It was my 10-year reunion. I was reasonably excited. I felt like I kind
of got my shit together in my mid-20s and, since I had a surprisingly
good time at my 5-year reunion, it was a no-brainer to go to my 10th.

Before I continue, you should know I was totally not cool in high
school. Oh, I wanted to be. But I lacked confidence in pretty much every
aspect of my life: school, sports, dating, everything. I had no idea who
I was or who I wanted to be. One of the running jokes about me was that
whenever someone farted, some of my buddies would blame me. I think that
sort of encapsulates my teenage life. I have no idea why.

Anyway, 2002. My 10-year reunion. Before Facebook allowed us to have a
mini-reunion every morning before breakfast. The reunion was at one of
those bars across Lansdowne St. from Fenway. I should have known things
were going to go badly when I went to my friend's Kenmore Square
apartment for a small pre-reunion get-together. In walks a woman who I
have known since sixth grade, a woman who I saw multiple times in
college, a woman who I once accompanied to a wedding. She walks into the
apartment, comes right over to me and shakes my hand. "Hi, I'm Jen," she
says. "Nice to meet you." (Granted, I do look different from when I was
in high school. I now wear glasses and have been slowly losing my hair
for 15 years.)

We head over to the reunion. On my first trip to the bar, one of my
former classmates walks up and says: "So, how about that e-mail?"

"E-mail?" I ask.

"Yeah, that one that was supposedly from you."

"Huh?"

Long story short, gleaned through interviews with many classmates:

Someone created a Hotmail account in my name and sent multiple messages
to a slew of my ex-classmates. In them, the fake me announced that I was
gay and said that the reunion would be my coming out party as a
flamboyantly gay man. I never actually saw the e-mails, but supposedly
they got ridiculous enough that some people caught on. But not everyone.
And, of course, there was the telephone game effect whereby the people
who didn't get them only heard about them secondhand and assumed they
were true.

So, I spent the ENTIRE reunion doing the usual catch-up with old
classmates and then slipping in, "So, did you get weird e-mails from
me?" and then explaining they were sent by someone else and that I was,
in fact, not at all gay.

After a couple hours, I gave up. If my former classmates think I'm gay,
so be it. I live 300 miles away now.

The funny thing is, as I said, I was so lame in high school. I didn't
steal anyone's girlfriend. I wasn't a jock. I was a 120-pound nerd with
a receding hairline, spewing dumb jokes to cover up my own insecurities.
The worst thing I did was toilet paper someone's house.

Even now, I cannot fathom what I did to anyone to warrant a solid burn
10-year after the fact.

And, really, I do appreciate the magnitude of said burn. It was pretty
epic.

But I'm done with reunions.

God, I need a vicodin. Remember — still time to send yours in for Friday. Send them to ajd@deadspin.com

And also — who can resist singing Mr. Big? [Very Sic'd]:

Attached is visual confirmation of the first reader submitted comment from the Mariotti story today, Jay being all creepy at the Blue Frog, a karioke bar in Chicago....We were singing Mr. Big's "Next to be with you" at the time, and he refused to participate, which I think could have actually improved his image had he joined. But he doesn't have the reputation he does because he joins in on awesome karioke songs with random dudes to the delight of the crowd, which we should have forseen....

And then there's this anecdote, which is just cruel:

Just wanted to validate the story about the karaoke bar. These pictures were taken at Blue Frog late Saturday night by one of my friends. They show him waiting to drop the cosby kids off in a bathroom which has shower curtains as stall doors. During the next song the performer broke down with "Hey everybody, Mariotti is taking a dump in the bathroom right now!" After doing his business and most certainly washing his hands, Mariotti came out and yelled at them for "being on crack."

If any other readers do spot Jay gallivanting around town during a Windy City night, please don't pester him. The man is allowed to enjoy an evening out, just like the rest of us. In fact, do not approach him at all, unless you really, really enjoy his columns and wish to shake the man's hand. At least we know he washes them.

The biggest controversy at this year's Harvard-Yale game centered not on a coach's atrocious call on fourth-and-long, but on a T-shirt. For its official fashion statement, Yale's Freshman Council opted for a wildly popular design featuring an F. Scott Fitzgerald quote ("I think of all Harvard men as sissies") — until the university's LGBT Cooperative protested the shirt's "thinly-veiled gay slur." University administrators started lumbering around, and, trapped in a classic lose-lose shit storm, the Council pulled the design.

It turns out the Harvard-Yale rivalry boasts a long, contentious history of T-shirt warfare — a personal favorite, though it apparently flopped, is "Ve-ri-tas My Salad" — and, in this and many other aspects, it happily lives up to your expectations. When they played for the first time in 1875, with Harvard winning 4-0, seven students got arrested "for creating disturbances by hooting and singing in the public streets." In 1908, Harvard's coach (allegedly) strangled a live bulldog in the locker room to fire up his players. (Harvard won again.) Every year, the rivalry delivers healthy doses of tone-deaf posturing, as when, this time around, the overly earnest kiddos at the Yale Daily News cooked up a provocation under the headline, "Budget Cuts Hit Harvard Harder." The story devotes several paragraphs to Harvard pulling its hot breakfasts, but skims over the 350 workers laid off by the two universities (and we're talking janitors and cooks, not professors).

All this — even the T-shirts — seems to suggest a lively football rivalry. Indeed, other than a sports-of-the-weird story on squash or rowing, Harvard-Yale is the Ivy League's only chance to break into the collective sports consciousness. Despite living in New Haven for going on three years, though, I'd never attended what everyone refers to as "The Game." So this year, with Deadspin's blessing, I decided to check out everything I'd heard — about the sordid partying, the fierce rivalry and, most of all, the alleged glories of college football's last great relic of untainted amateurism. Everything I'd heard turned out to be more or less wrong.

Myth No. 1: Harvard-Yale is decadent and depraved.

On Saturday at 8 a.m., I catch the first shuttle to the Yale Bowl. In addition to the parking lots surrounding the stadium, Yale opens up the neighboring fields as a kind of tailgating annex, and, by the time I arrive, it's already operating at 10 percent capacity. People stumble around, all on their cell phones and all doing their best Vince Vaughn impressions. Soon, the first U-Haul rumbles in. The driver pops the hatch, and out spill 20 frat types. They quickly set up a perimeter of battered couches — quite an accomplishment given their already tipsy state and the bottle of wine or hard liquor gripped in each off hand.

I decide to start closer to the stadium — it seems tamer, judging from the fact that the tailgating tables have centerpieces. There's a mix of creaky alumni, pets wearing Yale sweaters, and young parents cradling future legacy admits. To one side sits a cluster of huge, outdoor wedding-type tents for places like Mory's, an iconically snotty Yale club, and Yale Investments, which manages the endowment. I hear someone say, "Yeah, that's right," and turn to see what must be a donor checking to find his name engraved in the Bowl's new cobblestone terrace.

People here don't dress like your standard tailgater. There's a range of brands and blazers and stoles, along with a few people slumming it in corduroys and varsity sweaters. (And who knew Coach made sneakers?) Nor do they eat like your standard tailgater. I find ornate pastries, bagels topped with cream cheese and prosciutto, shrimp cocktails, at least one portable lobster set-up and enough Merlot to float the Yale Bowl.

When I tire of tabulating varieties of scotch, I head back to the annex. There's now row after row of cars — mostly typical tailgaters with folding chairs, cheap beer and cornhole sets. But there's also a loose formation of Yale and Harvard U-Hauls, which seems to be the undergrad locus of choice. It's everything the discerning Deadspin reader might expect. The students pack in tight, and, already, there's a lot of what is plainly exploratory groping. Everything takes on a hipster sheen: neon sunglasses, goofy Russian ear-flap hats, an inexplicable amount of vintage U.S.A. Olympic merchandise. I count five distinct ways to tie a scarf. Once or twice, through the various brands of charcoal and propane and cigarettes, I catch a whiff of what I'm 98 percent sure is really good weed.

Nothing goes on at The Game that doesn't happen regularly at UConn or Boston College. But that didn't stop the Boston Herald from splashing "HARVARD HOOLIGANS" across its front page after 2004's game. Of course, the paper did so more because it was Harvard and less because the students were actual hooligans. And because it was Harvard, the story drew the attention of alarmists statewide and led to stricter rules for The Game. This year's version promised to crack down on underage drinking and warned, in its best schoolmarm passive voice, that "all student tailgates will be closed at the start of the third quarter. It is expected that all fans will enter the Bowl by the start of the third quarter." Only a Harvard or a Yale would require a special set of tailgating rules for one game per year. (In 2007, the last time Yale was any good, more fans attended the Harvard game than the other four home games combined.) At other universities, tailgating is a lifestyle choice — you might not embrace it, but you still respect the hell out of it. Here, it's one weekend of desperate grasping at a normal college experience. What we have here is more a pageant than a party. It's a tailgate in quotation marks. A Yalie might call it a simulacrum.

Myth No. 2: The Game is one of our all-time great rivalries

I decide to watch the game from the press box. It's nearly full, but I find a seat next to Bob Ryan, who doesn't say hello. Behind us sit Harvard's student broadcasters; somehow, they get stuck with only a land-line phone, which the analyst and play-by-play guy must politely pass back and forth for the entire game.

At 12:08, Harvard kicks off. Yale's had a rough 2009 (4-5) and, against Harvard, a rough decade (2-7), but today the Bulldogs look great. I don't think anyone can deny that the players get pumped for The Game, and Yale's are chest bumping and helmet pounding at an impressive clip. By the end of the first quarter, they lead 10-0.

For the second quarter, I hit the stands. It becomes clear that this is not the most alert or passionate crowd; many seem not to realize what's happening when Harvard goes for it on fourth down (or when Yale stops them). While moving to another section, I get trapped in a tunnel with some Yale undergrads. It smells like a brothel, and someone leads us in a deafening "Harvard Sucks" chant. When we emerge into the sunlight, the students start high-fiving. "Dude, we're winning!"

The score remains 10-0 at halftime, and I check in at the annex to see how everyone's handling that third-quarter deadline. The crowd seems to have only grown, and they're now universally trashed. A few have passed out on the couches; others remain upright only through the press of the crowd. One girl in a Harvard hoodie walks around by herself, stomping on empty plastic cups. Two people are doing drunk yoga ("Feel it stretch your core"). One guy just starts pissing, and I make eye contact, first with his penis, then with his face, then with the empty bathroom 200 feet away. I see a Catholic priest in his clerical collar snapping and posing for pictures with the obviously drunk students. (To be fair, I never make it to the "Chabad at Yale" RV.) I get a visual on that weed.

By the time I get back to the Bowl, Harvard's managed to score, making it 10-7. Then, in a decision that would've gotten Belichicked all over Around The Horn if Harvard-Yale actually mattered, Yale's coach calls for a fake punt on fourth-and-22 from his own 26 — even though punter/kicker Tom Mante, all joking aside, is Yale's best offensive player and a legit NFL prospect. Three plays later, Harvard scores again, and the Crimson wins 14-10. Outside and a world away, the U-Hauls have closed up shop. But everyone's still at it, and no one knows or cares about the call or the score.

It seems a little ludicrous, then, to consider Harvard-Yale the sixth-best rivalry in college sports, as Sports Illustrated did in 2003 — or to get offended when College GameDay chooses Michigan-Ohio State over Harvard-Yale. Rivals don't need the world to be watching. Each year, my undergrad's basketball team, the University of Southern Indiana Screaming Eagles, gets all kinds of fired up to play Kentucky Wesleyan; no one outside of Evansville or Owensboro notices, but the drunk people at least make it inside.

That obviously isn't the case for Harvard-Yale. Here's a picture of the Yale Bowl taken right before this year's kickoff:

And here's a picture of the annex taken 30 seconds later:

You can pile up all the history and trivia you want — the 60 gallons of paint used for the two "H-Y" logos; the guy who's been to 67 straight Harvard-Yale games — but it won't change the fact that The Game no longer registers as A Rivalry. In the stands and around the U-Hauls, the crowd breaks more cleanly along lines like old/young or snob/poser than Harvard/Yale. There's no animosity. And why should there be? What do they have to get riled about? That they didn't get into each other's universities? If you want to see them get worked up, ask them to compare the schools' Classics departments.

Myth No. 3: The Game is one of our last pure sporting experiences

How you feel about a book with dueling forwards by Ted Kennedy (Harvard '56) and George Pataki (Yale '67) will say a great deal about your taste for Harvard-Yale. In The Only Game That Matters, Pataki writes: "For Yale-Harvard represents a time, an afternoon, when ... top-flight athletes at our best academic universities can reaffirm our belief in the student-athlete and the true meaning of amateur sport."

The former New York governor would never admit it, but the Ivy League is actually a much younger organization than the Big Ten or the SEC. In 1954, the eight university presidents signed the Ivy Group Agreement (PDF), which formalized all the stuff we now associate with Ivy League football: no scholarships, no postseason play and a firm commitment to education. "Players shall be truly representative of the student body," the Agreement reads, "and not composed of a group of specially recruited athletes." Even with these restrictions, Yale could crack the AP Top 25 as late as 1981. But that year, the Ivy League also found itself caught in a nasty crossfire between the NCAA and its most powerful programs — and at stake was the further consolidation of both fan interest and TV revenue in the emerging behemoth of Big Football.

