Henry, who hasn't played since going on injured reserve early last month, was in Charlotte to discuss wedding plans with his fiancée, according to his agent.

At some point this afternoon, they got into a "domestic situation." Police say the fiancée drove away in the pickup truck, and Henry jumped in the back. They continued arguing. A half-mile from the home, he fell out the back of the truck.

Update: Gerry Fraley of the Dallas Morning News reports the accident was fatal. So far, no one else is confirming this. And the account appears to be fake.

Update: Joe Reedy of the Cincinnati Enquirer reports that Henry suffered head injuries, but as far as he knows is still alive.

Update: The Kentucky Post reports that homicide detectives are investigating. This doesn't necessarily mean it would be classified as a homicide.

Update: Alex Marvez of FOXSports reports that Henry is on life support.

Update: TMZ is, of course, all over this. Just today, fiancée Loleini Tonga was bragging to friends about having bought their wedding rings. Jesus.

Update: A source tells FanHouse that "we don't think he's going to make it."

Update: A statement from Henry's agents: "We ask everyone to pray for Chris. We also ask that you respect the privacy of Chris' family. Chris is indeed battling for his life tonight, and our thoughts and prayers our with him during this extremely difficult time."

Update: A reader informs us that a witness to the accident told local news that Henry was "foaming at the mouth."

According to a source, this woman is part of the elite inner-circle (which appears to be more and more like a bungling bunch of wannabe Illuminati) with Tiger's old college teammate Jerry Chang and childhood pal Bryon Bell. Trahan shimmied into the Tiger crew after she met Chang a few years ago. She came up through the Chicago social scene — was a friend of Jordan's, Barkley's, that crew — and even lived with The Big Hurt, Frank Thomas, for a couple years. That above picture is from a 2003 Sex and the City party that she attended with then-boyfriend Chris Albrecht, who is a big swinging drunken dick in his own right. She is 39 years old and now lives in Manhattan with a dude from Goldman.

For a woman who seems to run with a pretty elite list of people, she's amazingly un-Google-able. All of this elbow-rubbing with athletes and moguls, yet she's like the Keyser Söze of the internet. Now, her role: According to the source, Trahan (along with Chang) were responsible for introducing Tiger to accused mistress number umpteen, Theresa Rogers. This initial meet-up occurred pre-Elin, but it's been reported that Roberts was still Tiger booty after the marriage. What's more interesting about Trahan is that she was apparently (according to the source) a member of Tiger's private plane posse. This woman has a lot of insight into what the super-rich and super-famous do during their downtime — not just Tiger, but all of the corporate big-wigs who partook in whatever carousing occurred on some of these Tiger jaunts. But, alas, she's a vault, because what happens in Dubai, stays in Dubai. For now. Until the gossip rags swarm. Hurry.

If any readers know more information about this woman, please don't hesitate to unload on me.

This is the last mailbag for two weeks. I'll be off next week for the holiday, and back for the week of New Year's.

Before I get into the mail, a quick personal note. Last night, I was up for two hours in the middle of the night with a nasty bout of back pain. I couldn't find a comfortable position. Lying down. Legs on a pillow. Head on a pillow. On the floor. On the recliner. There was nowhere for me to go without doubling over in fucking agony. I have a rotten spine, the result of two surgeries and likely a youth filled with playing untold amounts of Smear the Queer and lifting free weights in college with the absolute worst form possible (ARCH THAT BACK, BOYS!). Also, I am fat. I'm 260 pounds, and that can't possibly be good for a crap back. I lie about this weight everywhere, even to the gym equipment. What does the fucking gym equipment care? I have no idea, but I lie like a little shit to it anyway. I have to lose weight if I ever want to be able to pick up my kid without pain again. That means cutting down on boozing (BOOO), cutting out sweets (BOOO), and eating more fruits and vegetables (FUCKING BARF).

I have found, as I grow older, that life has a delightful way of taking your vices from you, one by one. You can't eat too much, or you'll have a heart attack. You can't drink too much, or you'll get fat. Or you'll be an alcoholic, but whatever. Being fat is way worse than being an alcoholic. You can't stay up late, or else it ruins your fucking shit the next day. Basically, unless you have Anthony Bourdain's heroin metabolism, you end up not being able to do much of anything.

That is why I say to you youthful folk out there right now: CHOW FUCKING DOWN. For real, this is your only chance to be fat and drunk and irresponsible with very little permanent consequences, apart from people finding you superficially repugnant. I should have eaten more when I was young. I should have done WAY more drugs. I should have been doubly irresponsible, because now I can't even come close to being the complete waste of life I've always yearned to be. You young people have the rest of adulthood to be productive and athletic. NOW is the only real chance you have to embrace your slothfulness and be a total goddamn pig. Make it happen. There is bacon I now cannot eat that has your name all over it. Do it now, before old age buttfucks all the guilty pleasures right out of you.

Let's get to the mail.

Andrew:

I'm taking a couple art classes and have been attending live modeling sessions. The models are different every week, and are usually middle aged (men and women). I walked in to the last one, however, and found before me a particularly attractive nubile young lass. Throughout the three hours, I'm sitting there trying to stave off a chub while wondering if there was any conceivable way I could hit on this girl at the end of the session. What's your stance on this? I didn't actually go through with it, because it just seemed way too creepy—my friend likened it to a gynecologist asking out a patient. I tend to agree. It was also tough to figure out if I would be attracted to her under other circumstances; for the first time in my life I was trying to picture a girl with her clothes on. My question: do I shamelessly ask her out if she turns up at another session?

I'm not sure there's a more difficult phone number to score than that of the nude model in your art class. It's in the same class as trying to ask out your waitress, your stripper (if you are not rich or a famous person), or your teacher on site. The problem is, if you ask her out after class, then it smacks of distastefulness. She's taking her clothes off for the class and assuming you have the discretion to not think about banging the living daylights out of her while she's up there all vulnerable and exposed (women are always wishful thinkers in this way). Asking her out after class just confirms to her you are a disgusting pig who never took the class seriously and you were only in it for the Spank Bank material.

What if you asked her if she could model for one of your works, CLOTHED, outside of class? You could even pay her, like a freelance modeling gig. Then, you'd be able to paint her in a less awkward situation, talk to her one on one, and perhaps figure out if she's intrigued in the process. She could be your muse! If she liked you enough, you could soon paint her tits with white chocolate. CLASSY.

Adam:

I know there are many personal plates out there that make your skin crawl just like it makes mine. I have to see one 5 times a week at work…on a new Range Rover…the plate reads "YESITIS" Yes it is what? Yes it is a Range Rover? Thanks for clarifying, douche.

Odds that Range Rover also had an OBX Euro decal on it? 1,000%

Dave:

Ever enjoying a really great piss, when all of a sudden your chin lets lose the bundled shirt because you've foolishly lifted your head distracted by something, or you just didn't take the time to secure it properly. Down comes the iron curtain cutting your stream and resulting in a soaked shirt and pants... fuck all else you can do but douse it with water in an attempt to dilute the yellow mark of shame and dry it under a hand dryer, like a bum.

Now, wait a second. Did you just say you tuck your shirt under your chin when you piss? Is this a common thing? What kind of shirt do you wear that requires such drastic action? Is this a kimono?

The only time I piss on my shirt is when I have a button down on. Button downs, of course, are much longer than a t-shirt or sweatshirt. But usually, if untucked, I just unzip and let the little fella poke out between the two shirt flaps. Sometimes, a flap goes rogue and ends up in the stream, which is awful. But that's pretty few and far between. I just love the idea of going into a public urinal and flashing your nips to everyone because you don't want piss on your shirt.

NMB:

I am a huge fan of all the holiday specific flavors like egg nog, pumpkin, peppermint, and gingerbread. These flavors are delicious, why limit ourselves to two months when we could have a full year of them? Are dairy farmers under strict orders from the government forbidding them of releasing egg nog year round for fear of escalating are already ridiculous obesity percentage? I want my liquid fat and eggs in summer, too. The best part of egg nog is the steroided Yellow Russians you can make with them. Aside from the bread and butter, rum and egg nog, what's your favorite holiday alcoholic beverage?

My favorite holiday alcoholic beverage is whiskey, which is luckily not sold seasonally. I too get frustrated with limited time foods. You can only buy Cadbury Crème Eggs at Easter, which is an agonizing wait every year.

Also, my wife is a HUGE seasonal eater. So if it's July and I say to her, "Hey, how about some chili?", she'll balk and declare it a winter food. But I want chili. WHO ARE YOU TO DECLARE CHILI OUT OF SUMMER'S JURISDICTION?!

Aaron:

What's your take on people who tell you exactly what they want for Christmas? I have a brother-in-law who will call me at the beginning of December every year and tell me exactly what he wants for Christmas. It's always just one thing and usually a DVD or something similar. He calls everyone who will be getting him a gift and does the same thing.

I'm sort of torn because, he's an asshole for doing this, but at the same time, I hate Christmas shopping, so just picking up a specific item is much, much easier. BTW, he's 27 years old.

That's the bitch of Christmas. You don't want to go into shopping flying blind, because that's horrid. But if someone tells you exactly what they want and that's what you end up getting them and they already know that, then the magic is GONE. Eh, what are you gonna do. Thank him for making your life easier. Beats my folks, who always insist they don't want anything every year. "Oh, we're fine." Oh yeah? Not with my boot in your ass, it isn't. You will get a gift and you will fucking LIKE IT.

James:

Ever have a monster log, and it plops down and hits the water causing a splash, which sends toilet water directly into the center of your bunghole?...I don't hate it.

Me neither. I know some people are terrified of splashback. But hey, it's hitting your asshole. It's not like that's the cleanest spot on Earth. You weren't gonna eat sushi off it later.

On a complete tangent, I've never ranked sushi in order of preference. Just the basic rolls. Not toro or sea urchin or the fancy stuff. Here's a quick attempt:

1. Yellowtail/Scallion
2. Eel/Avocado
3. Tuna/Avocado
4. Salmon
5. California Roll
6. Cucumber

Cucumber rolls. What a fucking waste.

Emily:

As someone with experience in advertising, any thoughts on this new CBS angle of hyping music in their dramas? This makes no sense to me. "Well, I don't ever watch or have any interest in The Mentalist, but now that there's an episode featuring music by Train..."

Yeah, that makes no sense. All that tell you is that you will be subjected to MORE than one musical montage. One of those, "Hey, let's just take a break from having to advance the story by showing people sad." TELL ME! DID THE WIND SWEEP YOU OFF YOUR FEEEEETTTT?!!!

Chris:

Living in the predominantly white Midwest, I've noticed a disturbing trend of people giving their children names that end in the "den" sound (Aidan, Grayden, Jayden, Brayden, etc.). Is this white people's preppy answer to black people putting La-, Ja-, Da-, etc. in front of normal names (JaMarcus, LaMichael, DeJuan, etc.)?

Yes. In fact, according to babycenter.com, two of the top ten baby names for boys this year are Aiden (#4) and Jayden (#9). Jayden? More like GAYden, am I right? Huh? Huh?

But yeah, I would argue that white kids now have sillier names than black kids. White people seem incapable these days of giving their kids normal names like Matt or Mike. No, no. They have to make a statement. That's how you end up with white kids with names like Buxton, and Hotchkiss, and God knows what else. If it sounds like a prep school I attended, it's been slapped on a baby within the past few years.

Sam:

I am watching the Chargers-Dallas game. (I live in the SF Bay Area. Raiders are blacked out. I have Comcast.) The game comes back from commercial with a wonderful shot of the Cowboy cheerleaders shot from a low angle focusing on their legs. What does CBS do? Run their fucking animated logo over the middle of the screen. All I can see are boots. What the hell? DIE CBS!

Yeah, that's been a real epidemic lately. Before, they just did quick cutaways to cheerleaders. Now, they have long cheerleader shots obscured by a goddamn graphic. Well, how am I supposed to masturbate to that? It's ridiculous. If you're gonna show cheerleaders, TV people, fucking show them. Give me enough time to unbuckle and do what I need to do. Quit being so gunshy. Assholes.

In fact, I see no reason why FAVRE CAM technology can't be used for good. Why not just train one camera on the cheerleaders all game long and stream it? FUCK AND YEAH, THAT WOULD RULE.

Matt:

Do you get that feeling of accomplishment when you can take a massive shit during a timeout in the game you're watching? I unloaded a morning-after-barbecue-and-drinking dump today between the first and second quarters of the Bears game. Normally, this would have been a 15-minute, two magazine article art piece, but I ripped that fucker in two minutes flat and was back in time for football.

That's great hustle.

/slaps you on your poopy ass

I try and time my poops so I don't miss anything. But TV networks have a way of saving their fastest commercial breaks exactly for the times I try and shit. Then I come back to my chair, and it's a ten-minute ad break.

Stokes:

Not that I'm trying to reignite the great poo-wiping war of '09, but toilet paper goes overhand, right? I consider a Simpsons reference to mean "DONE," but your stand vs. sit column (sitter and back-to-fronter here) shattered my universe enough already.

I always put it in overhand. My mom installs it underhand, which drives me insane. Sometimes I have that issue where I can't find where the roll begins, so I roll it around a couple times to find the beginning. I'll do this at my mom's house and end up inadvertently unrolling half the roll because I forgot she does it underhand.

Mike:

A few years back, I was visiting New York City while in college. I went out to eat with my friends at a restaurant with very attentive service, which means that I drank about half a gallon of water. About 5 minutes after we left the restaurant, I had to piss. Badly. And there was nothing in sight but jewelry stores.

My bladder slowly began to fill to dangerous levels. I lost the ability to stand upright, and it was like how I imagine a nearly-ruptured appendix feels. Upon finally finding a Borders, I rushed into the bathroom and found an open urinal. My bladder was so full that it took 5 seconds of peeing before it stopped hurting (I spent this entire five seconds seriously thinking it must have burst, and that my abdomen was full of piss). After that, I spent a long time in a state of urination euphoria.

Once that subsided, it occurred to me that I still had a lot of piss to go, so I decided to time myself. Using the ever-reliable "one-mississippi" system, I counted, from that point, to 52 seconds. My conservative estimation is that I was peeing, at maximum force, for 65 seconds.

From then on, I started timing myself every time I really had to go, and sometimes just for the hell of it. I've never again gone past even the 52 seconds I actually counted on the first time.

I'm curious to see if anyone else does this, and how long they've gone. Rules are, first burst to first break. No counting the residual squirts, and no holding back to increase time (not that any right-minded person would do this, it would feel awful).

I have never done this, and my weak bladder would almost certainly have no shot. I invite others to try and top Mike's record.

The worst I ever had to piss was on a flight from Columbus to Washington. At the Columbus airport, I drank two liter glasses of beer right before getting on board. Then the plane took off, there was massive turbulence, and for some reason, I never bothered to do the "Commando" thing where you get up when the light is on anyway to piss and tell the stewardess, "I-uh aim ay-uh sick." I usually happily ignore the Fasten light to go piss. Anyway, this time I didn't, and I thought I was gonna fucking die. It was agony I'd never wish on any man. When the plane landed, I literally shoved women and children out of the way to get to the head. If I was ever gonna top 52 seconds, that would be it. My stream was the width of the fucking Amazon that night.

Patrick:

I have adopted a unique pooping technique that I heard about through a friend. It's called the AC Slater, and when my friend introduced to it to me as such, I knew exactly what it meant. Concordantly, I now sit reverse, facing the "upper deck" of the toilet. It's kinda awkward at first, and if someone sees your feet facing the opposite way under the stall door, they might be alarmed. However, you can rest your head on the top of the upper deck when tired. Plus, you feel trendy and a little dangerous while you're doing it. Also, I'm thinking of developing a way to put some ropes with handles into the wall above the toilet, so that way you can really anchor yourself in and lean way back so as to get a different angle on the bowl. Very innovative.

