirement the following day, you knew his career was over. Which was sad, because you hate to see the career of any athlete, let alone one as likable as him, end with them being carried off on a stretcher, screaming gutterly warbling in agony. He was in so much pain, a young blind child sitting courtside was overheard asking, "Mommy, is Mrs. Chewbacca having a baby?"

Although it's not like a storybook retirement guarantees a problem-free future or anything. John Elway hung them up on top of the world, and even he's had his struggles with post-football life. At the end of the day, I'd be happy to go out the same way my dad did. He was fired after he was caught having sex on his boss's desk. The only thing I'd change is that I'd have someone else there with me.

John Daly's Wang. Did you hear? It's longer than the line-ups at the DMV! Or so wrote Rick Reilly (probably) in his 2004 book, Who's Your Caddy? [note: I thought we had already determined it was Faizon Love?]. In a recent interview, Daly expressed displeasure with this disclosure, claiming that when he (told? showed?) it to Reilly, it was supposed to be off the record.

I'm not sure who comes off looking worse in this story - Daly for the slightly unsettling cockiness, or Reilly for making it pubic. What I do know is that it is we, the giggling, unwashed massives, who benefit.

Whew. Just barely made the pun quota for a Reilly posting there.

Jay Cutler's Liver. Apparently, it's being put through quite the off-season workout regimen. The Bears say they aren't worried about it, which makes sense, considering their last legendarily hard-partying quarterback ended up in the Hall of Fame. I guess one cause for concern might be that Cutler is a diabetic, although admittedly I have no idea what effect excessive alcohol consumption might have on his condition. If only there was someone out there with an intimate knowledge of both football and diabetes, and who had no qualms about interrupting what up to that point had been a delightfully breezy conversation about all things football with a ten-minute soliloquy on this very subject. Does Peter King have a medical degree?

Karen Sypher's Eyes. We still know next to nothing about what may or may not have occurred between Sypher and Louisville coach Rick Pitino back in 2003. We know some of the details of the alleged extortion attempt that Sypher has been charged with, but as she hasn't been convicted of anything, it would be irresponsible to speculate about her guilt or innocence at this point in time.

But still...look at those peepers! I mean, come on! To paraphrase Tony Soprano, somebody dim the Manson Lamps! If the eyes truly are the windows to the soul, then all I'm saying is that someone needs to invest in a serious pair of blackout curtains before she gets in front of a jury.

Now excuse me as I cowardly slink away from any further comment on this subject (note: in case anyone is counting, Sypher's eyes count as two parts).

Susan Boyle's Voice Box. It's amazing. World class. She seems like a lovely person, and I, like most of the planet, really hope she goes on to have a very successful singing career. But I can't be alone in thinking that her appearance on Britain's Got Talent was just a little too perfect to warrant this level of hype. Now I'm obviously not saying it was staged, or that the judges or the crowd in attendance were in on it. But didn't we do this exact same thing with Paul Potts just over two years ago? And given how much attention he received, shouldn't we be expecting one of these "oh-my-God-how-can-something-so-beautiful-come-out-of-something-that-looks-like-that?" stories pretty much once a year?

Don't get me wrong, I love to be inspired as much as the next person. Case in point, I've probably watched the video of Mo Cheeks helping that girl with the anthem about 50 times, and it always gets me a bit misty. But I prefer it when my spontaneous moments of wonder aren't telegraphed by ten cut-aways to dismissive eye-rolling from the audience. And I'm betting I'm not alone. In fact, I know of at least one hard-hearted television writer who no doubt saw right through this slick piece of forced sentimentality and...

Well, that settles it then. Everyone start hoarding the Patchouli oil, I'll tell Barbara Streisand she's President.

Patrick Schuster's Arm. Later this afternoon, the 18-year-old high school senior from Florida goes for his fifth consecutive no-hitter. The U.S. record for consecutive no-no's by a high-schooler is six, and surprisingly, it's not held by Jeremy Stevens (hey-oh)! Best of luck to Patrick, and God help the kid who inevitably breaks the streak with a bunt single.

