Consider the following hypothetical situation. Let's say you are playing for your high school basketball team and have persuaded one of the team's benchwarmers to stay afterward to play one-on-one. Let's also stipulate that you are much, much better than this benchwarmer, who, for our purposes, we shall call Rob.

Now let's say the two of you are playing a game to 100 points, with each basket worth one point, winner's outs after a made shot, and you are having your way with poor Rob, backing him down and driving by him and pulling up for jumpers. Pretty soon you've built an almost embarrassing lead — say, 40 baskets to none. Now, in this situation, do you:

a) begin to feel bad for Rob, who is, after all, doing you a favor by staying late, and perhaps ease up a bit so he can at least score a few baskets?

b) continue playing hard but maybe start taking only outside jumpers, so that Rob might have a fighting chance, thus making it more competitive?

c) never let up for a second, hounding Rob on defense and punishing him on offense, because the only way to win is to do so absolutely and completely, and only the weak relent, even for a moment?

If you answered "c," congratulations. You share a mind-set with Kobe Bryant, the most competitive life-form on the planet.

Bryant, in fact, lived the above scenario while at Lower Merion High in Pennsylvania — and did so more than once. Only Bryant didn't just get up 40–0. Sometimes he would take an 80–0 lead on Rob Schwartz, a good-natured, if undersized, junior guard. Think about that: 80 baskets to none. Can you imagine the focus, the ruthlessness, required to score 80 times on someone before they score once? Kobe can. To Kobe, this is just what you do. It is how you play.

"You'd think he'd have a tendency to ease back, but he doesn't have that in him," remembers Schwartz, who now works as a strength-and-conditioning coach near Philadelphia. "I think the best I ever did was to lose 100–12." Naturally, Bryant doesn't want to concede that Schwartz had even that much success. "I think he's lying about that," Bryant says when I tell him of Schwartz's recollection. "I told Rob that too. We were talking about it, and I said, ‘You never got 12. I never let you get double digits. Most you got was five.'" Bryant is smiling when he says this, but it's a forced grin. He really does want to set the record straight. Because God forbid any of us think for a moment that this Schwartz kid got double digits on Kobe Bryant.

Call it what you will: killer instinct, competitive fire, hatred of losing or, as Sam Cassell once said, "that Jordan thing." No one in the NBA embodies it like Bryant. It is at once one of the most valuable skills and the hardest to teach. Sports psychologist Jim McGee, quoted in Michael Clarkson's book Competitive Fire, describes elite athletes such as Bryant as "neurological freaks," positing that they have a different hormonal and neurological makeup than the rest of us.

It manifests itself in various ways. Some, like Magic Johnson, competed with an ever-present grin. Others, like Larry Bird, would rather cut off a finger than be congenial to an opponent. When Bird first met Michael Jordan, the two men were warming up for an exhibition game — NBA stars versus collegiate Olympians — on opposite ends of the court. When Jordan's ball rolled to where Bird was shooting, Bird picked it up, looked at Jordan and proceeded to punt the ball over Jordan's head. Welcome to the show, kid.

Jordan, of course, was himself famous for berating teammates in practice and for befriending opponents only to crush them later (once prompting coach Jeff Van Gundy to call him a "con man," whereupon, the next night, Jordan scored 51 points against Van Gundy's Knicks). Jordan so loathed losing that when he once dropped three consecutive games of pool to then-assistant Roy Williams while at North Carolina, Jordan refused to talk to him the next day. Asked to provide a one-word summation of Jordan, former Bulls center Luc Longley chose "predator." Yet, during his pro career, Jordan somehow managed to come off as lovable — just your friendly neighborhood athletic superhero who stars in underwear commercials and cartoons.

Because Kobe is Kobe, however, he cannot conceal his mentality the way Jordan did, behind a who-would-have-thunk-it smirk or an endorsariffic smile. With Bryant, his competitive fire manifests itself during practice, during games, during summer workouts, during conversation. When he dreams, Bryant is probably kicking someone's ass at something, perhaps swatting Bill Russell's hook into the third row. "He can't turn it off, even if he tried," says veteran swingman Devean George, one of a handful of NBA players who are relatively close to Bryant. And for that Kobe has often been pilloried — by fans, by the media, even by fellow players. But is that really fair? "Kobe wants it so badly that he rubs an awful lot of people the wrong way," says Lakers basketball consultant Tex Winter, guru of the triangle offense, who has known Bryant since 1999. "But they're not willing to understand what's inside the guy."

O.K. then, let's try, starting at the beginning, moment by basketball moment.

It's 1985, and Bryant is 11 years old, living in Italy, where his father, Joe Bryant, is playing professional basketball. He keeps bugging Brian Shaw, then a star player in Europe, to play him one-on-one. Eventually Shaw relents, and the two play H-O-R-S-E. "To this day, Kobe claims he beat me," says Shaw. "I'm like, right, an 11-year-old kid, but he's serious." Even back then, Shaw saw something different. "His dad was a good player, but he was the opposite of Kobe, real laid-back," says Shaw. "Kobe was out there challenging grown men to play one-on-one, and he really thought he could win."

Now it's 1995. Kobe is the senior leader on the Lower Merion team, and he is obsessed with winning a state championship. He comes to the gym at 5 a.m. to work out before school, stays until 7 p.m. afterward. It's all part of the plan; when Lower Merion lost in the playoffs the previous spring, Kobe stood up in the locker room, interrupting the seniors as they hugged each other in an attempt at closure, and guaranteed a state title, adding, "The work starts now." (To this day, Bryant remains so amped about his old high school league that when he taped a video message for the Lower Merion team a few years ago, it contained none of the usual platitudes; instead it was Bryant reeling off a string of expletives and exhorting the boys to "take care of fucking business!")

During the Kobe era at Lower Merion no moment was inconsequential, no drill unworthy of ultimate concentration. During one practice, "just a random Tuesday," as Coach Gregg Downer recalls, Bryant was engaged in a three-on-three drill in a game to 10. One of his teammates was Schwartz, then a 5' 7" junior bench warmer. With the game tied 9–9, Schwartz had an opening and drove to the basket but missed, allowing the other team to grab the rebound, after which they scored to win the game. "Now, most kids go to the water fountain and move on," says Downer. Not Kobe. "What do you think you're doing taking the last shot?" he demanded of Schwartz. The younger player looked at Bryant, amazed. "Dude," Schwartz said, "It's a three-on-three drill. It doesn't matter that much."

It was, Schwartz should have known, the wrong thing to say. He headed into the hallway to get a drink of water, but Kobe raced after him and berated him, and they nearly came to blows. It didn't stop with a reprimand either. "Ever get the feeling someone is staring at you — you don't have to look at them, but you know it?" says Schwartz. "I felt his eyes on me for the next 20 minutes. It was like by losing that drill, I'd lost us the state championship."

Now it's 1996 and the Lakers call in Bryant, fresh off his senior prom — he took the singer Brandy as you may recall — for a predraft workout. He flies in to Los Angeles and heads to the Inglewood High gym. In attendance are Lakers G.M. Jerry West and two members of the L.A. media-relations team, John Black and Raymond Ridder. Bryant, now 17, is to play one-on-one against Michael Cooper, the former Lakers guard and one of the premier defenders in NBA history. Cooper is 40 years old but still in great shape, wiry and long and much stronger than the teenage Bryant. The game is not even close. "It was like Cooper was mesmerized by him," says Ridder, now the Warriors' director of media relations. After 10 minutes, West stands up. "That's it, I've seen enough," he says. "He's better than anyone we've got on the team right now. Let's go."

Now it's early in his career. Just as he once did with Schwartz, Bryant keeps NBA teammates after practice as guinea pigs. "He was notorious for asking me to stay late to work on a move," says George, who played for L.A. from 1999 to 2006. "He'd say, ‘Stand there for a minute. I want to try something.' " And then Bryant would unveil a spin move, or a cross-over, or something else he'd picked up watching tape, and do it over and over and over. "The crazy thing about it is, he has the ability to put new elements in his game overnight," says George. "Like, for example, he might say, ‘Stay after and guard this move. Let me try it on you,' and he'll do it the next day in the game." George pauses to let this sink in. "Most of us, we'll try it alone, then we'll try it in practice, then in a scrimmage, and only then will we bring it out for a seven o'clock game. He'd do it the next day — and it would work."

This is how Bryant sees it — the game as laboratory. I first witnessed it in 2002, while I was interviewing him for a Sports Illustrated story. We were in an empty room at the Lakers practice facility and, when the conversation turned to dribble-drive moves, Bryant started getting worked up. He described to me a variation on a traditional move: a jab step-and-pause, where you sink deep, hesitate to let the defender relax and, instead of bringing the jab foot back, push off it. Soon enough, Bryant was out of his chair and positioning me as a "defender" on the carpeted floor.

"O.K., when I go here," he said, lunging forward, "now I just hesitate for a second and then" — and here Bryant pretended to exhale deeply — "Bam! I'm by you."

He stepped aside and, not content with the lesson, motioned for me to catch the imaginary ball he was holding. "You try it."

I jabbed, hesitantly.

Kobe shook his head. "Sell it man, really sell it!"

And so I did. And as we jabbed and relaxed and jabbed, it occurred to me that, deep down, Kobe Bryant is a total nerd. It's just that, while some people are Star Wars nerds, Bryant is a basketball nerd. "I think Kobe's actually a little bit embarrassed by his love of basketball," says Downer, his high school coach. "People called him a loner, but it's just that basketball is all he wants to focus on. I think he's part of a dying breed that loves the game that way."

It is this affection for the game that gets Bryant so excited about meeting kindred souls. Asked about Spurs coach Gregg Popovich during the 2008 playoffs, Kobe's face lit up as he recalled his chance to play for him in an All-Star Game. "I was really hoping he'd run us through one of those rigorous practices he does," said Bryant. When he got his wish, he deemed it "fun."

Now it's the summer of 2008, and Bryant is an Olympian on a team that will go on to win the gold medal. When around U.S. teammates, he refers to himself as "the old dog," as in, when Magic center Dwight Howard is being called to the bus as the team departs from a practice, "Don't worry, those motherfuckers aren't going anywhere without me. Stick with the old dog, and you'll be fine." (Howard does, and he is). It's a role Kobe's been waiting to play his whole career. Now, finally, he can be the alpha dog — all the time.

It is not easy to coach an alpha dog, of course. Especially one like Bryant, who not only knows the game chapter and verse but also understands both his own limitations and those of his teammates. As such, he is at times given to making, shall we say, executive decisions. "He's sure got a grasp of the game," says Tex Winter, the Lakers' coach. "He understands the game. But — and don't misinterpret this — he understands it a lot better than he plays it."

O.K., Tex, so as not to misinterpret: Are you saying that he knows the right thing to do but sometimes chooses not to do it?

"Yup, that's it," says Tex.

Hundley went on TV this morning—you can watch the whole thing here—to defend herself against charges that she's some kind of crazy lunatic, because she's totally not. In a lengthy interview, filled with many softly lit questions, she claims that she was not stalking anyone and that Phillips was the one who threatened her, saying he could get her fired if she spilled the beans about their sexcapades. Hundley says that she never meant to hurt anyone, "I simply wanted somebody to get upset enough to have an impact, to get me out of this horrific situation." A situation she helped create, but still ... not a picnic.

Hundley also says that she and Phillips have "resolved their issues," but still hopes that he "would grow up and take responsibility for his own actions." (That's kind of how most Mets fans feel too.) But in an all-time "where do you get off?" moment, she sorta apologizes to Marni Phillips, but does so by saying that now that she's been humiliated in public, Hundley "understands her pain." You know, the pain caused by knowing another woman slept with your husband.

"I've been called things by the public that no woman should ever be called," she said. "I couldn't go a day without getting, you know, 200 messages in my inbox from people that have never met me, just labeling, just calling me names. I've been called the 'C' word. I've been called a whore. I've been called a homewrecker."

Worse than all of that? She was the punchline to Jay Leno joke. "That was my breaking point," she says, and who can blame her? I mean, it would be one thing if Letterman or Conan made a crack about her looks, because that might have actually been funny. But Leno? Heck, I'd even take a Jimmy Kimmel zinger before subjecting myself to that nightmare.

So in the end, the key takeaway here is that if you made fun of Brooke Hundley's appearance, you're basically Jay Leno. Stings, doesn't it?

Exclusive: Steve Phillips' Mistress, Brooke Hundley, Speaks Out [Video @ ABC News]

It's ridiculous to blame Drew for "not vetting" this story as thoroughly as possible given that he's doing a series that's built on first-hand accounts about supposedly asshole coaches. Drew came to me with this story and suggested this one was unique enough to stand on its own outside of the series. I agreed. It was amusing and given Murphy's reputation as a hot-head and the other details of the event that were clearly true, it seemed completely plausible.

Obviously, that was wrong. When you run one-sided versions of stories, which we often do here, the goal is just that — to show one person's side. That's it. It's been my experience, more often than not, that putting these first-person accounts on items reveal a larger truth or open the door to finding out the bigger story. This is how we've successfully done many things on this site over the years from "You're With Me Leather" to Josh Hamilton.

Of course, this is not how traditional media outlets do things. Most people read Deadspin for various reasons but I don't think any readers come here with the idea that what they'll find will be something they'd find in magazines, newspapers, or websites that they'd find elsewhere. This site has been built employing both traditional journalism practices and non-traditional ones, which has tremendous benefits but plenty of risks as well. I don't think it's that difficult to distinguish between when we're practicing journalism and, especially, when we don't. But when facts are wrong, they get corrected, as they should. And unlike other traditional publications, I think we draw a lot more attention to our mistakes than just a 10 word correction buried on page A12.

