I, like you, was jumping around with excitement when Nebraska took the lead with 1:44 left. This is it! This is the year we don't get two clear top teams! This is the straw that breaks the playoff-averse camel's back! But because college football is high on spectacle but low on fundamental play, it took just nine seconds for Texas to get down to Nebraska's 26-yard line.

An email being forwarded to pretty much every newspaper columnist in the country is trying to claim that since the Big 12's instant replay rules forbid the use of replay after the clock has run out, NU are the rightful conference champs. Nice try, but sorry. The whole point is, the clock didn't run out, even though Colt McCoy appeared to try his best. (That sequence was especially delicious after we had spent the drive putting up with the announcers praising Mack Brown's clock management.)

No, Texas won fair and square, just like Alabama. Tim Tebow's eyeblack highlighted John 16:33, a verse from the Last Supper. You have to wonder if he knew his run defense would betray him. Alabama owned Florida from the start, and Mark Ingram put an emphatic 3-TD stamp on his Heisman application.

Oh, Gators. We didn't want things to end like this. We need a too-perfect, media darling QB in our lives as long as we can get him. We did want to see Tebow crying on the sidelines after his national title hopes were dashed, but we didn't want to see it until the National Championship game.

Oh, Longhorns. We didn't want to see you make it this far. Not the we-only-hung-13-on-Nebraska Longhorns team. They'll be outclassed by the Crimson Tide's running game, and they'll be outmatched on defense.

Here's the worst part of it all: if Alabama had to win, we needed Texas to lose. A high-flying TCU or dark horse Cincinnati would give the title game some novelty, and have the country dissecting the failings of the BCS for a month. But if Texas had to win, we needed Alabama to lose. If we can't have some new faces, we at least need two big-name, dominant programs meeting, even if they weren't the best teams.

Now, it wouldn't have BCS Chaos if Nebraska held on. In decreasing order of likelihood, Alabama would have had to face Cincy, TCU, Florida (yikes), or Boise State. All fascinating matchups, and all great arguments for a playoff.

Here's a good solid prediction for the final BCS standings. You're telling me a four-team playoff, with the Bearcats and Horned Frogs getting their shots at the top two, wouldn't make for a great couple weeks? Even better, how about an 8-team bracket? Alabama would open with a feisty Ohio State, Texas would go up against an evenly matched Oregon, Cincinnati and Boise State would be able to make their cases against each other, and Florida would have another chance to prove themselves against TCU.

That sounds like an amazing month of football to me. And it's what we could have had, if not for the current BCS system. While it would be wonderful to see the rankings flail about to find a disputed No. 2 team, it's a much more damning indictment of the system to have, laid out for us, what we're missing out on.

I was prepared to break out my camera in hopes of capturing memorable footage of angry rivals. Unfortunately, Alabama's fair-weather fans have not sustained the rich tradition of literary invention found throughout the south; their cheers consisted mostly of several hundred iterations of the 'Roll Tide' call and response chant, which were parried weakly by War Eagle chants that grew more dispirited as the afternoon wore on.

But! I did find out this very interesting fact. Did you know Pam Tebow travels the south speaking at a variety of pro-life events every year, telling her inspiring story of how Tebow wasn't even supposed to happen? This probably isn't news to fans of 40 Days For Life, or the volunteers at Necole's Place, but I wondered if Tebow Nation was up to speed on Mom Tebow's extracurriculars. There's even a no-trade clause with God, which is why Tebow has to call his work against Bama today "preaching" and quite possibly why he won't make it to the combine.

So I've been up to my elbows in pro-life propaganda all day trying to find if I was breaking big news or just retreading something reported and tossed years ago. AND THEN THE GAME STARTED. I'd been thinking all day it was at 7 (yeah, yeah). So, hastily, here is the best prognostication blogging's Illuminati can provide: Alabama will jump out to an early lead. Rock on with your SEC Championship Open Thread.

This is 99, btw.

[Image: Tom Landry's Evangelical Comic (courtesy YM's awesome resident graphic novelist Eli Valley)]

Why Dock Ellis? Forget about the acid thing for a second, and forget about the fact that he once said he never pitched a game in the minors when he "wasn't high." Forget the drugs, forget the drug counselor career he curiously, redemptively embarked on later in life. The guy was a fucking character. Ellis used to wear hair curlers during warm-ups so he could accumulate sweat to throw spitballs. Ellis admitted to inflaming racial tensions just so he could get reporters to talk to him. Ellis' sworn enemy was Reggie Jackson. Reggie Jackson! Ellis loved to throw at other players' faces. He lived for the intensity and bullshit and trashtalk of sport, not for the competition of it, but for fun. Ellis was one of those characters in baseball's age of personality who make everyone who came before him look like nothing but a steak-and-martini gormandizing dolt, and everyone after him a faceless, anonymous, contained machine devoid of life. Our baseball players now have about as much personality as they can fit into a shot of their cocks on this here site (and the cock-loiterers who post them). That's why we need The Untitled Dock Ellis Story: to remind us that there were once interesting people playing sports, and that the major leagues are now, like everything else that goes corporate to suck of the teet of The Man, homogenized, soulless bullshit. Dock Ellis is the antithesis of that. Dock Ellis is self-expression in athletics personified. Dock Ellis is the man. And yes: Dock Ellis pitched a no-no on acid.

Because this is a biopic, we're obviously going to have to cut between the epic no-hitter and everything else that happens in his life. Because Deadspin Films are innovative, we can even go into Ellis' future in a Tarantino-esque time-split, which is kind of an accurate representation of what it's like to live on acid for a day: you see through time. Time is your bitch when you're on acid. It has the consistency of a DORITO CHIP. It can easily be crushed and consumed and come out pretty much exactly the same on the other end.

Your best titles in the comments, please; the winner goes in the headline.

[This is FEK, BTW.]

Dock Ellis, as played by Dave Chappelle. Aside from his ability to pull off profoundly funny Drug Humor, Chappelle possesses the classic comic skill of originality when it comes to being incredulous with the way the universe works. Chappelle's been gone for way too long, and he's a good enough actor/comic to merit an Oscar-bait role, but not the kind of self-serious turns that comedy actors-turned-wannabe-drama actors take (see: Jim Carrey in The Truman Show, The Majestic, etc).

Donald Hall, as played by Jack Nicholson. This man will be our Naked Indian-like mystic, except he's going to be Dock's Crunchy White Friend, Donald Hall. Hall, who was eventually the U.S. Poet Laureate, wrote the book on Ellis, literally: Dock Ellis in the Country of Baseball. Hall is a fucked-up druggie with whom Ellis finds a common bond with. When Hall originally wrote his book, he wrote that Ellis was drunk on the day he threw his no-no. Which: no. Ellis was getting strange on some acid—fucking ACID—and Hall wrote as much in the 1989 epilogue to the book's paperback release. Why the hiding? Because Ellis was playing for the Yankees when the book was published in '76, and him and Hall worried about what George "The Narc" Steinbrenner would think.

Reggie Jackson, as played by Michael K. Williams. Every story needs a foil, and the rules and regulations of drug-fearing America are too obvious (and too easily evaded) for a guy like Dock. He needed a bigger problem, and he got what he asked for in Reggie Jackson, who was rightfully controlling a lot of the discussion about race in baseball when both players were in their prime. Mr. October had been around longer, was less mischievous, was the well-behaved of the two when it came to having decorum and sportsmanship. For what it's worth, he was also the better player, which maybe Ellis might've had the potential to be recognized as had he not played each game on drugs (but: bygones). Reggie Jackson famously hit a pitch thrown by Dock Ellis in the 1971 All-Star Game into a transformer, and Dock Ellis famously retaliated by hitting Reggie Jackson in the face with a pitch. This was basically how Dock Ellis did business. Michael K. Williams played Omar on The Wire. If you've never watched The Wire, I'm sorry. if you have, you know exactly—exactly—what I'm talking about. This is perfect.

Act 1: Dock's Old Age. In fact, the first flashback/flashforward—so we can get to the peak stuff in the story at the end—should be of Ellis winning the World Series in 1971 with the Pirates, a year after he pitched his no-hitter on acid. We then go into old age, when—living with his wife and his stepdaughter—he finally comes to realize that all anybody wants to talk about are the drugs he did. For the longest time, Ellis had to keep quiet about his incredible feat, for which he'd be inevitably shamed. People would throw accusations of performance enhancement and pejoratives about how bad drug-users like Ellis are not just for society, but for sport. Ellis eventually became a drug counselor and helped people out with drug problems, but let's get one thing straight:He eventually came to happy terms with his feat. And another thing correct, here: ACID is NOT a performance-enhancing drug, kids. Anything that can give you permanent psychological scars just from looking at your dick will not help you pitch *better.* We will talk about Dock's inevitable struggle with this fact when dealing with the people he helps advise when he becomes a drug counselor in his later, post-baseball years.