Why stop there? Why not put a horsey head on top of the tank and hold onto the reins? LOOK AT YOU, YOU'RE A SHITTIN' BRONCO!

Hank Scorpio:

Any thoughts on the December holiday candy/snack scene? You've got the Chanukah gold foil wrapped chocolate coins (Rolf must wish those came with a chewy Heeb nougat center), chocolate enrobed peppermint oreos, mint M&Ms, Christmas tree peeps and so on. What are your favorites?

Don't forget butter cookies, gingerbread men, glazed pecans, and those little white, powdery cookies with the nuts inside. Those are lovely. I could eat Holiday M&M's by the fucking barrel.

MC:

I've been in the oil industry for 18 years. A major western oil company built a floating rig in the Caspian Sea with Western accommodations but part of the deal was they had to hire locals to run it. It seems the populace in Azerbaijan's idea of a toilet is a slit in the ground. Once the rig started operating there were a large number of lost time injuries that baffled everyone. It was the crapper. Slit guys did not know how to deal with a porcelain throne. So they did what they knew and stood on the rim to piss and crap into the slit. On a floating vessel. All of the lost time injuries were from guys climbing on the pot, slipping off and busting their asses.

Said western oil company had to include a class on crapper usage for all current and future employees in this region of the world.

And THAT is why gas is three goddamn dollars a gallon.

Niall:

While wiping, do you check to see the results on the toilet paper? Three of the four of us absolutely agreed we all check out the TP while wiping to know when we're finished, but the last guy said he doesn't ever look, he just "knows" when he's done. How the hell could anyone have such confidence in their is-there-still-shit-on-my-butt sensing abilities? Apparently this has worked for him his whole life, which makes me think he frequently suffers from itchy-poop-ass. He was somewhat disgusted by the thought that we're checking out our own poop smears, but given the potential consequences is not looking even an option to be considered?

Yeah, not looking is crazy talk. You have to look. I usually know what's in store for me when I'm wiping. But that doesn't mean my instinct is foolproof. Ever think you did a minimal amount of damage, then look at the paper and it looks like Heinz Field? Horrifying.

Also, I'll have those sessions where I just wipe and look and wipe and look and I can't ever seem to get to that end-goal "white wipe" that lets you know all the poop has been dismissed. Those sessions are awful.

Jazbo:

You drop down a sticky log, wipe and flush and go away. Come back an hour later to piss, and there is that awesome poop residue sticking to that nice white toilet. Is this THE greatest challenge a man can face? Can you force out a stream of piss hard/fast enough to clean that bowl clean? It can also be dangerous because you squeeze so hard to make that force stream, you may drop some crap on the floor.

You know what I do? I pinch. I pinch and get as big of a buildup as I can, and then I release. It's like a dam bursting. Immensely satisfying. I do that even if there's no clean up duty to be done. I just like the idea of making as loud and big a splash as possible. Sometimes, I even yell out CANNONBALL before I let go. The piss pinch is always fun.

Nate:

While I don't know any standers, a friend of mine once described his wiping technique and I found it startling. Instead of taking a clump of toilet paper that would give one confidence that enough material could keep from tearing during a standard wipe, my friend would take the roll and proceed to wrap his entire hand in toilet paper as if he was putting a bandage on an injured appendage. He would then wipe, open handed, using the wrapped hand.

HE'S A MUMMY!

Adam:

Have you ever tried to wipe with your "off" hand? It is fucking impossible. I had never thought about it, but one day my dad challenged me to try it. I have never been so goddamn frustrated in my life. I'd rather write out War & Peace with my left hand than ever try wiping with it again.

I think I tried it once. It's impossible. But usually, when I think to try something new in the shitter, I go on autopilot and completely forget to try it.

Jason:

I really don't get the standing. I've never seen a toilet paper dispenser anywhere higher than what would be just above knee level while standing, often it's lower (I'm 6'2"). Do standers collect several wads, stand and go, or do they keep squatting/bending down to get more?

It's true. Sitting appears to be industry standard. And what if you're at the gym, and you have one of those giant dispensers that lets you toggle between two rolls, only you have to switch it so that it goes to the other roll, and you have to do that all while standing, possibly with a turdburger dangling from your asshair? NIGHTMARE.

Mike:

A former co-worker in my office was known for his epic dumps. His obsession with dumping rivals only yours. One day he had a poo epiphany… he kept saying "Smitty, I'm going to ICE IT DOWN!" I of course, had no clue what this meant. Dude proceeds to walk out to the ice machine, gets 5 big scoops and fills up the pot with said ice. Needless to say, it would take a few flushes for the ice to give… and the mammoth anaconda like turds his 350lb body produced? On a huge pile of ice? Nightmare fuel to say the least.

That's awesome. The ice would also serve to harden the turd, like chewing gum, making it harder to flush. DIABOLICAL.

David:

The girlfriend and I are finishing up brushing our teeth the other night when I notice a chunk of lint in my belly button. I pull it out, and this thing is about the size of a lima bean. I have no idea how long it's been there, but I'd just pulled off a shirt I'd been wearing for the previous fourteen hours.

I pull it out and show her. She was instantly disgusted, so I threatened to touch her with it, and she recoiled in horror, nearly stepping into the shower to get away from me. At which point I stick it on my tongue in front of her. As soon as I did, she began screaming and shoving me out the bathroom door. I pulled this now soggy piece of lint off my tongue and dropped it down her shirt. More screaming that this is the most disgusting thing that she's ever had happen to her, until I reminded her that she's licked my asshole.

For about three seconds, she got a look on her face like some high school freshman thinking over a particularly tough algebra problem, and then put her finger in my chest and insisted it's totally different and the lint was way more disgusting.

Please confirm that I'm not crazy and that belly button lint in my mouth in no way compares to analingus.

Yeah, BB lint is just shirt lint. It's not fungus or anything. Put it this way, Dave. I'd rather give you a bellyjob than toss your salad.

Women are odd about bellybuttons, though. Mine is completely insensitive. You could jam a thumb in there and I wouldn't mind (I've got the depth). But some girls… you go near their bellybutton and they fucking FREAK. Relax, lady. I'm not trying to puncture you.

Confused in CA:

I have a kid. He's a good kid. He's enthusiastic about reading. He always has his head in a book. He talks about the book he's reading on our commute to school.

I should be happy, right? I should be thrilled right?

Well, I am — but not really.

See, the writer he's fallen in love with, the writer that has changed his life, is none other than Mike Lupica. Apparently the Lupica we all know and hate has written a series of sports books for middle schoolers. I've glanced at them and they're sort of like the Matt Christopher books I/we read as kids. Maybe they're aimed at a slightly older audience — the Christopher books were more for elementary school kids — but if you read The Kid Who Only Hit Home Runs or Little Lefty — you get the idea.

My question is: Do I tell him what Lupica really is? Do I shatter his 8th grade enthusiasm and snuff out what might be my only chance to see my kid become a "reader" by letting him in on the dirty little secret that is Dirty Little Lupica?

No, but you have to trade your son for a new one immediately. Otherwise, you'll take him to a baseball game, and he'll pipe up some bullshit about steroids, and then you'll have to purposely blind him with piping hot nacho cheese.

Did you say this kid is in 8th grade? He's old enough. Talk to him about Lupica. Learning you hate Lupica is one of the great experiences of youth. Let him know just what kind of angry, gay leprechaun Lupica is. He'll thank you. I'd rather have a gay kid than a Lupica fan.

Pat:

Is there a certain food that if you eat it, you're guaranteed a huge dump? For me it's beets. Added bonus with beets is that you turn the bowl blood red.

Dried fruit. Dried fruit is a killer. Avoid dried fruit. It makes Gremlins in your toilet.

Ricky:

So, around this time last year me and my wife were shopping for an SUV to accommodate our soon to be born first child. We (my wife) decided on a Lexus. We go to the dealership and pick one out. They had those stupid gigantic bows on every car in the showroom. While we're filling out the paperwork, I sarcastically asked the salesman if the car comes with one of the gigantic bows.

Salesman: "Yes, but you have to bring it back."

Me: "What? People actually want to take the bows home?"

Salesman (who wasn't a complete idiot): "Oh yeah, every December almost everybody who gets a Lexus wants to take a bow home, you know, to surprise their significant other, but usually just to take their picture with the Lexus and the bow. So, that's why we let people take the bows home. Just gotta bring ‘em back."

Me: "If someone's buying a Lexus, shouldn't you just, you know, throw in the gigantic bow?"

Salesman: "Not my call."

Me: "What do you do if the bow isn't returned?"

Salesman: [Nervous laughter].

I couldn't believe it. There are people out there dumb enough to not only want the goddamn gigantic bow but who also want to live the fucking commercial and are willing to drive back to the dealer to return the gigantic bow in order to do so. The commercials are maddening, but apparently efficient. In sum, Lexus will keep using these gigantic bow commercials until everyone in the world who would actually want to have one of these gigantic bows is dead.

And no. We did not take home one of the gigantic bows.

I will email you some other time about why I hate the car. In the meantime, kindly stop praying for my death via neutron bomb. It was my wife's fault. And I'd prefer if you didn't pray for her death. I don't want to tell my son someday that his mother was killed because of a Lexus commercial starring a gigantic fucking holiday bow.

But what if I were to wish her to become entrapped and strangled by the bow? That the bow would come to life as some kind of undead, monster ribbon that feeds only on the shallow and materialistic? Can I pray for that?

I kid. I kid.

Patrick:

My girlfriend insists we vacuum under the couch and other large furniture every time we vacuum. I say once or twice a year is fine. We never look under there. What's the fucking problem? She also advocates cleaning BEHIND the toilet once a week. It's behind the toilet. Is that space ever going to stay clean for more than 10 seconds?

Never. Ever look behind a toilet? It's the other side of Hell. Piss. Toilet paper lint. Dead flies. It's terrifying, and cleaning it is guaranteed to destroy your knees and back. Worst of all, because of the piss, the woman always blames YOU for messing it up.

Silver Britches:

You had me until you called college football vastly inferior to the NFL. Fuck you, cocknose. DIE. The NFL is a massive fuckwad of 17-10 games played in sterile, noiseless monuments to civic clusterfuckedness. It's a nice way to come down off my Saturday homicidal rage.

You need only a few minutes to get through the 5 stages of football grief? You know how long it takes college football fans? FUCKING ETERNITY.

Go Dawgs, Hunker Down, and fuck your mother.

Got it. Let me just pencil that in on the calendar.

Chris:

Hey Drew, I'm moving in a few months and my future room-mate happens to be Latino. I've been to his apartment, and he puts his toilet paper in the trash can too. How can I convince to knock that shit off and flush like a normal, red-blooded American?

Piss in the trash can and see how he feels about it.

Dan:

You said your wife will listen to you after going to the bathroom to know if you washed your hands. Have you ever just run the faucet so she thinks you washed? I do that to my wife all the time. It also works great if you are at someone else's house. Just run the faucet and come out of the bathroom rubbing your hands together and on your pants so it looks like you washed.

I do indeed run the faucet and then turn it off without ever placing my hands under it, which is pure evil, when you think about it. How much harder is it to turn on the water and then place your hands under it? Too hard for me. There's a reason I'm 260.

Ryan:

Whenever I take a massive dump, I like to whip out the camera on my Blackberry and send a picture of it to all my friends. Because I have become very close to her, I have started to include my brother's fiancee in on the festivities. It has become so bad, that she won't open any text message pics from me anymore because she knows what's coming, thereby missing out on some Picasso's (My last one, I was told, look like a collection of geese poop). To circumvent this, I have decided to send her a Christmas card with a picture of my recent work enclosed in the card. Too much?

Too much.

Dany Heatley Speedwagon:

Urinating in your own shower. Acceptable? Yes/No?

I thought it was mandatory. Ever get a good yellow? I mean, it's alarming to know you're dehydrated, but nothing beats spraying neon yellow all over the shower floor. Cures Athlete's Foot, I think (NOTE: May actually cause Athlete's Foot).

Will:

At what age (or body mass) does trying to jump to touch low ceilings or overhangs stop being fun? It's one of those things I assumed people grew out of as they became adults, but I've been wrong before in assuming that people outgrew talking about shit, so I might be wrong on this too. So I ask you: when does it stop being the coolest thing in the world to be able to jump and touch the ceiling?

Never. It never gets old. We have low ceilings in the house, and I reach up and touch them all the time for no reason. I'm the only person in the house who can, so it's my subtle way of letting everyone know I'm crazy tall. Nor does it get old to jump and try and touch rim and fail.

Phony Gwynn:

Am I the only one who thinks washcloths are totally worthless? When somebody puts out a washcloth, what they're really saying is "Here, wet this piece of fabric that has been up someone's ass, rub that bar of soap on it, then put it on our face, your balls, and up your own ass. Then I'll wash it."

Anyone else ever wet a washcloth, slap in on their crotch so it sticks, and then pretend to be Tarzan for a few seconds until the cloth falls off? No? I do.

Jeff:

What constitutes a piss shake?

My post-evacuation routine consists of pulling to try and get the remnants to the end of the barrel. Then, I go with a little waggle, one more pull for posterity, and finally a few violent slings. My main goal is to make sure I avoid the leakage that gets on my freakin' boxers (which can seep onto the pants). But I don't want to be considered a perv at the urinal, trying to tug one out at the community trough. So, are my pulls part of my shake count?

I pull too! I pull it like it's fucking taffy. I also try working out the last of the piss like its toothpaste stuck in there. I think any defense to overhandling yourself in a public urinal can be countered with HEY WHY ARE YOU STARING AT MY JUNK WHAT ARE YOU GAY?!!!

Roman:

One of the salesmen where I work drives a Pontiac "Vibe" and told me he was going to get a personalized plate that read "Rator". I laughed. Lo and behold...he did. I'm not sure whether this is hilarious or retarded.

It's the former.

Mike:

You talk about stealing your kids food? I'm 24 and when I eat dinner with my parents my dad STILL tries to take the food off my plate. When I was younger, my mom would yell at him for not waiting until I was done. His excuse was "If I wait until he's done it'll get cold".

God, slow eaters are the fucking worst. Every family has at least one of them. They need a shot clock for people like this.

Anon:

What are your thoughts on the distance a fart's odor can travel? I share an office with a coworker who sits approximately six feet in front of me. I never hesitate to squeeze out silent farts, but I wait until the rankness subsides before I stand up and risk cropdusting the room, if you will. I wonder if she can smell these. For reference, she faces away from me and frequently has a small space heater blowing west to east. I face south. She has yet to say anything in the year we've shared said office.

Oh, she smells your foul shit. I've done the courtesy thing, where I stand outside the room to fart and try and clear out the gas before entering. I'll even try pulling down my pants and do the fart wave. But that shit sticks to you like an animal musk.

Fart are gaseous, and gas is made to disperse into any open space. They have good reach, and they travel well, like Nebraska fans.

Ward:

I was with my friends the other day and I had to pick a huge booger. However, I was too scared to do so because of public ridicule by my friends. This royally pisses me off. Everyone picks their nose but no one admits it publicly. Everyone does it! I bet if you looked under the desk in the Oval Office you would find some old Obama boogers. Can't we all admit we do it so when we have to it isn't a big deal?