The history between Ivy League football and television runs surprisingly deep — the first footage of a college football game came from New Haven, when Princeton played Yale in 1903, and, in 1938, Penn became the first team to broadcast a full game. (All six Philadelphia sets tuned in.) By 1981, though, things had changed. The NCAA controlled college football's relationship with CBS and ABC and was eyeing cable outlets like the newly-launched ESPN. So, to increase their bargaining power, the sport's top coaches decided to squeeze out smaller universities like the Ivies. Joe Paterno, today's avatar for all that's right with college football (and himself a Brown football alum), told The New York Times: ''The Ivy League is in another world all by their own. They are in another world. I'm in the real world." Yale actually met the requirements to remain in Division I, but elected to join its Ivy brethren in the purgatory of the I-AA football.

In 1984, the Supreme Court found the NCAA in violation of the Sherman Act and inaugurated the multi-network arms race we have today. But the Ivy League had made its final break — economically, philosophically, competitively — with Big Football. Since moving to I-AA, Ivy League attendance has dropped by more than 30 percent; Yale went from appearing on the major networks to gratefully taking a three-game "Yale on YES" deal. More to the point, the decline in intensity of even Harvard-Yale, both on campus and at large, stems directly from this series of choices.

Let's be clear: the Ivy League deserves plenty of credit for taking a moral (or at least a principled) stand. Every university struggles to balance athletics and academics, and most are finding increasingly creative ways to punt the latter — see the University of Florida, whose football players' SAT scores lag 346 points behind its average. But while the Ivy League enforces its academic standards through a Hollinger-esque formula, it also allows its teams plenty of wiggle room. Coaches compile lists of "priority candidates," who get in at four times the rate of their academically comparable peers. You'll also hear plenty of whispers about top prospects with offers from Stanford or Duke who somehow lucked into a "merit" scholarship. It all adds up to the fact that Ivy League athletes answer to a measurably lower standard than Ivy League students — and this is especially true of Ivy League football, which, as 2003's Reclaiming the Game has shown, boasts its own SAT gap: 165 points.

To be fair, Ivy League administrators, when confronted with data like these, have cracked down, reducing the number of annual football recruits from 50 to 35 (1993) to 30 (2002) and instituting a seven-week "dead time" when teams can't practice. At the very least, they respond to pressure.

But pressure comes from all sides. Coaches need to win — and any accusations of lowered standards or sketchy scholarships get out only through intra-Ivy leaks — because, for Yale and Harvard as much as for anyone else, college sports remain a cash cow. According to the Department of Education's data, Yale football's operating expenses in 2008 were $538,290, its revenues about $3 million. That's not much in comparison to, say, the University of Florida, which spent ten times as much per player and still took in $66 million. (It's also not much in comparison to Yale's $16-billion endowment.) But even in the Ivies, football has a way of firing up the donors. You can see this in positive instances — Yale's program for The Game names more than 500 donors, including Dick Jauron, a member of the $5,000-$9,999 Eli Club. And you can see it negative ones — Dartmouth alumni freaked out when their dean of admissions congratulated a different university for eliminating its football program. (While we're on the subject, you owe yourself a visit to Yale Athletics' site for itemized donations. All that's missing is a PayPal button.)

It could be worse. But the Ivy League is not, as one recent story put it, "college football ... in its purest form." Nor is Harvard-Yale "one of the last bastions of the true student-athlete." What Harvard and Yale are living isn't a lie, but it is certainly a compromise.

On Oct. 13, 1956, the Ivy League officially opened for business, and a young Bernard Gwertzman commemorated the event in the Harvard Crimson:

Whenever a new scandal is uncovered in the West, the Ivy League is immediately pointed to as the last "vestige of true amateurism." Anyone with a gripe against Big Time always looks to the Ivy League as the potential saviour of football.

But Gwertzman goes on to detail what, in his words, "those close to Ivy football know": players can expect preferential treatment, miraculous amounts of financial aid, even wink-wink internships and summer jobs.

The Game isn't a museum piece. It doesn't float above the mercenary scrum of college athletics, and it never has — not since Yalie great Walter Camp, inventor of both the down system and the faculty stonewall, helped turn the sport into big business. In many ways, it's college football in miniature, only with nicer cars and better weed. When it comes to Big Football vs. the Ivy League, the latter's merely not quite as bad.

"Yale: Not Quite as Bad." Put that on next year's T-shirt.

Craig Fehrman is a writer and grad student living in New Haven. You can find more of his work here.

JANUARY
George W. Bush is sworn in as the 43rd President of the United States. Jennifer Capriati overcomes her past drug addiction and wins the Australian Open. Former President Bill Clinton pardons campaign contributor Marc Rich. ABC reality show "The Mole" debuts, hosted by future CNN anchor Anderson Cooper. Beloved broadcaster Al McGuire dies. Kim Basinger and Alec Baldwin announce they are separating. The Baltimore Ravens beat the New York Giants in the most boring Super Bowl of all time. Affirmed dies. Affirmed.
FEBRUARY
Dale Earnhardt suffers a fatal crash in the Dayton 500. Paranoia over foot-and-mouth disease takes over England. Vince McMahon's Xtreme Football League debuts, with "He Hate Me" and Matt Vasgersian and Jesse Ventura broadcasting. A bloated Matthew Perry enters rehab. Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman shock the nation by declaring that they are seeking a divorce. When asked by David Letterman how her life is different, Kidman says, "I can wear heels now." Ariel Sharon is elected prime minister of Israel.
MARCH
Bob Knight is hired as coach of Texas Tech. Gladiator wins Best Picture. Alonzo Mourning returns from kidney disease to play for the Miami Heat. America backs out of the Kyoto climate pact. Dick Cheney has his second angioplasty in four months. In the midst of an energy shortage, California suffers rolling blackouts to save power. Talk show host Morton Downey Jr. dies, of lung cancer.
APRIL
Joey Ramone dies. Duke defeats Arizona to win the NCAA men's basketball championship. Arnold Schwarzenegger announces he will not run for governor of California in 2002. A Japanese newspaper offers $1 million for a naked picture of Ichiro Suzuki. Race riots break out in Cincinnati after a white police officer shoots and kills an unarmed black man. Albert Pujols grounds out off Mike Hampton in his first major league at-bat. Former Yugoslav president Slobodan Milosevic is arrested in Belgrade. Tiger Woods finishes the Tiger Slam. A U.S. plane and a Chinese plane crash over Chinese airspace, and China officials keep the U.S. plane's 24-person crew hostage for 11 days. Bill Simmons' publishes his first piece on ESPN.com, "The Nomar Redemption."
MAY
The U.S. Supreme Court rules to allow disabled golfer Casey Martin to use a cart on tour. Pearl Harbor opens. Brendan Lemon, editor of Out magazine, claiming that his boyfriend is a current Major League Baseball player. Chandra Levy disappears. Vince Carter attends his college graduation in the morning and misses a shot with 2.0 seconds to lose Game 7 of the NBA Eastern Conference Finals in the evening. Chuck Klosterman's "Fargo Rock City" is released. Harvey Pitt is approved as chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission. "Walker, Texas Ranger" goes off the air.
JUNE
Congress passes President Bush's $1.35 trillion tax cut. The Los Angeles Lakers beat the Philadelphia 76ers in the NBA Finals. Tom Cruise sues a man who claims he has a videotape of Cruise having sex with a man. Timothy McVeigh is executed. The Atlanta Gold Club Trial ends. "The Producers" wins 12 Tony Awards. Ray Borque wins his long-awaited first Stanley Cup with the Colorado Avalanche. Jack Lemmon and Archie Bunker die. Luke and Laura of "General Hospital" divorce.
JULY
The U.S. House of Representatives votes to ban human cloning. Tom Green and Drew Barrymore marry. Beijing is awarded the 2008 Olympic Games. "Sopranos" star Robert Iler is arrested for robbery and marijuana possession. Cal Ripken homers in his final All-Star Game. Mariah Carey enters an undisclosed New York City hospital after suffering an emotional breakdown.
AUGUST
Vikings offensive lineman Korey Stringer collapses during a practice and dies of a heat stroke. Bill Clinton is paid $10 million to write his memoirs. Pop singer Aaliyah dies in a plane crash. Dave Winfield and Kirby Puckett are enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Gary Condit admits he had a "very close relationship" with Chandra Levy. The San Jose CyberRays win the first ever WUSA championship. Nothing in the world is wrong.
SEPTEMBER
Famed film critic Pauline Kael dies. Four hijacked plans crash into both World Trade Center towers, the Pentagon and a field in Pennsylvania, killing a total of 2,976 people, not counting the 19 hijackers. All airplanes are grounded, causing John Madden to offer a ride across the country to ice skater Peggy Fleming. People are sad. Michael Jordan announces he is returning to basketball with the Washington Wizards. Tom Brady takes over for an injured Drew Bledsoe as quarterback for the New England Patriots. Bob Dylan's "Love And Theft" is released. Eric Dickerson makes his debut as a sideline reporter for "Monday Night Football."
OCTOBER
The United States begins airstrikes on Afghanistan. O.J. Simpson is acquitted in a road rage case. Barry Bonds breaks Mark McGwire's three-year-old home run record, ending the season with 73. Author Jonathan Franzen refuses Oprah Winfrey's request to make his book "The Corrections" part of her book club. Derek Jeter makes the tag play. Letters laced with weaponized anthrax are sent to various media and government offices. "Pardon The Interruption" debuts. An Ontario newspaper reports that Bud Selig plans on contracting the Montreal Expos and the Florida Marlins after the World Series. Michael Jackson's "Invincible" hits stores. Rush Limbaugh announces he is deaf. Mark McGwire is pinch-hit for by Kerry Robinson in his last plate appearance. Everyone is still drinking.
NOVEMBER
Ken Kesey and George Harrison die. The government announces it will train doctors to recognize the symptoms of smallpox. Kyle Turley rips a helmet off a New York Jet opponent and throws it across the field. A plane bound for the Dominican Republic crashes in Queens, killing 265 people. The Arizona Diamondbacks beat the New York Yankees to win the first World Series ever to be completed in November. "24" debuts on FOX. Baseball owners vote 28-2 in favor of contraction. Mark-Paul Gosselaar joins the cast of "NYPD Blue." Everyone is still drinking.
DECEMBER
The Taliban collapses. Winona Ryder is arrested for shoplifting. Notre Dame fires Bob Davie as head football coach. Osama bin Laden releases a videotape in which he laughs and boasts about the September 11 terrorist attacks. Enron files for bankruptcy and evaporates most of its workers' 401(k)s. Rudy Giuliani is chosen as Time magazine's Man of the Year. Eric Crouch wins the Heisman Trophy. Everyone is still drinking.

I lost my remote the other day, which caused me to have a heart attack and seizure simultaneously. Remote control location is a real problem when you have two kids. The baby thinks it's a fucking chew toy and always grabs it to slobber all over it. The three-year-old wants to operate the TV with it but is too young and stupid to figure it out. So it always ends up under a couch cushion, or some other goddamn place. And I myself am always leaving it in random place after another: on top of the TV, on the desk, on the kitchen counter, etc. I never leave it in one place, which makes me an idiot. I used to always leave it on the armrest of my chair, but the little fuckers can reach it there.

What the world needs is a remote control pager. A quick Google search reveals other people have thought of this idea, but no one's ever put it into practice, which is crazy. Your cordless phone has a pager on the base if you lose it. You just push the button and the handset beeps. It's awesome.

The problem is that most remote controls are universal remotes that come with the cable box issued to you by your cable company. That renders your TV remote all but worthless. All universal remotes need to come with a little paging device you can stick on top of the TV or the cable box. So you can push it, and find out the remote is stuck in the dog's rectum. I need this because losing the remote control is up there on the list of things I'm always terrified of losing. I'll look around, see the remote is nowhere in sight, and my fear grows exponentially by the second as I slowly to come realize I cannot locate it. Here's that list, very hastily assembled:

1. Last M&M in the bag
2. Wallet
3. Cell Phone
4. Keys
5. iPod
6. Camera
7. Remote Control
8. Baby

Onto the mail. We start, as always, in the poop department:

Sports Pun

Am I the only one who takes a peek, mid-movement? There's a sense of deep satisfaction in seeing how far up the bowl you can make that coil...coil. I just like to keep tabs, see how my progress is.

I also check mid-movement because I find that, if I check AFTER I've wiped, the wad of toilet paper obscures my view of my masterpiece. Did I lay down a packet of gravel, or did I pump out a Burmese python? I need to know. That's MY poop. It's got MY name on it and it's going out into the world. So, really, you have no choice but to look pre-wipe if you want a proper assessment.

HoC:

Has becoming a father made you more of a pussy? Before I had kids I could watch any horrific story, movie, newscast whatever and not be overly affected. But now, it doesn't take much to start some water works.