Act 2: Dock's Rise To Fame.More time sequencing! Dock's trying to trace back what the hell kind of wack-ass shit happened over the last 50 years. How he got to be who he was, the racism he faced as a kid. After his career, why he was left unfufilled by it. Even though he'd won the World Series, all he ever wanted to do was win a title as a Yankee. He got to the Yankees, but he didn't win a title. What he did do? Make a name for himself. Like the time a few months before he won the World Series in '72, on May 5, when a stadium security guard maced him in the face. Or like the May 1, 1974 game where he pitched at the heads of Pete Rose, Joe Morgan, and Dan Driessen, Tony Perez, and Johnny Bench (hitting the first three), before which, he tried to lift the spirits of his team with one of the best motivational speeches in baseball: "We gonna get down. We gonna do the do. I'm going to hit these motherfuckers."

Act 3: The Dock Ellis Acid No-No. The legendary game. Now he remembers. This is who Dock Ellis was. Mischief, incarnate. The spirit of the prankster. The guy pitched a no-hitter on acid. Fucking ACID. And the world was better off. People are still trying to petition to get MLB TV to show the game that Dock Ellis couldn't live down or past: he showed up twisted out of his head on drugs, and pitched the hell out of his game. We cut from the second-to-last pitch, to Dock Ellis, the drug counselor, living out his last days in California.

Finale: Looking back on baseball and the bewildered look on his face he had after he won his no hitter, an older, wiser Ellis realizes: MLB's full of cheaters, liars, addicts, and assholes, most of whom aren't even charming. At least he stood for something. Let's face it: Ellis was never gonna be Reggie Jackson, drugs or no drugs. If he tried, he would've ended up second-rate. The guy was something on to his own, and when he both comes to peace with and embraces his legacy in our denouement, he sees the light: Dock Ellis, Fuckup, Drug Addict, Folk Hero. A title over black: "Dock Ellis died on December 19, 2008, in Victorville, California, of liver problems. He was living out his last days as a drug counselor." We flash back to that last no-no pitch in his glove, ready to be thrown. Everyone in the stadium is going wild. It all goes quiet. And right as Dock Ellis throws, the ball starts singing to him, and it's singing this song. He throws, and we cut to black over the song.

If you're looking for uplift and a good old-fashioned cry, the Olympics are right up there with Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. These are real people with real hopes and dreams and goals and successes and heartbreaks and chances for redemption and oh my God that adorable orphan from Estonia just nailed that triple axel and we are the world…

But please, nobody follows professional sports to be happy. (Have you met a Jets fan?) In a given year there are such miniscule odds of any one particular band of brothers ending up on stage in two-toned hats and eye-rapist-designed XXXL t-shirts designed that fans have embraced, out of an almost Darwinian sense of necessity, the seedier side of sports.

Which brings us to the dirty little secret of the 2010 Winter Olympics: they are filled with dirty little secrets! Just as you can mask your musk for less with the help of those Designer Imposters ® scents ("If you like Sean John's Unforgiveable, you'll love our Bring It!"), I have no doubt you can learn to love the Games. Sit back, relax, and just let it happen.

Alcohol and Cars Combined!
If you liked… Carlos Dunlap, who was arrested for passing out in his car at a traffic light in the wee hours and ultimately got suspended for (two whole halves of) a game of minor significance.
Then you'll LOVE… Russian figure skater Andrei Lutai, who boozily lifted a Chevy Impala from a parking garage in Lake Placid after a pre-Olympic trial, blew a .18 when he was pulled over five minutes later, and earned himself a one-year ban from competition, which includes the Games of minor significance. (No word on whether he was still wearing pink gloves.) At any rate, the concept of a "one-year ban" is funny because, like, Vladamir Putin is just going to have him killed anyway.

Fun with Narcotics!
If you liked… Name your poison and your boyz, men. A-Roid? Manny just being Womanny? Darius Miles getting highles? (Sorry, that was bad.)
Then you'll LOVE… Germany's Claudia Pechstein, who recently lost an appeal against a 2-year ban for doping despite never having actually failed a drug test. Authorities suspect that she had a blood transfusion, which is really going above and beyond! But a word of warning to Bro-de Miller: the loophole that allowed snowboarder Ross Rebagliati to earn back his medal despite being caught rocking the ganj has, sadly, been closed. Harsh, dude.

Shitty Expansion City Logos!
If you liked...



Then you'll LOVE...



Sexual Harassment!

If you liked... ESPN horndoggery
Then you'll LOVE... Trying to guess what kind of creepy things Norway speedskating coach Peter Mueller said to skater Maren Haugli at a team breakfast a month ago. Norway's governing board called the incident "so serious that [they] had no other choice than to cancel our contract with Peter Mueller ... effective immediately". For his part, Mueller admits he made an "untoward remark about her ... as a joke." But like, at a breakfast? What, were they serving lox?

Totalitarian Border Officials!
If you liked... The story of a ranting raving Charles Oakley getting hassled at the Canadian border on his way to meet his new team the Toronto Raptors. ("They search the BMW. Tens of thousands of dollars of suits only Oak and the Ohio Players could wear are being rifled through, and who knows what else.")
Then you'll LOVE... The story of a ranting raving lefty journo getting hassled at the Canadian border on her way to some speaking engagements. ("After much questioning, Goodman said the officials finally asked if she would be speaking about the 2010 Olympics.")

Gruesome Skate-Blade Injuries!
If you liked... Seeing Clint Malarchuk's jugular pump an enormous pool of blood onto the ice; seeing Richard Zednik's carotid pump an enormous pool of blood onto the ice.
Then you'll LOVE... Seeing US speedskating wunderkind J.R. Celski's femoral pump an enormous pool of blood onto the ice at the recent Olympic trials. Okay fine, the wound missed his femoral by an inch, but blood still fucking pumped: "My first reaction was 'What the hell is that?'" said J.R. "It's purple, red, orange, yellow and I can see the bone."

Hot Hunky Homoeroticism!
If you liked...

Then you'll LOVE...

Miss u, Choire Sicha. Anyway, there's plenty of time for things to devolve even further. After all, Nancy Kerrigan wasn't attacked until January 1994. Get excited, sports fans!

This is Katie Baker, btw.

It's usually because they're just so absurd or really lack even the most tenuous of news angles to give them the go-ahead. Other times it's because they're just absolute horseshit. But every Friday until we get sick of running them, we'll present to you some of these not-so-shiny gems. All items should be treated as [Sic'd]. Enjoy...

LEAVE GRADY ALONE!!!!!

•

Dear Dumbass,

Thank you for putting these pictures on the Internet and continuing to follow Grady in a matter that is NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS. How sick of a person are you? Even if you didnt put the pics on there first, your still sick by putting them up on your site. If you were smart then you wouldnt have posted them, because what if those were you? How would you feel? What would the outcome be? How embarrassed would you be? Those photos belong to one man: Grady Sizemore, and anyone with a brain (I dont include you) would know that Grady is a class act and these didnt belong in public nor did he intend them to. So why in the hell did you "follow the sheep" and go right ahead and do it? Your a dumbass because even if it is your job to post stories your not supposed to stoop as low as posting personal information. I hope you feel bad for what you have done and what you are doing, you are a straight up jackass.

Good day, I will now go and read a more honorable authors work,

•

Dear Barry,

It appears to me that you'd love to have sex with other men. Posting porn pictures like those makes me figure you would do anything to keep women away, and get any man in sight. That's just wrong of you to do towards celebrities! Just because you don't have a real job, and they make millions, that gives no right to embarass their personal moments.

You and many other web-site owners who do this should be sewed for the value of your homes, that way you can live on the street and feel the embarassment in a much worse way, having to ask for change on the corner of state-route roads.

From,
Mike Smith

•

Why don't you dig down real deep, no... deeper than that (I realize you've got a long way to go) and try and pull out just a little respect for someone else's property. Do yourself, and Grady, a favor and take his photos down.

BTW, drop the Tiger story— old news and we're not interested.

And then there's this...

•

Subject: I WANT TO SEE HIS TOES!!!!