I pick my nose all the time, and usually I'm halfway up my nose before I realize I'm doing it in public. But sometimes, you have no other choice. Ever have one of those really hard boogers that just sits in there, daring you to pick it? It's impossible to resist. Then you jam your figner up there, only now you've pushed it back, so now you have to go digging further, and you know everyone can see, but you don't give a shit because now it's like stalking prey. YOU MUST HAVE THAT BOOGER. It's just one of those things, picking your nose. Everyone does it, but everyone else's boogers are horrifying, and that's just the way it is.

Slower than Yadi:

Sir, my first colonoscopy revealed I have a redundant colon to the tune of an extra foot.

Five dollar foot long!

I regularly have, what others might construe as, massive dumps. My toilet is an older model, not of the one point something gallon per flush model, yet I regularly pile it up way out of the water. Yes, I eat a lot. Yes, I'm fat. But think about this, you have no idea how amazing dropping nearly twenty pounds of poop in a couple of minutes feels.

NOW ICE IT DOWN, SMITTY!

Paul:

The eating while shitting thing in the last mailbag. My friends and I like to call that "the meat grinder." That is all.

Got it.

Mark:

I lived overseas for two years (1997-1999) of my childhood. Even in Singapore, we played Smear the Queer. IT HAS EXTENDED BEYOND U.S. BORDERS!

In fact, in Singapore, you play it with armed police as punishment for littering.

Connor:

Have you ever used Canadian toilet paper? I have no idea where it comes from, but I was in the Yukon a few years back and that stuff was the tits. Even at rest stops. You stop at a rest stop in the US and you get some sort of paper-like product that would make newspaper feel like fine velvet. In the Yukon though, even the rest stops had TP better than anything I've ever felt in the US. This wasn't just one place either; rest stops, grocery stores, restaurants...every public restroom I used left me feeling like I wiped my ass with a baby kitten.

The secret is 100% bearskin.

Shit, now I want Canadian toilet paper. My old grovery store in New York used to have Canadian boxes of cereal for reasons I cannot fathom (other than that all New York grocery stores are mob-run and get their sundries by robbing Canadian trucks). So I've had French Canadian Honey Nut Cheerios, but no Canadian Cottonelle.

John:

Is there anything better than getting ripped at the airport?

Getting LAID at the airport. Imagine meeting a woman in the Admiral's Club, then
sneaking off together to the private showers some of those fancy airline clubs have. That would be cool. I have a whole 80-minute movie in my head right now.

Chris:

What about brushing your teeth while pooping? Seems like an efficient thing to do, especially before work in the morning when in a rush. I assumed everyone did this, so when my fiance told me it was disgusting I just dismissed her comments and went back to the toilet to poop and brush my teeth.

Where else would you brush your teeth? She's nuts. You're not rinsing the brush in the fucking pot.

Evan:

Am I the only man who enjoys the scent of his own scrotum? While working at the computer (alone at my place), I often find myself with one hand down my pants, a pinch of sack between my thumb and index finger. I then invariably raise said hand to my nose in order to take a satisfying whiff of the scrotal pheromones that have left their trace on my digits. And half the time this whole process catches me completely by surprise, as if my unconscious self were compelling me to smell my own balls.

No, that's standard operating procedure. As I've said before, my fromunda smells like oatmeal cookies. It's quite lovely. And I too totally do it unconsciously. I'm just sitting then, then all of a sudden HEY OATMEAL COOKIES! Oh hey, that's my finger. How'd I do that? I surprise even me.

Ryan:

Is it safe to say that anyone on the East Coast without EZ-Pass is officially mentally handicapped?

Yes. Even now that they fuck you here in MD with that $1.50 monthly fee, I'd never get rid of it. And I only use it a handful of times a year. No matter. I'd rather smell Evan's nuts than live without EZ Pass.

Duck:

I'm currently looking into buying a brand new car seat for my 2nd child that'll be arriving in February. And is it just me, or do these things look fuckin amazingly comfortable. Seriously, I look back at my 18 month-old's car seat and pine about being a baby.

We have one of those Britax things, which cost a jillion dollars and look like a goddamn throne. These kiddie seats have everything: cup holders, arm rests, zebra upholstery. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here in a regular seat like an ASSHOLE. It's bullshit.

Stephen:

Are you familiar with Fresh Direct? Permit me to explain how FUCKING AWESOME Fresh Direct is.

No need. I'm well aware of the benefits of Fresh Direct. It's a delight if you have it available to you.

It makes me think back to the days when I lived in New york right when they had Kozmo.com and Urban Fetch. Like Fresh Driect, both services would deliver booze to your door. But Urban Fetch and Kozmo also delivered PORN. Right to you. (This was well before the advent of Redtube and the like). Then they went out of business, and I'm not sure mankind will ever again reach that peak of convenience when it comes to the delivery of tangible objects.

Ricky:

A friend from college moved here from China when he was 9. He still mostly dreams in Chinese. We know because we asked him after realizing that he doesn't always remember English when he wakes up. A few times, we would wake his ass up and try to tell him something and he would just stare at us with this look of absolute confusion.

"Wang, get the fuck up. Your test starts in 20 minutes!"

Nothing but an empty Chinese stare for minutes at a time. Finally he would admit that he didn't know what we were saying at first cause he was still thinking in Chinese. We always sort of feared he would wake up, freak out because he didn't understand English and forgot where he was and totally go crazy Jet Li on us or something. But that's because we're dirty racists.

Indeed we are. And a fine way to end this mailbag. See you in two weeks.

JANUARY
Hamas wins elections. Jazz owner Larry Miller pulls Brokeback Mountain from his Utah theater chain when he realizes it's about a gay romance. Coach Janky Spanky makes his triumphant debut. LeBron James' mother is arrested for a DUI and maced. Samuel Alito is confirmed as a Supreme Court justice. Ariel Sharon suffers a massive stroke. Kobe Bryant scores 81 points in a game. Coretta Scott King and Chris Penn die. "ESPN Hollywood" is canceled. Isiah Thomas is sued for sexual harassment. Vince Young and Texas beat USC to win the mythical college football national championship. Sen. Barack Obama tells Tim Russert on "Meet The Press" that he will not run for President in 2008. The Black Table closes up shop.
FEBRUARY
Dick Cheney shoots his friend in the face. The one billionth song is downloaded on iTunes. (It's a Coldplay song.) Johnny Weir is the one interesting person in the Winter Olympics. Bretty Friedan, Curt Gowdy and Don Knotts die. The Steelers beat the Seahawks in the Super Bowl. Al Michaels is traded to NBC for Oswald the Lucky Rabbit. A Denmark newspaper runs a cartoon of Muhammad, sparking violent protests. Big Ben drinks like a champion.
MARCH
Bud Selig commissions The Mitchell Report. Kirby Puckett dies. Adam Morrison cries. "Top Chef" and "Big Love" debut. "Arrested Development" is canceled. Crash wins Best Picture. "Game Of Shadows" hits the stands. An exotic dancer accuses members of the Duke lacrosse team with rape. Jack Abramoff is sentenced. Japan wins the World Baseball Classic. George Mason beats Connecticut to reach the Final Four.
APRIL
Tom DeLay steps down as House majority leader. Suri Cruise is born. Florida beats UCLA to win the NCAA tournament. The Buzzsaw That Is The Arizona Cardinals draft Matt Leinart. Stephen Colbert skewers President Bush at the White House Correspondents Dinner. Former Illinois Gov. George Ryan is found guilty of racketeering. "You're With Me, Leather" is unleashed.
MAY
"The Hills" debuts. Paul McCartney and Heather Mills separate. Barry Bonds passes Babe Ruth on the all-time home run chart. Tiger Woods' father dies, as do Ironhead Heyward and the last Titanic survivor. Barbaro wins the Kentucky Derby but suffers a broken leg at the Preakness. People send emails to Barbaro. Taylor Hicks wins American Idol. Enron executives are convicted. Katie Couric leaves the "Today" show. Carl Monday pesters Mike Cooper. David Blaine attempts to break the world record for holding his breath, but gives up at the seven minute mark. Stuart Scott hosts the proceedings. Henry Paulson is nominated as Secretary of the Treasury. Rick Sutcliffe commends George Clooney for solving that thing.
JUNE
The World Cup begins. The Miami Heat beat the Dallas Mavericks to win the NBA title. Ben Roethlisberger crashes his motorcycle. Abu Musab al-Zarqaqi is killed. The Carolina Hurricanes win the Stanley Cup. Phil Mickelson blows a lead in the US Open. Bill Gates steps down as Microsoft chairman. JJ Redick is arrested for drunk driving. The Senate rejects a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage by a 49-48 vote. Ozzie Guillen calls Jay Mariotti a "fag."
JULY
Floyd Landis flunks a drug test. OK Go's "Here It Goes Again" video goes "viral." Italy wins the World Cup, and Zidane headbutts someone whose name you don't remember. Ken Lay dies. Northwestern football coach Randy Walker dies of a heart attack. Harold Reynolds is fired by ESPN for "inappropriate behavior." Seven train explosions kill 186 people in Mumbai. Mel Gibson is arrested for drunk driving and makes several anti-Semetic remarks.
AUGUST
Pluto is demoted. Bruno Kirby dies. Tony Kornheiser debuts on "Monday Night Football." The FDA approves the morning-after pill. Spinach starts killing people. Chuck Klosterman's "Chuck Klosterman IV" is released. John Mark Karr confesses to murdering JonBenet Ramsey but is lying. Scott Van Pelt courts a lady.
SEPTEMBER
Jason Whitlock is fired by ESPN after an interview with The Big Lead. Steve Irwin is stabbed in the heart by a stingray. Tony Blair announces he will resign. Terrell Owens maybe tries to commit suicide. Katie Couric takes over the "CBS Evening News." Borat explodes at the Toronto Film Festival. Mark Foley quits the House after sexting male Congressional aides. "Fear Factor" goes off the air.
OCTOBER
President Bush admits the Iraq war is "not going well." Red Auerbach and Buck O'Neil die. "30 Rock" and "Friday Night Lights" premiere. Google buys YouTube. ESPN tells its radio affiliates to ignore "underground" websites. The U.S. population reaches 300 million. Cory Lidle crashes his plane into a Manhattan high rise. Harold Reynolds sues ESPN. The St. Louis Cardinals win the World Series, and it is fricking awesome.
NOVEMBER
Michael Irvin says Tony Romo must have had a great, great, great, great Grandma who "pulled one of them studs up outta the barn." Ted Haggard resigns as leader of the New Life Church after admitting to "sexual immorality" and buying crystal meth. Saddam Hussein is found guilty. Robert Altman, Bo Schembechler and Jack Palance die. Democrats take over Congress and Nancy Pelosi becomes the first female Speaker of the House. The Nintendo Wii is released. Alexander Litvinenko is poisoned. "You're With Me, Leather" shows up on the television show "Las Vegas." To this day, no one has claimed credit.
DECEMBER
Saddam Hussein is executed. Gerald Ford, James Brown, Lamar Hunt and Peter Boyle die. Bob Knight ties Dean Smith for most wins in college basketball. Hugo Chavez is re-elected. The American death toll in Iraq reaches 3,000. The Red Sox outbid the Yankees for Dice-K. Robert Gates takes over as Secretary of Defense. Tiger Woods and his wife Elin announce they are expecting their first child.

It turns out Braun was peddling a tell-all last year about some of her high profile clients and started name-dropping them to one editor. Here's his recap of their conversation:

I met her last year when she was peddling a book. I asked her about her client list and after rattling off the usual suspects—Charlie Sheen, Prince Andrew..—I said "C'mon, surprise me." Then she dropped this: "Would Eli Manning surprise you?" After the peanuts fell out of my mouth, I asked "Any other high profile jocks?", and she smiled "What's it worth to you?"
"Well, it could be worth a book contract if the name is big enough," I replied. But she won't give anybody else up.
Don't you think she would have mentioned Tiger if she was really servicing him in order to secure that book contract? I'm now starting to think that today's story is bullshit and she's so desperate to sell her story that she's jumping on the Tiger slutwagon.

Great point. Unfortunately, leaving Tiger off the list also calls her Eli-outing into question. But more preposterous things have happened. And it's long been suggested that the Manning boys aren't the slack-jawed, wide-eyed innocents we think they are. Take for example these emails I received from an Indianapolis party girl (who knew?!) soon after Tiger's numerous transgressions were being made public. [Sic'd]:

and this is just about the time that tiger wishes peyton manning's mistresseS would come out and tell their stories... his day is coming.. and i bet he is thinking OHHH SHIT right at this moment... :-)

the two people in sports that have the squeaky clean images.. tiger woods and peyton manning.. both of whom are more alike than people realize.. Im just saying.. peytons dirt will come out some day as well.. just like tiger.. people knew about it.. just whispered and it didnt get out till now..

by living in indianapolis and in that crowd... there are whispers all around.. im just surprised it hasnt gotten out yet.. now dont think i am a scorned girl or anything like that.. i could care less.. i mostly blame the women that throw themselves at the athletes.. i had heard of his trysts.. but didnt want to believe it.. wanted to believe what we are shown on tv... then was utterly letdown when i had the unfortunate experience of having to turn the offer down and now knowing all the whispers are true...
just saying.. his day will come to...

Follow you completely.. but just because Tiger may have done it this way.. doesnt mean Peyton follows that script.. Now, I cant speak for what he does on vacations or trips to vegas.. bc i only know of what has happened in indianapolis.. i guess call peyton more low key.. as far as what I know... but I am sure I dont know even half of it.. Im well aware of the whole girls being flown in and all that goes with that.. but that is not what i am talking about with peyton.. his is more "normal' as far as i know.. i met him through a friend on the team.. we all were hanging out together.. but what is different bw he and tiger is that to the best of my knowledge.. peyton and ashley have an "open" marriage.. soo she has her fun too...

Huh. Can we even be shocked by these groundless (but yet so plausible!) accusations at this point? We have one person claiming that Eli's been whore-mongering for years and that Peyton's got his own stable of nightclub ponies he likes to get down and dirty with in Indy. Oh, and he has an open marriage.

Hopefully, neither one of the Manning boys will run over a fire hydrant anytime soon or else they also could become TMZ chum. In due time, children. In due time.

Update: Apparently Eli's own transgressions have made the interwebs already. Even Leitch wrote about it.

*****

Thanks for your continued support of Deadspin. Go Birds. Hurdy Gurdy in full effect.

I am deeply aware of the disappointment and hurt that my infidelity has caused to so many people, most of all my wife and children. I want to say again to everyone that I am profoundly sorry and that I ask forgiveness. It may not be possible to repair the damage I've done, but I want to do my best to try.

I would like to ask everyone, including my fans, the good people at my foundation, business partners, the PGA Tour, and my fellow competitors, for their understanding. What's most important now is that my family has the time, privacy, and safe haven we will need for personal healing.

After much soul searching, I have decided to take an indefinite break from professional golf. I need to focus my attention on being a better husband, father, and person.

Again, I ask for privacy for my family and I am especially grateful for all those who have offered compassion and concern during this difficult period.

I honestly can't decide whether this is the savviest PR-move ever or the most desperate. But either way, the PGA Tour has become a lot less interesting. Pussy Galore, man. It'll getcha.

I'm sure over the next several days there will be lots and lots of hand-wringing from various media members, only to be eviscerated by us. The circle of life.

TIger Woods Taking Hiatus From Golf [TigerWoods.com]

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...

Mike Piazza Started The Fire

BTW, Mike "I'm not gay" Piazza had Tiger Woods targeted. I'd used a golf term in describing an occasion with a man. We do agree that it is stupid.