Yup. HUGE pussy. Any Pixar film completely ruins my shit. It doesn't even have to be a movie or anything like that. Just show me a print ad with some parent hugging their child. OH MY GOD! LITTLE JUNIOR! I HUG HIM JUST LIKE THAT! WHERE DOES OUR YOUTH GO?!!! I also wince at movie violence more than I used to, which bothers me. I used to be totally desensitized to movie violence. Now, seeing someone get sliced in half actually AFFECTS me, which is terrible.

Also, to go on a complete tangent, I get into enormous fights with my old lady over the volume of the television. She's always badgering me to turn it down so the kids don't wake up. And I'm like, "Woman, I can't FUCKING HEAR WHAT THE FUCK THE PEOPLE ARE SAYING NOW." "Well, I can." "Well, cram it. I'm turning this shit up." It's the worst during movies, because I have to jack it up to hear the dialogue, then turn it way the fuck down during the screaming and gunfights and shit. And so I can't get INTO the fucking movie because I'm always worried that the goddamn thing isn't going to be too loud for her tastes. Even if she's NOT around, I'm mindful of the volume now. I'm brainwashed! GAH!!!! In fact, let's make that another question to ask women before you propose to them:

"I know you have the hearing of fucking Spiderman. But I can't hear shit. So will you please let me turn up the fucking volume and leave it in one place during the fucking movie so I can live peacefully?"

Travis:

BACON MUG!

Mmmm… cop o' pork.

Donovan:

My daughter is now 16 months. At what age to I have to start changing my TV viewing habits? Last winter we were avid Dexter and Wire viewers. Is it now wrong for her to see a naked John Lithgow cutting up some broad in the tub?

From personal experience, I don't have a single memory from when I was younger than three. So I'm certain that nothing I saw before that affected me in any way, shape, or form. Now, excuse me while I go dissect this living cat.

The real question is, why is your kid up when Dexter and The Wire are on? I was in New York last week, and every retard parent in that town keeps their kid up past 10PM and drags them out to restaurants and movies and shit. You are a lousy parent if you do this. Lock the kid in the room at 7PM every night until they learn to fall asleep at a normal kid time. "But Drew, I work and I never get to spend quality time with my kid if I don't let them stay up late! WAHHHHH!!!" Shut up and die. Your kid's a fucking brat and I hope he falls into a river.

E:

So, asshole, how hard are you going to make it to get into the mailbag? Two straight weeks I've submitted a question, no answer. I write to your mailbag because I know I'll never make it to Simmons'. You're like the younger sister of the hot chick I want to bone who I like enough to get me off, but only if I put a flag over her head and bang her for the USA.

Wait wait, so I'm a FOREIGN chick?

Hank:

Hey, I saw this last week and don't know if anyone has pointed you to the latest from Peter King's roadtrip pal Ross Tucker but there was a comment in his most recent mailbag that I found quite remarkable in its cultural relevance cluelessness.

Reader: Perry Fewell? I was wondering what happened to the guy after Jane's Addiction broke up. Did Dick Jauron deserve the axe? — Stefan van den Abeelen, San Jose, Calif.

Tucker: I don't own an iPod and the last CD I bought was the Rocky IV soundtrack in ninth grade, if you can believe that. So I don't get your musical reference, unfortunately.

Doing the math, this makes Ross about the same age as me (36). I guess for him, music reached its creative zenith with Survivor, Kenny Loggins & Gladys Knight, and Vince DiCola.

Your math is wrong. Tucker is actually 30 years old, three years younger than me. He grew up outside Reading, Pennsylvania and he attended Princeton. So that is weird. How the fuck do you go through high school and fancy pants college in the 90's without encountering Jane's Addiction at some point? A song? A CD case? A poster? Bizarre.

I also don't understand people who aren't "into" music. I'm not saying you have to be a music nerd. I'm talking about people who have NO interest in any music of any kind. People like Tucker, who have never bought CD's or anything like that. What's that? Music? That thing people do when they want to transcend spoken communication by adding rhythm and harmony? Why would I be interested in such a thing?

Anon:

Wife and I live on the alley-side of a walkup, directly facing the building next door. Our buildings are basically the same, so our bedroom is directly across from theirs, etc etc. Pretty soon after we moved in, I (and not my wife) realized our curtain-less neighbors liked to have lots of loud sex, for over an hour, roughly 5 times a week. Multiple crazy positions. Lots of oral. How did I realize this? Because they have no curtains.

Now, believe me, this is fucking awesome. The guy is a mirror image of me (Overweight and hairy, what could be better?) and she is pretty cute, big rack, and way out of the guy's league. However, this setup is causing me 2 specific problems.

1. I can't fall asleep when I know this is going on. In fact, I wait for my wife to fall into a deep sleep, get up and go to the window, and furiously jack off.

2. The quality and length of their sex depresses me

I need some help here.

1. Am I a sick pervert for watching, or does the fact that they are putting it out there, make it my DUTY to watch and jerk?

2. How do I get over said depression when comparing their life to mine?

Is your wife deaf or something? How does she not notice all that loud sex? Does she think there's a bat in the crawlspace? Anyway, I think it's creepy for you to jerk WHILE watching your neighbors fornicate. The polite thing to do is watch, then go to the bathroom and jerk it out from the insta spank bank. That's the ethical way of doing it.

I'd point out the hot next door action to your wife. At best, she'd get kinda turned on by it. At worst, she forbids you from watching, and your ethical dilemma is solved for you.

Sean:

If you are splitting a pizza with your wife, what is the appropriate split?

I say 60/40 for men is appropriate. You know you want it to be 70 or 80% in your favor, so only taking 60% is being quite the gentleman.

Yeah, 60/40 is about right. But it's true, I'd eat all but one slice if I could get away with it. The worst is when there's a slice left on the pie that your wife doesn't want, and then she gives you that look like, "YOU shouldn't want to have it either." FUCK. THAT. I'm eating the shit out of that last slice.

I've also occasionally misjudged when my wife was finished with her meal, and begun eating her leftovers before obtaining proper permission. She had half this slice of pizza on her plate the other night that was sitting there for a good ten minutes. I thought she was done. Who just pauses forever midway through a slice like that? WOMEN. Anyway, I grab it and dig in, and she's like, "OY! I wasn't finished!" And I'm like, "Well, you should have hurried the fuck up, missy."

Matt:

Can we nominate a new national anthem? "This Land is Your Land" gets my vote.

No. Everyone bitches about the Anthem. WAHHH THE HIGH NOTES ARE TOO HIGH. Whatever. It's fine. If you decide to change it, the assholes who love "God Bless America" will try and have it takes its place, and I fucking hate that song.

Brian:

I like to pregame with a Mike's Hard or two to get the buzz started in order to avoid chugging too much beer too fast. I want to know, is it too much of a pansy move to use Mike's Hard instead of beer (cause I can chug it like water) or should I keep doing this in secret?

Keep it hidden. Mike's Hard Lemonade is for queers. UNLESS YOU GOT TO HOLY FACKIN CRAWSS!

John:

I'm a normal 25 year old guy who likes a good tug in the morning as much as the next guy, but my mom has three of these goddamn little dogs running around. I had one on the couch that I was sleeping on (at the foot of the couch) and I decided I wanted to get rid of the morning wood the fun way. So what do I do? Do I stroke away? Or do I go to the bathroom because having a couple on eyes on you can be a little distracting? Personally, I said fuck the dogs and just tugged it anyways but what's the proper protocol?

We had a KSK mailbagger ask about fucking in front of a dog. I'll give you the same answer. Next time: cum ON the dog. It'll never bother you again.

Hozzleshank:

Okay Drew, I'm nearly 34 and I think I have been wiping my ass wrong all these years. I lift my ballsack with one hand and use the bunched paper with my other (bunched, never folded, right?). But I have a sneaky suspicion that I should be leaning forward and wiping from behind.

I lean forward. You're supposed to wipe front to back to avoid getting poop on your genitals. Really more important for women to do. I also bunch my toilet paper. I used to try folding to prevent waste, but I find my fingers often puncture the paper mid-wipe. We call that the Mudfinger Surprise.

Cory:

As a parent, I'm sure that you have made your share of macaroni and cheese dinners. So who you got? The regular old mac and cheese that has been around since WWII or the updated deluxe shells and cheese? Powdered cheese or cheese sauce? Either one probably causes the same amount of cancer.

I will only eat mac and cheese from a box. The powder one, not the Velveeta shit. I'm a complete freak. Homemade mac and cheese completely repulses me.

Seth:

Is this you drew?

Oh, you bastard. That looks like Leitch and I made a love child.

Scott:

You bear an uncanny resemblance to the guy in the Enterprise rental car commercial who says "both" when his wife asks him if she should pack the red or black lingerie. I fucking hate that guy. Why do Enterprise commercials suck so hard? Is it intentional, like Mentos commercials? The one where the black guy holds up the Styrofoam finger at the end makes me irrationally angry.

Enterprise commercials belong in the same group at the Ovaltine and Slomin's Shield commercials, ads made in-house (without agency help) by companies run by nutjobs. Remember the McGwire ones they used to run? "He picked up his bat, then he picked up our hearts." Fuck you, Enterprise.

Ferg:

I've noticed you have been using the term "what not" a lot recently in your articles. Whenever I hear somebody use that term in conversation I automatically deduct twenty points from their IQ because it's a lazy and unnecessary way to end a sentence.

Fair enough, and what not.

Sean:

When is it ok to take a shit in a stadium bathroom? Because we all know that those stalls are used for three things only: puking, fucking, and snorting coke.

And pissing! I like pissing in the stall because I get stagefright at the trough. I get angry when someone is actually shitting in the stall. Every guy who uses those stalls to shit happily takes half an hour sitting there, working it out. You're at a game, buddy. You could have saved your money and shat for three hours at home like a normal person.

Laura:

I hold a big Thanksgiving at my apartment every year for all of my friends. This year, because I love me some pie, I'm considering adding a 4th pie to the mix (I usually have chocolate, apple, and pumpkin), but my friends are totally giving me the run-around on the 4th pie addition. No one seems to have an opinion. So what do you think? Is the 4th pie necessary? And, if so, what's the ideal type of pie?

Who would say no to extra pie? Assholes, that's who. Bourbon Pecan, you wild baking BITCH! Deadspin will also accept sweet potato.

Randball:

We have the kind of shampoo in our shower that's in a pump-style container. Hence, I never have to lift it up.

Just to interrupt Rand here, I knock my shampoo bottle down off its proper resting place on the soapdish or in the shower caddy at least once a week, and it always lands on my foot, causing me ungodly pain, making me angry, and ending with me picking up the bottle and smashing it back down on the shower floor to teach it a lesson.

But today, I grabbed the shampoo to see how much was left. It felt like somewhere between 30 and 40 percent, and this satisfied me. It meant I didn't have to worry about shampoo for a while. I started thinking about other household items and how much of them I like to have on hand to feel comfortable. Anything above the number and I don't think about the item; anything below and it goes into a mental file folder that says we need to pick some up in the relatively near future. My arbitrary totals:

7 eggs.

3 rolls of toilet paper.

8 slices of bread.

4 beers.

Most of a package of shredded cheese.

And so on.

I'm assuming most people do this, but I'm wondering if there are ranges of amounts that are universally agreed upon. Or not? Are you a hoarder, Drew? Do you let things completely run out and then buy them frantically?

This is why I have a wife. She's the one who keeps the tallies in the house. When I was single, I let everything run out. Especially toilet paper. You'd think you'd learn your lesson the first time you wipe your ass with a paper towel roll. You would be wrong.

However, I always refill my gas when it hits a quarter tank. I never tempt fate. And I always have a sixer of beer in the fridge at all times. You need six. Four isn't enough.

Francouer's plate discipline:

When in the shower what would you consider and appropriate percentage of ball/groin washing as compared to other body washing. 80/20, 90/10?

99/1 is also fine. I could slap my soapy nuts around for HOURS. Ever seduce yourself in the shower? You start washing your balls and things suddenly take an EROTIC turn? You never expected it to happen. It just did. Suddenly, you're jerkin' with suds. You're IRRESISTIBLE.

Elegant Slim:

Ever misjudge a boner when taking a girly1 (sitting down pissing) and pee down the back of your Knicks shorts? I have, and I just did.

You don't even have to have a boner. You can just have a little chub, so that your dick sits up on your nuts a little higher than usual. Suddenly, BOOM! You hit the edge of the rim or over it and everything is a goddamn mess. I swear, I pee everywhere.

Pete:

what the fuck qualifies you to write any kind of advice column? just from reading the last two i can obvisously see your some kind of dork/dweeb/twerp/pussy. you admit to playing dungeons and dragons growing up and i looked up your picture and your a fat nerd. your'e trying to be bill simmons except your not funny, your fat, ur a nerd, and you've never snorted coke yet offer advice on it. i guarentee i could do your job better than you, your advice sucks, i cant believe sumone gave you a column and people actually write into it. wat a joke.

That message was totally written on an iPhone.