We've already run the correction on the story and Drew did his best to rectify that situation. This is simply me underlining that fact that he was doing what he was told to do by me and he's not the bad guy in this situation. The real culprit is the misguided fellow who emailed the bullshit story to begin with and, of course, the very elastic editorial policy employed here by Deadspin which is championed by me.

Regardless of this unfortunate incident, I'm confident that we're doing the right thing most of the time. When we don't, well, it has to be addressed. This is me addressing it.

'Til the next episode.

I've removed the story in question, because the guy who sent it in emailed me later on to tell me that, in fact, Murphy never threatened to kick his ass. Instead, I'm going to run this version of the story from ASU assistant SID Randy Policar. What we're left with is the rather sad story of an autograph hound stopping at nothing to get a signature from a very frail and vulnerable boxing legend. A brief warning: the bolded sentence below may cause spontaneous bouts of weeping.

Let me start by saying that there was no "security" at this event, per se. It was all volunteers. It wasn't an ASU event, so I was there as a volunteer as well. When Ali arrived at 6:45, a group of volunteers (myself included) helped get him to the golf cart that he was to ride in. His wife and sister-in-law were with him. There was a group of 10-15 people with items to be signed, and Ali's wife and sister made it clear that A. he was not physically able to really sign and B. he would not be signing anything tonight due to an exclusive memorabilia contract that he had.

Ali was brought up to a suite at Scottsdale Stadium for him, his wife and his sister-in-law. While it is true that Coach Murphy was one of the first to greet him, I can promise you, in no uncertain terms, Pat Murphy DID NOT have Muhammad Ali sign anything for him. I was in there the entire time Coach was, and Murph went in there to welcome him and to thank him for lending his name to the charity event. He asked Ali if it would be ok if he could take a picture with him and his wife, and if his daughter could get a picture. He also asked if Ali would like to meet Dustin Pedroia and Andre Ethier, MLB players who were also in attendance. Ethier and his 18-month old son were brought in and spent a few minutes with him, then Pedroia and his three-month old came in. Ali was very excited to see the little boys and held them on his lap while posing for some photos.

After the players left, fans starting pouring into the suite. Ali's wife became concerned about the number of people in there, but was still very gracious and allowed most of them to shake Ali's hand and pose for a photo. The person who wrote the email, and I know exactly who it is, came into the suite with a giant poster and other items to be signed. He shoved past the other people in the suite and basically pushed a pen and the poster into Ali's face. Ali's wife told the gentleman that Muhammad could not sign, because of contractual issues and because he was doing a private signing the following week. The man started to protest and Mrs. Ali offered to take his name and phone number down and told him she would call him and try and work something out so he could get something signed. He gave her the information and she put it in her purse. She was clearly frustrated at how pushy he was, but she handled it well and no one raised their voice. The man then got a photo with Ali and left the booth. During this time, Murphy was not in the Ali suite, but next door with Pedroia and Ethier.

After Ali was taken down to the field on his cart, they sang the national anthem and woman performed a song to honor Ali. He stood up and waved to the crowd and then greeted some young baseball players who participate in a little league that was founded and originally funded by Coach Murphy. After that, Ali got back in his cart to leave.

At this point, the people on the field at Scottsdale Stadium were either participants in the home run derby, Sandlot All-Star (little league) players and parents, volunteers or media members. During the song to Ali, I saw the emailer jump the fence and come on to the field. Once Ali got onto his cart, this guy once again shoved a pen and a Sports Illustrated into Ali's face. He was told again by Ali's wife and sister-in-law no autographs, but he kept pushing, begging and pleading with Muhammad to sign. Ali's wife reminded him that she had taken his number and was going to call him, but he completely dismissed her. The crowd was all over the guy, yelling at him to show some respect and heed his wishes, but he didn't care at all. Eventually, Ali relented (and honestly, at that point, what choice did he have, the guy was not going to move) and began to sign the magazine.

I swear to you, it took Ali around three or four minutes to sign his name, because of his physical condition. He had to be held up, because he could not stand on his own. Ali did thumb through the magazine, and eventually got into the cart. The emailer's claim that he was thrown into the backstop by ASU security is a patently ridiculous statement. First off, it was not an ASU event, so there was no ASU security or any other type of security, just the volunteers. Second off, I saw it, he was asked to back off and refused. There was no physical assault of any kind. When Ali's cart drove off, one of the volunteers who helped set up the event escorted him off the field and out of the stadium.

I can also tell you that I spoke to Ali's wife prior to the whole incident, and they were planning on staying at the event to watch the home run derby. We already had begun preparations to bring Ali back up to the suite. But after the stunt that the emailer pulled, they decided to leave and not subject Ali to anything else like that. I thought Ali handled the whole situation well, as did his family. This guy was told no by numerous people, was given special treatment by Ali's wife to try and accommodate him, and still didn't like the answer he got. So he decided that the rules didn't apply to him and did whatever he had to in order to get what he wanted. It was a selfish act by this guy, who had already gotten a photo with Ali, something more valuable than a signature if you truly are a big fan. He got his moment with The Champ, but it wasn't enough for him.

To call a guy "the biggest asshole he ever met", the same guy who was putting on a Charity Event is just stupid. This guy clearly didn't care about the charity, or where the money was going, or the point of the event, he wanted Ali's autograph and felt he was entitled to it because he spent $99 to get in. Coach Murphy worked really hard to get Ali to come to the event, in the hopes that having his name attached would help raise money for a good cause, and this guy disrespects Ali and his family all because he wanted an autograph. Pat Murphy put on a charity event to raise money for an organization, The Crossroads, that is near and dear to his heart. He didn't put on an autograph show. Coach has donated thousands of dollars to charities throughout the country, he just doesn't advertise it.

He saved old game balls that were used once and tossed and donated them to inner city schools who couldn't afford baseballs, he donated sporting goods to Boys Town in Omaha so they could have new equipment to use. He's donated over $100,000 back to ASU for facility improvements and to help get his assistant coaches more money, and he started his own little league for kids who couldn't afford to join. He paid for uniforms and equipment and let them use a field for free, just so he could let underprivileged kids enjoy baseball. If those are the acts of the "biggest asshole", then maybe the world needs more assholes like Pat Murphy.

Coach doesn't know I sent this, and I was not directed by my superiors to defend him. I just wanted to set the record straight because I know Coach Murphy and his family and I know what kind of person he is. He can get mad and get heated, but he has a heart of gold, I promise you. It was a great event for a great cause, and I would hate to see his name dragged through the mud and the event tarnished because of half-truths from one person, who ultimately, got what he wanted, regardless of how it was obtained.

Sorry I got a little long winded, but I wanted you to hear what happened from my perspective.

I followed up with the reader (we'll call him Asshole) who sent in the original story for a clarification of what happened. Here is our exchange.

ME: Did you lie when you wrote this, Asshole?

ASSHOLE: I did not, but the details are distorted enough to cause issues. It was a funny story that has gone too far.

(19 minutes later)

ASSHOLE: Some information may be false…

(43 minutes later)

ASSHOLE: Drew, Murphy did not say those things to me...

Well, thanks. I'm glad we cleared that up. You asshole. I hope you get beaten like a redheaded stepchild.

UPDATE: The Pat Murphy Home Run Derby was established to benefit The Crossroads. You can learn more about that charity here. And, of course, my deepest apologies to Pat Murphy an the ASU athletic department.

A quick recap for that majority of you who couldn't give a toss about baseball until springtime: as part of the collective bargaining agreement, MLB and the Players Association agree to let the Elias Sports Bureau use a formula to rank the free agents as either Type A, Type B and unclassified. If a team fails to re-sign a Type A player, they receive the first round pick of the team who does, and a supplemental pick on top of that. A Type B player is worth only a supplemental pick.

It's simple, but that's the only part of this sordid business that is. Elias defines a Type A player as within the top 20 percent at his position, and a Type B as within the next 20 percent. But where does this formula come from?

It's a tightly guarded secret, but much of it has leaked out over the years (Here's a good rundown). There's a ton of things wrong with the stats, but we'll highlight a few.

•Stolen bases aren't taken into account. That's the most glaring, since a player who can single, then steal second 95 percent of the time, is unquestionably valuable. That extra base is akin to a huge jump in slugging percentage. Which reminds us...
•Slugging percentage isn't taken into account either. If two players have identical averages, and one is a slap singles hitter and the other consistently doubles and triples, which is more valuable? According to Elias, they're equal.
•Defense doesn't matter for half the players. Fielding percentage doesn't factor in to the valuations for outfielders and first basemen. As if a cannon arm and great first step for a center fielder don't save as many runs as they do for a third baseman.
•Control doesn't matter for starting pitchers. While relievers have their hits per inning, and K/BB ratios factored in, there's nothing similar for starters.

It's ludicrous that Elias, home to more obscure stats than anyone else, doesn't even use now-common measures like OPS and WHIP in their valuations. (Though it's impossible to blame them; this was the formula agreed upon by baseball and the MLBPA.) This gives us major inconsistencies, like these chronicled at Lookout Landing:

Among the potential free agents, there are 26 Type A's, 52 Type B's, and 102 unranked. The average 08/09 WAR (Wins Above Replacement) of the Type A's is 4.6. The average 08/09 WAR of the top 26 Type B's is 4.9.

The average 08/09 WAR of the bottom 26 Type B's is 1.5. The average 08/09 WAR of the top 26 unranked is 2.9.

21 unranked potential free agents posted a combined 08/09 WAR of 2+. Nine Type A's and 16 Type B's were below 2.

Guillermo Mota and David Weathers are Type B's despite posting WARs below zero.

Garret Anderson is a Type B despite being one of the least valuable players in the Major Leagues last year.

But the most egregious variable in the ratings is that they are determined by performance over the past two years. This minimizes breakout players, and ignores those who have broken down completely and suddenly.

Billy Wagner is a Type A; Joel Piniero is a Type B. Bengie Molina is a Type A; Carl Crawford is a Type B. Jason Kendall is worth compensation; Hideki Matsui is not. You get the idea.

Do I have a better plan? I do not. I am a blogger, and my job is to complain and not to be constructive. But something needs to be done, because this is a system that is good for no one.

The players lose because the added cost of losing a pick scares some bidders off, keeping offers lower. Half the teams lose because in order to qualify for compensatory picks, they have to offer arbitration to players they'd otherwise let go without a fuss. The other half lose because they have to surrender draft picks to sign players. So who does win?

Just like with the luxury tax, it's the teams that can't or won't spend money. Too cheap to hang on to your home grown superstars? No worries, they're a Type A and you'll receive another potential star just for being stingy. It's an incentive to break your fanbase's heart. You can almost picture Robert Nutting counting the draft picks for when he inevitably lets Andrew McCutchen go.

But, hey, once all the problems with steroids, TV revenue sharing, a salary cap, a salary floor, stadium financing, the USA's poor showings in the WBC, the lack of African-Americans in the game, verifying the ages of Latin American players, the MLB Network, and instant replay get sorted out, I'm sure baseball will get right on fixing this one.

Tebow was sacked four times on Saturday, bringing His season total to 21. (He was sacked 15 times in 2008 and 13 times in 2007.) At His Monday press conference, He addressed the matter of His health.

Witness: Tim Tebow, via The Florida Times-Union's Michael DiRocco

Testimony: "Body feels good. I feel refreshed."

Pertinent Scripture: Acts 1:3

After his suffering, he showed himself to these men and gave many convincing proofs that he was alive.

Please submit any evidence that Tim Tebow is our Redeemer to tips@deadspin.com.

Gators' Tebow refreshed and ready for stretch run [Florida Times-Union]

Before we get to the questions this week, a little rumor about Dan Snyder. I heard this story on LaVar Arrington's 106.7 FM radio show here in DC last week. A fan called in to tell Arrington and co-host Chad Dukes about an exterminator he knew. The exterminator was called to Snyder's house to spray for pests. When the exterminator arrived, the housekeeper instructed him where to go spray. But the exterminator found no signs of pests in the space. He came down to tell the housekeeper there was no need to spray, and he didn't want to take Snyder's money for a service the Redskins owner didn't need performed (clearly, this man was honest to a fault).

The housekeeper insisted the exterminator spray the area anyway, telling the man that Snyder hated to be told he was wrong, and that it would be better for everyone if he simply sprayed the area, took his money, and went about his business. But, he explained, there's nothing there. There's no need to spray. She insisted. Apparently, you REALLY do not want to tell Dan Snyder there are no pests in his house if he believes otherwise. So the man sprayed the area for no reason, took Snyder's money, and left.

And now you know why the Redskins are considering signing Larry Johnson.

Emails away!

Barb-A-Rod:

I'm a 27 year old guy, married for just over a year. We do not have a kid, yet. I smoke some good nugs daily, after I get home from work, and sometimes the wife will imbibe as well. Now, we're going to start trying for a child in the next month or two (she wants the baby to be born around October. Why, I have no idea) so clearly she has to quit smoking for the time being. Does that mean I have to quit smoking too? Can I just cut back? Do I need to get my spermies checked? Does that shit really lower your swimmer count? Do I ask too many unnecessary questions?

And reader JonnyDakota with a companion email:

Any babymaking tips? I've never made one on purpose before. Been trying for a couple months, didn't know it would be a challenge. Wife wants me to quit drinking while we try, but that hasn't and will not happen, certainly not during football season.