Of course it doesn't matter, I just felt like telling somebody, and I picked you. Might wanna go play the lotto...

ME:

You have to spell this out a little more for me, if you don't mind.
Don't quite follow everything.

CRAZY LADY:

Years ago, Piazza wanted me to be his beard. I wasn't into that, so he's been punishing me ever since. He tries to stomp on whatever fun I'm having, he's been having me stalked for years.

No, it doesn't make sense. My best guess, and it's only a guess, is that he's mad at the world because he's attracted to men. Most gay people are nice and normal and fine with themselves, but Piazza's not. I'm sure he arranged for Tiger's secrets to be outed. You know his brother runs http://www.westovercountryclub.com/, the golfing part of it, anyway.

Piazza just wanted to create mayhem, because he's that kind of guy. This is one of the ways the rich and powerful screw with each other.

ME:

Ah. Of course.

(Ed. note: This woman also claimed Piazza orchestrated a hit on Steve Phillips during the Brooke Hundley scandal: "FYI, Mike "I'm not gay" Piazza set up Phillips and the crazy girl, and had you tipped off about it. He figures he'll keep you and ESPN busy fighting each other, and quiet the tales of his gayness. Just thought you should know — graceless"

Meet Seattle Eddie, The Man Who Knows Everything About Why Tiger Do What He Do

Great Read…some points to consider here…

- Post 9/11 the Feds broke up a National Circuit of "Houses" in many major cities that catered to gents needing "Release…" Newsweek did a page on this…will have my Sect'y scan and send it to you; better yet, send me your fax number;

- Up here in Seattle we have an Internet service devoted to us in the "Hobby…" called The Review Board…TRB…we rate the Ladies we sleep with…and many Ladies advertise their wares to be sampled…heavenly. (http://www.thereviewboard.net/)

- The Majority of Americans are so hung up about sex they can't enjoy themselves…The Euros laugh at us and the Asians just continue to live their own Sexual Kung Fu with smiles on their faces…

- In the end it all comes down to the PENIS…most women, my ex included, forget that that specific Organ has a mind of its' own and must be attended to…marriage vows taken don't mention that car bj's or hand jobs when the red river flows are OUT after the ring goes on…American women just don't take care of their men properly and many men allow this "Pussification" to occur…shame on them…

I could go on and on…thanks for your time…

Peace, Eddie

BURN

Hey A.J. or whatever you're name is—-You sound like you're a mite jealous over Tiger. Maybe that's because your sponsor pays you just what you're worth - For using filthy language and demonizing a Pro Athlete.

Charles

It's Always The Bassoon-Playing Bills Fans That Get Upset

While I am a huge fan of Deadspin, I really cannot approve of a
satirical headline/article that is based on the death of anyone. Even
though I attend the most ridiculously nicknamed school in the SEC
(South Carolina), I am apart of the most ridiculously named religion
(Pastafarianism), and am majoring in the least likely to succeed
degree (music performance- bassoon), I know this is wrong. Hell, I am
a Bills fan! We joke every day that Jauron was really just an animated
corpse brought alive by Miami fans just to piss us off! All I ask is
that, in the future, you leave the dead alone, especially those who
not only you, but your U.S. fan base, don't know a lick about.
In Honor,
SGT ****

Grady Sizemore Still Gaining More (Male) Fans

Good Day sir,

I wanted to thank you for bringing this stud to the internet. Trust me that it is increasing the male readership on top of the Females'

Maybe one day there might be some totally nude (front and back).

Best regards,
Don

Brooke Hundley Chimes In

Irony Meets Irony

I didnt get an MFA in journalism, or whatever the fuck you call it, but come on:

"Good spelling and grammar (this includes coherence, capitalization and punctuation)."

You should apply that philosophy to posts, too. Why the hard-on for comment-ninjas? Its below you. I'm thisclose to getting laid off, and when I do, I'll edit the posts for spelling and grammar. You clowns could use it. Thats an official offer.

Top photo: Fabios of Fayetteville

Tiger Woods
You know, I don't even know what more I can say at this point. Just refresh TMZ every 20 minutes, and you can get up to speed.

And not just any white folk, mind you. White Americans, a "group that's never been smaller" in the NBA. (You may leave the room now, Steve Nash.) Outside the Lines seems to think the lack of white American ballplayers is a matter of profound concern for the NBA, which is a league by and large run by white Americans, coached by white Americans and marketed to white Americans, and whose white American commissioner once hired a white American political consultant named Matthew Dowd in a transparent effort to win back fans in Middle America — which is to say, white Americans.

You can watch a teaser for the video here, but you'll probably get an idea of what we're dealing with when I tell you that the piece opens with some B-roll of Kyle McAlarney — self-described "consummate backup point guard" — working very hard in a lonely, echoing gym. There's a pretty bar graph or two. There's Mark Schwartz making his Concerned Face and firing some heat at poor Wayne Embry, who bumbles into saying that the NBA's legalization of the zone was a sop to the white kids. And then there's someone, I can't recall who, suggesting that white players like McAlarney don't get a shot because they're unfairly stereotyped as bad defensive players, which, if you're like me, is roughly the point where you threw the remote at the television.

The implication here is that Kyle McAlarney would be in the NBA if it weren't for the pernicious stereotype about white players and defense. There are several problems with this, the most obvious of which is that the stereotype doesn't exist (slow and unathletic, maybe, but that's not the same thing), and even if it did, well, it would shrink in comparison to the enormous pile of happy code words invariably ascribed to white guys: scrappy, gym rat, team player, hard worker, fundamentally sound, plays the right way, etc. I don't pretend to know why there aren't more white Americans in the NBA, and I don't particularly care. This isn't a Serious Thing. (Baseball, with its dwindling population of black Americans, has a Serious Thing, if only because it spent half a century doing everything it could to earn black Americans' indifference.) For OTL to go rummaging around the dark recesses of the league's psyche for some sinister explanation to a piece of demographic trivia isn't just wrongheaded; it's a rite borrowed from the Church of the Aggrieved White Male (Bishop Glenn Beck presiding). The story reaches its absurd apex with McAlarney saying, in all seriousness (I quote from memory):

I'm trying to pave a way for myself ... and for guys like me.

Kyle McAlarney: the Jackie Robinson of white American basketball players. At last check, he was playing for the Fort Wayne Mad Ants of the NBA's D-League, scoring 9.3 points per game.

OTL Promo: Kyle McAlarney [ESPN]

The Cowboys lost to the Giants last weekend, and now stand at 8-4 in the NFC East, tied for 1st with Philly, and only one game ahead of New York (who hold any playoff tiebreaker over Dallas because they swept both games against them). That was the Cowboys' same record after 13 weeks LAST year, when they summarily went into the shitter. Here are the final four opponents for Dallas: SD, @NO, @WAS, PHI. They're going to lose three of those games, if not more. How marvelous.

Obviously, Cowboys fans don't deserve your pity. Cowboys fans deserve to have their dicks punched inside out, and then filled with hot tar. HOORAY FOR TARPUSSY. Cowboys fans lead the league in calling in to sports talk radio stations in other cities and assessing other teams for no reason at all. And they'll only reveal that fact after being on the air for three minutes ("Actually guys, I'm not even a Broncos fan. I'm a longtime Cowboys fan. But lemme tell you what I see wrong with Denver…"). Cowboys fans also lead the league in being tandem bandwagon fans of the LA Lakers. I swear, there are forty million Cowboys/Lakers fans out there. "Longtime Cowboys and Lakers fan here, Bob. Most definitely!" Tarpussy them all, I say.

All that said, the Cowboys have obviously fallen into a pattern of collapsing every December. No doubt, your team, at some point, has also experienced a similar kind of year. You start off hot, you get your hopes up, and then it all falls to pieces. Even the Steelers have lost four in a row now. We're at the time of year where teams begin failing and fans of the 31 teams who do NOT end up winning the Super Bowl are left to deal with the emotional fallout of seeing their team, once again, come up short. Chargers fans. Eagles fans. Vikings fans. All of you are well aware of what lies ahead. I know I am. Despair springs eternal.

There's a process to dealing with these kinds of crushing defeats. It's a process all of us go through. It's like grieving over the death of a loved one, only much more devastating. The traditional five stage of grief are as follows:

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance

This model doesn't work for dealing football grief. For one thing, there is NEVER acceptance. As a fan, you can't simply accept losing. That would make you a total pussy. Here are the adjusted five stages of grief as it pertains to horrible football defeats.

1. ANGER.
FUCK! God fucking dammit! I WILL CLIMB TO THE TOP OF A CLOCK TOWER AND BEGIN SHOOTING PEOPLE WITH A FUCKING CROSSBOW. Shit! Fuck! Ass! Cock!

(cry angry tears)

THESE ARE TEARS OF ANGER!

(throws remote against wall)

(sees remote is broken)

FUCK!

(sees wife walk in, perplexed as to why you threw the remote against the wall and broke it)

DON'T EVEN SAY ANYTHING TO ME RIGHT NOW, WOMAN. I'LL FUCKING REPLACE IT.

Okay, I'm sorry I called you, "woman." Wait, where are you going? Can't we just talk about this?

2. DENIAL
We gave it to them! WE FUCKING GAVE IT TO THEM! They did not deserve to win that game! They did not win it. We LOST it. They got lucky! Statistically, we were CLEARLY the better team. THE REFS WERE FUCKING BIASED. Roger Goodell and the league office wanted the other team to prevail to help goose ratings and/or prop up an ailing TV market. That was not a legitimate win! If we make that field goal, we win. If player X doesn't get hurt, we win. If we aren't called for holding 37 times, we win. If something that did happen that obviously should not have happened does not happen, we win. In any other alternate universe, WE ARE RIGHTFUL CHAMPIONS.

(NOTE: Fans of the 2007 Patriots are still on this stage.)

3. IDLE DEMANDS
THAT'S FUCKING IT! I've had enough of everyone involved with playing for this team, coaching it, owning it, coordinating air and ground transport for it. I want them ALL fired. All of them. Every last one. I don't care that replacing an entire roster and coaching staff is a painstaking and inexact process that could do more harm than good. SOMEONE NEEDS TO TAKE THE FUCKING FALL FOR THIS SHIT! Or else I am DONE with this team. D-O-N-E. Forever. Completely done. No longer a fan. I SWEAR I'LL FOLLOW THROUGH WITH THIS.

(calls talk radio station and repeats demands)

(goes on team message board, reiterates demands)

4. QUESTIONING
Why? Why, God? Why must you allow something like this to happen? I've been good to you. I wash my hands on occasion. I only masturbated in front of the babysitter twice, which was downright restrained given her incredible rack. Why must you do this? DO YOU EVEN EXIST?

5. INDIFFERENCE
Fuck it, what else is on?

If you're a veteran of this process as I am, you can go from Step 1 directly to Step 5. And in only just a few short minutes. The Vikings? Pfft. Fuck them. They're toast. Bastards.

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

Five Throwgasms

Bengals at Vikings: Last week, I said this was the best Vikings team since 1998, and that Brett Favre was playing exceptionally well. The Vikings then proceed to lose to Arizona, see their QB suffer a mysterious hand injury that is surely worse than it appears (I'm convinced it's broken in 37 different places and he refuses to have it x-rayed), see both starting tackles exit the game at various points due to injury, and lose their starting middle linebacker to a shattered thighbone. Oops.

One piece of decent news for the Vikings: Last Sunday night, NBC showed a graphic that said Brad Childress is more successful challenging calls than the league average. I would never have guessed that.

As for the Bengals, during last week's win against the Lions, the clock graphic on FOX was all weird. It looked like they had to integrate footage of the actual stadium clock into the banner graphic at the top for some reason. I don't know if this was explained or not during the telecast because I only watched snippets of the game on Red Zone Channel, but I was transfixed on it. There are times when I zone out and stare at the graphic or the ticker on the bottom of the screen for minutes at a time instead of looking at the thing I'm supposed to be looking at. Even if I've already read the entire contents of the BottomLine, I'll just keep reading it, like a moron. During the Texas-Nebraska game last week, I read the item about Bob Stoops denying an interest in Notre Dame 40,000 times.

Broncos at Colts: Jim Sorgi is out for the year, which means the Colts have only rookie Curtis Painter to play QB behind Peyton Manning as this team starts playing out the string. I'll miss Sorgi, who lent an unmistakable preseason feel to any late-season game he ever played in. Also, his name makes me think of a sorghum orgy. Tell me this plant doesn't look ready to stick it to a bitch.

Chargers at Cowboys: I've had to take a lot of Vicodin lately due to back pain. And one of the pluses to taking Vicodin, apart from the fact that you're taking Vicodin, is that it makes your dreams AWESOME. Hugely cinematic. It's like all my dreams are directed by Paul Greengrass. They have a plot. They have characters (people I've never even met, OR HAVE I?). They have a story arc. I never wake up right in the middle of them. I always wake up when they've come to a fitting and logical conclusion. I may never see an actual movie again. Vicodin dreams are a movie lover's delight, and don't let anyone tell you any different.

Eagles at Giants: Behold the awesome power of Leonard fucking Weaver. Not only can this man destroy everything in his path, he has MATCHING FOREARM FLAME TATS.

Look at that. You could put Satan's throne between those pipes.

Andy Reid signed a three-year extension this week. I asked resident Eagles fan Daulerio for a reaction:

"/lazily tosses challenge flag."

Four Throwgasms

Saints at Falcons: The Michael Vick lovefest in Atlanta last week was retarded. You want Vick? Really, Atlanta? After he killed dogs? And lied? And blamed his shitty accuracy problems on Roddy White? And ran Jim Mora out of town in favor of Bobby Petrino? All while you have a perfectly good young passer? Michael Vick is the black Welker.

Dolphins at Jaguars: Speaking of racy race racial race talk, all of you need to begin following Jason Whitlock on Twitter immediately. If you think Big Sexy is 400 loving pounds of nutty in his Fox columns, it's nothing compared to his unfiltered musings.

any married man who travels 4 his job shud not b allowed to publicly comment on Tiger. It's a dishonest performance 2 keep peace @home

U have 2 do more than read Tweets. U have 2 attempt 2 comprehend them. Never said all men or all men who travel cheat. Didn't imply it

Of course you didn't Jason. All you said was that men who travel for work have no right to criticize Tiger in public because they're HYPOCRITES WHO CHEAT ON THEIR LADIES. You see how that makes sense? Say Jason, what do you think of Rick Reilly?

R u kidding me with this personal advice Reilly is giving Tiger on ESPN? Fire this idiot! This is the dumbest thing I've ever seen

Watch Reilly 4 yourself and tell me what you think. I'm gassing up the hooptie, getting my ski mask and loading the AK

Can't argue with his "gun down Rick Reilly" policy. I'd rather floss an alligator than be Rick Reilly right now!

Three Throwgasms

Cardinals at 49ers: Leitch is right. Anquan Boldin is a terrifying human being. Every time they cut to him, he looks like someone just raped his sister and he's out looking for the perpetrator. The man is PISSED. I know he wants a new contract, so I'm in awe of his ability to remain pissed about that fact for the entirety of an NFL regular season. Hell, he's been pissed since LAST season. He's like the Juggernaut of anger.

Also, '99 Warner showed up last Sunday Night. '99 Warner is also utterly terrifying. You never know when '99 Warner will show up, but when he does, he will RUIN YOUR SHIT.

Panthers at Patriots: It's time for me to point out, once again, that the college football regular season is now over, and the NFL has once again refused to air afternoon games on Saturdays in December, as they regularly did up until a few years ago. Oh, they'll give you Saturday Night Football. And Thursday Night Football. But God forbid they give you something to do during the day on Saturdays. Hey Goodell, GO FUCK YOURSELF. Get a pairs of pliers, stretch out your tiny ginger dick, and stuff the tip of it up your asshole. Give me my Saturday afternoon NFL football back.