Greg:

When using public urinals, I frequently find myself having the loudest stream. Short of 'tightening the hose', I'm wondering if there's a way to lower the decibels of my release. Is it due to the proximity of my ears to the urine, or have I just been pissing incorrectly for the last 27 years? Granted I really force it out when I'm in there.

That's not anything to be ashamed of. LET YOUR HOSE FIRE. I've woken up my wife in the middle of the night with the sound of my stream. It's fun, like collecting Indian scalps.

CG:

Drew, have you ever had the satisfaction of shitting on a BRAND NEW toilet?? Freshly cleaned is one thing, but taking a toilet's v card is quite another. I work in new home construction as a project manager (we build the same cookie cutter houses a million times in about an acre of land). So daily I get to choose which new toilet to deflower. Its incredible, and the best part is, unlike offices, I can take my sweet sweet time without anyone waiting in line behind me.

That's nothing. If you're a suicide bomber, you get to deflower 72 toilets when Allah meets you in heaven.

As I said before, I once pooped in a model home, and it was fantastic. Like shitting on a silk tablecloth.

Kevin:

As an IT guy who works at a pretty big ad firm, I think I can offer some advice when it comes to watching porn on a work computer. The bottom line is, it's 2009. The majority of companies aren't monitoring web traffic for decency violations. As you've already touched on, many websites blur the line between NSFW and SFW. As such, companies are generally not interested in spending time and money on policing web traffic. It's just too messy and inexact. Unless of course, you give them a reason to. And that reason is bandwidth.

If you're watching porn all day in your office, the massive amount of bandwidth you consume WILL get noticed. But that only applies to in the office. While traveling, you're consuming someone else's bandwidth, and so your company doesn't give a flying fuck what you're looking at. That being said, definitely doesn't hurt to use private browsing because when you're showing the client a youtube video you don't want to embarrass yourself when the dropdown shows the 75 youporn videos you stayed up all night watching after typing "you" in the address bar. Moral of the story: if you must watch porn on your company computer, do it out of the office.

I suggest you print that email out and tack it to your cubicle wall.

Mitch:

Tony Dungy. His blank stare, cheek bones and all around robotic movements make him look a hell of a lot like that creepy Jigsaw bastard from the Saw movies.

It's true. He does sort of look like a ghost of himself.

Ogreyouasshole

I have a daughter who just turned 3. Whenever she "draws" anything on paper- it seems like it must go to The Smithsonian...and lately everything she draws on requires my wife to save it. Case in point- she drew on my wife's birthday card envelope (it looked like one half of Rorschach's mask). After she read the card and opened her gift, I tossed the envelope and got The Look from both of the girls. So, what's the policy with kids and their drawings? What can I toss & more importantly what should I keep?

Yeah. We have one wall coated with all the shit my kid has made. It's at the point now where we find space for a new art project by randomly throwing one of the old ones away. Kids only care about the shit they JUST did. If it's weeks old, you get away with disposing of it piecemeal. What was this even supposed to be? A bus? Maddox says the kid is retarded.

The first comes from the South Bend Tribune:

The 22-year-old junior from Westlake Village left the restaurant/bar without incident initially, the source said. But Clausen's date forgot her purse inside. The two went back into get it about 2 a.m., and as they were leaving, Clausen's date was pushed by a man outside the bar.

Words were exchanged between Clausen and the man, the source said. Clausen pushed the man away, with his hand landing in the man's neck area. The man then punched Clausen in the eye, and the two wrestled on the ground for a few seconds before the fight was broken up.

Police were called to the scene, in part because of that incident, in part because of some other skirmishes going on at the establishment. No arrests were made.

The second comes from emailer "Ted":

Hey guys-

I'm sure you're already all over this, but there's a lot of chatter on the Notre Dame message boards about the Jimmy Clausen incident. Some first-hand accounts are saying that the story being peddled to the public is straight BS - that Jimmy got beat up for throwing a drink/slapping another dude's girlfriend. I have no idea if any of this is true or not, but let's be honest - with that spiky hair, Clausen looks just like the kind of guy who would do something like that. Anyways, here's hoping you all get some honest to God firsthand accounts of what actually happened. I somehow doubt Jimmy's parents were still out with him at 2 in the morning, and how does one sucker punch lead to two black eyes?

Ted

For the record, one broken nose can easily bruise both eyes, but that's neither here nor there. Finally, an unsourced version comes out of the ether:

According to my son (Tim), here's what happened early Sunday morning.

Tim was sitting at the bar next to Clausen's brother and his wife. (He thinks it was Casey Clausen, 6-5 250+) Casey goes into the bathroom. Tim starts chatting up his wife. He said something funny enough to her that got her laughing at him (not sure how he did that). When Clausen's brother comes out, he sees Tim and his wife laughing and figures Tim is seriously hitting on her. He goes up to them and starts into Tim. Both Tim and his wife try to calm him down. He doesn't go for it. Tim said he grabbed his arm and told him to relax...that turned out to be a big mistake.

Clausen's brother then grabs Tim by the collar and starts lifting him out of his chair. (At this point Tim feels he's in pretty big trouble). As he's dragging him outside, Jimmy Clausen sees them and yells across the bar to take Tim out and beat the crap out of him. Jimmy is about to reach them when, out of the blue, some big drunk kid bursts in front and sucker-punches Jimmy three times. Jimmy is on the ground. Mike Ragone (ND tight end) then jumps in, pulls the guy off Jimmy Clausen and tells his brother to let Tim go. By this point Clausen's brother had dragged Tim almost to the door. Ragone was finally able to convince him to let Tim go.

Every one settled down and went back to drinking. The Clausens hung around. Tim (in a fit of brilliance) moved to the other side of the bar.

About an hour goes by, and the Clausen's get up to leave. Apparently, Jimmy went outside, and another drunk kid gives him a hard time. They get in a little 'skirmish', but its broken up and everyone goes home.

Tim never did get the name of the kid who punched Jimmy, but he owes his un-broken nose to him. I think my son learned a little lesson in risk and reward...

You might find it interesting that Theories One and Three do not necessarily contradict each other. Feel free to factor that into your decision making. If anyone finds any other explanation, leave them in the comments or email us and we'll post those too. The truth is out there, people.

[Photo via JimmyClausenOnline.org]

UPDATE: Another one. Question everything!

Got the word from a legitimate source in South Bend. And by legitimate I mean my (ND student) brother's cable guy was an eye witness to everything that happened in the parking lot at CJ's. Basically Jimmy is out in the parking lot waiting for his brothers when some fan decked out in ND gear (probably an Eastern Michigan alum) informs JC that "he sucks". Clausen told the guy he was a jackass/asshole and to back off, to which the fan responds "I should hit you in the face right now". JC then says "oh yeah", then gets hit with a right.

Also:

The employee said off-duty South Bend police officers were working at the bar providing security, which is fairly common there.

"If anything had happened inside, we would have handled it," he said. "No one was accosted inside." [ESPN]

[Sic'd] for your viewing pleasure:

•

With Jay running amok all over Chicago and your site I thought you would enjoy these two tidbits.

Last Saturday night my buddy saw jay wander in alone to a karaoke bar at 1 AM in Chicago, proceed to hit on several 20 somethings all of which shunned him close to immediately in favor of other meatheads with a shitload of gel in the hair.

Secondly, Jay Mariotti was involved in the biggest night of my life so far as he was one of the last people I saw before I popped the question and got engaged.

•

I just walked by Jay Mariotti on the street. he was talking very loud on his cell phone and the exact quote I heard was "I'm trying to get the security camera tapes so we can figure out who was twisting my arm off"

•

Would like to confirm Jay Mariotti is a Douchebag.

And I was entertained by his columns! By you gotta call a Douche a Douche.

Even when I met the guy personally to say I liked his stuff, still a douche!

Hilarious!

•

"I created a completely fake name to keep this anonymous but Marriotti was in Market Bar on Randolph in Chicago a few months ago wasted out of his mind. The funny thing is that it's owned by Kenny Williams (they hate each other) and Ozzy Guillen is frequently there during the season. Marriotti was so drunk that he was asked to leave and left his credit card at the bar and has been back since and gets black-out wasted every time. The guy is such a loser."

•

Saw your article about Marriotti starting a scuffle at Underground. He stared a fight with me at Bull and Bear a few weeks ago over standing too close to him and he started throwing out how he was a national celebrity and how I probably made $20k a year. When the bouncers came over he blamed it on me and kept asking for the manager and kept asking the bouncers if they knew who he was. The guy is a classless jerk and I would be happy to comment further about the encounter if you are interested in writing about what a jag he is. Thanks.

Walk that burst appendix off, young man

Will:

I moved from New York to Texas my freshman year of high school. I was the starting goalie for the varsity soccer team. On the first day of the season I had terrible stomach pains… unbearable pain. I was barely able to walk.

I informed my coach that I would not be able to play because of how I felt. He proceeded to blow up in my face on the bus ride to our opening away game. While driving the bus of course, looking in the giant mirror screaming at me the whole drive. Everyone got off the bus and he held me back. Telling me "You're worthless, your letting me down and your entire team. Carry the fucking water jug to the field."

On any other day carrying the water jug would be no big deal. Being in the pain I was in it was close to impossible. It took me roughly a half hour to carry the jug about 200 yards. Would have been longer if my teammates hadn't helped.

During the game we were getting destroyed 4-0 at halftime and I was laying on my back looking at the sky wondering if I should be going to an emergency room. All of a sudden "coach sensitivity" slams his clipboard straight down on my stomach screaming, "I want you to watch what you're doing to your fucking team today!"

When my mom picked me up that night from school I went straight to the emergency room and was immediately rushed into surgery to have my appendix taken out. It was so bad I was in the operating room 20 minutes after entering the crowded emergency room. I was in the hospital for 3 weeks and lost 30 pounds due to an infection. Coach could not be bothered to visit me during that time.

Also known as The Utah Handshake

Jimmy:

How about just a coach that likes assholes?

A lacrosse coach is a douchebag? I'm stunned.

Chung:

A friend of mine quit the sport after a summer camp with Coach X, namely after a singular incident where he demonstrated the art of the top of the box face dodge. After instructing a young camper to demonstrate a face dodge (basically the same as a basketball crossover move, but with a stick and whiter) against another camper who acted as a defender, he proceeded to berate the offensive camper with words such as "pussy," "faggot," and "nancy" liberally dropped.

After this dressing down in front of a group of 25 12-year-olds, Coach X proceeded to take the young campers stick and demonstrate his idea of a face dodge. At 6'3", 240 lbs., and never without a small stream of Skoal-stained spittle tracing his cheek, he cuts a rather intimidating figure to any layman, let alone a 12-year-old camper trying to defend this wildebeest of a man. On cue, Coach X makes his move, runs over the defending camper, takes two more steps and proceeds to rip a 90-plus mph shot that misses the camp goalie's head by an inch. After a split second to savor his work, he turns around, stands over the vanquished defender and starts screaming "that's how you fucking face dodge, mutherfucker," over and over again until his bulging forehead veins can take no more.

But while only one young soul's health was affected by this tirade, his driving tactics while assistant coach at (name redacted) managed to put thousands of turnpike passengers at risk. The man would use the turn signals opposite of his turning intentions, drift directly and violently into the middle of cars in adjacent lanes, and "pump fake" big rigs in order to clear lanes out for his own passage, or, in his words, "keep those fuckers thinking."

The man, to this day, calls his wife his "girlfriend," and last I heard, which was granted four years ago, still owns a bar in town with the owners quarters only to be used as a coke and sluts den where he, his brother, and his numerous former and current players go those summer nights when said opportunities arise. On the times I visited not a single fake-breasted bartender knew that Coach X was married, and many had "intimate" experience with said back room shenanigans.

Coach X, by his senior year at (name redacted), was the best lacrosse player in the state, and considered by some the best player in the country. In his last game against bitter rivals the (name redacted) he vowed to pull a stunt that would intimidate and unhinge the opponents to the point of making a final win assured. In the minutes leading up to the opening faceoff, as the rivals are going through their pre-game warmup stretches on the other side of half-field, Coach X slowly walks to the midfield faceoff circle, takes a knee, takes his gloves off, and proceeds to stay kneeled for a period of a few minutes, the only movement being slight adjustments to his shorts every few seconds.

As any male who has played sports that required the wear of shorts can attest, the taking of a knee for a period longer than a few seconds generally indicates that said kneeler is urinating through a leghole. But the players can clearly see no stream or splash of urine, and instead are captivated by the sight of the best player on the field kneeling at midfield for no apparent reason. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Coach X puts his gloves back on, stands up straight, and proceeds to shake a frankenfurter-sized piece of shit out of his shorts for everyone to see. With the laughter of players in the background and Coach X nonchalantly walking back towards his bench, one by one rival players rise to take a peek at what they cannot believe they just saw and, horrified, return to their sideline in stunned disbelief at the psycho who they had to play against who just shook a shit out of his shorts. Unsurprisingly, Coach X's team handily won the game.

And this one we call THE UNBLINKING EYE

Dave:

My middle school basketball coach was a grade A asshole. In order to make us better "shooters", he would punish the players who took shots and missed the rim by giving them licks after practice or games. He would line up any offending players and give out the licks in front of everyone. These were not just swats. He would smack your ass hard.