One question, though - what's the "don't talk to the pitcher" etiquette in this situation? I mean, if a pitcher's got a no-hitter in the fifth, his teammates are supposed to stay away from him. But what if the no-hitter continues over multiple games? Do they keep on ignoring him, even at school and at practice? Imagine how difficult high school would be if no one talked to you for weeks at a time. Why, I can only imagine that it would be horrible!

/bites knuckle, stifles wail

Let's move on.

Hulk Hogan's Mouth. Hogan supporters (formerly "Hulkamaniacs") are saying that his recent comment in an interview with Rolling Stone about "totally understand[ing] O.J." (when discussing his bitter divorce proceedings with his wife) was taken out of context. Good enough for me. After all, if there is anyone who deserves the benefit of the doubt on something like this, it's a hyper-emotional pro wrestler with a long, storied history of steroid abuse.

Seriously, pro wrestlers are the entertainment industry's version of the Kennedy family - the number of them that meet premature, tragic ends is disproportionately high. Is there an easier gig in the world than being the administrator of the WWE's pension plan? That thing pays out less than a Karen Sypher extortion target.

Karl Pilkington's Head. Look at it - it's perfectly round, like a f#####g orange. For my money, the Ricky Gervais series of audiobooks continues to be the funniest thing going, the brand new "Guide to...The English" being no exception. On a related note, I think at this point I have bought every single comedy album available on iTunes. If I had to rank them, I'd go with:

1. Patton Oswalt's Werewolves & Lollipops
2. Paul F. Tompkins's Impersonal
3. Todd Barry's Medium Energy
4. Mitch Hedberg's Strategic Grill Locations
5. Nickelback's Dark Horse

Who'd I miss?

Rick Ankiel's Moustache (In Memoriam). Just a thank you to Will for letting me fill in. He's back next week.

Many of you have read it. It's about Matt Steven, the blind kid from Upper Darby, Pa with a 50% free throw percentage who played in a CYO game. Yes, it's a nice story, but unfortunately, it also has all the writerly flourishes that make a Rick Reilly story a Rick Rielly story: Stilted melodrama. Small towns. Handicapped kids. Stale jokes. Bad puns.

Observe the Rielly-iest sections:

• "The packed gym goes silent, save for the tapping of a white cane on the back of the rim. That's right. The shooter's brother is under the hoop, rapping a cane on the rim. That's because the shooter, Matt Steven, is blind."

• "A blind kid was going to be his team's designated shooter. Hey, it's still better than Shaq."

• "He was escorted back to the bench, where he grinned as if he had just kissed the head cheerleader."

• "But Matt already knows what it's like to be hurting. Hurting is being born with two permanently detached retinas. Hurting is having your left eye removed in the fifth grade and the right in the sixth. Hurting is when they send you to a high school for the blind even though the last thing you want is to be around only other blind kids. Matt wants to be around other kids. He aches to be treated normal. Not "He does so great for a blind kid!" Just normal."

• "Nine guys are running around Matt, who's trying to find a way to the bench. Make that 10, since Ryan's already off the bench and pressing. Make that 11, since Joe — tears in his eyes — is trying to get to Matt. Chaos. Joy. Wonder."

• "His teammates call him Shooter. A girl says she heard all about him. He's even thinking about asking somebody to prom...I hope she says yes. Best blind date of her life."

And now we have our own little heartwarming tale of two young upstarts overcoming adversity. Behold the new Fake Rick Reilly Twitter feed. Enjoy it while you can.

Matt Steven Is Blind, But He'll Take The Last Shot [ESPN The Mag]

As we sweat our way through these dog days of summer, the most common complaint I hear from sports fans is, "man, is football season ever going to start?" Colour me confused, because I can't figure out what the heck they are talking about! Why, we are already a third of the way through the schedule, and with all eight teams vying for only seven playoff spots, the action is hotter than August in Alberta (average temperature: 14 degrees Celsius, 57 degrees Fahrenheit)!