It's a law of nature that successful procreation is eighty times more difficult to achieve when you are intentionally trying to make a child. If you were banging a hooker in an alleyway instead, your chances of conception would rise an astonishing 370%. Your wife will do a lot of reading about fertility in the coming weeks and months (and will demand you do likewise), and somewhere along the line she will come across some bullshit advice from a doctor telling her that married couples need to behave like fucking Mormons in order to conceive a child and ensure that child doesn't come out retarded. No pot. No booze. No sushi (something about mercury). No cold cuts. For real. No cold cuts. She WILL force you to stop smoking the weed. It's all but inevitable. I bargained with Mrs. Drew for the right to drink, but she watched my intake like a fucking hawk.

HER: How many beers is that?

ME: Two.

HER: There are eight cans in the recycling bin.

ME: FUCK.

Anyway, I suggest you put up with all these restrictions for now. Once you finally hit paydirt (and that process itself is quite enjoyable), you have a designated driver for nine months. Not a bad payoff.

One other thing: I saw a doctor once while trying to have our second kid, and he told me I needed to cut out masturbation and attempt conceiving with the Mrs. Once every THREE days, and not more frequently. This increases your payload and floods your lady's reproductive system with manpaint. And it worked. But holding out for three days was fucking AGONY. It was horrible. Like being in Nam. I can't do it again, or I will fucking die.

Travis:

If there was a scale of tastiness, what food would have the largest extremes between its "fresh" version and its "leftovers" version? My vote is French Fries. The least extreme? I think it's pizza.

It can't be pizza. Pizza fresh out of the oven is fantastic. Jack Donaghy says preferring cold pizza over hot is CRAZY. Gotta be chili. Chili's even better the more you reheat it. Lasagna, too. But I agree on French fries. Ever get delivery French fries? They're always terrible.

Adam:

What is the proper portocol for taking a giant 12 hours of drinking and eating fried-food type of shit, when you reach for some tp, and you are denied. There's none in the cabinet-fuck my retarded roommate…

FLOYD! FLOYD, YOU USED UP ALL THE TOILET PAPER!

…There is some paper towels, but that's a good 25 foot walk, fuck. So what to do, hop in the shower and let water and gravity do there work and clean the shit out of it later, or make a slow ass clinched walk into the kitchen with hopes of no drips? Or just use your asshole roommate's bed sheets?

No, you gotta hit the kitchen and do that clenched asswalk. If there are paper products to be used, you are, by law, mandated to use them first before any cloth substitutes.

Emily:

Any thoughts on the Final Three of Project Runway? I agree that the cast wasn't as strong this season, but you must have some thoughts. At the very least, don't you think Irina is such a bitch?

Total bitch. It's the worst season in the history of the show. Kors and Garcia are never fucking there. (Imagine if Simon Cowell missed 70% of every Idol episode. If you liked that show, you'd be fucking pissed.) The move to LA was pointless and stupid. The challenges are terrible. The Gawker reviewers are right: they just tell the designers to go to Mood and make some shit. There's no, "Make a dress out of medical waste" type challenges that are cool. And the contestants are shit. How the fuck did Christopher last this long? They take this asshole to the Getty Museum, and he's inspired by algae on the rocks outside of the place? He may as well have been inspired by a fucking parking spot. What a crybaby asshole. He should have been out the first day.

The final three are all underwhelming. Irina's a bitch. Althea has Kirsten Dunst's teeth and makes the same floppy clothes every week. And Carol Hannah totally looks like this one dude I know. No lie. Slap a shitlaod of eyeliner on him, toss on a wig, and you got Carol Hannah. It's unnerving. All of them would get crushed if this were any other season. I think they're all allergic to actual colors. I say Irina wins handily, and then they'll pretend as if this season never existed. Next season, they're back in New York and Kors and Garcia are on for every episode. I think it'll be back to normal.

(Also, Irina is the hottest of the final three. I think. But she looks like the type of person that would lie there and smoke during intercourse.)

John:

If you have a 3-day weekend, is it better to have Friday or Monday off?

Friday. Not even close. More people take Friday off, so there are more people to drink with. You can go out on Thursday, best night of the week, and not worry about work. If you take Monday off, the weekend still feels like it's over come Monday morning anyway. You feel aimless.

Pedro:

My only real goal in life is to clog a toilet with only poop (i.e., no toilet paper). A friend of mine says he's done this, but he's a lying sack of shit. Have you done it?

Nope. Poop is ergonomically designed for easy flushing, with its snakelike contours. I say it's not possible.

Brad:

I bought a $5 footlong and gave my roommate half of it as soon as I opened it up. He took two bites and put it in the fridge. 6 hours later, I'm hungry and it's still there, he's napping. Do I have legit rights to it or would it be a dick move?

Fuck and yes, you do. You paid for it, and that asshole couldn't even be bothered to sit and eat it with you like a proper friend? It's yours. Eat it and then belch in his ungrateful face.

Matt:

What are your thoughts on jerking off while your driving? I am a huge fan of doing said action, but my friends always bust my balls (pun intended). They say it's real sketchy and that other motorists will see me. The thing is, whenever a driver passes me, I just pretend like I'm looking for something in my pocket and nobody gets wise. Please let me know how you feel.

I have done this while driving a handful of times, but only when out on the highway, with no traffic blockages. You're going one speed, there's constant passing, etc. Doing it in the middle of urban traffic? That's fucking repugnant and you should be jailed.

I feel very proud of myself after a highway jerk. Very productive.

Chester Chodums:

Looking at that brazilian tumblr site gave me an idea: Can you rank the varying degrees of NSFW content? NSFW where? What if I work on the set of a porn movie? What if I teach kindergarten? What if I have my own office? What if 23 people can see my computer at any given moment? What's pretty safe for work unless you have an uptight boss. What's kind of safe for work? What's risky but worth it, as long as you time it right? What's brazen and bold and could get you in some trouble? And what's absolutely, positively not to be viewed except in the privacy of your own closet at 3 a.m.?

NSFW just doesn't cut it, and everyone seems to have a different idea of what that is. Movies have ratings. Links to content need more shading and definition as well.

I concur. You'll notice a lot of guys toss in the EXTREMELY NSFW warning when it's hardcore porn you're about to click on. That helps. But otherwise, I suggest we make like the TV ratings and add suffixes that indicate content.

NSFWL – NSFW language. Believe it or not, some offices frown on even bad language on sites. Fucking commies.

NSFWSN – NSFW soft nudity

NSFWHN – NSFW hard nudity

NSFWT – NSFW thong

NSFWCC – NSFW cheesecake (not nudity, but bikinis and lingerie and what not)

NSFWF – NSFW fisting

Parker:

I may be the only person who was happy to have the Favre cam Sunday, as I was stuck in the university library, but was stil able to pull the Favre cam up and get Fox's live game audio at no charge. It was the only thing that saved me from my personal hell of studying all goddamn day.

Fair enough.

Eric:

You're wrong about Randy Lerner. He wants people to think he gives a shit about the Browns, but he really doesn't. He cares more about how people see him as the owner of the team. Given Dan Snyder's nationwide humiliation, it's easy to see Lerner trying to escape the same fate even though his team is by a wide margin shittier.

He probably paid Mike Randall to say nice things about him and BS that he was paying attention to his ideas to give fans the false idea that the franchise is doing OK (and so they continue to pay to see a 1-15 team).

Fair enough again. I was out of turn being nice to Randy Lerner, given what the Browns have done to you over the past decade. He says he wants to bring in Ernie Accorsi, Mike Holmgren, or Ron wolf to fix this thing. If he fails to get any of those men, then I think you're right to go poop on his lawn.

Greg:

I have a question about Thanksgiving etiquette. This year, I'm going to a large gathering of my girlfriend's family - we've been together over a year and I've been to a few gatherings before so I'm not concerned with the "new boyfriend" awkwardness. What I am concerned with is the availability of dark meat and skin at the serving table.

As you know, these are precious commodities and could possibly end up in short supply. In past years, when I've either been at home or a small gathering with my own family and/or friends, I have no reservations about filling my plate with as many of these juicy delicious pieces as possible (Aside: Ever "accidentally" drop a piece into the moat of grease surrounding the turkey before delivering to your plate? I highly recommend it.). (Ed note: Yup.) Anyway, my question is, what's my best strategy for loading up on these wonderful pieces of turkey flesh without looking like a fucking douchebag?

I too agree that there's never enough dark meat and skin. And I've noticed, over the years, that more and more of my family members have grown wise to the fact that the dark meat tastes incredible and the white meat tastes boring as shit. Thus, the scramble becomes even more fierce. We need to breed turkeys that have triple-sized legs and thighs for this reason. They already bioengineer the living shit out of these things, so I say we go even further in making these Frankenbirds as much of an affront to God as possible.

For now, I suggest simply waiting until your girlfriend's mom tells you to fill your plate (and she will insist you do this at some point). "Oh, Greg! Greg, get some food!" Then, load up all you like. I suggest keeping all your food within the boundaries of the plate rim. That way, it appears modest. Also, load up on meat before anything else. If you need to sacrifice taking extra stuffing for now, do so. You can always go back to come out even later.

Dave:

Ever take a piss with khaki pants on, and you try and get the last few dribbles out, but then you zip up only to realize its bled through your brown pants? Now everyone can see you clearly just pissed and you have to try to cover it up with your hand when you see a co-worker in the hall. Annoying.

Yep. Happens ALL THE FUCKING TIME to me. Usually before a job interview. Then you gotta do that thing where you take your hand and rub the shit out of the spot until it's hand-dried. Brutal. I'm a terrible dribbler. Sometimes I'll finish pissing and half a pint leaks right out and down into the grundle of my boxers. No warning. Just BOOM. Instant wetness. It's the worst thing ever. I am broken. I need a cock cinch.

Chris:

I went to the University of Arizona for undergrad and we had a Chipotle right off campus that my friends and I would frequent at least once a day.

Back when we were freshman in 2002, for $5 you could get an overstuffed burrito with unlimited hot sauce and it would fill you up from lunch until it was time to drink. I had a pretty solid system for getting the most out of my buck too - when the person behind the aisle would ask what kind of meat I'd like, I'd say Chicken, and then as he was scooping a gratuitous amount of supple bird onto my tortilla, I'd quickly change my mind and say Steak, forcing him to just say fuck it cuz he's a Chipotle worker and just go ahead and double meat that baby free of charge. Then I'd ask for every veggie available, which would force the tortilla roller lady to use two tortillas to encase my entire meal. So when I'd sit down, I'd unwrap my meats and veggies, equally dispersing the ingredients into two tortillers, and voila, I'd have 2 burritos for the price of one.

Chris, you sir, are a genius. Everyone take notes. We have much to learn from this very fat and thrifty young man.

Anonymous:

Has their ever been anyone more perverted in sports than mascots? I don't know if you've ever heard these fuckers talk, but I'm pretty sure that they feel dressing up like an animal is THE SHIT, and therefore gives them an excuse to talk dirty in public. I can't how many times I've heard Testudo (University of Maryland), tell a girl he'll only take a picture with them because they've got such a fine ass, and then squeeze it. The worst part? He gets away with it! They giggle! Any explanations?

They're like animated programming. You get away with murder when you look cartoonish. Also, you have more license to act like a filthy lech when you're willing to dress up in a ridiculous outfit. Girls immediately label you as extroverted and fun if you're an asshole in am ascot suit. Is the Maryland mascot really named Testudo? Jesus. Patting asses is nothing. He should be dry humping spectators with a name like that.

Kevin:

How many times do you read over an important email to proof-read it? Isn't there always that one error you want to take back after getting a reply or re-reading it after sending? You can read it 4503 times and still find that error after you hit the send button.

Yep. I can look at a document 700 times and still miss at least five glaring typos. But I hardly think it matters in this day and age. Sometimes I see typos in my email now and just leave them, because I know no one gives a shit. And that is why this world is GOING TO HECK IN A HANDBASKET.

Krampus:

Follow up question to Shane's story about rooting against your school: How do you feel about people who obsess about a college team when they never even went to college? I'm sure this is rampant in SEC country, but my personal experience is with people from Connecticut who won't shut up about UConn basketball - men's or women's. Calm down, fuck face, you have no stake in these proceedings. (Confession: I went to a Catholic school with no football team, and thus casually root for Notre Dame. But I don't get emotional about it.)

Yeah. That is weird. I guess it makes some sense in Connecticut, which has no professional team representation. But if you're firing up the RV and heading out to a Tennessee game with giant orange banners flying from your roof, and you went to Marist, that's a little weird. But what if you were too stupid to get into one of those schools? Or what if you got a scholarship to Harvard despite loving Tennessee your whole life? I guess it's okay. Or something. I dunno. All I know is that you're a douche if you root for Notre Dame, no matter what. FUCK YOU BUDDY.

Dan:

I absolutely love jalapenos on my food, but the fire shits that follow cause me to avoid them whenever possible. Is there some trick to easing the discomfort/pain of crapping molten lava or do I just have to keep denying myself sweet jalepeno goodness whenever possible?

I think taking a Zantac or Pepcid before you eat may help. I too wrestle with the choice between delicious spicy food and knowing my asshole will bear the brunt of punishment for it. And you know what? My asshole loses that argument every time. Every time. It doesn't matter how vehement its argument is. DON'T DO IT, MAN! I'LL BE VOMITING UP BROWN FILTH ALL DAY LONG! No matter. Must… have… chili cheesesteak…

Timmy:

You're completely right about the waterless urinals, they fucking suck. The one exception is the visitor's center on Assateague Island in Virginia. Your piss makes interesting little designs there, and it is mesmerizing and beautiful.