Of course, all this did was make the players scared as hell to shoot the ball for fear of the punishment. We had essentially three players who scored all of the points. My scared ass scored 1. The same coach was pissed because we had only won by 12 points in an out of town game. We were ordered not to speak during the hour-long bus ride back home. When one of the players misplaced his lunch bag and asked where it was, the coach screamed "I've got you now! Licks at the gym!" That poor guy spent the rest of the ride tearing out paper from his spiral notebook and stuffing it in the back of his pants as a cushion, which only made him get even more licks back at the gym.

The name of that coach? Kevin Spacey.

Zach:

My 7th grade basketball coach, we'll call him "Coach C" was probably a lot like many of the coaches we've had in various sports...he lived at home with his mother (in his mid 50's), regaled us with tales of his former athletic glory (none of which went beyond the high school level, of course), and treated us like red-headed step children who just pissed the bed as he wailed basketballs at us as we did various drills to encourage toughness...so basically your typical asshole coach. Well, my coach had one other habit that seemed to distinguish him from other douchebag coaches we've all had... this guy really liked looking at naked boys.

After our first practice we all filed into the locker room, expecting to throw on our clothes and leave...you know, like normal 13 year olds...when "Coach C" stormed in and informed us that after every practice/game we would be required to shower before leaving, and refusal to do so would mean getting kicked off the team. Well, like any other pubescent boy, we looked around exchanging glances that said "You've got to be fucking kidding me," but this was the upper level team in a good high school program, so everyone basically went along with this so as to not jeopardize our spot on the team.

As if having to strip down naked and be in the general vicinity of 11 other naked guys at the age of 13 wasn't fucked up enough, our coach made sure that he was standing inside the shower to make sure "we weren't screwing around." So, every day this dickhead sat there and stared at us showering, with one leg propped up on a cooler that he brought to every practice that one day we discovered was filled with Budweiser... Yeah, it's amazing how these people always seem to migrate towards positions in direct contact with kids.

We finished the year and moved on to the next grade and a new coach, so of course on the first day of practice one of the first questions asked was "Coach, do we still have to shower after every practice?" Our new coach looked at us and went "Why the fuck do I care if you shower or not, I'm not your mother..." It was at that point that it started to dawn on us that something really messed up had happened. To my knowledge nothing ever happened to "Coach C," a few of us mentioned it to other people in the school district, but many of them thought we were making it up so nothing ever became of it. I really have blocked that out because the older I get (I'm 24 now), the more it pisses me off that no one ever did anything about it.... I don't know if this story has the same humor as the other ones you guys have published, but if this guy isn't the personification of an "Asshole Coach," no one is...

Father/coaches are always the best coaches

Matt:

In 5th grade I played for my catholic grade school basketball team, and we were horrible. Just awful. I don't think we ever lost a game by less than 20 points. Keep in mind we were in 5th grade. 5th graders don't score many points. Nevertheless, every team might as well have been the Harlem Globetrotters.

The coach's son was an annoying twerp who started every game despite the fact that he couldn't comprehend the concept of a standard layup. Just like how Derek Zoolander couldn't turn left, the coach's son only understood reverse layups, which consistently slammed the bottom of the rim. The coach would very publicly berate his son during games after each horribly missed lay up, but to no avail. He only understood reverse layups.

One evening practice, presumably after another confidence shattering loss, we got in line to start our standard lay up drill. "do a regular lay up, son, you need to learn how to do these if you want to play high school ball like your old man," our coach said. He son hesitantly dribbled to the net, then, after a few stutter steps, missed another reverse layup.

Coach was stared at his son, squeezing the basketball in his hand. It was the son's turn again. "come on son, its just a jump shot, except you dribble up to the net." you could see the gears turning in the son's mind. He slowly approached the net... Closer...closer... He slowed down on the correct side... Then took two extra steps and actually made a reverse layup. The son raised his arms in triumph. Suddenly, overcome with rage, coached cocked the arm holding a basketball and delivered a screaming fast ball nailing the back of head of his son's head, knocking him down to the ground. "YOU THINK THIS IS A FUCKING GAME?!"

We then horribly lost the next game.

MOOSE IS UP!

Curt:

When I was 13 I began playing Babe Ruth baseball (13-15), and had no idea what I was getting myself into. The team was composed of 9 13-year-olds, a couple 14-year-olds, and 2 15-year-olds. The first day our league allowed practice was March 1st of that year. No other teams practiced that day, mainly because it was SNOWING. It wasn't even a flurry, our entire field was literally covered in an inch of snow...

Our field also had no fence, and I am not exaggerating when I say our outfield was 700+ feet of fair grounds. By the way, I gave up a ton of inside the parkers there but that's a different story... Anyways, I remember our first practice we went over team rules and then took two laps around the gigantic outfield in the freezing cold. The next practice we arrived and he told us to throw our gloves behind the dugout. He gave us wooden paddles with straps on the back of them and made us use them as gloves... keep in mind it was still freezing cold out, it had just snowed a couple days earlier. So we are passing baseball in the freezing cold with wooden ping pong paddles as gloves. Then we take our positions on the field... and I'll admit, I was a 5-foot shortstop at that time and could barely get the ball to 1st base anyways, so playing without a glove didn't help any...

Then he started hitting the ball all over the field and for every ghost runner that scored, we ran after practice... Every 4 or 5 batters he'd get a big grin on his face and yell "MOOSE IS UP!!!" Moose was his alter ego slugger who killed the shit outta the ball... He would usually hit them pretty softly, but if he got the bases loaded with ghost runners, he was pinch hitting Moose. And Moose would promptly hit one in the gap for an inside the park grandslam, which meant we had to run 4X more after practice. or he'd hit it down our third basemen's throat. I remember him line driving the pitcher a few times too, and the pitcher wasn't even pitching, he was just fielding the position.

We finished the season 2-23. He quit after that year and most of the players did too. We won 4 games the next year. My career record in Babe Ruth was like 13-60. Fuck Moose.

But for many of you, the day after Thanksgiving is also that time of the year where you have to put on your best Gap sport coat, head out to the local beef-and-beer drink your way through a high school reunion. I documented my experience last year. This year, it's your turn. Please submit your High School Reunion Horror Stories so we call have something to read about besides the shitty Colorado Nebraska game or whatever basketball slop is thrown our way.

This is basically your time to vent: give us all your awkward interactions, bitch about the food, gripe about who got fat. Consider this a service piece for all those unfortunate individuals who will have to spend their Friday evening realizing either that their life hasn't gotten any better since senior year of high school or that, yes, 35-year-old white people still feel compelled to pogo-jump in the air when House Of Pain comes on if they are in a group together.

Send to ajd@deadspin.com. Please don't send anything about Pat Murphy.

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...

Good Thing He Didn't Wake Up, Or He Would Have Gone After You

Hello, I have two clear pictures of Jay Mariotti passed out on my friends couch during his after party at approximately 7 am last Saturday/Sunday morning(ed. Note. This is from September). Please let me know ASAP if your interested in obtaining these photos.

This Says A Lot About New York City's Public School System

My name is kareem rivers and I plain on goin to your college for many
reason to be a coach and be a basketball player iam very good in
basketball I my school I use to go to is franklin k lane high school
iama point guard and my coach names is peter banta contact him if u
interesting in a nother basketball player
—shawnprettyboy16

It's Just Not The Same

Subject: "Baby Mangiano"

Zombie Dirk

Sent from my iPhone

Sir, You Are An Idiot

I've been reading deadspin every morning since Berman was chasing leather. I've defended countless posts on your site as relevant to sports or that sports stars should be held to a higher standard. But I cannot even begin to understand how you could possibly think posting about someone's Mom committing suicide has any relevance to anyone other than the family and friends that surely have had to deal with one of the most painful experiences of their lives. There is nothing to be gained here but a few page visits and that is pathetic. I am ashamed of everyone I've been sending to your site for the past decade and I will never return until this post is rescinded.

The Sports Fella Fans Are Vocal

You guys should change the name of your website from Deadspin to "We wish we were Bill Simmons but we are not, so we are going to take pot shots and write jealous columns about him.com".
This is so transparent its not even funny. I wrote Dash about this a couple weeks ago and he said that he hadn't written any columns about the "The Sports Fella" that were truly negative. I guess we would have to argue over the definition of a negative article, but when it begins by mocking the guys nickname its not hard to guess where the rest of the column goes from there. I agree with everyting you guys say about the WWL, don't get me wrong, but Simmons is not on that team. He's not Bristol..
How about this: Simmons is entertaining (and just killing the much sought after younger male demo that most sites would sell thier wives and children for), Deadspin is entertaining also.
Leave it at that. Because while trying to prop your site up as being a true no BS site meanwhile shitting on Simmons every chance you get; you lose a shit ton of cred when you go after a dude who most of your readers find to be a funny and entertaining writer.
Who fucking cares what Simmons is doing? One word answer. Deadspin.

His book isn't some definitive telling of the game of basketball. Nothing with that much humor and smart ass in it can be judged with that set of criteria. Its one fans argument against another one. Nothing different than what happens in every bar on a Friday or Saturday night. The only difference is is that Simmons writes his stuff down. If people buy the book great, but don't go after it for something that its not.
By the way, I am a 27 year old male, work downtown Chicago and I don't get emails from buddies to alert me when Charles P. Pierce writes a new article (Who, oh the guy with middle initial, right, that guy).... I'm just saying. Love the website outside of all the "Sports Fella" BS though, thanks and keep killing it,
Austin

Definitely Should Be Part Of The Budget In 2010

I mean- I know you guys work for gawker, but conservatives really like sports too (besides NASCAR). I'm trying to convince the Packers that I'm the change at GM that they can believe in. We want Rush to own a football team, Shilling to be elected to Congress Linda McMahon to be elected to the senate etc..and since the WWL has some of the biggest libs working for it, it'd be a new avenue to hate them on. Seriously the liberal bias of ESPN may be worse than MSNBC. I know you all don't blog politically very often, I'm just asking for a little conservative spin.

Got a ladyfriend? Thinking of popping the question to her? Good for you. Now, it's time for you to do your homework. You'd hate to marry your girlfriend without realizing that she has a secret zipper running down the back of her body, and that upon marriage she will unzip this skin suit and reveal that she is actually BEASTULA: VAMPIRE HYDRA QUEEN OF THE FIFTH CIRCLE. It does happen from time to time. Consult the "Succubus" episode of "South Park" for a refresher course.

I am not one of these people who thinks every woman out there is a raving nutjob. As I've said before, I think women are usually the ones who end up getting hosed in the whole marriage deal. They have to give birth. They usually have to do more of the child work. They get less real estate in the bed. They have to fuck men. It's not a pleasant thing. But that doesn't mean guys can't end up getting screwed as well. Here now are ten questions you should politely and discreetly ask any woman before you go ring shopping. YOU COULD TEXT MESSAGE HER THESE! SHE'D LOVE IT!

1. Can we live together for a period of at least one year prior to marriage?

Oh, are you Catholic? Don't like the idea of living in sin? Awww, that's so quaint. You're a fucking moron. Man or woman, you better damn well know if you enjoy the day-to-day experience of living with your potential spouse before you decide to get hitched. And the whole, "Well, we see each other all the time. We pretty much live together anyway," thing is WRONG. It's so terribly wrong. If you have your own place, that means you can GET AWAY.

2. Can we please be married for a period of three years before we begin trying to have children?

No woman will actually agree to three years. Strictly a bargaining point. Ideally, you negotiate down to two, one in a worst-case scenario. Are you marrying a woman over the age of 30? You're fucked. She'll throw away her blister pack of Yasmin two months before your wedding night. But if you're marrying a woman in her twenties, IMPLORE her to give you some time before kids come and ruin everything. Travel. Eat. Have lots of sex. Spend money on retarded things. You can do all that before you have kids. Get as much of that time as possible. Otherwise, you'll have kids, you'll pass each other in the night, and you'll ask yourself, "Hey, WHO THE FUCK IS THIS PERSON?"

3. I know we aren't going to have as much sex once we get married, but exactly how much sex will we NOT have?

Varies by woman. However, as a guideline, I'd take the number of times you have sex a month right now, divide that number by five, and then multiply it by zero. That'll give you a solid idea of how much future sex is in store for you.

4. If I agree to be the breadwinner in the family, will you accept that sometimes I have to DO FUCKING WORK in order to win said bread?

Happens to some men out there. They get married, they get a job, they have a shitload of kids, and then wifey is on the phone at 2PM every day saying, "HEY, I NEED YOU TO COME HOME." Or, "Couldn't you take a day off or something?" Well, no. No, that isn't how it works. In order to live, we need MONEY. Which means we have to fucking work, sometime late! We're not out a titty bar. We're not golfing. We're really, truly, legitimately working. And we'll be right home, unless you delay our work by calling every ten fucking minutes.

5. Do you cook? Or clean? Are you mildly proficient in home economics?

Again, this question works for both sexes. Don't marry some lazy bitch (or asshole) who won't fucking do anything.