None of the pictures have his bare feet in them!!! What is my foot fetish self supposed to do?

Regards,
Toes-R-Us

Notre Dame Alums Still Pissed at Dana

How does this DOUCHEBAG Dana Jacobson keep her job. Kuselias just wa smaking a point about hwo THREATENTING people ( ala Serena Williams) isnt acceptable and this C.....T Jacobsen attacks him saying "is it because its a woman" ......yeah Dana, F....K you not JESUS CHRIST.....Hey Dana ,,....FUCK YOU .does anyone have teh phone number to bristol so I can call and make a formal complaint?? thanks

...The Aristocrats!

yes, i was wondering, do you take photographs of bandmenbers taking shits on pre-pubescent cub scouts? I am interested in photos of men jacking off in the faces of Iraqi orphans. Any photos of men shifting on boys or photos of men jacking off on dogs fucking little boys would be appreciated. Rock on and may the Third Reich rise again!

It's Not As Creepy As Your Email

2nd half of game NBC shows bloody nose of Raven and then starts talking about blood – then he says something about Ray Lewis. Go listen. Creepy & Riveting.

Come To Antawn Jamison's For The Gayest Not-Gay Shoe Party Evah

My friend just received this e-mail from a promotion/marketing company looking for two "in shape" men to serve food at Antawn Jamison's house.

Gentleman,

I just got this in. Please let me know ASAP if you are available and comfortable with this. We are looking for very in-shape men only. (I'm sending this out to the entire database, so if you know of someone appropriate please pass it on!!). Pay is $25hr (so $100 total). It should be a REALLY cool event.

The event is from 5-9pm at Antwan Jamieson's private residence in Bethesda.

2 Males will be passing drinks and hors devours and helping out as needed.
The female will be modeling shoes from Shoecrush.com

This is NOT a gay event. But rather for men AND women. Obvious lots NBA players and industry people will be there. The shoe feature is for Antwan's wife and her friends, which the males will most likely be entertaining.

As for attire:
Female should wear black leggings and a black top (of her choosing) something cocktail-ish, sexy and fun.
Guys will be in black slacks and black dress shoes. Possibly a bowtie will be provided. And the Shoecrush logo may be painted on their chest.

If you meet the requirements and are available tomorrow please let me know ASAP!!!!

The letter was typed on the same Florida State letterhead with which he'd wooed a few thousand recruits, and it was waiting in my old office months after I'd cleared out.

"I sure hate it that you won't be with us this year," Bobby Bowden wrote.

You can almost hear him say it. That's because he writes just like he talks, which is also how you'd imagine him talking if you'd never met him before — all that ol' boy Southern speak that's hard to spell even if you make a living transcribing the things Bobby Bowden says. I'd covered his program for a couple years in what then seemed liked the rough days, when everyone was hoping the problem was his son and not the old man himself. When I left the job, I wrote him a note thanking him for his access and wishing him well, to which he responded in kind.

"You have been so good and I have really enjoyed you," the letter went on. "The only thing, with you there, I couldn't address the writers as men. I always had to remember there was one lady present and that was you."

Looking at the letter now, I like to scan down to his signature and then up to my name, which is the best part. He spelled it wrong. "Emily Bulger." Classic Bobby Bowden.

The fact that he couldn't get even his best players' names right is one of those weird tics that jaded sportswriters always found so charming. But it also gets at the tension at the heart of his last decade in Tallahassee: Confusing Drew Weatherford for Chris Weinke isn't so daggum cute when you're not winning — at least, not to the fans.

To the hacks, though, Bowden's retirement represents less the end of a sad family drama and more the passing of a once-prevalent species in major college football — the big-time coach with an actual personality. He was a genuine American coot, and there aren't many of them left today. Along about his fifth decade in the game, coaches' salaries ballooned, and now, on sidelines across America, you find nothing but wax statue after wax statue: the all-business, no-access coach who won't tell you what's on his mind or where he goes to church, and who doesn't even get why anyone would want to know in the first place.

Urban Meyer would never be caught in an unchoreographed moment. Bobby Bowden let us so close we could track the liver spots his straw-brimmed hat couldn't keep at bay. He even let us watch him (and record him) fumbling for the right memories. And then he'd crack a joke, at his own expense, and it was so damn quotable that whichever backup receiver he'd misidentified wouldn't make it into the paper the next day.

Bowden built a national powerhouse at what was once a women's college, and he knew the next biggest thing he brought to town was himself, and so he let people have their piece of him, ask him personal questions and snap his picture wherever he was. He made them feel that of course he remembered that time they first met at the 1984 Pensacola booster club meeting (an implausibility fans gladly pretended to believe), and he tricked half the fans he talked to into thinking their names actually were "Buddy" and "Girl."

In 2006, heading into what would be his worst season in three decades, the College Football Hall of Fame decided to toast Bowden's career before it was over. They bent the rules and brought him in early, a gamble that gave him the Big Moment he didn't get this week. The day the news broke, during ACC spring meetings in Amelia Island, he walked down the hotel corridor toward a small band of stalking media. He was so happy to see even his Tallahassee hacks that he dove right over the gulf between subject and scribe. He planted one on my cheek. That was Bowden.

"I knew you had to retire, you had to be out of coaching, or you had to be dead," he joked of the honor. We scribbled frantically because we knew a punchline was coming. "I didn't volunteer for death, I'm not planning on retiring, so I didn't know anything like this would occur."

Other times, he talked openly to reporters about the endgame he was trying to avoid. You remember what happened to Bear Bryant, right? The guy retired, then died 28 days later.

Bowden seemed to worry that this would be his fate, too, but that's probably not a great reason, in the state of Florida, to keep coaching a football team. This is apparently what all the important people in Tallahassee finally decided in a mess of their own making: They always said the coach could stay as long as he wanted. They built him a bronze statue and a stained-glass window. But then they named a replacement-in-waiting who clearly wouldn't wait all that long, and they finally gave the spotlight to the guy who must have been keeping track of all the things Bowden was forgetting.

The new guy, of course, isn't half as colorful. The thing about being a hack is that that's really all that matters. You can happily go on writing about crummy seasons just so long as someone says something funny, interesting — anything — about them. Yeah, Bowden probably should have ducked out when he lost his edge on the really big-picture stuff — game scores, key plays, whole seasons — but he was a figurehead by the end, anyway, and a daggum good one. You never cared if he didn't remember a name or a face because he always made a point to give so much of himself. That was something Bobby Bowden never forgot.

Emily Badger is a former Orlando Sentinel reporter and a freelance writer in the Washington D.C. area. Online, she lives here: www.emilybadger.com.

Photo via Sports Illustrated

The Daily Beast has deputized Gerald Posner as Lt. Sleazy during this national crisis and he's gone out and spoken with a handful of people connected to the professional golf world who reveal that the PGA Tour is very similar to Motley Crue's bio "The Dirt": "My sources said that clubhouses sometimes resembled frat houses, with golfers exchanging graphic stories of the previous night's escapades. Players talk about "the 19th hole," or dub a girl willing to have anal sex a "double bogey." A "water hole" is anyone who performs only oral sex."

• For those who want their Tiger commentary more high-brow, fake-composing genius Ben Greenman has created a musical ode to Tiger for The New Yorker:

• And this is why Bonnie Fuller made the big bucks as a magazine editor: "What happens in cases like this is once there is one allegation then there are always 10 more," said Bonnie Fuller, editor in chief of HollywoodLife.com and former head of magazines Us Weekly and Star...You have the real women who actually have had a relationship with a celebrity come forward, and then you have people creating these stories because they are seeking their own fame and fortune and attention." [CNN]

• And here's JaimeE Grubbs about to be penetrated with a ping-pong paddle. She's kinky. [CBS CrimeInsider]

Dad didn't look much happier. "AJ better know what the hell he's doing there." He did. We wish Hamilton all the best in his ongoing struggle with addiction, and marvel again how much different it looks when a professional athlete falls off the wagon than it does for the rest of us. When they do it, they take shots off the breasts off beautiful women. When we do it, we vomit on the Buck Hunter game and urinate ourselves.

Josh Hamilton
Relapsed.
Found defenders.
Pleads human.
Chilled in Jesusland.

This spot featuring Roger Federer, Thierry Henry and Tiger Woods premiered in early 2008. Federer went from averaging double digit titles a year before the campaign, to totaling eight wins in the two years since. Henry has become a global goat for his handball. And Woods...you know.