Not unlike the brook trout described at the end of "The Road". Maps and mazes. Of a piss that could not be made right again.

Daulerio will never admit this, and I probably shouldn't, but on January 23, 2003, we, along with fellow Black Table editor Eric Gillin, a Boston guy, stayed up to watch the debut of "The Jimmy Kimmel Show." We did this solely because Bill Simmons was a writer for the show. I'm not sure what we were expecting to see: Late-night talk shows aren't in the habit of giving guest appearances to lower-tier writers in their first episodes. (The show was a mess: This is back when they were openly drinking on set, and it was chaos. I think at one point, Kimmel tried to deep fat fry a ventriloquist dummy while "guest" Adam Corolla plaintively attempted to remind a piss-drunk Kimmel that "YOU ARE ON TELEVISION RIGHT NOW.") But it felt important somehow. A television show smart enough to hire Bill Simmons to write for them, well, that was something we couldn't miss. We felt like we knew him.

It's easy to forget this now, now that sports blogs are everywhere, now that Simmons is as much of an establishment figure as Chris Berman, now that the man produces his own television show, but back when he first came to ESPN, in 2001, he seemed like a revolutionary figure. I remember working in a doctor's office in May 2001 and reading his Is Roger Clemens the Antichrist? column. (I was not familiar with his Boston Sports Guy work.) I couldn't believe someone was getting away with this. Today, phrases like "kicked in the gonads," "this was the musical equivalent of U2 asking for a contract extension from their record company on the heels of "Zooropa" and "Pop")" and "looking like he was auditioning for the 'Chris Farley Story'" are familiar Simmons tropes: Everyone writes like that now. But not in 2001. In 2001, Skip Bayless was the "hip" columnist at Page 2. The other column I vividly remember from the period was Simmons' guide to the Atlanta Gold Club trial, which featured graphic descriptions of Patrick Ewing receiving oral sex from two women and this immortal aside:

During [Andruw] Jones's susbsequent testimony, the prosecutor asked which of the women Jones had sex with, and Jones answered, "Both of them," adding, "to tell you the truth, I wouldn't remember one of their faces right now." One of my personal favorite quotes from the trial.

What Simmons was doing was so different from what anyone else was doing that it didn't even seem to be the same medium. They were letting him do this? (Eventually, they would stop, somewhat: That Gold Club column got a solid scrubbing from ESPN back in 2007.) Other sportswriters hated Simmons immediately, ostensibly because of those tired Doesn't Sit In The Press Box arguments, but mostly because he was connecting with people, he was proving that the empty Verse Chorus Verse of the inverted pyramid and Fire The Manager! wasn't going to cut it anymore. Simmons was talking about sports the way people actually talked about sports. It's no wonder he was so disliked by the insiders and so embraced — tentatively at first, like a viral meme that spread, have you seen this guy? — by the masses. He gave hope for a lot of people — including, yeah, me, and Daulerio, and Gillin — that maybe the landscape for this shit, maybe it existed.

That turned, of course. It always does. Eventually the obsessives began carping — I think the Red Sox winning the World Series in 2004 was when the minor Bill Simmons Is A Douche! movement began — and the mainstream folks, unable to deny his success any longer, began meeting him halfway, featuring him above everyone else on the site and encouraging their own writers to impersonate him. (That Rick Reilly sits next to Simmons on ESPN.com's front page today is wonderfully surreal: No one's reputation as Sports Wit suffered more from Simmons' ascendance than Reilly. He morphed from Jim Murray to Henny Youngman, seemingly in a matter of weeks.) Sports blogs blew up, including this one, sites that put the Establishment (whatever that was) in their crosshairs and started firing, ultimately blasting in every possible direction, no matter what got hit. Inevitably, Simmons would become a target. He was the biggest name — to us, anyway. But even in those attacks, sometimes justified, sometimes not, there was always a little bit held back. After all, everyone still read Simmons: No matter how many Karate Kid and Teen Wolf references there were, you still always read him. You still took him seriously, even if it were to trash him. Nobody does that with Jay Mariotti, or Bayless, or Reilly. (Honestly, when's the last time you seriously read anything by those guys?) They're easily dismissed. They've been mailing in their work for a decade. No one has ever accused Simmons of that.

A large part of Simmons' appeal has always been that sense that you knew him, that somehow you were invested in his success. Malcolm Gladwell and Chuck Klosterman will sell more books in their lifetime than Simmons, but people don't wait in lines spanning around the block just to have them sign their book like they do for Simmons. (A search for photos of Simmons brings up hundreds of shots of him posing with fans.) People want to know what his wife's like — type "Bill Simmons" into Google, and the second hit is "Bill Simmons wife," and the fourth is "Bill Simmons wife picture" — and what his kids are like and whether he's different in Los Angeles than he was in Boston. This is all absurd, of course. The guy types into a computer at a coffee shop all day. But it's what fans have always done with Simmons, even those who purport to hate him. Simmons turned into an indie rock band from the early '90s. "He's hanging out with Jimmy Kimmel and Matt Damon now? SELLOUT!" We treated Simmons like he was a guy from our neighborhood who made it big, like it was important that he remember the little people who got him there. In a way, he kind of was.

Now there he is, atop the New York Times Bestseller list, as establishment a pedestal as one can imagine. Simmons did something incredibly rare, particularly in our fractured, niche media world: He made the culture come to him. His triumph is his own, but, in a strange way, it feels like a victory for all of us. The sports culture needed changing, and Simmons is walking evidence that it can, and did. Somewhere out there, there's a college student with a viewpoint different than everyone else, and he/she will show up and change everything too, exposing Simmons (and the rest of us) the way he did to Reilly. That'll happen again. Thank heavens. Good ideas win out. Perseverance and new perspectives break through. The old rots and washes away. Sometimes the good guys win.

(Photo via this outstanding Flickr set.)

I had a swimming coach when I was four, named Mr. Willamy. During a swim lesson, I was reluctant to enter the pool. Mr. Willamy responded by yelling at me, dunking my head in the water, and holding it there until I was nearly drowning. Mr. Willamy wasn't fired for this, of course. Mr. Willamy kept his job for decades, and was something of an institution. He's dead now. Fuck that guy.

If you've ever played sports (or, in my case, attempted to), you have no doubt encountered your fair share of asshole coaches. BLAZING ASSHOLE COACHES. In fact, I'd argue that most men become coaches because they couldn't be bothered to fill out the application to become a fucking rent-a-cop. You know the kind of coach I mean. Aviator shades. Puffed chest. Drunk with precious authority. Ready to scream at children at the drop of a hat. For every Tony Dungy in this world, there are roughly one million complete fucking scumbags aspiring to be the next Bear Bryant.

Well, it's time to call those gentlemen out. Deadspinners, welcome to our very first edition of ASSHOLE COACH DIGEST. Every Monday, we'll be chronicling real stories about coaches who are arrogant, unpleasant, and downright abusive. You can send me your coaching horror stories right here. I don't give a shit if your coach is BAD. I don't care if he elected to kick a field goal when he was down by seven points with no timeouts and only five minutes left (Hi, Andy!). And I really don't give a shit if he didn't give you enough PT.

No, I'm talking about the Manginis of the world. The slimy, slogan-spouting assholes who just can't wait to put you in your place. It can be any sport. It can be your current coach, or a coach you once had. You can name names, or you can be anonymous. I don't care. All I want is to offer you a bit of payback to any coach who took his bullshit too fucking far. The end goal, naturally, is to get stories about some big name assholes: the Bobby Knights and Todd Haleys of the world. But really, any coach will do. It's time to debunk a profession that is often lionized far beyond what it deserves. Molder of young men, my ass. Take this story, from reader Andrew:

I think I've got 90% of people beat with my fourth grade flag football coach. First of all, guy was this huge, former o lineman who was living vicariously through his fourth grade son. Dude, would have us doing legitimate drills such as leg lifts and ab work for this team. I feel the need to reemphasize the fact here, that this was a fourth grade coach and most of the kids were 9-10 years old and just want to play glorified backyard ball.

Oh and I did I mention the guy broke my collarbone? Yes, yes, my fourth grade flag football coach broke me collarbone. You may be asking yourself right now, "How Andrew, How did your fourth grade flag football coach break your collarbone?" Well, let me tell you, so we were playing a scrimmage in the backyard of our elementary school. Well, one kid on our team, who was lined up at linebacker, had watched some tv and figured out a juke move that he was using on some poor kid who was lined up center. The poor kid was always getting faked out by this move because, he was, you know, fucking nine.

So the coach decides the best way to teach these kids how to stop such a move is to INSERT HIMSELF IN THE FUCKING SCRIMMAGE. So now, there is a forty year old, 200+ lbs. huge dude lined up at center, in the middle of this scrimmage of nine and ten year olds. So the next play from scrimmage occurs and the kid playing linebacker fakes his juke and completely outmaneuvers the coach, the coach dives for where he thinks the kid is supposed to be and instead, lays me out. We're talking, this guy performed a near flawless form tackle on my, tiny, fifty pound self and proceeded to lay on top of me for a good couple of seconds afterwards.

Needless to say my collarbone snapped like a dry piece of spaghetti. Soon after my incident, half of the team quit because the coach was fucking psychotic and his kid moved maybe two years later. But my goddamn shoulder still fucking hurts whenever the air pressure changes to serve a nice little reminder of the great flag football career I had consisting of one fucking game and then a nice stint on the DL.

Or this one, from Jared:

In the spring semester of my junior year in high school there were these rumors going around the school that head football coach was having an affair and was getting divorced. This ended up being true but the next part is the shocker.

He was having the affair with the assistant coach's wife, who also had a son on the football team who was the starting QB.

After each got divorced they started dating and got married that summer. He even kept his job at the school even though he supply fucked her in his office multiple times. The kid even had to keep playing for the jerk-off because his dad couldn't afford to send him to the private school in the area. So the whole season this kid had to play for a coach who fucked his mom and ruined his parents' marriage. The kid's dad, who used to be good friends with the guy and was the defensive coordinator, quit because of the whole head coach fucking his wife thing. The coach ended up leaving after the season when he got new job but the damage was done. He was a total douchbag.

You get the idea. Broken collarbones. Boning the starting QB's mom. This is WHY YOUR COACH SUCKS. Photos, video, and scanned motivational slogans are all welcome.

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...

And Here's One Of Her Emails, Too

Excuse me...

I urge you to provide me proof that embedding was permitted from my YouTube account which I assure you wasn't. That's why I'm not going away until you take down the article and compensate me for the escalating level of slander, now up to almost 18,000 views. Have you even asked Barry how he got it? Because no matter what he says, it will be a lie that he took it legally.

I also did not think I would be outing my full identity with a screen name I selected, "PhillySlide," but all that keeps coming up is "SEDonaldson." Your site will not allow me to fix it. That IS your problem to fix now and I do think that is mandatory. I also don't appreciate you telling me that I will "regret" anything. I do not regret standing up for myself. You should regret having a career where you think it is morally ok to defame people. Your parents would be so proud.

Sarah

And Here's Another Lady You Pissed Off

To whom it may concern,

I was connected to your site through a link in a sports article from Yahoo.com. I was thrilled to see a story featuring a female Jayhawks fan with a beautiful back-piece tattoo. However, I was then disgusted to read some of the comments posted below…

AzureTexan

11:25 AM

Hmmm, a Kansas skank. If she clicks her heels three times with enough force, a ping-pong ball will fall out. #kansasjayhawks Reply

Artie Fufkin

09:58 AM

The frat brother with his letters tatooed on his ankle looks like a pus now. Doesn't mean he won't date rape her later. #kansasjayhawks Reply

Hit Bull Win Steak

09:43 AM

alright, the tattoo I can sort of understand, but was the rhinoplasty to get the Jayhawk's beak really necessary? #kansasjayhawks Reply

I then noticed y'all didn't have any women on staff. I would suggest that if you want a female following and fan base (yes there are die hard female fans out there… Look at Jayhawk Kat) you might want to censor out some of these ignorant comments that perpetuate gender stereotypes.. I am fairly sure this email will not go anywhere and nothing will change, but that does not change the fact that by allowing comments like these to be posted you are directly contributing to gender inequity in sport and reinforcing harmful gender stereotypes. At the very least please keep the female sports fan in mind when running future stories and concerning future content.

Thank you for your time,

Liz J. Titus

I Miss You, Too, Philly

So what the fuck? the bigwigs in New York keeping you down from talking shit? I speak for every Philadelphian who read this site and enjoyed the hell out of your writing on the way to being "THE WORLD FUCKING CHAMPIONS" . Talk some shit big boy. Or aren't you really in charge of the site. Sixers beat the Knicks, Birds sent the Giants back up the turnpike with their tails between their legs and now we have a shot to even it up and you ain't a smart ass? Council Rock pussy, Neshaminy '79 says stand up to those New York Gawker fucks and say I'm Philly and I'm Proud!!

Hope to see some better shit-talking tomorrow on the verge of game seven. AND STILL, THE REIGNING WFC's, THE PHILADELPHIA PHILLIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sincerely,

Mike G.

If Anyone Needs A Brazilian Football Or Soccer Coach

Good Afternoon,
I'm Oilson Silva, live in the city of Curitiba in Brazil.
I am looking for an opportunity to work with football or soccer in the United States of America.
play soccer since I was 11 years.
Currently I'm 27 years old with a great knowledge of football.