6. Have we broken up several times before?

Yes? Then you're going to end up getting fucking divorced.

7. Do you take any medication for depression, particularly manic depression? What happens if you don't take it?

Oh, I'll tell you what happens if they don't take it. Your severed penis in a recycling bin.

8. I'm going to do my damnedest to provide for you and our children. But I can't guarantee we'll ever be rich or anything. Is that good enough for you?

Because it isn't, for some ladies. Some ladies will expect you to become CEO of Prestige Worldwide by age 37. When I worked in advertising, I had a lunatic ex-girlfriend who constantly demanded that I try and find a job in finance. Avoid women like this, women who could give two shits about you following your passions and seeing where they lead. Women like that are horrid.

9. I like lots of sports and music and movies that you probably don't. Will you not try and get me to unlove those things?

In other words, do you want to marry me, or do you want to marry some wet dream version of me? Because I'll never be that fucking person. Marriage is acceptance. You either accept the person, warts and all, or you don't. If your girlfriend is going to marry you hoping you'll become some other person who doesn't listen to Slayer and jack off three times a day, you may as well let her ass down easy now.

10. Would you mind signing this?

It's something that you need to have because if she leave yo ass she gon leave with HALF.

What it all boils down to is if you're marrying someone who's as dedicated to YOUR happiness as you are to theirs. Because if it ain't even, then you're fucked. Forever. I'm sure I forgot millions more, including any and all questions about the history of the Baltimore Colts. Our commenters will fill you in.

The first tip came in this morning from an anonymous emailer:

Heard from a former colleague at ESPN this morning that David Berson is being relieved of all of his responsibilities. I asked the person who told me this if they thought it had to do with the Deadspin coverage of his affair, and they said yes.

You may want to check in with Bristol for an official response. Or maybe try to get in touch with Berson directly for a comment.

ESPN has not emailed back for comment yet. Berson's ex-wife, Jane, also has no comment after trying to be reached by phone.

UPDATE: Katey Lacey, also out at ESPN. Bristol justice.

ESPN's comment: "At the expiration of their contracts, neither will be renewed."

The back channel rumblings on this move: According to sources/snitches, Berson is being moved out of his current lofty perch (he was, at one point, ranked the 73rd "most influential" person in sports according to Business Week) but if this does have anything to do with the public confirmation of his affair with Lacey, what does that say about some of the other powerhouses at ESPN engaged in similar indiscretions. You know, like Jed Drake. Or MNF Producer Jay Rothman, who's out-in-the-open affair with a popular on-air personality has been part of Bristol lore for quite some time now.

Observe:

18 years working for ESPN (though only 3 at CT HQ), and just wanted to share a couple of things

1) Jed Drake (head of remote production) has a favorite phrase, "Use your best judgment at all times."

2) In one of the most notorious liaisons Jay Rothman, MNF producer (formerly SNF) temporarily left his wife and 4 kids for a very public fling with sideline reporter Suzy Kolber a few years back. I'm sure many others can substantiate this. I'm obviously not going on record.

Plenty of good people at ESPN, these are two of the worst.

ESPN sources confirmed the affair between Rothman/Kolber but say it is no longer ongoing nor did it compromise the MNF broadcast in anyway. Meaning, no she didn't get more airtime when she was doing Mr. Rothman. Then why do it, Suzy?

Do those guys get canned, too? Guess not.

The ESPN Women ERG have their work cut out for them.

The memo, in full:

Our Workplace

Top Story 11/19/09 @ 3:33 PM - Updated: 11/20/09 @ 10:09 AM

A message from George Bodenheimer

My recent ITK message addressed a series of issues and allegations related to workplace behavior at ESPN. It reflected the pride and passion I feel for the work we do and the disappointment that follows when we fail to live up to the high standards of conduct expected of every employee. As we move ahead, we are taking numerous steps to enhance our efforts to maintain a company that shows care and respect for all employees and is free of harassment of any kind. If you have concerns, bring them forward. I assure you we will fully address any circumstance in which we are not living up to our commitment, especially those related to alleged sexual improprieties or discriminatory conduct.

Managers will be held fully accountable for reporting and acting upon inappropriate workplace behavior. Any leader who fails to act responsibly in this regard or whose leadership capability is compromised by their own conduct will not be a part of our Company's future. Our goal is simply stated: for each of us to represent ESPN every day with class, dignity and integrity.

In addition to the measures we already have in place, which can be accessed on ITK , below are some of further steps we will take:

• more frequent and prominent dissemination and discussion of our Standards of Conduct policies

• more frequent, in-person mandatory workplace behavior training at every level

• prominent publication of our employee Hotline number (where employees can anonymously report any concerns) and the list and contact numbers of our HR employee relations specialists

• a complete review of the workplace environment for all entry level positions with particular focus on studio and remote production staffing

• continued engagement of our Employee Resource Groups (ERGs) to provide on-going feedback and assistance in training, mentoring and guiding employees

These are all top-line descriptions of our efforts and HR will be following up over the next 90 days with details. I am confident that positive results will follow.

Thank you all for your support. I want to especially thank the ESPN Women ERG for its advice and counsel over these past weeks — your perspective has been tremendously helpful.

We have a great company full of hard working, kind, dedicated and generous people. Your efforts and unerring commitment are the foundation of our culture and the keys to ESPN's continuing success.

Here's the email from our tipster who witnessed what (allegedly) went down. [Sic'd]:

last night was at an Akira fashion show at Underground Bar here in Chicago (my friend was in it). After it was over, we were having a drink and I end up seeing Jay Mariotti. (odd since I saw him about 3 weeks ago as well. Tis rare to have a Mariotti sighting here). He is with these two blond girls. (not hot). so he is getting all cozy with one of them being a complete creep. Kind of grinding and shit while giving back rubs. So just casually i said to this dude, who had no clue who mariotti was, that he was a national sports writer on espn....etc. So the kid takes a picture of him with his iphone.

Mariotti sees him and flips out. He is trying to get his phone to delete the photo. The kid is not budging. Keeps telling Mariotti "get the fuck away from me....i didn't take your picture loser." Mariotti wouldn't stop. So he lunges at the kid and tries to snatch the iphone. This started a scuffle between the two. A random girl was punching Mariotti on the head while the pushing and shoving was going on. The bouncers come flying in and take down Jay to the ground. Laid out flat on the floor with a gigantic 300 pound lineman type laying on him. Mariotti then gets the bums rush while yelling and screaming about how it wasn't his fault the whole time.

it was incredible. not sure what happened next , but i thought it was a funny situation.

We emailed Mariotti. He hasn't responded. Also, a rep from Underground Bar who was at the show last night said that he saw nothing "out of the ordinary" happen but also admitted he had no idea who Jay Mariotti was.

Our initial emailer is working on getting us the (alleged) photo snapped by his buddy. We'll keep you updated.

Here's what Paige wrote:

I give my opinion, which is based on sound information, thoughtful research and observation, unlike some kid in Arizona who is a Broncos fan and writes a blog, without proper grammar or punctuation or understanding, from his mom's laundry room and think [hilariously, awesomely sic] he knows what he's talking about, and people actually pay attention.

Aside from the fact that Paige has graciously moved the locus of blogging from mom's basement to mom's laundry room (as is often the case with these jokes, the blogger sadly appears to live in a fatherless home), it's the same old gag. You know the one. Blogger, underwear, mother's house. What follows is a collection, by no means exhaustive, of the bonnest mots flung by mainstream sports media in the direction of the blogosphere over the years. Print these out. Savor them. Read them in your underwear while holding down some couch springs in your mother's basement. I thinks you'll like them.

The Loop, Pioneer Press: "The Washington Post fired reporter Michael Tunison after learning of his raunchy posts on the 'Kissing Suzy Kolber' sports blog. Tunison is expected to join the rest of the sports bloggers in their mothers' basements."

The Loop, Pioneer Press: "The NCAA reversed course and will allow bloggers in the press box to file live updates from tournament games. It's a huge victory for the bloggers, giving them yet another reason to get out of their mother's basement."

Bob Costas, NBC: "It's one thing if somebody just sets up a blog from their mother's basement in Albuquerque and they are who they are, and they're a pathetic get-a-life loser, but now that pathetic get-a-life loser can piggyback onto someone who actually has some level of professional accountability and they can be comment No. 17 on Dan Le Batard's column or Bernie Miklasz' column in St. Louis."

Dan Shaughnessy, Boston Globe, writing in the voice of a blogger: "I'm living at home, in the basement, rent free, and I've got cable and plasma TV. Domino's delivers. I guess you could say I'm living the dream."

Scott Bordow, East Valley Tribune: "[Jim] Calhoun will have his defenders, of course, Huskies' loyalists who believe the story was a media smear job; some might even take Calhoun's tack that he doesn't read blogs, as if one of the most popular Web sites in the country is run by some kid wearing pajamas and writing from his basement."

Greg Couch, Chicago Sun-Times: "Look, independent blogs are not reliable news sources. They're entertaining. I read them. Some have credibility, others might be some guy in his underwear in the basement. But we can't tell the difference."

Ed Hardin, Greensboro News & Record: "[Dustin] Long is the president of the National Motorsports Press Association, not some blogger in his parents' basement."

Geoff Baker, The Seattle Times: "And the ability to think about those things beforehand, truly, is what separates real journalists — serious ones, not Jason Blair types — from basement bloggers."

Mark Bechtel, Sports Illustrated: "Remember the good old days, when sports bloggers were potty-mouthed reprobates who fired off ill-informed rants from a couch in their parents' basement?"

David Wharton, Los Angeles Times: "Critics have portrayed [bloggers] differently: the rabid fan sitting at a computer in his parents' basement, in his pajamas, spewing opinion."

Frank Fitzpatrick, The Philadelphia Inquirer: "Assuming George Mitchell doesn't find any grounds to shut it down prematurely, the 2006 baseball season is just days away. That means that for the next six months baseball fans have a license to behave like bloggers — sitting around their dens in their underwear, staring blankly at a screen, pontificating on subjects they know nothing about."

Frank Fitzpatrick, The Philadelphia Inquirer: "An Eagles fan named Enrico Campitelli Jr. decided to do a live blog while watching the Eagles-Texans season opener on Sunday. Not sure what Campitelli's credentials are — not that blogging requires anything more than a computer and a pair of pajamas."

Phil Reisman, The Journal News: "It may be time for Minaya to go, but not for any racist reasons put forth by mouth breathers who live in their parents' basements."

Jason Lieser, Palm Beach Post: "Mike Florio defies almost every stereotype affixed to bloggers. No braces. No pimples. No sitting in his underwear tapping away in his parents' basement."

Glenn Reeves, San Mateo County Times : "Leitch rarely loses sight. After all, he has a 10-second commute every day to where he works, making up jokes and typing in his underwear."

Jay Mariotti, Chicago Sun-Times: "Web sites peek around corners like sewer rats, operated by weirdos who live in their parents' basements, pretend to be experts and break 'stories' that gullible people actually believe."

Rick Morrissey, Chicago Tribune: "I'll give Mariotti this: Whether he realizes it or not, he might have been the nation's first blogger, without actually writing one. He has led the way by not leading the way to the locker room or the clubhouse. He writes what he wants without ever talking to a soul. The only difference is he travels often to events, unlike bloggers, many of whom sit in their underwear all day and update, update, update."

Tony Kornheiser, The Tony Kornheiser Show: "In fact, in fact, if a huge dumpster landed on their mother's house (cackling), and got all the way into the basement and crushed them (more cackling), nobody would care. Nobody would miss them."

Sam Smith, Chicago Tribune: "How is it I can work for decades developing contacts around the NBA and traveling regularly around the NBA and talking with the decision makers and some guy in his basement in his underwear is writing something that has credibility?"

Pat Forde, ESPN: "Everyone wants to be Bill Simmons, but to my knowledge there's only one him. Two hundred thousand bloggers cracking wise from their living room in their underwear all want to be the next Simmons, but how many of them are being paid (handsomely) to do it?"

Rick Reilly, ESPN: "I've been doing this 31 years, for a living, I feel like I go out there, I'm in the locker rooms, I'm in the clubhouses, I'm meeting these guys, I'm hearing what they are saying, whatever. It seems to me a guy like that has a little more valued opinion than some schmo who, as I say, is holding down couch springs on his mom's basement."

Rick Reilly, ESPN: "There's some good journalism, and some really horrible crap on there from guys holding down the couch springs in their mother's basement that have never been in a lockerroom but are pining on this and that. And this gives them cache [sic], and then they're being quoted? What? This guy is in his underwear."

Rick Reilly, ESPN: "I don't really care what people holding down couch springs do or say."

Illustration by Rob Zammarchi, via The Boston Phoenix

At a Wisconsin National Guard camp outside Baghdad, detainees have learned the effectiveness of bringing up number 4 in taunting the soldiers. How this wasn't specifically covered in the Geneva Convention, I'll never know.

They know Favre by name," said First Lieutenant Tim Boehnen, who is from New Richmond, Wis.