That's right, pigskin fans - time to get your football fix with the Thursday Afternoon CFL D###-Joke Free Jambor-eh. It's like that other column, only with one less down, 100% less cussin', and the politeness cranked all the way up to eleven! Think of it as "Balls Deep", only with bigger (foot)balls!

Seat-belts on, everyone, we're about to put some kilometres under our belts!

Seriously, put your seat-belts on. Safety is everyone's responsibility.

The Games

All games in the Jambor-eh are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5...wait a minute, what's that say? Throwgasms?!? My word, is that football surrounded by (whispers) semen? Well, that won't do at all. Let's try this again:

All games in the Jambor-eh are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Youppis.

Note: In the Northern tradition of inclusion and equality, all games are allocated the same number of Youppis.

Three Youppis

Hamilton Tiger Cats at Montreal Alouettes

The storied rivalry between these two franchises is as much about the cities they represent as it is about football. By way of analogy for American readers, if Hamilton is Pittsburgh, Montreal would be Los Angeles. Hamilton, producer of 60% of Canada's steel, prides itself on its blue-collar values, its never-crowded libraries and its mafia. Conversely, Montreal is the Canadian epicentre of cuisine, sex and celebrity sightings. Attend any given Alouette game and you are more than likely to catch a glimpse of such Canadian luminaries as former Prime Minister Jean Chrétien, NHL Hall of Famer Jean Béliveau, Quebec Premier Jean Charest and celebrity blogger Jean-Elliott Skeets.

And don't think that the ramifications of this game are limited to civic pride. Montreal currently sits in first place, but a loss would eliminate them from the playoffs. Meanwhile, a Hamilton win would all but guarantee that they won't go bankrupt for at least another week.

Winnipeg Blue Bombers at Buffalo Bil...er, Toronto Argonauts

I live in Toronto, so I'll be attending this one in person, and to say I'm excited would be an understatement. Let's see: Friday night game in mid-summer? Roof of the Rogers Centre open? The potential for an encore performance from a blindfolded Ashley? "Heck" and "Yes"!

BC Lions at Edmonton Eskimos

Not much that can be said about this game that hasn't already been beaten to death by the mainstream media (is Damon Allen retired? Is he not retired? Make up your mind already!). So I'll just use this space to tell a story about a wild night I once had in Edmonton.

Edmonton is a big student town, and I don't have to tell you that it can get pret-ty wild. Back when I was still in school, I went out there to visit some friends, and we decided to head out downtown. Our night got off to a bit of a rough start, as we waited in line at the bar for forty-five minutes. We probably could have gotten in earlier, as the bouncer was my friend's younger brother, but we didn't feel right cutting the line. Anyway, I didn't mind, because we were standing behind this group of girls, one of whom I couldn't take my eyes off of. I mean, you could just tell that, under the Ski-Doo jacket, she was smoking hot.

Now I'm admittedly not the world's smoothest guy, but sometimes the stars just align for you, you know? It so happened that these girls were out of chew and, as luck would have it, I had a fresh tin of Wintergreen in my pocket. Needless to say, it was on. The next two and a half hours were a blur of Caesars, playful arm-punching and singing along with the Tragically Hip cover band. We were having so much fun that before I knew it, we were splitting street-vendor poutine, I was shaking her hand goodnight (to answer your next question - yes, she lingered), and she was gone. I never saw her again, but every time I drive through Edmonton, I can't help but think of that night and smile.

God, I miss University.