And FUCK YOU, to whatever shithead from Alabama runs college football. For the millionth year in a row, your retarded excuse for a legitimate sport takes a month off for no fucking reason at all. Oh, but our regular season is the most meaningful in the world! Well, that's lovely. But your gay postseason means JACK SHIT. Way to go. Way to prove yourself vastly inferior to the NFL on an annual basis. Fuck you with a pine cone.

Two Throwgasms

Redskins at Raiders: The Redskins wore burgundy jerseys at home last week, which they almost never do. Both the Cowboys and the Redskins usually wear white at home, which means they essentially wear white jerseys all year round, except when they play in each other's respective stadiums. This is gay. What makes those teams so special that they get to buck the rules of solids and whites? FUCK YOU, SNYDER AND THE SKINS. You look better in burgundy jerseys. Rock them more often.

Also, I find it extremely disheartening that the Skins are playing such inspired football at the end of this season. This was to be a glorious year of complete team combustion and fan revolt. Jim Zorn was supposed to be fired in Week 6. Pepper Rodgers was supposed to be brought in as head coach by Week 10, causing people to burn shit in the stands. It was going to be a wonderful 16 weeks of chaos here in DC, I tell you. But nooooo. No, the team had to go out and play really hard, making people think that maybe things aren't all that bad. What a rip. You let me down, Redskins. You let me down big time. I hate it when shitty teams have that dead cat bounce at the end of the year, where they refuse to fully deteriorate.

Packers at Bears: I'm too lazy to go back and check, but I'm almost certain that most of the throwgasm ratings you see in these posts every week turn out to be horribly wrong. The best games of last week were Raiders-Steelers and Redskins-Saints, both of which were given one throwgasm by me. Way to help people assess their viewing options, me. YOU STUPID ASSHOLE.

Seahawks at Texans: Steve Slaton is done for the year. Good. I hope he dies.

One Throwgasm

Steelers at Browns: This is tonight's game. I'm quite sure you will not be sad to miss it.

Lions at Ravens
Bills at Chiefs
Jets at Bucs
Rams at Titans

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

"A Touch Of Evil," by Judas Priest. It appears Sony has collaborated with YouTube to create a venture called VeVo, where you can watch their music videos online. All the videos are now prefaced with a :15 second ad. And that's how my Judas Priest video ended up having a special invitation to an Alicia Keys concert stuck in front of it. Because those two fanbases are so very much alike.

Embarassing Song I Once Liked That Will Not Fire You Up

"Right on Track," by the Breakfast Club. This band named itself before the movie of the same title came along, and Madonna was once of a member of the band briefly because she was the girlfriend of Dan Gilroy, the lead singer and guitarist. You would think the band would kick themselves for letting Madonna go, but I have a sneaking suspicion no one in that group regrets a single thing about never having to work with that crazy dragon lady ever again.

I like that the band is actually eating breakfast in this video, true to their name. And look! The drummer is drumming on tires! And the keyboardist has fake hands! Why? Who fucking cares? It's the 80's, and everyone was doing way too much cocaine to give a shit.

Open Mailbag Tuesdays
Got something you want displayed for show and tell in the Deadspin Tuesday Mailbag? Are you a minor league baseball player who finds the urinary habits of your Latino teammates repulsive? Email me any question or observation you like.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Reader AJ (not Daulerio) demands I nominate John Carney.

The kicker position on a fantasy roster is intended to be the one spot that requires no thought. The only times kickers should concern you as an owner is the last round of your draft and the bye week. Unless you have John Fucking Carney who somehow manages to get benched in week 13 for presumably being a fossil. I don't get it, the guy has been putting up good numbers all year then loses his job on game day after I had already filled out my roster. Meanwhile some asshole named Garrett Hartley kicks 4 FGs and 3 XPs. Fuck him and fuck John Carney. He can shove his AARP card up his ass and I hope he chokes to death on an early bird special.

Also, anytime John Carney is featured on highlights, Berman does a fucking Ed Norton from "The Honeymooners" impression. Every time. Because that never gets old, not even half a century after the show originally aired. I'm shocked Berman never busted out a conga drum during Ricardo Colclough highlights.

Suicide Pick Of The Week
Last week's suicide pick of Denver was correct, making our suggestions for your pool 10-3 on the year. Sorry about the three wrong ones. That puts the Broncos, 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? New England, and the return of the Lexus holiday ads. Yes, they're back. Here to torture you and the writing staff of the Onion's AV Club, as they have for years and years now. Featuring impossibly rich people who have no problem spending $50,000 on a luxury car for a gift. Not only can they afford the car, they can also afford the custom-made bow that's affixed to the top. They also have beautiful homes with very large cul de sac driveways. And look! Little Johnny is trying to drive the Lexus! That's so sweet! Every December, I pray to Jesus that a neutron bomb drops on the home of every Lexus owner, and every year Christ lets me down.

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 LOVE the Chargers getting 3 points against Dallas on the road. Hey, it's nearly Christmas. Time to bust out the Jew nog."

2009 Nazi Shark Record: 6-7. The shark is ice cold.

This Week's Pants Party Winner
Last week's Pants Party winner was Dave B. Here's his free rant space:

Al Groh was fired as the Virginia head coach after nine seasons. (And, unfortunately for me, I'm also a Jets fan. So that means I got a cool decade of suffering through Groh's mediocrity.)

After his last game Groh had the audacity to stoically read a poem, the "Guy in the Glass". It has little to nothing to do with Groh's situation and was remarkably self indulgent.

I'm sorry that Groh couldn't get his dream job to work out. But he never owned up to his own shortcomings. Even in the comments from this game, he started talking about a lack of talent at Virginia being the problem as if he were dealt a bad hand or something. He had nine years to establish the program. He had nine years to build up a recruiting regime. He had tons of chances to build a staff of capable assistants. He had opportunities to win big games. He failed at everything and I don't think I've ever heard him shoulder one bit of responsibility for what's happened.

The poem he read was a bunch of crap.

Great Moments In Poop History
Reader Erik chimes in with this poop prank idea:

I used to live near a city golf course in Minneapolis. One night, as my high school friends and I were driving around killing time I felt a large chalupa dump building in my bowels. We were passing the golf course and immediately after stating I needed to go to Dairy Queen to drop a deuce a better idea emerged. Take a dump in a golf hole. Brilliant? I say yes.

I concur. Here's Sports Pun with a story he calls "Brown Down's":

In middle school, we had this kid with Down's Syndrome who had a habit of sittin' on the toilet with the stall door wide open. It was always jarring at first, but being polite little Maine kids we got used to it/ignored it. He seemed to be havin' a ball, so why rain on his slow parade?

One day, 6th grade me saunters into the bathroom, averts his eyes and sits down in the stall next to my buddy, door wide-open as always. He stands up and I assume he's buttoning up his slacks, 'cause he's in there for a while. I don't hear a flush (he'd forget sometimes) and he makes his way to the sink. I finish up my business, wipe (SITTING DOWN!) and flush properly and take the sink next to his.

One thing I hadn't noticed up until that point was that he was standing in front of the sink with no water running. I happen to glance off to my left and am frozen in stone like a Medusa victim. My man has two heaping, steaming handfuls of his own poop; and he's squeezin' and sculpting like a Play-Doh pro.

Needless to say, I skip the drying process and make a bee-line for the door and head back to class; white-faced, as if I just witnessed a horrible rape. In a way I did: the rape of my childhood.

I told no one, best to just leave it be. But apparently another kid went in there after me and snitched to the proper authorities and he had to have a teacher in there with him every time he went from then on. The young man couldn't be trusted with his own poop!

Give that little retarded kid the brown medal.

And what the hell, here's another poop story from Joe Slice:

Last Friday my girlfriend had an allergic reaction to an antibiotic she was taking. She started to break out in a rash and she was having some chest pain so we decide to head to urgent care. We make are way inside, check in, and are moved to an area with multiple beds, each individually separated by the curtain hung from the ceiling. The nurse closes the curtain and we settle in and begin to listen to the other patients as we wait for the doctor to arrive.

About 15 minutes after we sit down, our next curtain neighbor calls the nurse over and begins to complain about stomach pain. From the sound of her voice, our neighbor is approximately 65 years old, by herself, and generally unhappy. The nurse comes over and checks on her and asks if she wants a bed pan. "Jesus woman, I want a toilet," she declines. The nurse obliges and brings her the porta-a-loo. We can hear her try to climb out of her bed, yelling at the nurse for coughing on her (not true) and as she tries to get onto the toilet she tells the nurse she is about to go. At this point, the doctor and nurse are both with her and doctor mentions to the nurse that this poor woman was given two glasses of prune juice and a heavy duty laxative a few hours ago and has an "obstruction" in her colon which is causing blockage and she hasn't done the deed in over a week.

At this point, the two of us can only brace for impact, knowing what is about to come next. The glop glop glop noise of repressed poop makes its way to our ears about 3 seconds before we are knocked backward by the smell of what only can come out of a 65 year old woman living on creamed corn and beef hash. We try our best to not draw any attention to ourselves but the smell is beyond overpowering. I'm now gagging. Somehow, we survived the initial onslaught but the stench lingered in the air until we were leaving two hours later.

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
John Fox*
Gary Kubiak*
Dick Jauron – FIRED!
Lovie Smith*

(* - midseason firing potential)

I think this may be a disappointing turnout for the firing line by year's end. I could see everyone but Smith, Kubiak, and Mangini staying on. Even Zorn has improved his prospects a little. So disappointing. It's a much nicer holiday season when coaches get fired by the dozen.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Glazed nuts! Listen, you take any nut, roast it, and the shellack it with a buttery, sugary shell that's at least 5mm thick, you have yourself a superior holiday snack. My wife bought some ginger orange glazed almond thingies the other day. I could have eaten seven bags in the span of three minutes.

In New York, they have nut stands where they continually roast almonds and pecans and shit all day long. You walk by those things and it takes the strength of Larry Allen not to buy a bag of ten nuts for $5. Damn you, good smelling Manhattan nut vendors.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Wildcat! Reader HabsFan29 submits this Canadian specialty:

Wildcat is brewed by a major brewery (Labatt) and is known for two things - being cheap and causing massive hangovers. Now there's an endorsement. It's sold at the cheapest price allowed by law in Canada (yes, we have laws for everything up here, like which doctors you can see under our Communist healthcare system and how much weed you can grow before you get busted). It came out while I was at university (Ed. Note: You can get away with talking this way when you're from Canada.) and a buddy who always drank it would claim that saying "Wiiildcaaat" in a deep voice after every chug and subsequent belch would help you avoid the hangover. It didn't work.

Of course it didn't. Look at that label. It's got mountains AND a mountain lion on it. Now that's some cheap ass shit!

On a related note, I'd like to thank all of you readers who have helped revive this section of the Jamboroo. Once I ran out of cheap beers to profile, I had to switch to profiling regular, GOOD beers. And that's no fun at all. You people have revived my faith that there is an endless supply of horrible, shady, ass-tasting brand beers out there. WITH MOUNTAINS ON THE CAN. ALWAYS. It's been the greatest holiday treat of all.

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, once again, a TIE between Drew Brees of the Saints and Peyton Manning of the Colts! You know, I've been seeing a lot of ads for this fancy new Avatar movie lately. It's got all kinds of blue aliens and 3D effects. Expensive? You bet! But as good as the way I used to make movies when I was head of Paramount? NO WAY, JOSE! You don't need special effects when you've got REAL stars, baby! You want a special effect? Try Liz Taylor's ass way back when! You talk about taking an audience's breath away! That ass could have slayed a thousand dragons! AND EVANS GOT A PIECE OF IT BEFORE THE FRUIT WENT BAD!"

BONUS Robert Evans Story!
Reader Vince M. unearthed an old Evans chestnut this week. He writes in:

I was reading an old interview with Sly Stallone (from AICN) and immediately thought of you when I read it.

So I began dating another woman at that time (who shall remain nameless) and slowly I was feeling better about myself. One afternoon I was invited to Robert Evans' house to discuss doing the movie. I was completely on board until he said, "I might have something that'll interest you." Whereupon he returned with a duffle bag full of X-rated Polaroids. He dumped this mess on the coffee table and burrowing through all these poor actresses that thought they were going to eventually amount to something, he came across a very X-rated Polaroid of the girl I was dating and said, "Hey, look, we have something in common." I thought blood was going to come out my eyes and felt such loathing at that moment. What was the man thinking? Is this his idea of bonding, by showing me a salacious image of the girl I thought was beyond anything so perverse? Guess not. Without a word, I exited his house and his life."

Salacious? You bet! Name dropping? As all hell!

Well played, Vince. Very well played.

Sunday Afternoon DVD Box Set Of The Week For Browns Fans
Father Ted! Only the greatest television show in the history of everything ever. Three drunken priests who hate being priests? That's my kind of show. FECK! ARSE! DRINK! GIRLS!

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"This is Fuzzy Bunny. About a year ago, he noticed his voice was changing, he had terrible acne, and had fur where there was no fur before."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: Country music superstar Carrie Underwood. Around these parts, my penis is known as the original American Idol. Hey-O!!!!
-For the gals: Hunky wolfboy Tyler Lautner. Looks like a brown Jimmy Clausen.

Enjoy the games, everyone.

"No comment, no comment. No comment no comment no comment. No comment. No comment! No, comment...No comentnocommentnocomment!"