David Beckham's contract with Gillette ran through 2007, the year he became the world's only superstar athlete who managed to fade into obscurity by playing in Los Angeles. Was this year's MLS Cup disappointment a direct result of his association with Gillette? It's tough to be certain, but yes. Yes it was.

This ad featuring Sergio Garcia premiered in the summer of 2008, right after El Nino won The Players Championship. He's 0 for 27 on the PGA Tour since.

Oh, and that other guy in the spot, Ricky Rubio? He had the misfortune of being taken by the Timberwolves, and scurried back to Spain.

The curse doesn't stop at "real" sports. John Cena signed a deal to become a Gillette pitchman in February of 2008, just after winning the Royal Rumble as a surprise entrant. But as well all know, he managed to lose three straight title matches in the next three months.

So how about Derek Jeter? The man's superhuman. Gillette ads, SI's Sportsman of The Year, and no divine retribution. If he manages to get himself on the cover of Madden 11, the universe may collapse in on itself.

• Golf Channel. com eulogizes with a sack of rocks: "There is grieving for the end of an era, the end of Tiger as heroic and untouchable. He's simply human now, like us. Most of us have a sack of rocks we carry around...There's anger in the grieving period, too, from people feeling deceived and disappointed." Aw, Dusty in here! [GolfChannel]

• The regal-sounding John Paul Newport feels like the media world is a dirty place to live and he doesn't like writing about this, not one bit, no, because he's a man ill-equipped to wallow in this filth with all of us or something but he has to so he writes things like this: "If Tiger Woods, by far the game's most influential figure, has been living a duplicitous life – on his own Web site he says "I am dealing with my behavior and personal failings" - golf and golf fans are better off knowing about it and in the long-run, the game will be healthier. The golf media alone, cowed by Woods's awesomeness as an athlete and his colossal role in selling the game, would probably never have unearthed what the gossip media has. The golf media never would have dared." [WSJ]

• Surprised that this is the first time this headline has been used: "Is Tiger Out Of The Woods?" Yes, but he's still in the rough. /rimshotfartnoisehornsounddeath

JANUARY
Maurice Clarett scores a touchdown in double overtime to help Ohio State beat Miami in the Fiesta Bowl and win the mythical national championship. Republican choose New York City as the site for the 2004 national convention. The Miller Lite catfight commercial airs for the first time, and the Buccaneers beat the Raiders in another boring Super Bowl. "Chappelle's Show" debuts. The United States deploys 62,000 troops to the Middle East. Scientists find a winged dinosaur fossil in China. R. Kelly is arrested on child pornography charges. The Black Table launches.
FEBRUARY
Space shuttle Columbia explodes, killing all seven astronauts onboard. Saddam Hussein gives an interview to Dan Rather on "60 Minutes." Colin Powell argues the case for an invasion of Iraq to the United Nations. Phil Spector is arrested and charged with murder. A fire at a Great White concert in Rhode Island kills 100 people, including the band's guitarist. The city of New York selects Daniel Libeskind's design for the new World Trade Center building. Osama bin Laden warns of future attacks, and Donald Rumsfeld claims the broadcast is proof of a link between Saddam Hussein and Al Qaeda. Mr. Rogers dies. Not much happens in sports.
MARCH
Elizabeth Smart is found nine months after she was kidnapped. Kirby Puckett goes on trial for sexual assault. Chicago wins Best Picture, and Roman Polanski Best Director at the Academy Awards. The Believer magazine launches. SARS strikes Asia. Donald Rumsfeld says the Iraq war won't cost more than $60 billion. Broadway musicians strike. People magazine introduces the world to Doug Christie's wife. War in Iraq begins, with shock, and with awe.
APRIL
Michael Jordan and his Washington Wizards fail to make the NBA playoffs. Sen. Rick Santorum, when asked about gay marriage, says: "Society is based on the future of the society. And that's what? Children. Monogamous relationships. In every society, the definition of marriage has not ever to my knowledge included homosexuality. That's not to pick on homosexuality. It's not, you know, man on child, man on dog, or whatever the case may be. It is one thing. And when you destroy that you have a dramatic impact on the quality." Freshman Carmelo Anthony leads the Syracuse Orangemen to the NCAA Championship. PFC Jessica Lynch is rescued from a Iraqi hospital. Baghdad falls; the Pentagon says fighting in Iraq is "mostly complete." Roy Williams tells Bonnie Bernstein he "could give a shit about North Carolina right now." Nina Simone dies. The Des Moines Register runs photos of Iowa State coach Larry Eustachy drinking with students. "A Million Little Pieces" is released. President Bush re-appoints Alan Greenspan.
MAY
President Bush announces "Mission Accomplished" in Iraq and declares an end to combat in Afghanistan. New York Times reporter Jayson Blair resigns from the newspaper. "Moneyball" hits bookstores. Mad Cow disease is discovered in Canada. Eric Rudolph, the Atlanta Olympics bomber, is arrested in North Carolina after five years on the run. An Algerian earthquake kills more than 2,250 people. The first Democratic presidential debate features Howard Dean, John Edwards, Dick Gephardt, Bob Graham, John Kerry, Dennis Kucinich, Joe Lieberman, Carol Moseley Braun and Al Sharpton. The Matrix Reloaded disappoints everyone.
JUNE
England decides to forgo the Euro. Martha Stewart is indicted. Roger Clemens earns his 300th win and 4,000th strikeout, in the same game. Gregory Peck, Strom Thurmond and Katherine Hepburn die. Hillary Clinton's book "Living History" is released. U.S. authorities foil a plot to blow up the Brooklyn Bridge. The San Antonio Spurs beat the New Jersey Nets to win the NBA championship. The "Do Not Call" national registry is created.
JULY
John Abizaid, commander of allied forces in Iraq, warns soldiers than they'll be deployed for yearlong tours. Robert Novak reveals Valerie Plame's identity in a column. Baylor basketball player Patrick Dennehy is shot and killed by former teammate Carlton Dotson. Mike Ditka signs up as a spokesperson for Levitra. Saddam Hussein's sons are killed. Kobe Bryant is arrested and charged with rape in Colorado. Barry White and Bob Hope die. "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy" debuts.
AUGUST
Several millions, including residents of New York City, suffer from a massive blackout. The blaster worm attacks computers. Baylor coach Dave Bliss tells his players to lie to investigators and claim the late Patrick Dennehy was selling drugs to pay his tuition. "Sex, Drugs & Cocoa Puffs" by Chuck Klosterman is released. Lance Armstrong wins his fifth straight Tour de France. Charles Bronson dies. Michael Vick fractures his fibula in a preseason game. Chemical Ali is found. Bill Parcells comes out of retirement to coach the Dallas Cowboys. The slate of candidates for the California governor's recall is locked in and includes Arianna Huffington, Gary Coleman, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Larry Flynt, porn star Mary Carey and Gallagher. Mitch Albom's "Five People You Meet In Heaven" is released.
SEPTEMBER
Gen. Wesley Clark enters the Presidential race. Hurricane Isabel hits. "Hey Ya" makes white people dance. Shane Mosley defeats Oscar de la Hoya. President Bush asks Congress for $87 billion to aid the fight in Iraq. John Ritter, Johnny Cash, Leni Riefenstahl and George Plimpton die. Britney Spears and Madonna kiss at the MTV Video Music Awards.
OCTOBER
Bartman. Rush Limbaugh admits an addiction to Oxycontin on his radio show and goes into rehab. David Kay says there are no WMDs in Iraq. Bartman. The last Concorde flight lands. Arnold Schwarzenegger wins the recall to become governor of California. Aaron Boone homers to win the American League Championship Series, but the Florida Marlins beat the Yankees in the World Series. Elliott Smith dies of two stab wounds to the chest. Bartman. The DC sniper trial begins. LeBron james scores 25 points in his first game, a 106-92 loss to Sacramento. Wildfires spread through California. Bartman.
NOVEMBER
President Bush signs a bill banning partial birth abortion. Michael Jackson is booked on suspicion of child molestation. The NFL Network launches, though probably not in your house. The DC sniper suspects are found guilty. The Massachusetts Supreme Court rules in favor of gay marriage. "Arrested Development" debuts.
DECEMBER
Al Gore endorses Howard Dean for President. An earthquake in Iran kills 30,000 people. Suicide bombers blow up a commuter train in Moscow, killing 50. "Life As A Loser," by Will Leitch, is released. The morning after pill is approved by the FDA. Sen. Paul Simon dies. They got Saddam.

We've got a lot of shit to cover, so let's hop right in.