I got this address by searching the Internet.
I'm sorry if I'm being inconvenient.
I hope you can help me!
Thank you!
I look forward to a response!

my phone is 41-xxxxxx

And If You Need Assistance Finding These Jobs, Contact Tommy Craggs

Hey Tommy great article, my name is mike im 17 and i just wanted to tell you that im a huge fan of the broncos and a bigger football fan in general but i wanted to ask you how a person would go about trying to get a coaching job in the NFL im really interested.

Thanks again, Mike

And We've Also Started To Get Larry Johnson's Mail

Larry,read the news-report that stated you are suspended from playing because of a remark concerning homosexuals...I urge you NOT to recant or take back your statement even if it cost you your job....God made Male and Female,and never made an in between sex...The whole country is fearful of the homosexual-lesbian coalition...Talk show host,Politicians and many pastors are bowing to this vile sickness called gay....Your stand against this behaviour is correct...God warned of such sexual sin and called it sodomy...All three major religeons condemn such behaviour...Brother Johnson,stand up for your belief and never bow to homosexual-lesbian sin....you may lose your job,but,never lose your character or compromise your integrity... Prophet H Walker(overseer)
True Light Pentecost Church

Oh, Aren't You Clever

Hey A.J.,

So I'm walking to the train tuesday morning and I find out that the neighborhood cat "Suede" has gone missing. Is there any chance you guys can forward this to Psycho T so we can get Suede home. If he can bring Sarah back to that irresponsible black girl, then I think he can find Suede.

Thanks,
Chubs P.

Yes, David Stern Is A Huge Fan Of Nazi Shark

Apparently David Stern reads deadspin. All rejoice.

On the Dan Patrick show David Stern said they can't do anything about Tim Donaghy's book. He hasn't read the whole book. "I have read the excerpts that were on Deadspin," Stern said.

OK, I have done some further investigation (ie: she confirmed my wife as a FB friend). Basically, there's no doubt that it's her—there are pictures of her on her wall as the I LIV 4 THIS, and numerous people congratulating her. She also responds in the comments to one post that it was her.

We decided against sending you a bunch of screenshots of her FB page, since it's kind of weird to FB friend someone just so you can reveal their identity to a sports blog. My wife sent Amy a message with a link to the Deadspin post, so we left it to her to get in touch with you.

If she doesn't, we all can live with the private knowledge that IL4T girl is named Amy W.

And...she did.

Hi A.J.

I am responding to your "absurd mission impossible post". An old friend from HS said they saw this post on facebook and knew that I was the "I LIV 4 THIS" girl from TV and said I should respond so here I am. I saw that girl Sarah's post. You can tell that girl Sarah that I only have Sisters....sorry to disappoint and the reason there is no "E" on the end of the shirt is because it wouldn't fit!!!

Anyway....here I am...don't know what else the girl wants or needs.

GO YANKEES! — Amy

So, Sarah, there's your answer — Amy is not your boyfriend's long, lost sister. It's a shame because she seems like such a pleasant woman and would be a great addition to anyone's family.

Witness: 10-year-old Kris Huggins, via The Florida Times-Union's Mark Woods

Testimony:

Practice wrapped up. The rest of the players were off the field. And Tebow was about to leave, too, when the officers said something to Tebow.

He trotted over to where Kris was standing, introduced himself and said, "Do you want to play some ball, buddy?"

Ask Kris if he remembers what his reaction was and he says, "It was like in the movies when someone's jaw falls the ground."

He was wearing sandals. When he left their house on the Southside, he wasn't exactly planning to run routes and catch passes from Tim Tebow. But did he want to play some ball?

[...]

Tebow and Kris started in the south end zone, working their way toward midfield. Tebow telling him where to run. Kris running, catching the ball - he only dropped one - and then throwing it back.

"He said I have a really good arm," Kris said.

His mother has told him that before. But somehow it's not the same as hearing it from a Heisman Trophy winner. Afterward, Tebow grabbed a ball, signed it and gave it to him.

Pertinent Scripture: Mark 10:14-16

He said to them, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." And he took the children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them.

Please submit any evidence that Tim Tebow is our Redeemer to tips@deadspin.com.

You don't have to be a Tebow fan to appreciate this story [Florida Times-Union, via TimTeblog]

But hey, it's an easy post. So in the tradition of terrible horror movie franchises, we present yet another sequel to the original Sport-O-Ween. This time it's wrestlers, swimmers, way too much Kenny Powers, and easily the most offensive costume you've seen yet. Too soon? You bet your ass it's too soon.

Let's just get all the Kenny P.s out of the way right now. Kevin H. is best.
Do you think he had to buy the Zubaz or were they already in his closet? [Submitted by Jill R.]
Yeah, he probably had them already. [Submitted by J.F.]
I think HBO should have given us more money. Seriously, you guys really loved this show. [Submitted by Andrew D.]
He's no Bode Lubber, but Baby Birdman definitely has the cutest sleeve tattoos of the year. [Submitted by Kurt R.]
I have no idea what's going on here. I'm just glad Bob Barker isn't alive to see this. [Submitted by Joel S.]
Alex B. will shove this costume down your fucking throat.
Ben S. calls this one "Clubhouse Cancer" because ... tumors = hilarity.
Hulk.... [Submitted by Jon B.]
Macho Man.... [Submitted by Casey C.]
Hulk and Macho Man. The circle is complete. [Submitted by Murphy]
Later, these two made sweet, sweet love in the "production truck." (Which was actually a port-a-john behind the stadium.) They kept the masks on. [Submitted by Matt O.]
A little surprised it took this long to get a Phelps with Bong. [Submitted by "The Boil Over"]
But more than one person still had their '08 costume ready to go. [Submitted by Allen Q.]
Whoa. I didn't not see that coming. I guess this is post-suspension and Doritio-loving Phelps. [Submitted by Ray B.]
Ricky Vaughn or a regular dude in a Cleveland jersey on a Saturday night?
Again, that might just be the actual Rangers looking for a game. Or your sloppy seconds. [Submitted by Karen M.]
Steve-O's Tyson costume is impregnable. [Submitted by CJ]
I think this "David Ortiz" is the one that really needs some performance enhancers. [Submitted by Brad K.]
Now we're down to the nitty gritty. Blood, mayhem and sweatpants. [Submitted by Brad S.]
I always knew those two were up to something. [Submitted by Mark C.]
Not there yet ... wait for it ... [Submitted by Chris]
Ding! Ding! Ding! I think we have a solid winner for most offensive costume of the year. So much detail, yet he couldn't spring for the Titans jersey! Watch my head as I slowly shake it in disappointment for humanity. [Submitted by Chris]

Hi AJ & Crew –

I'm sure you are sifting through a ton of emails after the WS last night, but I have a favor to ask. So remember that girl that FOX kept showing? The one who couldn't be bothered to add the extra "E" to her "I LIV 4 THIS" custom jersey? Well, she looks exactly like my boyfriend. The resemblance is frightening. She looks more like him than either of his sisters do. As far as we know, there are no other relatives running around unaccounted for, but she looks too much like him to not be related to him in some way.

So my favor is, can you guys post this so we can figure out who she is? If you guys can find Jose Lima, I'm sure you can find this girl.

Thanks guys,

Sarah

PS – if you guys end up seeing this and not posting it, could you at least just tell Big Daddy Drew that I love him? Thanks.

So to reiterate this absurd mission impossible: Please identify the "I LIV 4 THIS" woman so Sarah here can figure out if that person is a blood relative of her boyfriend. Christ.

With apologies to the fans currently suffering in Cleveland and Oakland, this has been a banner year for quarterbacking in the NFL. Brett Favre was the Offensive Player of the Week last week after he torched the Packers for 4 TD's. But, endless Favre hype aside, you could have picked any quarterback's name out of a hat last week and probably found someone worthy of the same honor. McNabb. Flacco (he went 20 for 25). Romo. Rodgers. Even Vince Young… VINCE FUCKING YOUNG… shined last week. Every Sunday seems to bring in a new batch of banner QB performances, and if you think it's more noticeable than in years past, you might be correct.

Currently, as we cross midseason, there are SEVEN quarterbacks in the league with a QB rating of 100 or higher (Favre, Rodgers, Manning, Schaub, Brees, McNabb, Big Ben). If the season finished that way, it would be the most QB's in league history to finish with a rating that high, and by nearly double the previous record. This doesn't even count QB's like Tom Brady, Tony Romo, and Philip Rivers, all of whom are knocking on the door of a 100 passer rating and could easily end the season well above it. There are also TWELVE QBs with a passer rating of 90 or better. Again, if that number holds, it would be another league record. Here now, going back to 1999, are the number of 100-rating and 90-rating passers in the league:

2009: Seven 100-rating passers, twelve 90-rating passers
2008: 1, 9
2007: 3, 8
2006: 1, 8
2005: 2, 8
2004: 4, 11
2003: 1, 6
2002: 1, 4
2001: 1, 5
2000: 2, 7
1999: 1, 5

Going back even further, 1989 had one 100-rating passer and two 90-rating passers. 1979 had just one 90-rating passer and no one over 100. And 1969 had no quarterbacks over the 90 rating at all. Of course, quarterbacks weren't allowed to actually throw the ball back then, so that's understandable. Passing has obviously evolved over the decades. But we've been in a big passing era for a while now. Why the sudden jump?

It could simply be the rather arbitrary nature of how the passer rating stat is compiled. But a rating over 100 usually indicates that you're playing some pretty good football. Carp about McNabb being in there all you like, the guy has still has a TD-to-pick ratio of 9-to-1. He's even completing 60% of his passes! GOLD STAR FOR DONNIE!

I remember growing up that surpassing the 100 rating was a really big fucking deal. Only Joe Montana ever did it with any consistency. Then Steve Young duplicated the feat, with Troy Aikman joining him on occasion. Otherwise, a rating that high was well out of reach for most of the league's passers, and has remained that way. So why are so many QB's crashing through the ceiling right now? Why are they, in theory, killing so many defenses?

Well, the answer the league will probably give you is that the QB's are just that good. Four layers of quarterback classes are playing excellent football right now. One very old guy, Favre, is doing well. Brilliant, relatively younger veterans like Manning and Brady are also lighting it up. Then you have the Rivers/Big Ben/Manning class, one of the best in league history, followed by Matt Ryan and Joe Flacco coming of age. That's four different "generations" of QB's all together in the league at the same time, which makes for great football.

But I think something is amiss is a world where Kyle Orton has a passer rating of 95.5, and that something would be rules. Yeah, these QB's are all playing lights out, but it helps when the league has established rule after rule to help keep their jerseys clean. This year, in particular, the number of bullshit roughing the passer calls has gotten way out of hand. How many fucking horrible calls have you seen this year, where the defender was penalized simply for running into the passer just as the ball has left his hand? What's a pass rusher to do? Your job is to go kill the quarterback, and now you have no clue what's gonna get you flagged and what isn't.

I thought this was a good theory. But I posed the question of why passer ratings are improving so dramatically to two men who know football far better than I do: Aaron Schatz of Football Outsiders and Michael David Smith of FanHouse. Here is what Schatz thinks:

I don't think it has to do with rule changes, I think it has to do with changes in offensive philosophy. It's related to the rise of the spread shotgun, because…

a) Shotgun formations are more efficient than standard formations in pretty much every situation, except short-yardage (Ed. Note: Todd Haley is likely unaware of this)

b) Percentage of plays from shotgun have risen at a ridiculous rate in recent years, to the point where the team that uses shotgun the least is using it more than the league average from a few years ago

c) A lot of these passes are short — the slants, smokes, and bubble screens — which has created all-time highs for completion percentages and all-time lows for interception rates.

He's right, of course. Bubble screens account for 90% of the Redskins' playbook alone. MDS says it could also be a result of more goal line passing:

Passer rating's reliance on completion percentage yards per attempt and touchdown percentage favors those short slants from the shotgun. Also, Aaron probably has the data on this, but it seems to me that teams are throwing more in goal line situations which would increase quarterbacks' touchdown percentage — the fourth element of passer rating — as well.

So both Schatz and Smith argue that trends in the passing game have proven to conform with the elements of passer rating formula that get you the most favorable outcome, particularly of late. But that still doesn't account for why there's been such a pronounced jump only this year. And why have so many of these QB's have managed to stay so healthy? Think about it. Of the top dozen passers in the league, only McNabb has missed any significant time. Perhaps it's a result of the Brady Rule working, and quarterbacks staying healthier so they can play better? Schatz:

The change isn't dramatic in one year. Based on DVOA, anyway, passing this year is actually slightly down from a year ago. There's a bit more variation between good and bad quarterbacks, but that's in part because there's more variation between the good and bad teams. Roughing the passer calls aren't really up this year either, and I've looked — good quarterbacks don't really draw more roughing calls than bad quarterbacks. And sacks per pass attempt are actually UP in 2009, so jerseys aren't being kept clean.

Overall, I hate to say this, but this is one where the stats simply don't agree with your conjecture. I know we want to believe that this roughing the passer thing has affected QB play, because those flags are so stupid and frustrating, but it hasn't. It has just created some
stupid and frustrating flags.

Translation: "Give it up, Drew. Your theory is pointless and retarded." Fair enough. The passer rating has been manipulated by short-pass, shotgun offenses, and it isn't giving us a good tool to compare quarterbacks historically. BUT I STILL HATE THOSE STUPID AND FRUSTRATING FLAGS! I SAY THE REFS ARE JUICING THE GAME AND TURNING THIS WHOLE THING INTO A PUSSY CARNIVAL, DAMMIT. I know it in my gut!