JANUARY
George W. Bush begins his second term as President of the United States. Johnny Carson dies. The Eagles finally win the NFC Championship Game. Auburn finishes the season undefeated, but USC beats Oklahoma to win the BCS "title." Randy Johnson, on his way to his first press conference as a member of the New York Yankees, shoves a cameraman. Presidents Clinton and Bush Sr. raise money for tsunami relief together.
FEBRUARY
Unable to come to a labor agreement with the players, the NHL cancels its season. Ossie Davis and Max Schmeling die. The New England Patriots win the Super Bowl, and Donovan McNabb pukes. An earthquake devastates Iran. North Korea says it has nuclear weapons. President Bush asks for $81.9 billion in Iraq funds. Hunter S. Thompson kills himself.
MARCH
A man named Brian Nichols kills three people in an Atlanta courthouse and escapes, taking a hostage and ultimately surrendering when the hostage "appealed to [his] better nature." Dan Rather retires. The US version of "The Office" debuts. Congressional steroid hearings commence, with Mark McGwire saying he wasn't here to talk about the past and Sammy Sosa pretending he didn't speak English and Rafael Palmeiro totally lying. Bernie Ebbers of WorldCom is found guilty of securities fraud. Congress intervenes in the case of Terri Schiavo, who had lived in a vegetative state for 15 years, before her feeding tube is finally disconnected. Johnnie Cochran and Mitch Hedberg die. Illinois makes a wild comeback against Arizona in the NCAA Tournament, cheered on by an orange-clad Bill Murray.
APRIL
Pope John Paul II dies, and Joseph Ratzinger is installed as his replacement. Andrea Dworkin and Sam Mills also die. North Carolina beats Illinois to win the NCAA championships. A train in Osaka, Japan, derails, killing more than 100 people. Prince Charles remarries. Peter Jennings informs ABC viewers that he has lung cancer. Zacarias Moussaoui pleads guilty to murder but denies that he is the 20th hijacker. Eric Rudolph admits he was the Atlanta Olympics bomber. Tiger Woods wins The Masters.
MAY
Lyndie England pleads guilty. Deep Throat turns out to be an elderly, borderline senile W. Mark Felt. Danica Patrick debuts at the Indianapolis 500. Carrie Underwood wins "American Idol." Tony Blair is re-elected. "Family Guy" returns to the air. Tom Cruise jumps on Oprah's couch, because he is really, really in love.
JUNE
Vice President Dick Cheney says the Iraq insurgency is in its "last throes." Gawker Media's gambling blog, Oddjack, is launched with editor A.J. Daulerio. Canada and Spain legalize gay marriage. Phil Jackson returns to the Lakers. Kenny Rogers — the pitcher, not The Gambler — assaults a cameraman. Anne Bancroft and George Mikan die. SEC chairman William Donaldson resigns. Chuck Klosterman's "Killing Yourself To Live" is published. The Spurs beat the Pistons to win the NBA Finals. Mike Tyson fights for the last time, quitting in the seventh round against someone named Kevin McBride. Mayor Michael Bloomberg's plan to build a stadium for the Jets in Manhattan is officially defeated. Michael Jackson is cleared of molestation charges.
JULY
Sandra Day O'Connor retires, and President Bush nominates John Roberts to replace her. Shortly after being awarded the 2012 Olympic Games, London is attacked by terrorists. The NHL and its players reach agreement on a new contract. Wade Boggs, Ryne Sandberg and Peter Gammons enter the Baseball Hall of Fame. The Knicks hire Larry Brown. The New York Times' Judith Miller is jailed for refusing to give up sources. Lance Armstrong wins his seventh consecutive Tour de France. Luther Vandross dies, as does the guy who played Scotty on "Star Trek."
AUGUST
Katrina hits New Orleans. "Six Feet Under" runs its final episode. (Everybody dies, including Gene Mauch and Peter Jennings.) Rafael Palmeiro tests positive for a banned substance and is suspended. Jessica Canseco poses on the cover of Playboy and informs the world that her ex-husband Jose had small testicles. Al Gore's "Current TV" station launches. Vanilla Ice releases his "Platinum Underground" album, featuring the hits "Ninja Rap 2," "Trailer Park Mullet Wars" and "Tammy Faye." Cindy Sheehan camps outside President Bush's ranch in Crawford, Texas. Sports blog Deadspin launches, with its first post, "Stuart Scott Could Be Yours For $25 Grand (Plus Shipping!)."
SEPTEMBER
New Orleans sinks into chaos, Kanye West informs us that George Bush doesn't care about black people, Anderson Cooper is full of careerist outrage and Brownie is doing a heck of a job. Woody Paige eats dog food on live television. Hurricane Rita hits the Gulf Coast. Simon Weisenthal, Chief Justice Rehnquist and Gilligan die. Britney Spears gives birth. The New Orleans/Oklahoma City Hornets, or NOOCH, take the court. Afghanistan holds elections. Bill Simmons' "Now I Can Die In Peace" is released. Roger Federer beats Andre Agassi in the US Open Finals. Jerry Rice retires.
OCTOBER
54,000 people die in an earthquake in Pakistan. "The Colbert Report" debuts. Kyle Orton bears down. Albert Pujols destroys Brad Lidge. The White Sox win the World Series. Ben Bernanke replaces Alan Greenspan. The American death toll in Iraq reaches 2,000. Scooter Libby is indicted. Charlie Weis and Notre Dame almost beat USC, but they don't. Theo Epstein escapes the Boston press by wearing a gorilla suit and sneaking out of Fenway Park. President Bush nominates friend and non-judge Harriet Miers to the Supreme Court. Rosa Parks dies. Several Minnesota Vikings commit scary, libidinous acts on a boat around Lake Minnetonka. The St. Louis Cardinals play their last game at the old Busch Stadium. Deadspin opens up its comment section, by invite only.
NOVEMBER
Two Carolina Panthers cheerleaders may or may not have been making out with each other in a Tampa bar's bathroom. Pat Morita and George Best die. The Eagles tell Terrell Owens to take the rest of the year off. Angela Merkel is sworn in as the first female president of Germany. Clinton Portis starts wearing costumes to press conferences. Scott Stapp releases a solo album. Major League Baseball changes its steroid punishments: 50 games for first offense, 100 games for second, lifetime ban for third. ESPN hosts a series of fake press conferences with fake GM Steve Phillips taking fake questions from real ESPN reporters.
DECEMBER
Iraq holds elections. Will Leitch's "Catch" is released. Richard Pryor dies. Tookie Williams is executed. Johnny Damon signs with the Yankees. Tony Dungy's son commits suicide. The New York City transit strike paralyzes the city. Oprah goes on Letterman's show. The New York Times reports that the NSA has been spying on American citizens. Gambling blog Oddjack is closed and sold by Gawker Media. The Buzzsaw That Is The Arizona Cardinals play their last game at Sun Devil Stadium. The September 11 Commission says the country is "alarmingly vulnerable to terrorists." The "time to make the donuts" guy dies.

According to the legends, the practice was first instituted in the 1960's by Bear Bryant at Alabama. His Bear's Angels became a staple of the college recruiting landscape, and in their own way, became more famous than the recruits themselves. The groups were usually created and organized by school officials—these days they are often attached to the school admissions office—but operated in a shady netherworld as a vital part of any large program, yet detached from the athletic department in an intricate web of plausible deniability.

The groups are particularly popular in the Southeast and West and while they are sometimes affiliated with sports like basketball and baseball, they tend to focus on football recruits, which are greater in number and more valuable. Since coaches can't spend more than a few minutes with any single recruit and his family when they come for their 48-hour campus visits, it's up to the hostess to give tours, answer questions, and—in the evening when the parents go back to their own hotels—provide entertainment.

The practice went mostly unquestioned and under the radar for years, but two incidents earlier this decade brought these groups into focus. In late 2001, a female student at the University of Colorado claimed she was raped by football players and football recruits at a party she was hosting on their behalf. (It was the second such incident at CU in five years.) Then in 2003, a campus newspaper's investigation into Arizona State's all-female recruiting group revealed that members routinely supplied underage recruits with wild parties, alcohol and occasionally sex while serving as hostesses.

The ASU article revealed intriguing details about the structure of these groups and their relationships to the teams they support. The Sun Devils coach and athletic director at the time essentially admitted that they knew very little about how the group worked—and that was the way they liked it. According to then-AD Gene Smith:

"When you begin to formalize a relationship based upon a contract — that's why my wife and I don't have a prenup[tual] — you are actually challenging whether or not you have trust in that relationship. I trust our student athletes. I trust the young ladies who have volunteered to be a part of this program. I am not an individual that believes in setting up structure, setting up contracts to make an organization successful."

The team may have been responsible for the recruits' well-being while on campus, yet once they turned them over to these other students the kids were no longer in their jurisdiction. The hostesses were never given orders about what to do—remember the trust?—but they were also never told what not to do. One of the group members told the paper that the hostesses were never given guidance about what constituted a recruiting violation. After all, if they knew what the rules were, then the girls might have to follow them.

Similar tales came out of Oregon and other programs, with many women saying that while the school didn't ask them to do inappropriate things, the recruits themselves often felt entitled to more than just a nice meal. ("One high-profile recruit, she says, tried to lure her to his hotel room, saying, "The girls at Kentucky and Georgia did it.")

There are also two essential facts that every hostess group shares. One, is that they are almost universally female-only. The groups were all given cutesy names like the Texas Angels, the Hurricane Honeys, the Bengal Babes, the Stately Ladies, the Black-Eyed Susans, the Tigerettes, the Crimson Courters (Bear's Angels eventually became the 'Bama Belles) and recruit heavily from the school's sororities. (Those ladies are very big into public relations!)

And the second truth is that if they work for another school besides the one you attend, then they are all whores. (Your girls, on the other hand, are wonderful, fresh-faced ambassadors for goodness and chastity.) No one is ever told to have sex with a recruit or get him drunk or promise him that ménage à trois is basically a freshman seminar, but when a bunch of attractive horny college-age kids get together with a pony keg, nature will run its course. It doesn't take much for a recruit to fall in love with his host and, by extension, her school.

As a result of the ASU and Colorado stories (and other lurid tales of strip clubs and sexual assaults) the NCAA began to crack down on these groups, although obviously they still exist as official organizations at Tennessee and many other places. The NCAA instituted new guidelines in 2004, stating that such groups could not officially be gender specific, although they are still heavily weighted toward the ladies. Shortly after that ruling, the original 'Bama Belles were disbanded.

Risky behavior not policed in ASU football recruiting [ASU State Press, Dec. 2002]
Oregon defends recruiting practices [The Register Guard, 2002]
Doing The Legwork [Sports Illustrated, Jan. 2003]
College recruits and "hostesses": where is the line drawn? [Star Tribune]

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Alex Rodriguez
Broke unicorn's hearts.
Kissed a mirror.
Met a Spitzer madam.
Dated alleged actress.
Clutched!
Centaured.

Let's just get right to it, shall we?

A significant part of the investigation is focused on the use of recruiting hostesses who have become folk heroes on Tennessee Internet message boards for their ability to help lure top recruits.

[...]

In one case, hostesses traveled nearly 200 miles to attend a high school game in South Carolina in which at least three Tennessee recruits were playing.

Marcus Lattimore, a running back who made an unofficial visit to Tennessee but said he would not enroll there, said multiple Tennessee hostesses attended a game at James F. Byrnes High School in Duncan, S.C., in September. He said they brought signs, including one that read, "Come to Tennessee."

"I haven't seen no other schools do that," he said. "It's crazy."

That's about about as far as the Times article is willing to go, but clearly there is more going on than just some kids holding signs. The NCAA is interviewing current high school seniors about their interactions with the hostesses—it's quite unusual for them to instigate an inquiry on players who haven't committed to a school yet—as the girls would be considered representatives of the university and subject to all recruiting rules.

And what about those message board folk heroes? Well, there was at least one thread on VolNation.com earlier this year, paying tribute to these ladies of football mercy. It is now mysteriously missing, but a tipster was able to snag a few snippets from it. The thread was titled "Meet Your Vol Hostesses" and began with pictures, names and Facebook links for a squadron of Volunteer ladies, along with some veiled thoughts about what these girls are willing to do for their school. The first message on the thread, begins:

These are the unsung heros of recruiting. Just ask Bryce Brown.

Most of the Facebook links are dead (or private pages) as well, but at least one of these girls is not shy about her role in the recruiting process. One is Lacey Pearl Earps, whose name is well known on SEC message boards. (That's her above, with current UT freshman Bryce Brown.) According to her MySpace page, she is a student at University of Tennessee and she "recruits champions." There are numerous photos of her hugging what appear to be Tennessee football players and/or recruits. (The pictures are small, but clearly taken on a football field.)

And the most recent comment left by a friend, is from a young man named Chaz Green, saying that he "had a great visit." Chaz is a 17-year-old offensive tackle from Tampa, Florida, who is listed on Rivals.com with his top choices being Florida and ... you guessed it, Tennessee. He made his on-campus visit in October.

The Volunteers are certainly not the only school to employ these types of "hostesses" or "hospitality" girls, but the school has drawn increased scrutiny from authorities since Lane Kiffin took over the program. They've committed at least six secondary violations in less than a year and Kiffin's habit of boasting about recruits in public—and attacking the recruits of other schools—has made a lot of folks unhappy. This investigation will only shine more light on the practice, not only at UT, but across the country.

Because as Mr. Lattimore puts it, "You don't want to go to a college where they ain't pretty." Ain't that the truth?

N.C.A.A. Is Said to Inquire Widely of Tennessee's Recruiting [NY Times]
Tennessee under NCAA investigation over use of recruiting hostesses [Vol Nation]
[Top photo via Clay Travis]

UPDATE: Miss Earps and the other hostesses are actually in the Tennessee Football Media Guide. She's a captain in Orange Pride, "a group of students whose primary duty is to promote the University and its strong academic programs, rich traditions, and winning athletics program to campus visitors and potential student-athletes." (Click to enlarge the photo.)

UPDATE 2: Clay Travis, who actually knows things like "rules," breaks down what this actually means for Tennessee, specifically what it would take for any of this to be an actual recruiting violation (and how they were likely ratted out by another school.) [FanHouse]

•Bobby Bowden says he won't do any fundraising for Florida State after he retires. He'll be living the dream of many of his players, who want to cut the cord with FSU, but can't seem to graduate.

•Commercials featuring Tiger Woods haven't appeared in prime time since Nov. 29. Which doesn't sound right, because I swear every time I turn on my TV, there he is.

•Three-way trades! Don't you love them? The Yankees get the big name in Curtis Granderson, but the Tigers are the big winners with a can't-miss OF prospect, two young starters and a bullpen lefty. The Diamondbacks, true to form, get shat on.

•Danica Patrick will run a limited schedule on NASCAR's Nationwide Series. It'll likely be the first time feminine hygiene products sponsor a car since Jeff Gordon's.

•The Celtics won their 8th straight, pulling away from Milwaukee. Orlando kept pace, meaning the two are tied at 17-4 — and ten teams are under .500. Much like basketball games don't matter until 5 minutes left in the fourth, I'll just turn on the TV in time for the conference finals.

•••••

Happy Wednesday. Go make some instant coffee.

Okay, the mailbag was so overstuffed this week that I had to split it into two parts. Today, we're gonna do the general mailbag shit. Then for Friday's FKS post, because so many of you had a worthy viewpoint on it, we'll have a very special mailbag dedicated solely to settling the whole sitting vs. standing while wiping issue once and for all. Please, don't send any more letters on this topic. We now have this area more than covered.

Now let's dive into this beast.

Anonymous:

I play minor league baseball, so obviously we spend the majority of our time in hotels. Usually Latinos are roomed with Latinos, and Americans with Americans, further adding to the division that already exists there. But occasionally the numbers don't match up so a Latin and American are roomed together, providing the Americans with rare insight into their ways. Now Latinos treasure their sleep like few other things, so they have used their ingenuity to devise a way not to get out of bed: the hotel ice bucket. Simply grab that bad boy and put it on the nightstand before you fall asleep, then in the morning all you have to do is roll over, flop it out, and let it rip, all without having to take that laborious walk to the bathroom and exposing yourself to those harmful, awakening rays of light. We all found this pretty fucking disgusting, but I thought you might appreciate it.

Oh, and as an aside, Latinos don't flush their used toilet paper either, putting it in the garbage can instead. It provides a very distinctive, undigested Chipotle smell to their rooms.

Now wait a second, what real Latino player is gonna go have dinner at Chipotle? That's a disgrace. If you're a card-carrying Latino person and you eat at Chipotle, shame on you. SHAME ON YOU.

Use of the hotel ice bucket reminds me of college. Every guy I knew back in college would usually piss by draining it in to an empty Colt .45 bottle and then leaving it. This was done because A) It was convenient, and B) Obvious comedic misunderstandings would result should someone mistake the piss bottle for an actual bottle of malt liquor. All things considered, I'd rather drink from a piss bottle by accident than a dip spit bottle by accident. When I went to Michigan for a semester, guys in South Quad would piss into empty Snapple bottles and then chuck them out the window when the bottles became too numerous. Keep in mind, there was a perfectly functional bathroom mere steps away. But we pissed in Snapple bottles anyway. TAKE THAT, LAZY DOMINICANS!