The Games
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.

Five Throwgasms

Titans at Colts: I was glancing at SportsCenter this week (I don't know anyone anymore who actually sits down and pays attention to SportsCenter while it's on. It's ambient programming at this point, like the Today Show, or John Tesh's music) and saw a segment where Merril Hoge argued with HIMSELF on a split screen. It was called Merril vs. Merril. No lie. It was just like Stephen Colbert's Formidable Opponent segment, only without any sense of irony, and conducted by a retarded person. They even showed Merril giving himself aggravated looks if his other self said something he disagreed with. It's like they replaced Salisbury and Clayton's old testy split screen arguments by throwing up their hands and going, "You know what? Fuck it. Have Hoge do all of it."

Obviously, it makes sense to use Hoge for this segment. I've heard that Hoge has more than enough split personalities to conduct these debates on a regular basis. On certain days, Hoge has been known to turn into Lucinda, a 14-year-old girl who may be a lesbian is too afraid to explore her own feelings about it.

I sympathize with Hoge to a certain extent. He was so intent on proving Vince Young was a bust, then Young proved him wrong, then proved him right, then proved him wrong a second time. It's enough to drive any man crazy, particularly a man who has received 45,872 blows to the head in his lifetime.

Also, if the Titans beat the Colts and pull to 6-6, that would be just about the coolest thing ever. Which is why it probably won't happen. Stupid reality.

Last thing: In the above pic, that is the shirt Vince Young wore in his postgame press conference last week. Goddamn, that is one ugly shirt. Looks like a security guard at Tropicana headquarters.

Four Throwgasms

Vikings at Cardinals: This is the best Vikings team since 1998, which is terrifying. In fact, the similarities between that Vikings team that was favored to go to the Super Bowl and this one are numerous. Both only have one loss (and given the rest of the schedule, it's not unreasonable to assume these 2009 Vikings will also go 15-1). Both have aging QB's who came out of retirement and played flawlessly (Favre and Randall Cunningham). Both have home run threats at running back (Purple Jesus and Robert Smith). Both have Rookie of the Year wideouts (Percy Harvin and Randy Moss). Both have relatively soft schedules. Both have enormous young right tackles (Phil Loadholt and Korey Stringer). Both have shitty head coaches (Denny Green and Brad Childress). Both have Hall of Famers at left guard (Randall McDaniel and Steve Hutchinson). Both have a dominant pass rusher (Jared Allen and John Randle).

I'd argue this 2009 team is even better than the '98 Vikings, particularly along the defensive line, and at cornerback once Antoine Winfield is healthy again. And fucking Prince was in the box last week. Prince never showed up for the 1998 Vikings. Prince is the purple SHIT.

Again, all of this portends nothing but fucking DOOM. It's hard to believe any Vikings team, even one as talented as this outfit, will not find a way to rip out my fucking heart, stick it in a pants press, and squeeze it until it's flat, dead and useless. That's just what the Vikings do. That's who they are. And the fact that the Saints are an even BETTER team in the NFC makes that outcome even easier to envision.

There was a letter in Tuesday's post that demanded I, along with all other Vikings fans, come out and confess my love for Favre now that's he's joined the team and lit everyone up. I'll happily admit I was wrong to hope the Vikings wouldn't sign that wrinkled old cocksucker. He has, indeed, been awesome. Perfect. This is still a winning team without Billy Bob Fuckstain, but not a Super Bowl quality team. He's made an enormous difference, and I'm glad they signed him, and that he makes the receivers better, and that he gives the Vikings an effective two-minute drill, which they've never had before, blah blah blah. That's all great.

But the fact is that fans of the 31 other teams out there would like nothing more than to see Favre's leg get cleaved in two, ending his career on the spot and sending the Vikings straight in to the fucking gutter. I'm well aware of that. So if you ever see me exulting in having Favre as my favorite team's QB before they've even won a playoff game (and frankly, even if they do end up winning it all), you are more than free to slap me on the cock. I don't have to love the guy to be happy he's on my side. It's like Deion's one-year stint with the 49ers in 1995. You love what the guy does for you. Doesn't mean you have to love HIM. I still think Vikings fans who buy #4 jerseys are weird.

Still. Nice job so far, you possum rapist.

Ravens at Packers: The worst thing about Jaws and Gruden on Monday Night Football is that they are consistently one-upping each other in terms of volume. First Gruden says something loudly, then Jaws says something even louder to punctuate what Gruden said, then Gruden comes back screaming at the top of his fucking lungs. Hey assholes, you have microphones pinned to your shirt. They can pick up your voice just fine if you talk like a normal person. Shitheads.

Whenever my mom uses a cell phone, she shouts because she thinks sound has a more difficult time traveling through the air and not via wires. And she doesn't just shout. She really yells her fucking head off. Everyone has to leave the area when she's on a cell phone, otherwise you develop vertigo. Jaws and Gruden have the same effect. Please guys, for the love of God, shut the fuck up for five seconds.

Cowboys at Giants: I was watching "Intervention" the other night, and the lady they profiled was the girl who was a Hollywood extra who got hooked an painkiller called fentanyl, which the DEA claims is 100 times more powerful than morphine (I dunno how the power of a drug can be measured, but whatever). You don't take the drug intravenously. Instead, it's given to you in lollipop form. I shit you not. It's a drug 100 times more powerful than morphine, and it comes in a lollipop. That sounds fucking AWESOME. Before I die, I want a fentanyl Dum Dum. Greatest drug ever? I bet the many prescription medication addicts in our comments section now one that can top it. "It's a thousand times better then heroin, and it's in bacon form."

Three Throwgasms

Patriots at Dolphins: Ricky Williams tossed a pick out of the Wildcat formation last week (at the goal line), and there's something truly agonizing about having a fantasy player that isn't a QB throw a pick and cost you two points. Obviously, this is a cousin of the "seeing your RB fumble at the goal line" pain. It's that eight point swing, where you think you're getting six, and you end up getting fucked in the ass. I get so angry when that happens that I bite into my fist until there's visible bruising. One day, I really will eat my own hand in anger. And what a taste treat that will be. Lotta meat on these paws.

By the way, pick aside, Ricky Williams might just be this year's "injury replacement instant stud," that one player every year who was a late pick and becomes a Top 20 player because the guy in front of him got his knee shredded. I never get those players. Ever. I always get the guy who got injured to make way for the asskicker.

Also, Randy Moss' beard is awesome.

Eagles at Falcons: After Andy Reid opened the Skins game with an onside kick, everyone had the same reaction: "Well, that was retarded." Every commentator made the point that you should only do a surprise onside kick if you know you're playing a superior opponent, not an inferior one. But is that really true? Shouldn't you only try a surprise onside kick if you're BETTER than the other team, because you're more likely to survive if the attempt fails, because you're the superior outfit? Can't better teams afford to take more risks?

Nah, just kidding. Andy Reid is dumber than his kids.

Texans at Jaguars: Whatever else happens during this Tiger Woods shitstorm, I can guarantee you one thing: when the Masters rolls around, Jim Nantz will do everything in his power to whitewash the scandal. He'll go out of his way to note how tough Tiger is in dealing with all the adversity. If Elin shows up the tournament, he'll make sure to note how much she and Tiger support one another. Jim Nantz is less an announcer than he is a PR rep for the PGA. The sun shines out of the asshole of every golfer Nantz has ever met. Tiger Woods could commit fucking war crimes and Nantz wouldn't acknowledge it. Tiger could rape babies. He could be a baby rapist and Nantz would say, "Such mental toughness he has. To deal with everything he's been going through and still dig down deep to make that putt. What grit." Jim Nantz is golf's pissboy.

Oh, and a giant FUCK YOU to Tiger Woods. You want your privacy, dickhead? Then don't fuck other women and sext them 300 times. You tend to lose your right to privacy when you're that big of a fucking idiot. Don't give me that bullshit Sarah Palin "I'm a victim of the gotcha media" bullshit when you decided to step out on your lady even though you have one of the most recognizable faces on Earth.

/would never cheat on my wife
/or my saucy Latina mistress
/unless a woman were to actually proposition me

Two Throwgasms

Saints at Redskins: Of the two undefeated teams, New Orleans has the best chance of running the table because they may still be playing for home field advantage in Week 17 if the Vikings keep winning. The Saints could finish 16-0, and the Vikings could finish 15-1. That's never happened before in a single season. Ever. Holy dogshit.