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

Five Throwgasms

Texans at Colts: I hate you, Steve Slaton. I hate you so fucking much. Where are you from? Levittown, PA? Well, fuck that town, too. And fuck Immaculate Conception Elementary School, which you attended. Sounds like a dickhead school to me. Wikipedia says that, "Until first grade, congestion in his ears rendered Slaton completely deaf at times." Well, I wish you had STAYED deaf, you bastard. So you'd never hear your name called to come into the game and RUIN MY FUCKING LIFE WITH YOUR FUMBLING RETARDERY. Goddamn no good piece of shit. And I hate you too, Ryan Moats. I know damn well that, even though I got you off waivers, you're never going to duplicate that performance again. Fucking Texans running game. Life is shit.

Cowboys at Eagles: There was no Sunday Night game last night in deference to the World Series, and I really could have used one. I enjoy watching the World Series. But on Saturday, I swear Andy Petitte threw to first to attempt to pick off the runner at least 4,000 times. They showed a stat saying Petitte led the league in throwing to first. ANDY PETITTE DOES NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR EXCITEMENT. There's no limit on such things in baseball, which angers me. In theory, you could throw to first a billion times in a row, literally, and it would still be perfectly legal. The only thing keeping some asshole like Petitte doing it is the threat of angry fans running onto the field to knife him. And I think that should be allowed. Stop your game delay tactics, or get shivved in the goddamn ribs.

Steelers at Broncos: I can't take Jaws and Gruden anymore. I really can't. THESE GUYS… I TELL YOU WHAT… THESE GUYS WOULD BE OUTSTANDING IF I DIDN'T WANT TO RAPE THEM WITH A BACKHOE. They love every player. They never shut the fuck up. And they steadfastly refuse to say anything but the full name of every team. I tell you what, Jaws, THE NEW ORLEANS SAINTS HAVE AN OUTSTANDING OFFENSE. When the NEW ORLEANS SAINTS have the ball, you know THE NEW ORLEANS SAINTS ARE GONNA SCORE! It's one thing to never shorten "National Football League" to NFL, but Christ, now they're doing it with every team they cover? It's horrible. They are a fungus on my broadcast. They get louder and chattier every week. WE LIKE TO CALL ANNOUNCERS LIKE THAT JOKERS, BECAUSE THEY ARE EVIL. JOKER JOKER JOKER!

And Jaws, TALK LIKE A NORMAL FUCKING PERSON. Stop fucking orating. You aren't giving a speech to the goddamn UN.

Chargers at Giants: The TV listings last week showed that BET was showing a movie called Charlie Murphy's Frankenhood. According to IMDB, Frankenhood was directed by Blaxwell Smart, and the plot centers around, "Two guys who work at a morgue enlist the services of a reanimated corpse to better their chances at a streetball tournament." There needs to be a comprehensive listing of comedic coattail riders. Charlie Murphy riding Dave Chappelle's. The Seinfeld cast riding Larry David's. You need a list like that, to warn people to stay the fuck away from any solo comedic projects done by these people. These people are like Belichick's underlings. One of my friends saw JB Smoove do stand-up in New York (jokes not written by Larry David) and left midway through.

Ravens at Bengals: Bill Barnwell of Football Outsiders DID confirm that injuries among all QB's are down this year.

Here's the number of games missed by starting QBs through Week 8 in each of the last three years:

07: 29 (Bulger 2, Delhomme 4, Garrard 1, Green 3, Jackson 3, Leinart 2, Losman 3, McCown 4, McNair 3, Pennington 1, Smith 2, Young 1)

08: 28 (Brady 6, Croyle 5, Garcia 1, Hasselbeck 3, Kitna 3, Palmer 4, Romo 2, Young 4)

09: 14 (Bulger 1, Cassel 1, Edwards 2, Hasselbeck 2, McNabb 2, Pennington 4, Stafford 2)

So then, that's a 50% drop in quarterback injuries from the first half of either of the last two seasons. Might be something to that, although there are some mitigating issues for last year (Lions were looking for an excuse to put Kitna on IR). And injury numbers from ‘06 and ‘09 are the same.

So you could take that sampling and say the Brady Rule has perhaps succeeded in reducing injuries (probably not anywhere near a big enough sample to confirm it, but whatever). But where is the fun in placing bounties on QB's if you know they can't be hurt, I ask you?

By the way, Chris Henry looks like a black version of the blue aliens from Avatar. YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE (does wacky alien sign language). That movie looks retarded.

Four Throwgasms

Dolphins at Patriots: Every time someone goes down with a head injury in the NFL, the TV cameraman will always, without fail, find a shot of a woman in the stands with her hands cupped over her mouth, in apparent shock over seeing someone injured at a football game. It's football, lady. Guys get hit. That's the point. Stop acting like you just saw Kennedy get shot.

Three Throwgasms

Panthers at Saints: I can't find a picture online, but the Saints had a mascot the other night named Mr. Saint who was just a guy wearing a fucking giant head with a massive chin. Everyone in the KSK live blog stopped and said WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? The Saints official mascot would appear to be Gumbo the Dog, who is both stupid and gay. So where did this mysterious, Lenoesque second mascot come from? I DEMAND ANSWERS.

UPDATE: TurlieGirlie comes through with a pic of Sir Saint. Baffling.

Cardinals at Bears

Two Throwgasms

Titans at 49ers

One Throwgasm

Redskins at Falcons: Brent Grimes' pick of Drew Brees on Monday Night pictured here) was the awesomest pick I've seen since Charles Woodson had that skyscraper pick against Michigan State back in '97. So cool.

Packers at Bucs: Bay of Pigs! THAT JOKE NEVER GETS OLD, BOOM!

Chiefs at Jaguars: And here, courtesy of KSK reader Tim Tebow's Girlfriend's Tits, comes a sign allegedly posted outside the Chiefs locker room. LOSERS ASSEMBLE IN SMALL GROUPS TO COMPLAIN ABOUT THE COACHES AND OTHER PLAYERS. WINNERS ASSEMBLE AS A TEAM AND FIND A WAY TO WIN. Just rolls off the tongue. Todd Haley is awful. Hey Todd, here's an idea: How about just cutting Larry Johnson, instead of putting up a retarded sign?

Lions at Seahawks: I keep seeing ads for the Family Guy special. Seth MacFarlane looks like a fucking douche. Semi-Donny Osmondesque.

This Week In The Browns' Collapse
Good news, Browns fans! Your team fired GM George Kokinis! Who? He was your horrible GM! But don't worry! Head coach Eric Mangini says things are totally gonna be cool now:

We felt that organizationally this was the best decision in order to move forward.

The Browns hired Mangini and then let him choose his own GM, which is like taking a piss before you lift the lid. Owner Randy Lerner is already looking for a replacement, with former Giants GM Ernie Accorsi mentioned as a candidate. According to the ever-lofty Peter King, the Browns are now eating the contracts of two GM's they fired in the span of less than a year, to the tune of tens of millions of dollars. Whoever they bring in is virtually certain to can Mangini and start fresh. This is good, until you consider just how many times Cleveland has started fresh since 1999. There were the Policy/Palmer Browns. Then the Butch Davis Browns. Then the Crennel/Savage Browns. Now they're going to start over again in record time, and they have the absolute WORST roster in the NFL, which is saying something when you consider how awful teams like Oakland and St. Louis are.

Owner Randy Lerner has already profusely apologized for the horrible losing, AND he sat down with two Browns fans this week to try and make amends.

Randall said Lerner was receptive to their ideas for improving the Browns' game-day experience at Cleveland Browns Stadium (Ed Note: I bet they wanted wider seats) and even tossed out a few of his own. Randall, who has met Lerner several times, came away impressed with the owner's passion and determination to get the Browns turned around.

The Browns' misfortunes have come at the expense of both rotten luck and bad judgment with their hirings. But at least the owner there seems to give a shit. At least he knows better than to meddle. And at least Mangini is going to be fired. It's a lot more than the lame and empty apology Dan Snyder gave to fans earlier this week. Dan will only invite you to a private meeting so he can burn your homemade sign saying HI to your cancer-riddled child.

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

"Private Hell," by Alice in Chains. God dammit, I can't stop listening to this album. Anytime I find an album I really like, I just MURDER the poor thing by listening to it 5,000 times in a row, and then never listening to it again. Anyway, great song. I can't recommend their new album enough. To think you can lose your lead singer, go on hiatus for 14 years, and come back sounding this strong is pretty badass.

Fun Fact about AIC: One the first names they had for the band was Fuck, The Band. They passed out rubbers with the band name on it at early shows.

WHO GOT THE HOOCH?!

WHO GOT THE ONLY SWEETEST THING IN THE WORLD? WHO GOT LOOOOVE, WHO GOT THE FRESHY FRESHY?!!

Open Mailbag Tuesdays
Got something you want displayed for show and tell in the Deadspin Tuesday Mailbag? Eco-friendly, waterless toilets giving you unwanted splashback, perhaps? Email me any question or observation you like.

Fantasy Players That Deserve To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Matt Forte and LaDainian Tomlinson. Oh, so NOW you two fuckers decide to produce? Nice timing, assholes. I WILL CUT OFF YOUR BALLS AND POUR IODINE ON IT. By the way, every league has at least one team that has a good roster, yet for some reason gets every other team's best performance every week. So they end up 1-7 because the schedule shit all over them, despite being in the top 5 in total scoring for the year or something like that. It's happened to you, and it's happened to me, and it makes you want to poison the world's water supply. The only solution to this is to go to roto league format, but roto league formatting blows.

Suicide Pick Of The Week
Last week's suicide pick of Chicago was correct, making me 7-1 on the year. That puts the 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? Atlanta, and the advent of the Favre Cam. Obviously, the entire idea of the fucking Favre Cam was offensive last Sunday. But the more disturbing question is, who used it? Because someone surely did. Someone out there turned away from the game broadcast for a moment so they could stare at Favre on the sidelines doing nothing. What kind of person would do this? I dunno. Maybe Biloxi Jim. Or perhaps T Dizzle, who loves feet. Regardless, someone out there, bafflingly, was happy for the Favre Cam. We must find such people and gas them out of existence. You know it's the right thing to do.

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 Texans getting 9 points on the road against the Colts. I see the Republicans won big governorships on Tuesday night. You know, these constant shifts in political momentum strike me as awfully hollow. It seems to me that most Americans hate ALL politicians equally, regardless of political affiliation. They simply use the election process to kick out one party in favor of another party that they'll end up firing the next go round. The problem, then, is not that Americans choose their leaders poorly, but rather that they have set up a political system that attracts nothing but the most incompetent and arrogant people. Such a shame. Only one group of people could be the architects of a system this evil and corrupt. THE JEWS. Did you know Jews are descended from wolves? Well, they are."

2009 Nazi Shark Record: 5-3. Hmm. Seems Nazi Shark started a cold streak at the exact same time Mr. Bill Simmons did. Coincidence, OR NAZI BETTING CONSPIRACY?

This Week's Pants Party Winner
Last week's Pants Party winner was That Guy. He did not come to claim his prize. This week's winner was J. Burns, who also leads the overall pool. Mr. Burns, come and claim your rant prize.

Great Moments In Poop History
Another week, another steaming pile of pungent stories. This week's story comes from Matt W. I call it, "The Poopgoat":

I was in the 8th grade at a Catholic school, and I played on the CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) basketball team. You didn't have to go to the school to play on the team, so there were kids on the team from the neighborhood that weren't in my class. There were only two of us on the team that actually went to school there. During practice one night, I was struggling to hold back a poop. There was only about 40 minutes of practice left, and I thought I could wait it out until practice is over. Usually if I fight it for a few minutes, the turtle will recede into its shell, and I'm good for another hour or two. Not this time. I was struggling for the final 40 minutes of practice. Crippling stomach pains. I had to run around the court on my toes, to keep from blowing ass all over the hardwood.

Oh, I've done that. Dunno what it is about a full rectum that makes you go tip toe.

The moment practice was over, I ran to the bathroom. As I hustled from the front door of the bathroom to the first stall, I gracefully started to pull down my shorts in one fluid, graceful motion. I entered the stall, and spun around to sit down, ready for the sweet relief. Didn't go as planned. As I spun my ass toward the bowl, I relaxed my bowels a split second too soon, unleashing a torrent of loose stool across the side wall of the stall, and all over the back of the toilet and the wall behind the toilet. I destroyed that stall. Shit everywhere.

The next day at school, me and the other guy from my class that was on the team got called to the principal's office. She sat us down, and explained that someone had defecated all over the bathroom in the gym, and the 8th grade team was the only team to have practice last night. Then she just looked at us. The words hung in the air. "Someone defecated all over the gym bathroom."

My heart sank. I was found out! The jig was up! I decided I needed to confess. I opened my mouth to speak, but I was interrupted by the principal. She said, "Whoever did this is a very sick individual and needs help. This person smeared their own feces all over the walls." What?? I wasn't a sick individual. I just couldn't hold it in. She continued, "I want to know if either of you saw any creepy men hanging around the gym last night, trying to talk to young boys. Because we're now on the lookout. Did you two see anything suspicious?" I was safe!! I made up a lie about seeing some shady men playing pickup games on the outside courts — suspicious looking dudes who looked like they might enjoy smearing poop in public places. The principal thanked me for keeping my eyes open for bad guys.

Not only did I avoid getting caught for pooping all over the place, but I got a fucking merit badge for vigilance.

Well done. Matt W. brings up a salient observation. If you have befouled a bathroom that is NOT yours, you will never clean up your own mess. Ever. I've never known anyone who destroyed an office or restaurant toilet and then volunteered to clean up the wreckage his or herself. Does that mean we're all horrible people? I don't think so. I think it just means we don't like cleaning up our own shit if we don't have to. It's almost a fable.