"One of the big words they know now is shenanigans. They'll constantly talk about 'Favre shenanigans,' 'He's so good for the Vikings,' and 'The Packers have got to really feel bad about that one.' "

"They obviously then started up the conversations, and started talking about Brett Favre. They soon learned about Favre going to the Vikings, and things just started going downhill from there."

Detainees are reportedly also bringing up Ryan Grant's diminishing YPC average, showing soldiers the Aaron Rodgers Sack Tracker, and teasing them about drafting Greg Jennings when Brandon Marshall was still on the board.

Detainees at Camp in Iraq Use Favre To Tease Wisconsin Soldiers [WTMJ]

It seems like it was only two years ago (it was two years ago) that Our Captain was seen sunning himself on the beach with a face full of Jessica Biel's squat-enhanced rump. Before that, it was those busty teenage girls. This year, it's Minka Kelly from "Friday Night Lights", sprawled out on a dock in St. Bart's as Our Captain watches the tide roll away, wasting time.

If anything, these photos should make pudgy journos reconsider that sentimental MVP vote again because, you know, fuck that guy.

Gallery at PopSugar

*****

Thanks for your continued support of Deadspin. Keep Barry warm tonight.

No time to waste this week, everyone. We're a mere week away from THANKSFUCKINGIVING, and I'm about to blow my stuffing.

Just a couple weeks ago, we had a pre-Thanksgiving at my in-laws. Everyone came over early on Sunday afternoon. There were appetizers out on the table, including chips and beer and what not. And my wife's mom made meatloaf and two kinds of potatoes and all this cool shit. It wasn't quite Thanksgiving. But it was juuust close enough in resemblance to be fucking awesome, and to get me jazzed for the real deal. And there was football on. AND BEER. Best of all, there were grandparents around to look after the goddamn kids, so I could go watch football uninterrupted. If you have kids, you know how important having an extra pair of hands around is. I'd let Charles Manson into my home if he agreed to look after the kid for ten minutes. I tell you, it's BLISS.

Anyway, I highly recommend the pre-Thanksgiving to all of you with family close by. Now, onto the Jamboroo.

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

Five Throwgasms

Jets at Patriots: By now, the Belichick fourth down gamble has been dissected from every angle possible, and the consensus is that A) Mathematically speaking, he was right to go for it, and B) He did a shitty job burning timeouts prior to the play, leaving him unable to challenge the Faulk catch. So he made a good call, but he doesn't get completely off the hook for it. While I delight in any failure Belichick experiences in his life, it's sad to know that future coaches will encounter similar situations somewhere down the line, remember the heat Belichick took, and decide to punt the ball.

That blows, because there's nothing more exciting than plays like that one, where the coach decides to say FUCK IT and goes for the win. What Belichick did wasn't all that different from a coach deciding to go for two at the end of a game, instead of kicking the PAT to send the game into overtime. Tom Osborne did that eons ago against Miami in the 1984 Orange Bowl, and failed. Mike Tice and Mike Shanahan both did it in the NFL this decade, and succeeded (NOTE: Tice's call came in the midst of a losing season, with no playoff berth at stake). All three of those coaches, even Osborne, got respect for their decisions. Belichick is taking more heat, because he's an asshole. But I appreciate that asshole for making things pretty interesting. Too bad he'll be the last coach to ever try it.

This game is the best late game on Sunday. If you're like me, you enjoy falling asleep right around the half of any 4:15 game and waking up sometime shortly after the fourth quarter has started. There's nothing like that post nap feeling, where you wake up on the couch, and you're under a blanket, and everything is warm and comfy. It's a delight. You usually have to go piss, but you don't want to because you're so snug and happy. Sometimes, you fall BACK asleep, for the double nap. Double naps rule.

Sometimes, I fall asleep during the 4:15 game and wake up right during the local news update at the half, which completely confuses me. What happened? Is the game already over? Is it 11PM? WHAT YEAR IS THIS?!

Chargers at Broncos: You know who'd be a kickass phone sex operator? That Barefoot Contessa lady. Sure, she's an uppity Hamptons cunt, but she's definitely got that Kathleen Turner phone sex operator voice. FLINTY. Oh, I'll make outrageous brownies with you, all right.

Also, NO MORE BYE WEEKS! FUCK YEAH! We made it! Nothing but wall-to-wall sixteen game weekends for the next month and a half. Enjoy it everyone, because it always ends much sooner than you'd like. THE ONGOING MARCH OF TIME BLOWS.

Colts at Ravens: Rich Eisen called it two weeks ago. Ed Reed refuses to run back an interception without lateraling. It's awesome. He's the best lateraler the game has ever seen. Apologies to Frank Wycheck.

Four Throwgasms

Falcons at Giants: I keep seeing ads for Tori Amos' Christmas album. That is the world's most unlikely artist to ever release a Christmas album. Even a Cat Stevens Christmas album would be less surprising. I know Dylan has one out now, but that's NOTHING compared to the idea of Tori Amos doing a Christmas album. I swear the ads for it look like an SNL sketch. Here are some of the song titles from the album.

-"A Silent Night With You"
-"Candle: Conventry Carol"
-"Merry Christmas. I Was Raped."

Three Throwgasms

Titans at Texans: It's not completely insane to think the Titans could end up running the table. They could beat Indy and San Diego, the two toughest teams they have left. Chris Johnson is laying waste to everything in sight right now. And the defense is solid now that Cortland Finnegan is back. When he was out, the Titans lost three games by an average of 33 points. GOD BLESS THAT FEISTY LITTLE FRECKLED BLACK IRISHMAN.

Dolphins at Panthers: Winner gets to .500! Tonight! Neat!

49ers at Packers: I still don't know what Mike Singletary's job is in that Verizon ad. Is he trying to direct the mob? Because he's failing. NEIL PATRICK HARRIS JUST BLEW RIGHT BY YOU, GOD BOY.

Eagles at Bears: I said earlier this week that I get weirded out when people do cocaine in front of me. Know what else freaks me out? Coke pinkies. You know the ones. Those slimy guys who grow one pinky nail extra long so they can use it as a coke spoon? That's creepy as shit. Sometimes you see that coke pinky on a cab driver, and you know he's about to run twelve red lights.

Two Throwgasms

Redskins at Cowboys: The only thing more boring than when the Redskins lose is when they win. DC people are somewhat happy. No signs are confiscated. No one's threatening to jam a fork into Snyder's asshole. Everyone gets excited because Portis finally got hurt. BORING.

Earlier this year, Jay Mariotti, who is retarded, castigated Tony Romo for wearing his hat backwards. He considered this a sign that Romo took far too casual an attitude towards his performances. This is, of course, an idiotic line of reasoning. HOWEVER, it should be noted that, last week, after losing to Green Bay, Romo wore a newsboy cap to his press conference. I don't care if you're fucking Obama, seeing any man in a newsboy cap makes me want to kick them in the face.

Bills at Jaguars: Congratulations to Dick Jauron for winning this year's First Coach Fired pool. Now he can go back to being dead. Which team will exhume him for d-coordinator duties next year? You'll just have to find out!

Seahawks at Vikings: During the Lions-Vikings telecast last week, they cut to a lady in the stands holding up a sign that said YOU BRETTCHA. Guhhhhhhh. STOP MAKING ME ASHAMED TO LIKE MY OWN TEAM, YOU HARPY.

One Throwgasm

Steelers at Chiefs: The Steelers have allowed a return touchdown in seven straight games. HOLY SHIT!

By the way, it's nice to see that Ben Roethlisberger maintains the exact same haircut schedule I had in college. He shaves his head, then lets it grow out until he's got little hairwings sprouting up all underneath his hat, then he has his friend do the number 2 cut on him again. It's the biannual haircut schedule. It's getting long again now. You can see the wisps sticking out under his helmet. His mom is totally gonna make him cut it. I swear to you, in about a week or so, he'll shave it all off, and his mom will get mad and say, "Why can't you get a NORMAL haircut? At a damn barbershop? Why do you always let your friends butcher you like this?"

Bengals at Raiders: The Raiders play in one of those stadiums where somehow half the field is in scorching bright daylight all game long, and the other half is in pitch black, I-have-lost-all-depth-perception darkness all game long. Cincy's home field is that way, too. I swear, you could go blind watching games on TV played in these stadiums. One second, Ocho is running through the dark part of the field, then he cuts, and your eyes follow him, and BOOM! Your eyeballs melt into your fucking skull. We need more dome teams. We really do. This is far too much sunlight for my tastes.

Browns at Lions: There are a lot of GEICO ads on during these games, and they always end with the tag, "15 minutes could save you 15% or more on car insurance." Have you ever been on a phone with a company for fifteen minutes? It's anguish. Two minutes on hold, and I'm ready to throw the receiver against the fucking wall. It's so not worth saving 15% for that.

Saints at Bucs: From Mr. KOGOD comes the genius that is HIGHDEAS, the website that catalogs good ideas you have while you're high.

…Arby's specialize in Roast Beef sandwiches, Roast Beef, R B, Are Bee, Arby's, seriously I hope I blow at least 1000 minds with this one…

… i think it would be hella cool if people could slither around like a snake then when u lyin down on the couch after smokin and want sumfin but dont wanna get up u could just slither around…

…Wouldn't it be a great highDEA if Sarah Palin went parasailing and thereby and henceforth changed the name of the activity to be called "Parah sailin" forevermore?…

Indeed. When I used to get high, I used to think about smoking different foods. I envisioned finding a way to smoke chili, by wrapping it in cheesecloth bag and hanging it in a smokehouse. I was determined to have it canned and sell it and everything. AND I was going to make hot dog chili. Chili comprised entirely of hot dog meat. SMOKED.

I never really developed a business model for this. But it sounded AWESOME when I thought of it.

Cardinals at Rams

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

"Step Out," by Oasis. I hate the fact that I like Oasis. The Gallagher brothers are the two biggest assholes on Earth, without any charm to redeem them. They sample more than Diddy (The chorus to this song is lifted from "Uptight" by Stevie Wonder). And they haven't made a decent full album in 14 years. Also, they broke up for the millionth time this summer. They're immensely irritating people, and I hated them with every fiber of my being when "Wonderwall" hit back in the 90's. And yet, I'm now powerless to resist them. Everyone has a band they hated at first, and then came to obsess over. Oasis is mine. Stupid Noel and Liam. YOU RUINED PATSY KENSIT'S PERFECT BOOBS, LIAM.

Back when she was pregnant with our first kid, I took my wife to an Oasis show. It was so loud, she thought the sonic vibrations were going to cause her to have a miscarriage. She didn't, of course. But I like the idea of a band being loud enough to eject a fetus from my wife's body five months in advance. That would fucking rock.

Embarassing Album I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Heart," by Heart. I had both this album and "Bad Animals," the one that had "Alone" on it. I remember when MTV used to count down the top 100 videos of all time. Every year, they'd switch up the top of the order just for shits and giggles. "Thriller" was usually #1, but I swear that there was a year when "These Dreams" took over the summit. That video looks retarded now. But back in the 80‘s, it was the coolest fucking thing I'd ever seen. HEXAGONAL DRUMS, PEOPLE. Still a good song.

There was a classical music station I used to listen to a long time ago. They used to play "Magic Man" every goddamn hour. I swear, that song is 35 minutes long. If you were unlucky, they'd also throw "Barracuda" into the mix with it. OOOOOH, BARRACUDA! I never need to hear those two songs ever again ever.

Open Mailbag Tuesdays
Got something you want displayed for show and tell in the Deadspin Tuesday Mailbag? Your debilitating cocaine addiction, perhaps? Email me any question or observation you like.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death
I have to put Maurice Jones-Drew here, because surely his kneel-down at the one cost at least one person out there a fantasy game. But MJD has been a monster all season long, and he only knelt at the one because Eddie Money ordered him to. So really, it's Del Rio that deserves your scorn if he cost you the game last week. Stupid Del Rio. YOUR BRILLIANT STRATEGY MAY HAVE COST PEOPLE LIVES, YOU FUCK.

It would have been spectacularly amusing if the Jags had ended up missing that winning field goal, or having it blocked. You'd fully expect that sort of thing to happen to Jack Del Rio. In fact, it's a bizarre world where Del Rio's controversial strategy prevails and Belichick's fails spectacularly.

Suicide Pick Of The Week
Last week's suicide pick of the Jets was incorrect, making me 8-2 on the year. That puts the 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? Pittsburgh, and child car seats. They air ads now suggesting that all children must sit in booster car seats until they are 4'9". FOUR FOOT FUCKING NINE. There are Costases who never grow that high. It's completely out of control. I gotta keep a fucking booster seat in my car until my fucking kid is 15? And take it with us any time we travel? That's insane. I swear to you, 80% of your time being a dad consists of installing and uninstalling car seats. And adjusting the strap height, too. THE FUCKING BUCKLE ALWAYS FALLS INTO THE CREVICE. Stupid kids. Next time, I'm adopting an 18-year-old.

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

"This week, I like the Jets getting 10.5 points against New England on the road. I see Sarah Palin had a book come out this week. I like that lady. She embodies the hard-working, down home white folk that helped make America what it is today. Also, I'd finfuck her until her hair fell out."