Jets at Bills: "Steven Seagal: Lawman" premiered last night. And the fucker talked in a Cajun accent even though he's not from Louisiana. He affects accents. I hate people that do that. He's just like Madonna.

One Throwgasm

Bucs at Panthers: Last week on NFL GameDay Final, they showed footage of Raheem Morris on the sidelines, covering his mouth while he was calling plays, as coaches like to do. That's when Deion Sanders shouted out, "MAN, NO ONE WANTS YOUR PLAYS!" I used to hate Deion. No longer.

And look, MATT MOORE IS STARTING! Beware, you crazy gamblers out there.

Rams at Bears: FOX has always been a proud innovator of gay and unnecessary broadcast wrinkles. And this year, we've been subjected to their latest creation: the 7-word recap. Sponsored by Microsoft's Windows 7: It Almost Kinda Works Now! They do this at the end of every broadcast now, and it's so dumb, you wonder why FOX didn't come up with it themselves ages ago. Well, I have a seven-word recap for the seven-word recap, and here it is.

1. YOU
2. PEOPLE
3. CAN
4. KISS
5. MY
6. FUCKING
7. DICK

Chargers at Browns: Carson Palmer got a nasty horse collar tackle from Browns DT Shaun Rogers last week. And when the refs called it, Eric Mangini went absolutely BATSHIT. He was so angry about the call, he went back to refs at the end of the half to bitch them out. It was an odd move, given that Palmer was clearly horse collared (and shaken up on the play). Oh wait, I know what happened. Palmer CHEATED by allowing himself to be grabbed by the collar and slammed down to the ground by Shaun Rogers. IT'S A CONSPIRACY! EVERYONE'S AFTER YOU, ERIC! DON'T DRINK YOUR COFFEE WITHOUT HIRING A TASTER FIRST!

49ers at Seahawks: Oh, so NOW is when Vernon Davis decides to be the greatest fantasy tight end in the history of the universe. Only after everyone has given him up for dead, like they did DeAngelo Williams before last year. God dammit, players like that piss me off.

Lions at Bengals: I was glancing at Leitch's decade retrospective earlier (I just stared at the very small thumbnails, because I'm too lazy to click through a whole web slideshow. Web slideshows are worse than ass cancer), and I remembered back in 2001, right after 9/11 happened, the DJ's at K-ROCK in New York would play Metallica's "Don't Tread On Me" (which is one of their worst songs ever) with news bites about the attack mixed into the cut. And when the Iraq War started, they played "Wanted Dead Or Alive" with bites from Bush's ultimatum speech also mixed in. I fucking hated this. In fact, it's a perfect IQ test. If you're the type of steakhead who thought this was awesome, I hope you and your Axe body spray fall into a fucking canyon.

Broncos at Chiefs: Someone in the mailbag the other day said night pissing is best when your bathroom has a dimmer switch and you can turn it all the way down. Ever play that game with the dimmer switch, where you keep lowering it and lowering it, seeing just how dim it can get before the light actually goes out? I do that at least six times a week. THIS ROOM IS NONE MORE DIM.

Raiders at Steelers

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"Crazy Train," by Ozzy Osbourne. Live off of the "Tribute" double album. AY! AY! AY! AY! AY! AY! AY! AY! There are few perfect songs in the universe. "Crazy Train" is one of them. Since Randy Rhoads died, no one else has dared strap on a polka dotted flying V guitar. That's how bad of a motherfucker Randy Rhoads was. He RETIRED that guitar. And when Angus Young dies, they'll retire the Gibson SG guitar. Only those men get to play those guitars, and that's as it should be. If you're not Angus young and you're playing a Gibson SG, you should be beaten.

Fun fact: In the 1980's, Ozzy Osbourne and Bette Midler had the exact same hairstyle.

Embarassing Video I Once Liked That Will Not Fire You Up

"Funkytown," by Pseudo Echo. Not the original song by Lipps Inc., a band I always mistakenly thought was affiliated with former Steelers wideout Louis Lipps. Please note that the lead singer of this band is Australian, but is clearly wearing a New York Yankees t-shirt. THAT'S PANDERING. Also take note of the jeans tucked into the hightops (not unlike the jeans tucked into boots look that's so hot with the ladies in 2009). And, of course, there's the keytar. Everyone makes fun of the keytar, but you can understand why it was invented. The poor keyboardist has always been treated like the kicker of the band. I bet it was a relief to them that someone invented a keyboard guitar that allowed them to be up in front with the guitarist and bassist. YOU'RE ON THE TEAM NOW. That's much better positioning if you're a keyboardist looking to score better pussy.

Open Mailbag Tuesdays
Since Tuesday's mailbag, more and more people have come out of the woodwork to tell me that they stand to wipe their asses. Again, it never occurred to me that some people stood while wiping. And it never occurred to THEM that some people sat while wiping. I find this FASCINATING. You could commission a decade-long anthropological study about this. Why do some people wipe standing while others wipe sitting? Is it because of how they were raised? Does race play a factor? So many questions. Got something you want displayed for show and tell in the Deadspin Tuesday Mailbag? Email me any question or observation you like.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Matt Forte. According to an aggregate of all Yahoo drafts this year, Matt Forte was the fourth highest rated player, getting drafted at an average slot of fifth overall. Here are the top ten players from that list:

-Adrian Peterson
-Michael Turner
-MJD
-Forte
-Brian Westbrook
-DeAngelo Williams
-Larry Fitzgerald
-LaDainian Tomlinson
-Drew Brees
-Steven Jackson

Of those ten, only Brian Westbrook has fewer overall fantasy points, because he's Brian goddamn Westbrook and he's injured for 78 weeks a year. Forte is 23rd among RB's in fantasy points, and he's been healthy all year long. THE FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT. Forte is the guy you have to keep in your lineup every week because you drafted him high and there's no one else to put in, and just spends all year long PUTTING IT IN YOUR ASS. You suck, Matt Forte. DIE.

Suicide Pick Of The Week
Last week's suicide pick of the Bengals was correct, making me 9-3 on the year. That puts the Bengals, Steelers, Jets, Falcons, Bears, Colts, Eagles, Vikings, Texans, Ravens, Saints and Skins off the board now. We once again pick a team for your suicide pool and something that makes you WANT to commit suicide. This week's pick? Denver, and folding children's laundry. I have no idea what to do with these miniature shirts and pants. THEY'RE A COMPLETE CATASTROPHE.

Nazi Shark's Vegas Lock Of The Week
Lots of sports sites, to demonstrate the arbitrary nature of gambling, like to have animals like monkeys pick games to see if they can outwit their human counterparts. There's no reason we at Deadspin can't also get in on the fun. So we've asked National Socialist German Workers' Party member Rolf, who also happens to be a shark, to pick one game a week. Take it away, Nazi shark.

"This week, I like the Vikings giving 4 points against Arizona on the road. Hey, Santa Cruz! Way to make a local resident take down his Nazi flag! Freedom of speech, huh? I think we know who the real Nazis are. I guess this is only a free country, so long as you obey everyone's rules and keep your Nazi flags and collections of Jew ear necklaces to yourself. YOU PEOPLE MAKE ME SICK. I WILL BITE YOU."

2009 Nazi Shark Record: 6-6.

This Week's Pants Party Winner
Last week's Pants Party winner was P. Kuszynski. He did not claim his prize. This week's winner was D. "The Body" Bodamer. Come and git it, Body.

Great Moments In Poop History
Reader Nathan chimes with a poop WHOPOOPEDIT! He calls it, "The Wendy's Shit Bandit":

I went to Wendy's for lunch today and hit the men's room to take a leak prior to getting in line. The urinal was out of order so I headed for the stall. When I opened the stall door I was greeted with one of the most disturbing and amazing sights I've ever seen. The bowl was literally full to the brim with gigantic fucking turds. Logs the size of my forearm. I wondered aloud how any human could muster such massive deposits. I was repulsed and intrigued at the same time. I forgot all about pissing and got in line to order my lunch. When I got up to the counter I informed the manager on duty that the men's room was in dire need of attention due to the approximately 40lbs of shit in the bowl. That's when it got weird.

In a very tired tone, with a haunted look in her eyes, she said, "Goddamnit, he's BACK".

Apparently, about once a month, over the course of the last year or so, someone has been depositing these enormous turds in the Wendy's men's room. She told me they were close to catching the perpetrator and, get this, the guy has been bringing the supernatural logs with him in a plastic grocery bag and dumping them in the bowl. Every time another new deposit is made a soiled grocery bag has been found in the men's room. I don't know whether to be frightened or awed by such deranged behavior. Who is the Wendy's Shit Bandit? Are the turds human or animal? We may never know, but he has my respect.