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
Jack Del Rio*
Todd Haley
John Fox
Norv Turner
Raheem Morris
Lovie Smith

For those keeping score at home, Tom Cable has now been accused of breaking an employee's jaw AND being a serial domestic abuser. He's also a terrible coach who hasn't improved Oakland one bit. And the Raiders STILL haven't fired him. I say he test the waters even further. Perhaps blind an orphan. I wonder just what it would take for Cable to be fired, given that no one else would ever want his horrible job.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

M&M's! You know, they say the milk chocolate melts in your mouth, and not in your hand. And that's all well and good. But they don't say SHIT about the dye from the shell getting on your hands. As a card-carrying member of the sweaty-palmed, I can assure you the shell DOES melt in your hands. Especially if I hold a handful of M&M's for longer than five seconds. After that, it looks like I just smacked a clown.

Ever get those mint M&M's during the holidays? I could eat a barrel of those. I tried ranking the four main M&M varieties for today (plain, peanut, peanut butter, and dark), but it's impossible. It's like choosing a favorite child. I can't put the peanut butter ones last. Peanut butter M&M's are unreal.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
I'm awash in obscure cheap beer, and I couldn't be happier. Longtime DS commenter Silky JohnSTON! brings us the Chinese malted beverage sensation known as… REEB!

Here is my favorite beer of all time: REEB. It's sold in China, and when I went there with my brother for a trip, as we walked the grocery store aisles for food that looked like it came from a "mainstream" animal or processing plant, we saw it, in between tanks of live horseshoe crabs for sale. Never mind the fact that most people in China don't speak English and wouldn't get the joke if it was just called "Beer", but they had to go and put it in reverse!

Easily the top booze highlight of the trip, more so that seeing the bottle of Ukranian Wheat vodka (just threw up a little in my mouth) we had one night at the club. Anyway, hope it entertains you as much as it did me.

Indeed it does. I also liked the use of the phrase "mainstream animals". If you're in an alleyway eating dog steak, you are 100% indie, people.

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 a TIE between Drew Brees of the Saints and Peyton Manning of the Colts! I heard Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin are hosting this year's Oscars, and I consider both men dear, dear friends. Smart? YOU BET! Crazy after a bottle of Grappa? LIKE WILD BABOONS! In his autobiography, Stevie laid out some precious advice: Don't ask the waitress for her number the first time you go to the restaurant. Get it when you COME BACK the next go round. Sound advice, baby. And that's why Evans gets a little EXTRA service every time he goes drinking at the Ground Round! Thanks for the good times, Beverly, and Cindy, and Rita, and Angie, and Amber, and Kelly, and Anita, and Doris, and Tammy! And you too, Greg! Hey, sometimes you gotta try something new on the menu!"

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Bucs Fans

Pleasantville. I'm not actually recommending this movie. But I never got a chance to complain about this horrible piece of shit when I first saw it, so I'll do that here. Only in Hollywood would they find a way to have white characters be persecuted for being "colored". Fuck you, Gary Ross. Oh my God, the people who are in color are hip and liberated, and the people stuck in black and white are stodgy and repressed! That metaphor isn't telegraphed at all! This movie joins "The Contender" and "Dave" (also written by Gary Ross) in the category of Liberal Message Movies That Make Me Wish I Wasn't Fairly Liberal. I fucking hated this movie, and anyone who likes it is an asshole. (Even you, Roger.)

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Here at Itchy and Scratchy Land we're just as concerned about violence as you are. That's why we're always careful to show the consequences of deadly mayhem, so that we may educate as well as horrify."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: From KOGOD comes the NSFW (but kinda worth the risk) Fuck Yeah Brazilian Girls Tumblr site. Honestly, I don't know why every other country on Earth hasn't volunteered to be a colony of Brazil. Brazil should be the dominant global hegemonic power. They've earned it.
-For the gals: Actor Chace Crawford. Is he giving the double hang loose sign? What a loser.

Enjoy the games, everyone.

Since getting the good news, we've yet to hear back from Marina Valdez, the woman who requested the Deadspin Search Party be put on the former Yankee utility person, but we'll update as soon as we do.

Oh, and Jose Lima's post has also been updated with a "FOUND" stamp. Classy.

Everyone who helped locate Mr. Wilson should fist-pound themselves at their desk. (Not a euphemism.)

Now, call your daughter, Enrique!

So here's the second (and hopefully final) round of Sports-O-Ween. Even Michael Myers didn't die this hard.

A-Rod and Jeter as a gay couple? This is just so insensitive I can't even believe that.... What? These two dudes are actually gay? Oh well, in that case it's freakin' brilliant. [Submitted by JP, who adds "yes, they are awesome homosexuals"]
These guys went as Luke Ridnour, Carlos Boozer, Bill Walton, Shawn Bradley, Zydrunas Ilgauskas, Pau Gasol and Coach Erik Spolestra. Also known as "the only seven NBA personalities who never successfully secured road beef." [Submitted by Michael O.]
This costume is labeled as "Derek Jeters Herpes Tree." So the Phillies are the tree or he gave them herpes? I'm so confused. [Submitted by James G.]
Adam M. writes: "My buddy dressed up as Kenny Powers (I'm sure you've gotten lots of these but the one that was already posted isn't very good in my opinion.)" I agree. The pregnant Kenny Powers with the bad wig and fake mustache was much better.
Jason T. dips into the Kenny P. well one more time, only with a new wrinkle. The guy who made a cameo appearance on two episodes! I'm pretty sure the wig is on backwards.
Bill K. got his picture taken with Eddie George as a gladiator. The sad part? This wasn't on Halloween.
The Tiger Woods family? Oh, did you really have to rope the poor child into this? [Submitted by Sam W.]
Really? I ... you know what? Let's just move on.
Matthew B. sucked it up as "The Vumpire." I'm not judging until I see the instant replay.
Dave K. can't wait for the Andre Agassi book to arrive. I think Andre's wig was much more believable.
Joe J. has now gone four days without trying to snort baking powder.
A little too real, isn't it? [Submitted by Brad B.]

Good job asking the skinniest guy in your group to play the Hulkster and lamely choosing Slim Jim-era Macho Man over the original version. No wonder it's not a real sport. [Photo sumbitted by Kevin D.]
The legacy of great Jets quarterbacks will never die. (The legacy is embarrassment, of course.) [Photo by Driven By Boredom]
A costume from The Program? That certainly was a movie that came out once! [Submitted by Jim C.]
Patrick Kane meets his nemesis ... a guy who can afford to screen print a t-shirt with the words "Buffalo Taxi Service." I hope that cost more than 20 cents. [Submitted by Daniel G.]
This is continuing the series from the other day. The Football Ladies were actually part of a larger group of No. 4 backers. Pretty clever, even if it was just an excuse to walk around Madison with no pants on all night. [Submitted by Andrew B.]
Commenter MeQuickWantSlow remembered the 80's long enough to break out the Teen Wolf togs. I always figured him for a Republican.
I"m sure the gunslinger would be very proud. [Submitted by J.K.]
Finally, one more take on the "someone sucking one else's dick" theme. As if today's press members would ever wear a hat like that. [HolyTaco]

I guess is a tradition for these players to do that..I have a daughter with Enrique Wilson (former Yankee player) and he also stopped paying child support and has never call his daughter again, his place to escape and be child support free…Dominican Republic…I have been searching for him for the past 3 years and no one can tell me exactly were he is at, until 2 weeks ago that my cousin was watching a game and saw him playing for a baseball team in the Dominican Republic...Can you put a search party out please...I'm willing to cooparte.. I can even send you a copy of how much he owes in child support

You heard the lady —now, activate the Lexis-Nexis side of your brain and help her find Enrique Wilson.

If these requests continue, this could become the blueprint for the most retardedly excellent reality show ever.

Below you'll find the winners from each week of FAILgate. Read them over again (if you'd like) or just start pressing buttons in the section below. Vote for your favorite number, if your brain is too cloudy to make a well-informed decision.

The winner will receive:

*A box full of sports books and other assorted items, like, food and stuff.

Yay! Read and vote.

WEEK 1 WINNER:

Freshman year at Auburn University. I had just started drinking heavily, and did so the night before the LSU game. We're out tailgating near the stadium. Not being familiar with the beer shits that follow binge drinking, I attempted a fart. But it came out wet and I notice the beershits trickling out of my shorts. So I make some BS excuse and take off sprinting towards the dorm to change pants. But I run behind a Jeep and directly into the bike rack hanging off the spare tire. I was clotheslined like Bradshaw had ran by and was flat on my back. With shit in my pants. My friends are laughing their ass off, but they still don't know why I was running so hard. It was because I had shit my pants. FAILGATE. Auburn won btw. Thank God I am not superstitious.

WEEK 2 WINNER:

When my group of friends were in college (roughly 2003-2007) at the University of Tennessee, we always represented ourselves well at tailgates. And by well, I mean we showcased drunken behavior that bordered on total disregard for any laws or code of ethics that exist in today's modern society.

However, for some reason our tailgates at away games were generally much more out of control and produced downright criminal behavior. One particular trip that stands out is a voyage we made down to UGA for the UT-Georgia game in 2006. There are several hilarious stories from this particular weekend, however the one that gets brought up most went something like this.

On this particular day, our friend [Redacted] was quite possibly the most inebriated human in Athens, GA. [Redacted] had downed what was being reported as "close to a handle of gin" by noon or so. Kick-off was around 8 p.m. that night. Long story short, everyone at the tailgate is fully aware of [Redacted]'s drunken state.

The kid has fallen down several times (as evident by his dirty...are those white jeans?) and is a total mess. Our friend [Redacted], in the navy hat decides to openly mock him in front of the entire tailgate for being so drunk.

[Redacted] defends himself by doing the only logical thing in his mind at that point; passionately kissing him on the mouth in front of nearly 100 close friends, attractive women, and total strangers.

The following pictures capture the moment incredibly well...[Redacted] is knocked down by a blow from [Redacted] and helped up to his feet. Meanwhile, [Redcacted] spits repetitively in disgust, then realizes that the forceful nature of a man on man kiss has destroyed his Ray Bans. He is then consoled by a good friend and announces to the tailgate that [Redacted] is "a lousy fucking kisser."

On a side note, [Redacted] later is taken to the hospital by a friend for alcohol poisoning. The friend is asked by the nurses in Athens if he "can get his friend to stop using so much loud profanity and being so uncooperative." [Redacted] is later seen holding a beer at a bar in a near catatonic state, hospital bracelet on wrist.

*names redacted because people don't want to get fired.

WEEK 3 WINNER:

My friend Dominic is a short, stocky, proud Italian with a short temper. One might say he has a case of small-man syndrome (hates everyone because they are taller than him). Dominic also has the inability to control his drunk. This story happens the weekend of last years Mizzou-Illinois game in St. Louis. Right before we leave Columbia he proudly announces that he doesn't plan on drinking that much...which we all knew was a lie. We reach St. Louis and meet up with my other friend Mark's family at their hotel near the Edward Jones Dome. After pregaming in the hotel and all of us taking our fair share of shots we were ready to head to the tailgate. At this point Dominic was already in a great mood, yelling at any and every Illinois fan in sight, no women or children were spared. To one Illinois mother and child he bellowed "You were born into the wrong fucking family baby!" To an elderly Illinois man, in his best Macho Man Randy Savage voice he yells "Illinois is going DOWN!!, THE WHOLE FUCKING STATE".

By the time we got to the tailgate the pregaming had kicked in (for everyone else anyway) and everyone was in full throttle drinking mode including parents and family friends. Shotgunning beers, Petron shots and boxing with MMA fighters in the gravel parking lot. After seeing Dominic posted up casually on the side of a truck, shitfaced, taking in the scenery with his penis hanging out of the crotch of his pants I knew it would be an eventful day.

It was time to go into the game and Dominic cannot walk. Luckily an ex-Mizzou alum Dominic had made friends with earlier (he was also Italian and Italians love talking about being Italian) was kind enough to throw him over his shoulder and slump his lifeless body to the stadium for us. After being refused at multiple gates, it was time for Plan B because we obviously weren't getting into the game. So we flagged a cab and threw Dominic in and took him back to Mark's car we left in a parking garage a few blocks away. There wasn't much life left in Dominic but he put up quite the fight and was determined get to the game that we had voluntarily abandoned for him already. We put him in the back of Mark's car hoping he would just pass out but to no avail. None of us wanted to babysit Dominic so we did the rational thing and stuck him in the back with the child locks on. Thinking that we had this problem taken care of we headed into the game. How naive we were.

Around half time our friend Bones (nickname from HS) gets a phone call, who else could it be but two Jamaican security guards, "Bones? Bones? Tis dis Bones? We found your friend Big Sexy, we have Big Sexy" (Dominic has a tattoo on his ass that says "Big Sexy" in the Italian colors of green, white, and red...I told you he is a very proud man). Bones leaves the game to go see what the hell was going on. He finds Dominic puking outside the parking garage with the two security guards. It turns out that Dominic had been found face down on the concrete in the middle of the parking garage (a floor down from the car at that), pants (and boxers) around his ankles, dick on the pavement, and had shat himself. Quite the mess. But Dominic still had one more trick up his sleeve. We walked back to the car and Mark erupts into anger "What the fuck?! What the fuck!!" There was glass all over the ground near Mark's car because his back seat window had been knocked out. Mark takes the empty plastic liquor handle he was holding and slings it directly into Dominic's forehead then slams him to the ground. Dominic was so fucked up he thought he had gone into the game with everyone else and took a lot of convincing before he finally believed us. Dominic was pissed off about being in the car and not being able to get out so he kicked out the side window, fell out of the car, crawled to his feet, wandered down a level only to fall down pass out face first in the middle of the garage driveway with his dick out and his pants covered in shit. We still aren't sure why his dick was out. Now that, is a true fan.