In a way, I sympathize with the Latinos not wanting to use the john to piss at night or in the early morning. There are two kinds of darkness in the world. There's regular darkness, and then there is hotel room darkness. The inner shade used by most hotels could repel light even if the sun was five fucking feet from your window. Walking through a dark hotel room is like swimming in petroleum. Visibility is virtually nil. Also, if you're like me, you go to great lengths to make sure those shades are drawn as tightly as possible, so that you don't get that Staff of Ra beam of light blasting through the crack the next morning. That is a fucking brutal ray of light, right there. Opening those hotel room shades feels like you just went onto the stage at the Met.

Chris:

I live in Seattle, so most of the people are, like me, transplants from somewhere else. Was talking at the bar the other night with a bunch of my buddies and someone brought up the subject of the great game that was Smear the Queer. They were right - it was a great game. I am really astonished I made it through childhood playing games that were basically an excuse for 5 guys to beat the crap out of the moron who happened to be carrying the ball.

However, almost everyone at the table was from different parts of the country. Yet even though they grew up separated by thousands of miles, with no internet to transmit the rules or, more importantly, the name of the game, everyone knew exactly what we were talking about.

How the fuck does that happen?

As a coincidence, I got a call this week from my sister-in-law, which went something like this:

HER: Hey Drew, you're a big football fan, right?

ME: Yup.

HER: Okay, I was wondering if you could settle something for me. (My wife's brother) told me that, when he was a kid, he played some horrible game called… Smear the Queer? Is that a real game? I bet him that he was making it all up.

ME: No, that's a real game. The guy with the ball is the queer, and you try and kick his ass.

HER: That's horrible.

ME: Yeah well, what are you gonna do. Pony up to your hubby, girlfriend.

Now, my brother-in-law grew up in Maryland. I played STQ when my family lived in Chicago when I was about 5 or so. So there's two places the game was played. It is amazing, when you think about it. It shows you just how prevalent homophobia is amongst violent kindergarteners. Who knew?

Rich:

Dude, they make THC infused lolipops. My buddy got them at a dispensary in Denver and took them to the Steelers-Broncos game. All positive reviews. He is supposed to UPS some to me but he is lazy as shit.

Of course he's lazy as shit. He's on THC-infused lollipops.

Mike:

Just thought I'd share some information about those fentanyl pops. First of all, they're 100x stronger than morphine because fentanyl doses are measured in MICROgrams (or some crazy small unit like that) whereas morphine is milligrams. It doesn't mean it's more powerful than morphine necessarily, it's just that if you were to take the same amount of fentanyl as you would morphine you'd probably die.

Oooh, death. THE ULTIMATE HIGH.

I have been fortunate enough to try these lollipops recreationally (and not because I have cancer), and let me tell you that if they were more readily available I would certainly have been on Intervention myself. You suck on the thing for like 2 minutes and you feel awesome for 5 hours. And they taste good and smell like cotton candy. Far and away the best drug (besides maybe LSD) that I've ever experienced. The best part is you can it do anytime, anywhere. Sitting in class, driving around, watching TV with relatives, it doesn't matter.

God damn, that sounds great. I wish I were an eight year old with leukemia.

I was watching parts of "Intervention" last night, and the story centered on Greg, who became addicted to morphine after falling 20 feet and shattering his lower back. Greg said he needed the medicine to get rid of the pain, or else he was in pain 24 hours a day, regardless of standing, sitting, or laying down. And his family thought he was bullshitting.

Let me tell you something, Greg's family: When your lower back is shattered, and they have to build a cage around your spine because it got fucking crushed, there's a very good chance you will end up in chronic, agonizing pain. Pain that is completely immune to the likes of Tylenol3, Percocet, and Vicodin. No bullshit. Take it from someone who has had similar pain. Let that man have his morphine, dammit. Greg ain't bullshitting. It's either 24-hour anguish, or an addiction that will ruin his life. I'd take addiction in an instant.

Another Brian:

I'm sure you're gonna get a lot of emails about this, but Tony Iommi of Black Sabbath also uses a Gibson SG and many would argue that he is as influential/badass, if not more so than Angus Young.

My fuckup.

/hits self with guitar

Dan:

Am I the only person who has to have a list before you go grocery shopping? Not just any old list either, it must be in order of where those items are in the store. I always start on the far left of the store with Beer and by the time I'm done I'm at the exact opposite end where the fruits and vegetables (and cheese) are. A few weeks ago my wife made a shopping list with no regard to my listing system and it fucked me all up! I spent twice as long as I normally do and I must have criss-crossed the store 5 times... Is list-ordering normal or do I have OCD or what?

You do NOT have OCD. I make a list for the grocery store (largely because the Mrs. did it when I married her). She, like you, arranges the list in order of store placement. Going to some other store completely ruins the list.

I view any trip to the grocery store where I have to double back as a complete fucking failure. And 100% of my trips are failures. I always miss something on the list, or I misjudge where something is. Or they moved an item to a front-aisle display and I have no fucking clue where it is. I also have trouble just SEEING the item. There are times when you will find me in the store, staring at the cans for 15-minute chunks because I know the kidney beans are in that section, but I am unable to locate them.

Side note: On Sunday, I went to the store. Everyone knows Sunday afternoon is a peak time for grocery buying. So I walk into the store, and not only are they still stocking aisles (i.e., giant stocking carts are blocking the aisles, preventing traffic flow), but they also had out free sample display table that further restricted available aisle space. It wasn't even good free samples, either. It was mock crab salad on a water cracker. FUCK YOU, GROCERY STORE. Aisle space is precious. DO NOT FUCK WITH IT. There needs to be enough space in the aisle for no less than three carts to fit side by side, so you can pass the asshole old lady parked in the center of the aisle on either side. And to those of you non-old people who park your cart in the center of the aisle, just know that I will kill you. I will find your house, and I will sneak inside and murder you and your family.

Jordan:

Shampoo or liquid body wash to wash your balls? I like to mix it up, and usually go liquid soap if I use my wife's loofa but will go shampoo if just applying directly.

I too go both ways. I use leftover hair lather to foam the nuts, then I finish off with the shower poof. You cannot get your nuts clean enough. I've tried using leftover hair lather for masturbatory purposes. Not terribly effective. I pull a glute trying to jerk in the shower.

Kid Canada:

What's your opinion on the ticker that runs at the bottom of the screen during Sportscenter/re? It drives me batshit insane when I am watching highlights of a game to which I don't know the result, and just as they're building suspense for the outcome, the fucking score flashes at the bottom of the screen! To use a Canadian example (sorry), I was watching highlights of the Grey Cup, and while the highlights are in the middle of the third quarter, MONTREAL 28, SASKATCHEWAN 27 (F) scrolls on the ticker. Fabulous, that in no way detracted from the suspense for me!

I concur. On the rare occasion that I don't know the outcome, I have taken to placing my hand over the BottomLine in an attempt to block it. But it is amazing how the BottomLine is timed to reveal critical scores only at the exact moment you don't wish to know them. This is why the Internet is so very important.

Travis:

My least favorite part about the holidays is figuring out for whom I'm obligated to buy gifts. And, what the hell do you get them?

I have the same problem every year now. I'm going to my folks' house for the holiday. Fourteen people will squeeze into the house for a week, including six kids under 5 years old. My wife suggested we just do gifts Secret Santa style, so we only have to get gifts for one person or one family. But my mom said, "No, no. We'll just do gifts for the kids and stockings for the adults."

Well, FUCK MAN. Filling a stocking for someone is a bitch. Now I can't just buy one stupid gift. I have to buy many very small gifts for all 14 goddamn people. Bullshit. Then there are the in-laws, and friends, and Leitch, and all these other people. I say NO Xmas gifts for anyone but your family. Ever. Especially if you're over 21. No one over 21 ever needs a fucking gift for anything.

Aly:

Do you openly discuss your wife's pooping habits as much as you discuss your own?

When I first did standup, one of the stories I told was about the time my wife came running up to me one day urgently and we had this exchange:

HER: I just realized we're eating too many fatty foods.

ME: How do you know that, apart from the fact that I'm fat?

HER: (whispers despite no one else being in the room) Because I took a shit and it floated.

ME: I don't love you anymore.

She was not pleased about me divulging that bit of information.

Heyzeus:

Do you know what sucks? Buying toilet paper. I decided, once I reached a certain station in life, that I was only going with the good stuff henceforth. Shitty toilet paper requires you to fold over like 8 sheets per wipe, and still leaves little pieces of paper stuck in your bunghole. I'm willing to pay that wopping extra dollar for quality.

So why do stores make it so fucking hard for me to do so? First of all, two ply is a given standard. So why do they write the ply count in tiny letters hidden somewhere on the plastic wrap?

Not only that, but certain toilet paper brands have changed. Quilted Northern used to be very thick and velvety. BUT THEY CHANGED THE FORMULA, I TELL YOU. It became fucking Scott Tissue overnight. Cottonelle changed too. It's not even ply count that matter anymore. You can get two-ply that's thinner than a pencil line. Cheap fuckers.

Tom:

I just finished reading your latest mailbag and wait...you don't have a DVR?!? You fucking shithead—don't you realize that a complete moron would NOT have DVR service??? Seriously, not having DVR in 2009 is like my one friend who refused to get a cell phone until about 2007 because "he just didn't really need it". Yeah, he was a moron too. He'd be like, "Hey, you guys went out for happy hour last night? why didn't anyone tell me!?!" Because nobody knows how the fuck to find you, fucktard!

Oh, you think I like the fact that I don't have DVR? You think I don't know EXACTLY what the fuck I'm missing? You think I haven't explained to the wife that having DVR is more important than paying for COBRA benefits, only to have it fall on deaf ears? FUCK YOU.

Cam:

I'm from New Zealand and we have Xmas during summer. I don't know if you've ever considered this to be a good or bad thing but it fucken rules. You Northern Hemisphere folks can have your snow and hot egg-nog, we have fucken sunshine and cold beer. Almost every household has a BBQ on Christmas Day, it's fucken bliss.

We've got it all sweet down here.

Well, go fuck a sheep, Frodo. I bet you have a DVR too. ISN'T LIFE JUST PEACHY FOR YOU? Asshole.

Mike:

How the fuck can you make a suicide pick and lose three times? It's a suicide pick. How many fuckers succeed at suicide and get to do it two more times? This type of ass-baggary makes you slightly less intelligent than John Clayton's hair bun.

Point taken.

William:

Hi Drew, did you get a memo sent out by the NFL that all phraseology previously used to describe blocking (you know, like sealing or pancaking) is heretofore rendered obsolete. Each gamecast must now contain the phrase "setting the edge" a minimum of 4 times.

THIS GUY… you talk abut SETTING THE EDGE!

Danny:

HBO was showing the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame concert over the weekend. BB King, U2, Bruce, Metallica, Stevie Wonder, Ozzy, Aretha Franklin, Sting, Billy Joel among others. Not that you had to dig all their music, but they were on top of their particular game for decades and were recognizable for their talent regardless of genre. 20 years from now, what bands/artists are playing that show? Or will they have shuttered the place by then?

I assume they'll just bring those same assholes back for another round. Just like the NFL will have to start repeating old performers again in few years. The Who are about the last old act they have left. Tom Petty will be back.

They'll probably have Beyonce and Justin Timberlake and Coldplay on stage 20 years from now. And Mick Jagger, because the Hall is run by Jann Wenner, and Jann Wenner can't take a shit without asking Mick Jagger for permission first.

Jeff:

Perhaps you have discussed this at some other point, but one underrated thing about parenthood (once the kids gets get off the breast or the bottle) is the whole milk. You ever drink this? You practically have to chew it. Whole milk and sugary cereal is a delight. And since the milk is for your kid, you don't feel guilty or like a fatass for purchasing it.

See, I have the opposite reaction to whole milk. I'm so used to skim milk, the thickness of whole milk disturbs me. I feel like I'm drinking human breast milk.

Also, I've gotten out of control eating all my kid's leftover food. It's gotten to the point where I don't even ask my kid twice if she's done with the dinosaur chicken nugget. I just eat it right off the bat, then the Mrs. hits my hand with a ruler.

Nick:

Thank you for calling out people who affect accents. I specifically decided NOT to study abroad in college because so many of my friends came back with that stupid fucking British lilt at the end of questions (eg, "Should we go to the pub, then?"). Equally awful were the people who, entirely without being asked, would interject their self-serving "When I was in Dublin..." anecdotes where they didn't belong, or would steer the conversation back toward their study abroad experience ("This steak is good, but when I was in Argentina, we had REAL steak.") Which is worse, accent affectation or HEY LISTEN TO ME I'VE TRAVELED anecdotes?

The accent. I'll confess right now. I say "cheers" instead of "thanks" sometimes, because I liked that they did that in England. KOGOD hates this and thinks I'm a complete asshat for doing it. Fair enough, OLD CHAP!

I had one friend who came back from England and called college "university" after that. As in, "When I was at university…" I wanted to punch him in the sternum when he did that.

INTERMISSION!

Ian:

The whole top/bottom thing is way overplayed by the media. Most gay guys I know may have one preference over the other (which is kinda why the delineation is there, so you know how a one-night pickup is going to end) but still do both. Exclusively "tops" are way too selfish, exclusive "bottoms" are too passive in my opinion. I think healthy relationships do share pitching duties. Plus, sharing duties is a great excuse to have more sex, which you can never go wrong with.

Indeed. More gay sex for me, please! I wonder what two bottoms do when they end up hooking up inadvertently. Imagine them both "presenting" themselves for each other. Awkward! "Look, usually I'm the one who gets it… Oh, god dammit. Do you have Fred Smoot's number?"

Chris:

Drew, do you ever inexplicably continue to eat something that has no taste/tastes bad? I just realized that these pita chips SUCK and should only ever be used as a vessel for humus/cheese intake. Yet I have no hummus or cheese, and I'm not really hungry, but I continue to snack on these wafers of terribility. Wtf?

I also do this, because I am fat. But fear not, Chris. It's not your fault. Much of your food is engineered that way. No lie. When I worked on the Hershey account, one of the products they came up with were Hershey Bites, bite-sized little balls of various candy put in a pouch. The reason they invented this was to encourage what is known in the food industry as mindless munching, which is when you eat for the sake of eating, usually between meals. So they came up with Hershey's Bites, so you would eat candy in that situation, as opposed to a candy bar, which is an impulse purchase people make for a snack. In other words, they didn't want you eating Bites at the expense of not buying a candy bar. They were trying to invent a second occasion in the day in which you would eat candy. And they succeeded. Because eating more candy is better than eating the same amount of candy.

John:

Do you ever eat while shitting?

Usually not. The cardinal rule (taken from Men With Balls) is that you should never eat while watching pornography. But I've eaten while pooping. Usually, it's to finish eating something. Like, I'm eating a granola bar, then a turtle pops up, so I bring it in with me. That's the only time I do it. My wife is repulsed by this. If you're taking a plate of waffles under a silver dome with you to the shitter, that would be odd.

Matt:

Is it possible to order a coke from McDonalds and not press in the Diet and Other tabs on the lid? I'm not sure its physically possible to resist that temptation.

Agreed.

Rob:

Speaking of kiddie farts in this past week's mailbag, have you ever made this mistake? As a new parent, I learned my lesson quick. Basically, your kid makes a loud, quasi-shitting fart, that to the untrained ear could easily be one or the other. In a effort to asses and deal with the situation quickly, you go in for a quick sniff check, and inhale WAYYYYY too hard. It's basically akin to taking a babyfart bong rip. Just awful.

Still not as bad as emptying the diaper pail. Like I said, emptying the diaper pail is like being gangbanged with farts.

Hank Scorpio:

Recently on my way home, I found myself behind a Smart car. You know, the tiny, eco-friendly vehicle that has become the auto of choice for hipster doofuses who used to drive Mini Coopers but instead now want to appear Mother Earth friendly?