I find this to be an extraordinary crime. The poopetrator here is clearly a disgruntled former employee or a customer who felt he was treated shabbily. That can be the only explanation. If it's just a random act of poopiness… MY GOD. That would be disturbing and brilliant all at once.

People, between this story and the Last Pickle in the Jar, we may be on the verge of a poop prank revolution. College students of the world, heed my words: that turd you're leaving the bowl is not to be flushed. It is a comedic resource with millions of different uses. Don't waste your poop by disposing of it. Place it in a friend's shoe. Drop it in a fish tank. USE YOUR IMAGINATION. In your hands, poop can be anything.

Fire This Asshole!
Is there anything more exciting than a coach losing his job? All year long, we'll keep track of which coaches will almost certainly get fired at year's end or sooner. And now, your updated chopping block:

Tom Cable*
Jim Zorn
Eric Mangini
Jim Mora
Andy Reid
John Fox*
Jack Del Rio
Tom Coughlin
Gary Kubiak*
Dick Jauron – FIRED!
Lovie Smith*

(* - midseason firing potential)

Ah, now that's more like it. A robust ten coaches on the firing line. Tremendous. I think Lovie is the next to go. He won't even notice that they've fired him until a week later. "Wait, what? I was fired! NO WAIT! I DISPUTE THAT!"

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Summer sausage! Oh, summer sausage. So firm. So long. I could take you all in. I don't see why you should only be designated as a seasonal food item. You work perfectly as a winter sausage, spring sausage, and autumnal sausage as well. I could eat summer sausage until I had nitrates coming out of my pores… AND I HAVE.

I love sausage. I could eat it at every meal for the rest of my life and have no complaints. Regular meat is great. Ah, but what if you ground up the grossest cuts of the meat, mixed in some fennel seed, and then stuffed it all in a section of a sheep's digestive tract? MAGIC. Every meat tastes better in sausage form, and I'm at a loss as to why. Is it the trace amount of feces? I think it's the trace amount of feces.

Gametime Cheap Cider Of The Week
White Lightning! Our night editor Barry Petchesky writes:

I've got to nominate White Lightning, a highlight of my London study abroad program a few years back. It's hard cider, sold in supermarkets in 3-liter bottles, for CHEAPER than an equivalent amount of soda. We only found out after we left England that it's the hobos' drink of choice.

Of course it is. Look at that shit. It really does look like stale urine. I also like the 50% MORE FREE on the label. "Hey, it only costs us three cents a barrel to make this in our bathtub. Here's 50% more for free. Fuck it." I love the label. Oh, I'll ride that lightning. Bonus points for having the same name as a cut from "Adrenalize". And, as luck would have it, the song "White Lightning" was dedicated to deceased Def Leppard guitarist Steve Clark, who died from alcoholism. It's romantic, when you think about it.

I also like that the bottle and glass are placed on the floor in this shot. This is a drink meant to be consumed on floors or while lying on concrete. You don't drink this stuff while sitting in a chair. It just isn't done. Way too pretentious.

Robert Evans' MVP Watch!
Time to start thinking about who the leaders are for the NFL's MVP award. So every week, legendary Hollywood producer Robert Evans will join us to give us his assessment. Take it away, Mr. Evans.

"Baby, my favorite for the NFL's MVP this year is Drew Brees of the Saints! Prolific? You bet! Great guy? ONLY THE BEST. I don't why know why everyone is jumping all over my good friend Tiger Woods for cheating on his wife. WE'RE ALL TIGERS, BABY. You gotta let us prowl! I remember when I married Ali McGraw, and she asked me, ‘Evans, do you promise to always be faithful to me?' And I said, "McGraw, not a chance in hell. I'll love you forever, sweetheart. Gorgeous? You bet! Feisty? AS ALL HELL. But I'm a man, McGraw. Evans loves to love women, and they love to love him! No, why would I throw all that away just because I'm married to you? Baby, I promise you only one thing: You'll always be the one I nail at the end of every business day!' And she was okay with it! ALI GOT IT. And that's why we were such a great couple. Until she fucked Steve McQueen. What kind of horrible woman cheats on her man? That's not right, baby!"

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Browns Fans

Up In The Air. I haven't seen this yet, but I do know that George Clooney plays a guy whose job consists solely of laying people off. I've been laid off four times in my life, including in June, when my ad agency had to lay me off due to the economy (the poop stories, oddly enough, they didn't mind). Every time I've been laid off, I've always felt terrible for the person who had to pull the trigger. You can see in their eyes how much it bothers them. They spend a lot of time prefacing the firing because it's so hard to get the actual words, "you're employment has been terminated" out. I'd rather eat a jar of mayo than lay someone off.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Don't have a stereotypical view of me just because I'm your mother. I know: how about we play the basketball? I'm no Harvey Globetrotter, but…"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: Favorite of boners around the world Keeley Hazell. (NSFWSC) Tastefully done, but definitely ALL NUDE. That's important. Very important. To be tasteful.
-For the gals: Dreamy Doug Pickett. We could be twins!

Enjoy the games, everyone.

"It's important to remember that a signature is how a person wants to be perceived by the public. It happens very often that a person's regular writing is completely different from the signature and reveals a different personality. In this case, the signature is more than just a scribble. There's a simplicity there. He wants to be understood."

"The entire name is written in a perfectly horizontal direction, almost as if there were an invisible line under it. It's rigid. This is probably due to his keen visual judgment and co-ordination, and here it suggests a certain level of calculation."

"The middle-zone letters are all nicely connected in a rounded, garlanded manner. It takes more time to connect letters in a rounded fashion than an angular one, and this is not often found in a signature. That shows a methodical and friendly approach to his everyday life and his work. An angry person would have jabby, angular connectors, more like a child's scribble. Tiger has warmth — calculated warmth. Also, the 'i' dot is way to the right. He's writing, and thinking, quickly. "

"Look at the 'g' and the 'o's. They're not closed like they should be. When you see open ovals, you can usually assume that the person likes to talk, and not necessarily in a straightforward manner. With criminals, we often see an open oval on the bottom of the letter. That's bad news. But that's not what we see here."

"The high upper zone indicates a high level of intelligence. It's very striving. The zone also speaks to the writer's superego. His upper zone is very straight and not loopy at all. It's rigid. Maybe he doesn't allow himself to have fun. Very often, people who consider themselves restrained have to loosen their chains and go the other way."

"The unusual formation of the 'W' has the last stroke pointing toward the left, which represents the past. In graphology, this direction is always analyzed as being past-oriented as long as the writing goes from left to right. Tiger is very past-oriented. That probably has to do with his father, though we don't know."

"On the other hand, the ending stroke of the 's' shows an energetic motion toward the right side of the paper, an orientation to the future. We call that horizontal energy. He's ambitious. He has a desire for perfection and success, and you can see it in the way he reaches out from the 's.' In addition, when you end a signature and pull the last letter to the right, is it always this straight? It usually goes a little up or even a little down. In his case, he's razor-sharp. It really does fit his professional personality to a T."

"The dramatic loop in the 'g' suggests physical well-being. Sometimes, a lower-zone loop looks like a moneybag. People who have those shapes in the lower zone are very often materialistic and money-hungry. His is not the shape of a moneybag. It's a very healthy-looking closed loop. It's sensual, and it indicates that, yes, he has a healthy sex drive."

Lenny Dykstra
Featured black men on the cover of his magazine.
Charged charter flight to his mother's credit card.
Hammered by HBO. (Finally.)
Filed for bankruptcy.
Played dirty.
Slept in car.
Pawned the rest of his belongings.

PREVIOUS NOMINEES
Erin Andrews

• Yikes. The Daily Beast lays out how much money it will cost Tiger to keep Elin as his obedient Swedish house pet: $5 million now, $55 million for two more years of servitude. Preferably, without the whole golf club-chasing thing. [The Daily Beast]

• Oh, and what happened to that NY Post story about the National Enquirer reportedly shaking Tiger down? It's vanished! [GeoffShackleford]

• Gregg Doyel opens up, pops a boner: " Tiger Woods' sex life matters to me. There. I said it. And you can believe it, because it's true. This isn't reverse psychology or sarcasm or anything else. This is an admission: I'm fascinated by Tiger Woods' sex life." [CBS Sports]

• A psychologist is asked by the Daily News why Tiger would do such a thing give how attractive Elin is? "Boredom," random pysch-dude suggests. How about this — because Tiger is an ego-centric athlete who needs to collect as much pussy as possible because he's a hard-wired competitor who will try to whoop your ass at ping pong or video games or punchbuggy or whatever potentially competitive environment you put him in. [NYDailyNews]

Erin Andrews
Joked with Bill Cosby.
Turned 31.
Hit by foul ball.
Attacked by tiger.
Snooped in a hotel.
Confirmed the snooping.
Caused kvetching.
Splashed across New York Post front page.
Called 911.
Posed for GQ.
Talked to Oprah.
Went back to work.
Busted that peeper punk.
Seriously, check out that dude.