Chilliwack Softwoods at Moosejaw Roughriders

Like every time these two teams get together, this game is shaping up to be a real mis-match. We know Moosejaw will come out fiery and ready to grind. And even though Chilliwack's sheer size should make this an attractive match-up, they just have that frustrating tendency to shrink when the pressure is on. The Softwoods' problem? If you ask me, it's lack of preparation. Granted, they aren't the youngest team, but that's still no excuse for not being ready to go. If the 'Wack don't come out fired up for this one, expect yet another in a string of embarrassing performances.

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want to Play It At A Level That Pumps Me Up But Is Still Respectful Of My Neighbours

"If It Feels Good Do It", by Sloan. I can't quite figure out what exactly the "it" in this song's title is referring to, but my hunch tells me it's smoking marijuana. It's practically legal here, you know. You see, Canada recognizes that there are better places to allocate limited police and penal resources than on locking up teenagers just for carrying around a few grams of pot.

Anyways, no big deal.

Five Potential Key Injuries

Mike O'Shea (knee)
David Boston (defence wounds (beaver))
Anthony Calvillo (rickets)
Jesse Lumsden (rickets)
Bethel Johnson (rickets)

This Week's Regicide Pick

Last week's regicide pool pick of the Las Vegas Posse was incorrect, as I've been informed that the team folded after their inaugural 1994 season. My bad. This week we are going with the San Antonio Texans Shreveport Pirates Sacramento Gold Miners Baltimore Stallions Birmingham Barracudas Memphis Mad Dogs Ottawa Roughriders Ottawa Renegades.

This week's method of committing regicide is hiding in Her Majesty The Queen's closet while wearing a Shrek mask, waiting for her to come fetch her gown and/or sceptre, and scaring her. And between you and me, I'm hoping this is the one that finally does it. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure she's a nice lady. But it's tricky to come up with a different way to finish off the same person every week, you know? I've literally got drawers full of ideas for Charles, and I am running out of room in my apartment.

Gametime Snack of the Week

Smarties.

Recipe: Take an M&M. Remove the "M". Also remove the colourful marketing campaigns with the Red and Yellow characters that kids love. Add puzzles to the packaging, because children want their junk food to make them feel stupid. Sprinkle with feelings of resentment and inadequacy brought on by your second-rate British version of the better American product. Enjoy.

Getting a package of Smarties when you asked for M&M's was the childhood version of your girlfriend asking you what you wanted for your birthday, saying you wanted an iPod, and getting a "Zune" because the salesman at Best Buy, "said it was the better technology." And then, rather than exchange it and risk hurting her feelings, you keep it, even though you can't use it with iTunes, and strangers look at you on the subway like you are holding Gordon Gekko's cell phone from "Wall Street"...

...Aw jeez, I'm getting bummed out just thinking about this. Time for some of the ol' "Canadian Zoloft"...

Gametime Cheap Beer of the Week

Carling Light. At $27 for a 2-4, it's the brew of choice for broke high schoolers and those unfortunate enough to find themselves in need of our generous social assistance program. Try mixing it with Clamato juice. That's clam juice mixed with tomato juice. It's called a Red Eye, and it's delicious. What's that you say? THAT'S DISGUSTING, YOU SAY!?! WELL...you're entitled to your opinion. Carry on.

Gratuitous Trailer Park Boys Quote

Bubbles (re: his home-made rocket): Can it fly? Does the tin-man have a sheet-metal cock?*

Halftime Kit to Help You...You Know. I'll Giggle If You Make Me Say It.

For the guys: Pamela Anderson. Sorry, no link. Apparently, there aren't any pictures of her on-line. I'm as surprised as you are.

For the ladies: by overwhelming demand, former Canadian P.M. Pierre Trudeau, wearing a cape. I'll never understand you gals and your Count Dracula fantasies.

For gays and lesbians: Your spouse. Enjoy your right to have your love recognized in the eyes of the law!

Our Pregame Quote To Help Us Realize Just How Good We've All Got It

"Kids are starving in India, and you're walking around with a sombrero full of peanuts."

- Tripper

Enjoy the games, buddies! Drew's back next week.

*Alright. One dick joke.