2009 Nazi Shark Record: 6-4. Oooh, and check out KOGOD's link to the Fuck Yeah Sharks Tumblr. And Ufford has a link to NAZI DINOSAURS! NAZI FUCKING DINOSAURS! NAZI SHARK VS. NAZI DINOSAUR – WHO YA GOT?

This Week's Pants Party Winner
Last week's Pants Party winner was J. Mullins. He gets free rant space here:

I'm getting married on Nov. 14. As this posts I'm sitting on a beach in Mexico happy that I don't have to care if I can't watch the Bears get rolled by the Eagles Sunday. Fuck you Lovie Smith. And Jerry Angelo...some fucking talent this team has. Cutler might die b/c of this O-line. There's more holes in this Cover-2 than the number of f-bombs in a Jambaroo column. It's not a post Super Bowl loss hangover anymore...it's just pathetic. But at least I'm happily married. Now where's my turkey and pumpkin pie? Happy Thanksgiving to the rest of you assholes!

Awww, new love. He has NO FUCKING CLUE what's coming. This week's Pants Party winner was J. Ramirez. J. Ramirez, come and claim your prize. No, it's not permanent amnesty to the US. HEY-O!!!!

Great Moments In Poop History
Reader Dave chimes in with a story I call, "Poopy Hour":

A few years ago, I had gone out for a happy hour with some co-workers right after work, and then gone shopping for some clothes (rest assured, this is relevant). I had a few Guinnesses and your usual greasy bar fare. The next morning I had a bit of a hangover, but nothing that a cup of strong black coffee couldn't cure. I get into work, grab a cup of coffee and a bacon egg and cheese sandwich. After I finish, I sense the rumblings of a massive Guinness/Bar Grease/Coffee/Bacon shit in the pit of my stomach. I had nothing to read so I grab my Palm Pilot and proceed to the handicapped stall.

The shit's flowing nicely, I'm reading the news on my Palm when I drop it. It skids across to the next stall, and I get up fast with my pants still around my ankles to retrieve my Palm. Unbeknownst to me, a huge glop of shit had fallen on the floor when I got up. The back of my pants dropped right into that big glop of shit. Motherfucker!!

I carefully took them off and hung them up on the door. I emptied about half the toilet paper roll to clean up the shit on the floor and even from the tile grout. I put my pants back on carefully and started to clean them up with water and soap. This only sank the shit further into my pants. What made it worse was that a guy next to me was washing his hands and looking at me strangely. I just averted my eyes and kept cleaning my pants. They still stank, and I had a full day of work ahead of me. I remembered that I had bought some pants the night before and they were still sitting in the trunk of my car. I walked outside with my back to the wall so that no one could see the massive shit stain on my pants.

As soon as I walk out the door, there's about 10 people smoking and staring at my odd behavior. I ran to the parking garage got a pair of pants from the trunk of my car, ripped the labels off, sat crouched in the passenger seat, took off my dirty pants and boxers and sat down to change when all of a sudden something buzzed up against my ass, causing me to jump so high as to nearly knock myself out on the roof of my car. Turns out I left my fucking shaver (yeah I drive and shave) on the seat and sat on it, causing it to take a clump off my buttcheek hair. Finally, I got my new pants on, sans any underwear, sat back down on the fucking shaver once more causing it to buzz my ass again. I nearly fucking broke my window, cursing at everyone and anyone for how my day started.

Dude, never use an electric shaver. Ever.

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
Jeff Fisher
Dick Jauron – FIRED!
Todd Haley
Lovie Smith
Andy Reid
Mike McCarthy

We welcome Mike "Beaver" McCarthy to the chopping block a week too late. Still, despite beating Dallas, he belongs here for trying to challenge a call when he had no challenges left. And he wasn't penalized! You can get away with such things when Jeff Triplette is on duty.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Cereal! I'm 33 years old, and I still put sugar on my cereal if it's not sweet enough for my liking. Rice Krispies. Corn Flakes. Plain Cheerios. I sugar all of those fuckers. At least two spoonfuls. The best part of it is when you finish the cereal, and you dredge the bottom of the bowl with your spoon, and there's some sugar left. You can see the little mound of it on the end of your spoon. That sugar is fucking delicious. Mmmmm, milky sugar.

Yes, I had a cavity filled last week. Why do you ask?

My mom used to give me those small travel boxes of Apple Jacks and other cereals with me to school. The variety packs you buy in the store for kids. You get about half a cup of cereal in those things. It's never enough.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Tell! Official cheap beer of Switzerland! Reader Brad writes in:

Now that you have entered the international sphere for you cheap beer of the week, I nominate Coop brand beers. Coop is one of two major supermarket chains in Switzerland, and its beer selection is clearly superior to the competition. All of them are 50cl, or just bigger than your standard tall boy. My personal favorite was the Tell brand, promoting Swiss national hero William Tell.

When you are a college student studying abroad in Geneva, the world's most expensive city, getting drunk on the cheap is THE priority. A sixer of Tell would go for the equivalent of $4. They also had 80 proof liquors, branded as "Gin," "Vodka," and "Rum." Best part, they were normally mislabeled. It was like playing Russian roulette when buying handles. So the normal night consisted of downing a couple shots of mystery booze, a bottle of cooking wine ($1.50), and a sixer of Tell.

Geneva is also the place I became acquainted with the Backdraft shot. It involves the inhaling of alcohol vapor, which is a required part of hitting on 17-year-old Swiss lesbians in bars.

Let's see you find information that useful in a REAL travel guide. Suck it, Fodor! Also, I've been to Switzerland. Brad is right. Not only is it the most expensive place in the universe, it's also the dullest.

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 Peyton Manning of the Colts! All alone now! Cock of the walk! Top of the heap! Now, let me tell you about the time I had sex with Linda Evans on top of a mountain in Aspen back in '81. I had my Filipino assistant, Sammy, lay out a twelve-course meal at the top of the slope. Caviar? You bet! Antelope liver? Sure, why not. I also told the gondola operator to stop the ride midway up the mountain! When our little gondola froze in the middle of the night, Linda turned to me and said, ‘You planned this, didn't you, Evans?' And I said BABY, YOUR DAMN RIGHT EVANS DID. Let me tell you something, Evans and Evans made that gondola SWING that night! Damn near made the thing leap off the cable! By the time I gave the signal to start the ride again, we could have eaten fifty courses! That's Aspen in a nutshell for you. Glamorous? YOU KNOW IT! Sex in mid air with one of TV's great dames? Damn straight."

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Browns Fans

Duplicity. I don't think I've ever seen a Julia Roberts movie where Julia Roberts doesn't play I character I want to knee in the tits.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Stupid fly! YOU GO SQUISH NOW!"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: KOGOD brings us this gallery of extreme body painting. (NSFWCC) It's nerd sexy.
-For the gals: Sexy Ryan Gosling. I fucked hated that Half Nelson movie.

Enjoy the games, everyone.

JANUARY
Y2K doesn't kill us, but it could have. David Letterman has quintuple bypass surgery. Dan Marino plays his final game, a 62-7 loss to the Jacksonville Jaguars. Malcolm Gladwell's "The Tipping Point" is released. Kurt Warner and the Rams win a thrilling Super Bowl over the Titans, but dot-com commercials dominate the storyline, most notably the infamous Pets.com sock puppet, voiced by Michael Ian Black. AOL and Time Warner merge. The deal, surprisingly, is not delayed while AOL waits for its roommate to get off the phone.
FEBRUARY
In their race for the Republican nomination for President, John McCain upsets George W. Bush in New Hampshire, but loses in South Carolina amid allegations of dirty tactics on behalf of the Bush campaign. Ray Lewis is arrested on murder charges after an incident outside the Super Bowl. Dave Eggers' "A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius" is released. The Mariners trade Ken Griffey Jr. to Cincinnati, where he grew up. Marty McSorley hits Donald Brashear in the back of the head with his stick. Charles Schulz, Tom Landry and Jim Varney all die, though not at the hands of McSorley.
MARCH
Vladmir Putin is elected as president of Russia. Boomer Esiason is fired from "Monday Night Football." The NASDAQ collapses, signifying the end of the dot-com boom. Budweiser's "Whassup?" commercials debut. Sports Illustrated profiles University of Minnesota wrestler Brock Lesnar. Cardinals pitching coach Dave Duncan compares pitcher Rick Ankiel to Sandy Koufax. Dan Marino turns down an offer from the Minnesota Vikings to continue his career. Rangers pitcher Darren Oliver tells a reporter he's voting for George W. Bush because "it would be cool to know the dude in the White House."
APRIL
Michigan State, behind Mateen Cleaves, wins the NCAA Championship. "ESPN: An Uncensored History" is released by an independent publisher. Metallica sues Napster for pirating their songs, followed soon thereafter by Dr. Dre and Madonna. Mike Morgan pitches for his record 12th different major league team. Cal Ripken gets his 3,000th hit. "Hollywood" Henderson wins $28 million in the Texas Lotto. In a related story, the NBA approves the sale of the Dallas Mavericks to Mark Cuban.
MAY
The ILOVEYOU virus attacks gullible home computers. Boo.com burns through $160 million in six months. Malik Sealy dies in a car accident. Daniel Snyder signs Jeff George to a multi-year contract. Eminem's "The Marshall Mathers LP" is released to an unsuspecting public. "Party of Five" and "Beverly Hills 90210" go off the air. Lynn Swann is hired to serve as a sideline reporter for the upcoming Ray Lewis murder trial.
JUNE
The Los Angeles Lakers win the NBA Championship. Nancy Marchand, the actress who played Livia Soprano, dies. Mike Tyson knocks out someone names Lou Saverese in the first round in Scotland. Jeff McGregor writes in Sports Illustrated that "sportswriters will soon be dinosaurs, driven to extinction by the Ice Age of the Internet." Scientists announced they've sketched a rough draft of the human genome. Steve Young retires. Photos reveal that Mars has water. Frank Deford refers to Anna Kournikova as "the Jezebel of sweat."
JULY
ABC announces it is hiring Dennis Miller to broadcast "Monday Night Football." Pete Sampras wins his record 13th Grand Slam title. Grant Hill and Tracy McGrady sign free agent contracts with the Orlando Magic. Chuck Knoblauch hits Keith Olbermann's mom with an errant throw. A Concorde jet crashes minutes after takeoff from Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, killing all 109 on board and nine people staying at the Relais Bleu hotel in the town of Gonesse. Kobe Bryant performs a rap concert at Los Angeles' House of Blues.
AUGUST
Tiger Woods wins the PGA Championship, his third major of the year. "Dora The Explorer" debuts. Firestone recalls 6.5 million tires after reports of faulty design. Gay con man nudist Richard Hatch wins the inaugural season of "Survivor." Obi-Wan Kenobi dies.
SEPTEMBER
The 2000 Summer Olympics begin in Sydney, Australia. The opening ceremonies are hosted by Bob Costas and Katie Couric. Many sports no one will watch for another four years happen, and winners are declared. Indiana fires longtime coach Bob Knight after he grabs a student's arm for saying "'Sup, Knight?" The San Diego Chargers announce Ryan Leaf as their starting quarterback. The Global Millennium Summit is held at the United Nations in New York City. Tiger Woods signs a $100 million endorsement contract with Nike. Nomar Garciaparra and Mark Grace fight over actress Lauren Holly.
OCTOBER
The Yankees and Mets meet in the Subway Series, and Roger Clemens throws a broken bat at Mike Piazza. The USS Cole is bombed by terrorist group Al-Qaeda and their elusive leader Osama bin Laden. Patrick Ewing plays for the Sonics. The PlayStation 2, hailed as the "future of entertainment," is released. Television programs "CSI" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm" debut. Serbian president Slobodan Milošević leaves office. Allen Iverson records his first single, "40 Bars," which features the lyric, "Everybody stay fly get money kill and fuck bitches/I'm hittin anything in plain view for my riches/VA's finest fillin up ditches, when niggaz turn to bitches/die for zero digits; I'm a giant, y'all midgets." Joe Buck, 31, calls his third World Series.
NOVEMBER
The United States Presidential election between Governor George W. Bush and Vice President Al Gore ends in a virtual tie, and each candidate's representatives do battle for a month. Former Panthers wide receiver Rae Carruth's murder trial begins. Daunte Culpepper declares on the cover of Sports Illustrated that he "wants to be the best quarterback ever." Bill Clinton becomes the first sitting President to visit Vietnam. Hunter S. Thompson begins writing for ESPN's Page 2. Former Nebraska head coach Tom Osborne succeeds in his race for the U.S. House of Representatives, but Illinois State Senator Barack Obama does not.
DECEMBER
The Texas Rangers sign shortstop Alex Rodriguez to a 10-year, $252 million contract. Mario Lemieux announces he is returning to the NHL after a three-year retirement. Department store Montgomery Ward goes out of business. Mike Mussina signs with the Yankees and officially destroys the Orioles franchise. The Supreme Court stops the presidential recount in Florida, handing the election to George W. Bush. Victor Borge dies.