The statement:

I have let my family down and I regret those transgressions with all of my heart. I have not been true to my values and the behavior my family deserves. I am not without faults and I am far short of perfect. I am dealing with my behavior and personal failings behind closed doors with my family. Those feelings should be shared by us alone.

Although I am a well-known person and have made my career as a professional athlete, I have been dismayed to realize the full extent of what tabloid scrutiny really means. For the last week, my family and I have been hounded to expose intimate details of our personal lives. The stories in particular that physical violence played any role in the car accident were utterly false and malicious. Elin has always done more to support our family and shown more grace than anyone could possibly expect.

But no matter how intense curiosity about public figures can be, there is an important and deep principle at stake which is the right to some simple, human measure of privacy. I realize there are some who don't share my view on that. But for me, the virtue of privacy is one that must be protected in matters that are intimate and within one's own family. Personal sins should not require press releases and problems within a family shouldn't have to mean public confessions.

Whatever regrets I have about letting my family down have been shared with and felt by us alone. I have given this a lot of reflection and thought and I believe that there is a point at which I must stick to that principle even though it's difficult.

I will strive to be a better person and the husband and father that my family deserves. For all of those who have supported me over the years, I offer my profound apology.

And it's working, if TigerWoods.com's carefully monitored comments section is any indication of global sentiment. I think Sonylos1966 speaks, if not for all of us, then at least for his fellow Nike interns, when he writes: "Apoligy accepted!"

UPDATE: Amusing exchange in the TigerWoods.com mailbag, teased just below his "comment on current events":

Do you enjoy playing so far away from home? I can imagine that, now that you have children, it's got to be hard to be so far away from them.
- Rupert from Houston

You're exactly right, Rupert. Now, it's very difficult to leave Elin and the children, and I'm sure it's only going to get tougher. ...

Tiger comments on current events [TigerWoods.com]

As one perceptive mind puts it, this idea will "blow your damn mind." And yes, the idea of two extra weeks of football gives me a good-sized chubby. Let's look at the unsourced details as reported by the Post:

Among the changes under discussion are playing games on Thursdays and Saturdays for the entire season — not just at the end of the season, and playing at least eight games a year outside the US [ed note: hello, London Jaguars!].

Cramming 32 more games a year into TV schedules will be a challenge — as will deciding whether to cut the pre-game schedule by two or expand the season by two weeks.

This is too good to be true. It will shorten the mid-February sports wasteland. It'll stop teams from forcing you to buy two preseason games in your season ticket package. An extra two weeks plus an off-day means you get to play every other team in your fantasy league twice, evening things out.

So it'd be good for fans. But what about the players? You already hear them complain about the length of the season, so there's no way the NFLPA would let this fly. At least, not without a corresponding increase in salaries across the board, something the owners will never agree to.

For the league, it may not be the best PR move to put their players through additional punishment in the midst of a controversy over concussions. But never mind that; already, the teams that play into January are often the ones that stay healthy. With an 18-week season, no one will stay healthy. And while Jeff Hostetler and Tom Brady may make second-stringers starting in the playoffs seem sexy, it rarely works out so Disney-like.

I also don't think the NCAA is going to like this. The proposal moves games to Saturdays, and could bump the start of the season into prime college football dates before Labor Day. College football's not going to appreciate that competition, and it never pays to piss off a minor-league system that you get for free.

How about money? That's an extra 32 games the league has to put on, which ain't cheap. Some teams are already hurting; 14 franchises lost or didn't gain value last year, and that's before interest or taxes are figured in. Try telling Oakland or Seattle that they've got to play two more weeks, and see how receptive their fans will be to paying more money to cover the costs.

Look, we all want more football. It's God's sport, and we're lucky to have it. But let's not go overboard trying to make a good thing better, especially if we run the risk of making things worse.

Two More NFL Games A Year? Where To Put Them [NY Post]
The NFL Wants To Blow Your Damn Mind [Second-String Fullback]
The Business Of Football, 2009 [Forbes]

The Steelers and Bears lost big games this weekend, and the frustration mounted to the point of manufactured controversy. On the Sunday Night Football broadcast, Ward opened up to Bob Costas:

This game is almost like a playoff game. It's almost a must-win. I could see some players or teammates questioning, like, 'It's just a concussion. I've played with a concussion before. I would go out there and play.' So, it's almost like a 50-50 toss-up in the locker room, you know? Should he play? Shouldn't he play? It's really hard to say. I've been out there dinged up. The following week, got right back out there."

Only problem is, Big Ben's brain doctor told him that his brain wasn't in playing shape. So today Ward apologized to Roethlisberger via Facebook, which is apparently what you do when you've got more than 140 characters to write.

I would never question a man's toughness playing in a STEELER unif. I didn't mean to cause such a stir. My frustration was based on the fact that this was a big game for us to stay in the playoff picture and having Ben out there gave us our best opp to win in Balt. I was frustrated because there was no indication of... Ben not being able to play because he practiced a normal routine this week (wed, thurs and fri)."

[snip]

"I know Ben wanted to play this game but the docs told him he's down, and with that we trust our docs with their decisions. We would never jeopardize anyone's health for a game of football. Life is way to precious. One thing about Ben, he is a WINNER. We just wanted this game so badly."

So, all's well in Pittsburgh. These things are easier to get past when you're probably playoff bound. But in Chicago, Urlacher had this to say (obliquely) about Jay Cutler:

I hate the way our identity has changed. We used to establish the run and wear teams down and try not to make mistakes, and we'd rely on our defense to keep us in the game and make big plays to put us in position to win...Kyle Orton might not be the flashiest quarterback, but the guy is a winner, and that formula worked for us. I hate to say it, but that's the truth."

Today, he was asked to clarify. He clarified very little:

I'm not taking a shot at Jay. I'm not one bit taking a shot at Jay. He throws it better, right? And we haven't tried to run the ball as much. That's true. But Kyle has won games. His formula works. So I'm not taking a shot at Jay or Kyle."

Let's translate athlete-speak into English. Urlacher had originally said "the team needs to stop throwing so much, because Cutler is a bust who can't stop throwing interceptions and is costing the team games." His carefully considered remarks two days later are that "the team needs to stop throwing so much, because Cutler is a bust who can't stop throwing interceptions and is costing the team games. But I'm not taking a shot at Jay."

The lesson: get yourself a Facebook page, Brian. As of press time, more than 1100 people clicked the little thumbs-up icon next to Ward's comments.

Hines Ward Facebook Page [Facebook]
Brian Urlacher Says Comments About Chicago Bears Teammates Not Meant To Be Derogatory [Chicago Tribune]

The police have decided that Tiger Woods wasn't drunk and wasn't hopped up on pain pills when he slammed his Cadillac Escalade into a fire hydrant and a tree in front of his home, but he did crash his car on a city street and that's a no-no. They're giving him a ticket for careless driving, which carries a fine of $164 (payable in ball markers) and four points on his license.

However, since neither Mr. or Mrs. Woods is filing a domestic violence charge and there isn't enough evidence to pursue an assault investigation without a complaining witness, the authorities consider the matter closed. Legally, he's out of the woods. So to speak.

However, the court of public opinion will not be adjourning anytime soon. The National Enquirer may or may not have been barking up the wrong tree when they first tabbed Rachel Uchitel as Eldrick's mistress, but there appear to be plenty of other candidates willing to fess up to doing the dirty deed.

Woods tried to protect his wife by making her out to be a hero, but the jig is up. His private life, fiercely protected for most his adult life, is now open for business. And it looks like business will be good.

What remains to be seen is how many women will come out of the woodwork, how long Elin Nordegren will stand by her man, and how quickly Tiger can rehabilitate his image with the kind of people who buy Prudential Life Insurance and $500 drivers. Perhaps the Chinese have a simulation for that?

Deadspin's Tiger Woods Coverage