The kicker was that this particular car's vanity plate read: SMART IQ. I swear I've never been more fucking incensed by a custom plate than this one. I found myself praying that the stop arm on the railroad tracks we were approaching would malfunction and that the car would be flattened by a northbound Conrail freight train.

Agreed. Huge douche plate.

Heather:

What language do people who are multilingual think in? Is it their primary language? Is it the language that they are speaking at that moment? Or does it depend on the subject?

My mother-in-law is from Germany, and though she's lived here for over two decades, she still thinks and dreams mostly in German. But I don't think it's a hard and fast rule. All I know is that if I had to spend 25 years speaking one language and thinking in another, my brain would collapse.

Ward:

Is there a movie, as a heterosexual man, you like that other men would consider really gay? One time my college roommate and I were flipping through the channels and I skipped over the movie "Ghost." He screamed for me to go back because it was on. Also, my 50 year old dad LOVES the movie "She's All That." He'll watch it every time it is on TV. I will watch any movie that has Hugh Grant. What's yours?

Does "About A Boy" count? No? Then, "Bridget Jones Diary". I'm fine with any chick flick that has British people and curse words in it. Except "Notting Hill."

Patrick:

I have a question for your fe-mailbag readership: WHAT is with the goddamned hair in the drain!?!/!1! (My GOD! Do I shed that much too? Why isn't my shit in the drain?) Why do I have to be the one to grab a heaping wad of TP and fish out the sizeable hairwad so we don't have to shower in Waterworld? Every guy I know that has lived with a girl has had the same experience. Does this issue disappear magically once you marry?

No. Why would it disappear upon marriage? You didn't even mention the hairbrush. Most girls have a hairbrush that looks like a working loom. It's like a cotton candy cone. You could pull a full toupee for Jeffrey Tambor out of that hairbrush.

My wife also has nine different hairbrushes. No clue why. Oh. that's the curling brush? Okay then.

Jo:

My wife used to think I was the fucking king at building stuff. You name it, I could put it together with the right tools and enough beer. Now, thanks to IKEA, she feels that she should go through the assembly process for ANYTHING with me. New table? Yup. Floor Lamp? Definitely. Electronic toothbrush? No question.

This has all stemmed from ONE time when I was putting together a huge bookshelf from those Swedish bastards She asks "What's wrong?" I say "Some of these drawings are really vague". She gets this worried look in her eyes like I've just told her I can't actually read or write. I get about 4 more steps in and realize that I have to go back to that step because those two table legs that were the SAME GODDAMN SIZE AS THE GUY were actually small little connectors that I thought went in later on.

Since then we get to spend "quality time" assembling things while I try not to yell at her for getting in the way and she gets mad at me for my tone. It always starts out like she's just going to watch and be an extra pair of hands but then it turns into the fucking Amazing Race as we argue over instructions and stop speaking to each other for a day or two.

Yup. Same boat here. I start putting shit together, then my lady will come over to check on my handiwork. "Are you sure that's supposed to be like that?" NO. I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA. BUT I AM A GROWN MAN AND CAN SORT THIS OUT ON MY OWN. NOW PISS OFF AND LEAVE ME THE LAST VESTIGE OF MY MANHOOD.

The worst thing is that, when your wife comes over to have a look, that's exactly the moment you've fucked up. ALWAYS. God always choreographs it so you look as incompetent as possible in front of your spouse. FUCK YOU, GOD.

Dan:

Am I the only one who gets a total fucking chub every time one of those Rosetta Stone commercials with the chick with the perfect face and cleavage comes on? I swear I can't even count the number of times I've been watching TV at night (after the Mrs goes to bed) and seen that commercial and just started furiously beating it. And she's not even my type, I prefer the blonde hair/blue eyed look. Am I the only guy who this chick makes unbelievably horny every time I see her?

The woman in question is Lesliey Ann Machado. She's the Joan Halloway of Rosetta Stone. Heaving breasts translate in any language.

Fogg:

How does your mom handle the subject matter/language of your posts? I assume, like any mom, she reads all your stuff and would, under normal circumstances, forward it on without mercy to unsuspecting friends and family.

Everyone in my family knows what I write and where I write, but the subject matter is NEVER, ever discussed, which is how I like it. One Father's Day, my dad sidled up to me and said:

DAD: So am I a five-throwgasm dad or what?

ME: Dad, that's fucking disgusting. Don't use that word. Ever.

DAD: Okay.

Chad:

One of the things I hate most about ESPN's stupid NFL power rankings are the stupid, pithy comments that accompany each team's ranking. They put the most obvious, short-sighted bullshit stuff on there. AND THEN THEY GIVE EACH COMMENT A FUCKING BYLINE!

For example: "Three straight losses should have the Steelers concerned about their playoff chances" (Chadiha).

WOW, THANKS JEFFREY CHADIHA! WHAT MOTHERFUCKING INSIGHT YOU HAVE! YOU ARE TRULY AN NFL INSIDER!

They clearly need to set the edge!

Jeff:

What is the appropriate level of cleanliness for a plate that you're about to put in the dishwasher? I tend to completely rinse my dishes before putting them in the washer and almost always feel like a d-bag for doing so. But every time I leave a little smear of dried goodness on a plate a little bit ends up surviving the cleaning cycle. A follow up, if you suggest that I do some amount of plate cleaning before putting my dishes in the washer should I use a sponge or my personal favorite rinsing technique, the hot water erosion method?

You need a better dishwasher, but most decent ones can get that last little bit of crap off the plate. But yes, for plate rinsing, I also prefer the hot water erosion method, where you sit there for five minutes, wasting hundreds of gallons of water in hopes that the heat and water pressure will blast off the cheese and you don't actually have to wipe the plate with a sponge or brush. That's real work, and I don't like that.

Jessen:

"my DNA Fragrance is a unique perfume company, which designs one-of-a-kind fragrances based on your DNA genetic code"

What would yours smell like?

I think mine would be a combination of whiskey, Qdoba and laziness.

Poop, Yuengling, and salmon oil.

Tom:

Do you get disappointed when you drop a big one, only you can't tell how big because it starts to snake its way down the toilet? You those mirror things SWAT teams use to look under cars and around corners? Someone needs to invent one of those to see how big turds are.

I do get annoyed when the front of the hole obscures the rest of the poop. You know what every toilet needs? It needs a water level measure on the side. Just little hash marks. That way, you'd know the volume of water displaced, the difference being the volume of your poop. Then you could keep trying to set personal bests.

John V:

You talk a lot about going to the bathroom but you never talk about washing your hands after.

When I'm out in public I notice some people are putting the soap directly onto their dry hands. Don't these people know that you don't get suds unless you wet your hands first? Where's the fun in that? You just got finished arching your stream for maximum bubbles in the toilet, it would make sense that you'd want to create a mighty lather in the sink. So Drew, are you a soap-on-dry-hands guy?

Also, I don't feel the need to wash my hands after I use the bathroom at home unless things get messy. I don't have anyone to impress there.

I never wash my hands after pissing in the middle of the night. But often, my wife, who I assume is dead asleep, will hear me NOT washing my hands and send back to wash them before getting back into bed. She even listens for the soap to be pumped. Women are skilled and evil creatures.

Eric:

Why doesn't FOX run a fantasy ticker? CBS always runs one, and it's fucking great. All FOX gives you are the scores with no stats or anything. Fucking terrible.

Well then, there'd be no room for the robot! Can't have that.

Jordi:

Does your wife ask you to do things, or tell you? I tend to respond to women telling me what to do with the question "is that a demand or a question?". Needless to say, it never ends well.

Agreed. I don't like the "order phrased as a question." Hey Drew, would you like to do the dishes? Uh, no.

I had a boss once who phrased everything this way. One day, I finally snapped. She said, "Do you wanna file all this stuff?" I said, "Honestly? No." She stormed off in a huff. Hey, YOU ASKED.

Anuj:

A friend, who is a surgeon, told me that he once performed surgery on a patient who for unknown reasons, had an extra coil, of almost a foot, of large intestine. The man had been living with this his whole life, and finally decided the pain was too much to bear. The interesting this is that this man claimed that because of the pain shitting caused him, and the extra length of his bowel, he took one very massive shit only once every six weeks. He would literally block off 4-6 hours and just proceed to empty his entire colon into the toilet.

This fascinated me- it really captivated my friends and I for several weeks. We discussed the pros and cons of this constantly. Imagine if you could give up routine bowel movements for one massive endeavor once a month? "Hey Drew, you wanna watch the game at my place tomorrow? Nope, I can't. I gotta take my monthly dump, I'll be tied up all day". You could block off the day in Outlook and just set up shop with a TV, laptop and magazines in the bathroom. One of my friends went so far as to say that monthly dumps would have caused a different society. Why would we need toilets to be in restaurants and bars when they would be used only once every month?

He proposed a culture of urinals for women, similar to what female astronauts use. Another friend chimed in with the perils of not being able to foresee when your next dump would come. Imagine going to a football game, and a massive dump sneaks up on you during the 2nd quarter? By the time you would be complete, not only would the game be over, the stadium would be completely empty and all your buddies would be gone. Thus the question is for you to answer- Daily (or thrice daily) dumps or once massive poop a month? I propose a series of town hall debates to further discuss the merits of each.

I like regular, daily pooping. Otherwise, bathroom books would become obsolete and everyone would start reading novels. That would be horrible.

Finally, to end our day, a letter from a prison guard.

Dave:

After grad school and working a couple of years in minor league sports, I decided it was time to get a "real" job (one that paid me enough to live on and had actual benefits like insurance and a retirement plans). I became employed at a state prison as a Recreation Specialist. My job was essentially part-gym teacher and part-prison guard. We supervised open gym and other recreational activities for maximum-security inmates, including officiating athletic contests. We developed a slow-pitch softball league where each of the four Rec Specialists would pick a team of inmates and coach and play on the team with them. The inmates actually liked the experience and we all exchanged good-natured heckling.

Half of the inmates in this prison were serving life sentences. And "life" means life, as there is no parole for these offenders. My third basemen was serving life for murder and I often played dominoes with him. My shortstop was a compact prisoner from another state serving life for a heinous child rape/murder. As a prison employee, you have to always be cognizant of the pasts of these guys, yet treat them all as if they're equal. Anyway, my days off were Wednesday and Thursday and I happened to be getting gas at convenience store and noticed the afternoon had a picture of my shortstop under the headline "Inmate Stabbed to Death in Prison Dining Hall". Upon further reading of the article, I discovered that the killer was my third baseman, who committed the act for $10,000 from a gang in another state. He served about 18 months in solitary confinement and was given a second life sentence. But I faced a dilemma that few, if any, coaches had ever faced: I needed to replace the whole left side of my infield due to murder.

That is awesome.

People ask if it's going to take a death for something to change the way we deal with concussions. It's the wrong question, since it already has. Unfortunately, Ryan Dougherty isn't an isolated case. It's just one sad data point in what truly is an epidemic of head injuries — an estimated 55,000 concussions in high school football in 2005-06 alone, according to the Journal of Athletic Training. Teenagers' heads, already chock-full of hormones, confusion and dancing images of Megan Fox, are being battered around on the football field, their brains sloshing inside their skull like the coffee in your mug when you take a turn too fast. If you watch Brian Westbrook or Jahvid Best being helped off the field by a team of trainers and doctors, you're seeing exactly what our high school and youth players lack: trained professionals who at least have a basic protocol for dealing with concussions.

The outcry over head injuries has centered on the NFL and, to a lesser extent, the NCAA, and both organizations have taken steps to address the problem. The NCAA distributes guidelines, though they're still too general to do much good. The NFL, which has shown more concern as public alarm has risen, distributes guidelines around the league, though I spoke with two teams that weren't sure they'd received copies this season. (A check with the NFL indicates that they should have, but routine guidelines have a way of being forgotten in the heat of competition.)

So the billion-dollar money machines have their policies, but that's not where the real problem is. It's the high schools and youth programs, where concussions are frequent and yet care is often non-existent.

I called six high schools in the Indianapolis area and asked for their policy on concussions. Not one had a policy available. Only one school had a full time athletic trainer, though every school had a trainer that came from a clinic on game nights. Of course, that means that only the coaches are making medical decisions during practice and on days after games, when some problems will show up. Of the six schools, none had any sort of guidelines that they were required to use.

Having a trainer present isn't any more of a panacea than buying new, $1,000 helmets, but it's better than nothing. And by nothing, I mean absolutely nothing. Indiana coaches aren't required to be trained to recognize concussions in any way. A simple guideline can only do so much. Require that a player with a concussion leave the game and stay out for a week? Fine, but who determines that he has a concussion in the first place? Even Kurt Warner says he'd hide symptoms better next time.

The Indiana High School Athletic Association has no rules regarding concussions, aside from a single question asked in the pre-participation physical. The question? "Have you ever had your bell rung?" Beyond this, there is no mention, no guideline, no article of concern on the association's website. It should say something that the six coaches and athletic directors I spoke to refused to go on the record regarding the lack of standards. Only one, an AD, mentioned the NFHS guidelines, which specifically call for no player to return to play after a concussion. His coach was not aware of them.

In Indiana (and, again, I'm using my home state as an example here — some states are doing more, some less), one program has been set up to help fight this problem. The Indiana Sports Concussion Network is part of Methodist Sports Medicine and provides ImPACT testing for high school athletes. (If you've never seen the ImPACT test, watch this video.) The ImPACT test is the same one used by most NFL teams and is considered the state of the art; some dispute its efficacy, but, once again, it's certainly better than nothing. According to Dick Rea at Methodist Sports Medicine, 83 of Indiana's 311 football schools are participating in this program. That 26 percent is something, but is it enough?

Asked for a solution or a protocol that would solve all our problems, no one can point to one. I have a hard time saying that spending money is any kind of solution at a time when schools simply don't have the money to spend. A Xenith helmet might cost an extra $100 and work better than most current helmets — Dallas Clark sounds like a salesman whenever he talks about it — but, again, it's an issue of money. Do we really want the rich suburban schools to have better protection than a program struggling with simply keeping kids in school? It's easy to say that adding a full-time athletic trainer to the staff would help in many ways, but even in Texas, where a licensed trainer is required at large schools (again, it's money), there's been no corresponding reduction in concussions. It might take something really revolutionary, like what John Gagliardi has been doing for 57 years at St. John's in Minnesota: The team has no contact during practice; no pads or helmets, either. Scott Bierscheid, the head athletic trainer at St. John's, said that concussions were "nonexistent" for him in practice. They've had two during games in the 2009 season (one in which the team went 10-1) — "about normal," in Bierscheid's characterization. Is it that simple?

Football celebrates stupidity disguised as machismo. Bear Bryant became famous trying to kill his own players, now immortalized as the Junction Boys. I'm old enough to remember when water breaks were considered weakness ... in middle school football. I'm sure that a generation from now, we'll look back at this situation and the management of head injuries the way we look at leather helmets, the Wing-T and Bobby Bowden. The problem is that there are kids — kids! — out there now, losing their heads in a very literal sense. It's one thing to say that the millionaires in the NFL are going to die from the effects of their head trauma someday and another to think that our high school kids might await the same fate. With so much at stake, we need to make sure that high schools and even lower levels and youth sports are using best practices. You should contact your local high school and ask what their concussion policy is — or if they even have one. I'd love to see the comments or the tips inbox fill up with the good and the bad of their responses.

Will Carroll writes on injuries at Football Outsiders and Baseball Prospectus. He edited The Carroll Guide to Sports Injuries.

Illustration by Jim Cooke