WEEK 4 WINNER:

The following isn't your typical FAILgate story. It doesn't involve cops, fights, trips to the drunk tank, or wang exposure to the innocent (at least that we were aware of). It's a story about a man and his hair-color-matching vest.

It was February 2006, about a dozen friends and I had descended upon the parking lots of Lambeau Field for a truly epic sporting event. Our beloved Wisconsin Badger hockey team was taking on the Ohio State Buckeyes in the first ever hockey game at Lambeau. We knew that a certain level of intoxication must be achieved to watch outdoor hockey in Green Bay that time of year, so we arrived early for the afternoon puck-drop.

The tailgating scene was fantastic, and we quickly made friends with the other reasonably sized groups of Badger fans nearby. And then an hour or two into it, we saw him. He was wandering around our area, completely shit-canned, and he was dressed in layers, topped off by a vest that remarkably was the exact same color as his hair. At the time, that aspect for some reason was hysterical to most of us. Thinking he was with one of the other groups, we asked around only to discover nobody really knew who he was. Could it be? Had destiny placed him in our midst?

Not caring enough to know his actual name, he immediately adopted the nickname Vest (did I mention his vest was the same color as his hair?). And Vest meant fucking business as he decided to impress us with his beer slamming abilities. We formed a circle around Vest, started a slow clap, and began to chant…

"Vest!...Vest!...Vest!..."

He ripped through that first PBR and triumphantly hurled the can one aisle over into a group of unsuspecting tailgaters, much to our delight. We suspect Vest might not have been drinking the entire can, as it doesn't seem there's any way one could throw an empty beer can that far. But I also didn't think a person could so perfectly match a vest to the color of his own hair.

Thinking he had done the job, Vest attempted to exit the circle. But we wanted more. The circle tightened as others gathered in, and someone tossed him another beer.

"Vest!...Vest!...Vest!..."

A group of probably 30 of us at this point were cheering on Vest as he continued to pound and hurl his somewhat empty beer cans with everything he had, miraculously not drawing the attention of cops who were patrolling the lot. This scene repeated itself for probably 5 total beers until Vest, clearly overcome by the enormity of his accomplishment, yacked all over the ground and himself.

Presumably using the motto "to be the best, you gotta beat the best," a friend of ours challenged Vest to a series of Franzia-bongs. Because if you're going to consume Franzia, it had better at least be through a beer bong. The challenge was also issued through a sumo pose of sorts…..I remember it making perfect sense at the time.

After the two successfully completed a few Franzia-bongs, Vest was gone just like that. Off to where, who knew? Well, we didn't know at the time, but now have an idea. After the weekend when I uploaded my pictures, I noticed something about Vest that a lot of us somehow had missed while we were in his presence; Vest was wearing a press pass, as you can see in the previous picture. Had we been blinded by the vest? Possibly. Either way, this leads one to believe that Vest had left our tailgate to head into the stadium with soaked clothes while reeking of PBR, Doritos, and stomach acid, and drunk off his ass to perform a job, one which he possibly had to interact with other people. Vest was clearly not about to let a job get in the way of a good tailgate, and for that he deserves the utmost respect.

The legend of Vest has lived on amongst our group of friends, as we frequently reminisce that glorious day. Roughly a year later, we heard a story about a writer for a Badger sports website who showed up at a Badger road football game to cover the game and ended up getting kicked out of the press box because he was wasted, argumentative with other reporters, and passed out during the 2nd quarter. Could this have been Vest? Who knows...maybe that's just how he rolls? Frankly I'm not sure I even want to know. I'm perfectly content remembering him as the mystery man who inspired dozens that frigid afternoon with his grit, his determination, and his exuberance. And also his vest.

WEEK 5 WINNER:

A series of events contributed to this particular FAILgate, events in which the principals go unpunished, except for a relatively innocent bystander.

The morning after Halloween in East Lansing was a perfect day for the UM-MSU tailgate, and my crew embarked upon it in costumed grandeur. Having little ambition due to being drunk the night before, my costume consited of a hockey mask. My hearty companions dressed up as Uncle Sam, a sperm, and a penis.

Our journey to the tailgating area inexplicably was without interference from law enforcement. As large crowds, including several police officers, passed in front of our prime partying spot on Grand River Ave, I proceeded to chug several beers through my hockey mask. This was much to the amusement of passing crowds, especially when I proceded to barf with my hockey mask still in place, creating an odd "sieving" effect. Despite gross distrubance of the peace, the police seemed preoccupied with crowd control.

We soon starting walking toward the tailgate, at one point passing a homeless fellow who happened to have a perfectly functional, albeit soiled, paper towel. Having puke all over my person, I made a fairly large deal out of purchasing this paper towel for $3, which got a cheer from the younger members of the crowd (older members who I assume were alumni, were not as amused).

Which brings us to the penis and sperm. In the meantime, sperm (dressed in all white with white extension cord hanging out of the ass to signify "motility") had to take a piss, right on the MSU student union. The penis, sensing a prime burn opportunity, speared the peeing sperm into the building and bushes, getting much attention and cheering from the crowd. The sperm, having richocheted off the brick facade, was bloodied in several places. This led to many people to believe that sperm was actually dressed as a used tampon the rest of the day. However, this assault still did not get the attention of police, still preoccupied with crowd control.

The "piss spearing" had a profound effect on Uncle Sam, and he refused to piss the rest of the walk. Having recently been busted for minor in possession of alcohol, he wished to maintain a low profile and avoid law enforcement as much as possible.

When we finally got to the tailgate, much attention was given to our entrance thanks to being accompanied by a 5 and a half foot bloody playtex plug. Uncle Sam seized the opportunity and ran into the woods to relieve himself. However, he somehow pissed no less than 20 feet from a sheriff's deputy, causing him to be detained for urination in public. Due to his recent legal troubles, he was detained at the county lockup.

Having no sober friends or relatives within 100 miles, Uncle Sam had to wait until the next day to be picked up from jail, still in full costume. Coincidentially, me and the penis scored student section tickets for $20, and penis pissed in the middle of the student section in the 2nd quarter.

WEEK 6 WINNER:

This fine young man was found in this state at about 8:45 a.m while tailgating for the annual Michigan-Michigan State game. A game which our friends in Ann Arbor would lead you to believe doesn't really matter, since MSU is not their rival. But I digress. Thousands of Walmart Wolverines descend on East Lansing every other year for this game. Every college-aged kid that knows someone enrolled at Michigan State will be making the trek to see how tailgating is really done, and with the hopes that they can participate in some couch burning or tear gas breathing. Year after year it never fails that hundreds, if not thousands of Chippewas, Cardinals, Bulldogs, Lakers, Broncos, Wolverines and the high school siblings of all of the above flock to East Lansing to participate.

Sometime around 8:00 am this young lad was seen stumbling around several tailgates, before coming to rest against a van. After an exchange with the owner of the vehicle, and some angry words from the young man's friend, the two stumbled away to drink more. Not 45 minutes later, after coming up for air from shotgunning a beer, my eyes were drawn to this young lad apparently sleeping on a van across the narrow parking lot from our tailgate tents.

Drawn to him like a bat to light (or is it moths?) several of us at our tailgate went to observe the beast in his natural habitat. After many pictures were snapped, including several onlookers posing next with him some semblance of humanity prevailed and someone called 911. Making their first run of the day, East Lansing's finest paramedics exited the vehicle saying only to us, "Is he a Michigan fan?"

After the young man was woken up by an onlooker just prior to the paramedics getting to him just 20 feet away, he tried to run, but apparently his brain did not tell his legs as he ate it and bloodied his nose against the van, all the while vomit trickling down his face and jacket. Some of it had even pooled in the folds of his excessively sagging pants. After the impromptu photo shoot the paramedics strapped him to the stretcher loaded him in the back and allowed MSU Police to write him his well deserved and hard earner Minor in Possession Ticket.

WEEK 7 WINNER:

In 2006 (I believe) some friends who are big Michigan fans and myself, a UMiami supporter, decided out of their love of Michigan and my love of college football (and more importantly Miami having an off week) that we'd head north from our Southern Indiana command center and take in the annual pillowfight that is IU vs. Michigan.. We arrived Friday night, and with beers cracked at 5:30am Saturday we headed into Ann Arbor to find a spot to plant our flag. We set up shop between a drug store and a car wash in an empty grass lot that during football season doubles as a parking lot.

No sooner than the first member of our team finished a beer, we were set upon by bums. "Hey man, can I have that empty?" it became like clock work hordes of bums would circulate through the lot looking to help you offload some of those cumbersome aluminum cans.

As the morning wore on it occurred that we had been remiss in not bringing anything edible. I mean nothing in that van would serve as food. Luckily some guy had set up shop selling fried chicken. Being generally fat and most certainly drunk we ended up purchasing (conservative estimate) a combined 1,200 pieces of chicken. The mountain of bones that accumulated resembled that of the pirate piano ("Play the right note or we'll all b flat") in The Goonies. As is usually the case after we burned through a ton of beers, that bitch mother nature came a'calling. With the only option a port-a-potty a mile away, with a line just as long we had to find something better. We had arrived in a conversion van with instead of a sliding door, 2 doors that opened outwards. And when opened formed something like the dividers in a men's bathroom at the urinals. So we all took our turn filling up a McDonald's cup and dumping it out on the pile of chicken bones we had been piling up on the opposite side of the van.

We hit the game, returned to the van and found the van and found the pile of our urine soaked bones gone. "Maybe some community service kids were picking up trash or something?" this was quickly ruled out as our and everyone else's trash was still billowing throughout the lot. "Uh-oh man, check that out" we all turned in horror to see one bum after another gnawing on the bones we had been dumping our piss on for the better part of 7 hours.

Actually, there were a few good costumes submitted in this batch and some of you definitely get an A for effort. Some others get a G for "Geez, you're not even trying!" We also have a few costumes from actual professional athletes just to prove that famous people can be just as uncreative and boring as the rest of us.

But hey, we can't all be born with a Hollywood makeup crew at our disposal or the body of a video game character now, can we?

After explicitly ignoring our warning, this fellow decided to go ahead and "salute" the scandal of the year. I'm not sure how wise that was, but one thing is certain...
... anytime you have to put the name of your costume on the front so that people know what the heck it is, you know you've really picked a winner.
Also, it attracts the drunk football gals. [Spotted in Madison, WI. Photos by Andrew B.]
Fortunately, after walking around St. Louis in his Matt Holliday costume for five minutes, Scott S. had enough people throwing baseballs at his crotch that he no longer needed the duct tape.
Who does reader Jonathan G. think he is?
Young Will Gerard of Champaign, Illinois, went as Junior Bruce Weber. Sadly, he died of a brain aneurysm after arguing with a 9-year-old referee over a mini-Snickers.
A different Will G. sent us another Kenny P. Well, he does have a way with the ladies.
I'm not even sure Jason D. meant to submit this as a costume ... unless it's "Kid Who Lives His Whole Life Without Ever Rooting For A Winning Baseball Team." Frightening, indeed.
Adam says his "friend brie is a dead nba ref that's what she gets for fixing game." If you say so. A kneecapping would have sufficed.
Janna S. turned herself into a USC Song Girl then turned that into a zombie. That's the sickest costume I've seen yet. For shame!
Lilia B. also went with the zombie cheerleader theme. She claims she's a Texas fan going as a bloody Okie State backer. That's great, but maybe she should use a napkin when eating french fries.
Andy F. is disqualified for submitting a picture from two years ago and labeling it "me as third-string Neckbeard Orton, with Pat Foley." Oh, Andy. Matt Foley was the motivational speaker played by Chris Farley, who also played Todd O'Connor on "Bill Swerski's Superfans." That looks more like Pat Arnold (played by Mike Myers) ... unless that's actual Blackhawks play-by-play announcer Pat Foley under that get up. In that case, bravo.
"A friend of friend" of Jamie B. dressed as Theo Fleury. Gee, and I wonder why childhood sexual abuse isn't a more popular costume?
Alex Q. is the reason we now have instant replay during apple bobbing contests.
That's supposed to be the real Antoine Walker in Miami Beach dressed as "a guy who can't afford a Halloween costume because he gambled away $50 million." Pretty convincing actually. [Photo sent by Javier F.]
What are these Utah Jazz players supposed to be? Oh, I get it! The Clippers! Very scary. [More photos @ SLC Dunk]
Chicago Blackhawks Jonathan Toews and Adam Burish started the weekend as Dumb and Dumber.... [Not Qualified To Comment]
... then their costumes got really stupid. Actually, that's Burish on the left and Patrick Kane as Scottie Pippen. (No, it's not technically blackface, but if you can't see why white people painting their skin black as part of a joke is problematic, then I can't help you.) [Chicago Now]
Reggie Bush and Kim Kardashian ran into their doppelgangers—a slutty cat suit girl and a rejected Muppet. [Friends of the Program; Don't ask me why the faces are painted.]
Yep. Pretty sure that's NOT a costume. [Photo sent by Erinn C. Seen in Ybor City, Tampa]
Finally, the winner of our Sports-O-Ween "contest" is our own FatNakedMoleRat. Anybody who not only recognizes their resemblance to King Hippo, but embraces it, deserves a medal in our book. Bravo, sir.