Drove the Eagles to the goal line but the goal was denied...

I would love to sit here today and bitch and moan about Andy Reid's idiocy. The goal line futility. The lack of a fullback. The decision to jettison T.O. The refusal to use Buck or Baskett or Avant or Celek. The fact that Schobel and Considine and G-Lew still have jobs. But Doc Terry and the Greystone Ramblers do a better job than I would, and they do it in song! I give you "Andy Reid Bye:"
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John Lynch is a moron

Dear John,

While I concede you had a very accomplished NFL career, full of accolades and the adoration of millions of fans nationwide, I've never liked you one fucking bit. Even before you were the worst "good" player on a great Bucs defense which shattered my optimism for all eternity, I thought were an overrated cockstain whose reputation was built on a handful of bonecrunching hits and ignored the fairly high frequency with which you attempted to knock a dude's head off and just bounced right off of him. That said, I was perfectly happy to acknowledge that you deserved to be in the hall of fame the other day. However, if you want to retire as both a Buc and a Bronco I have no choice but to view the two John Lynches as separate, distinct individuals, neither of whom warrants consideration for a bust in Canton. Enjoy your life of solitude without the Hall, sucka!

Love,
Mgmt. Click me for the rest!

A little ditty I wrote, every word of which is 100% true

(sung to the tune of the John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt song)

The Eagles are coached by a fat fucking dick
His name is my name too
There's never any doubt
It's always three and out
The Eagles are coached by a fat fucking dick Click me for the rest!

I know I missed this one by a few months, but...wow.

What can one possibly say to this except holy shit, a football player who knows how to write. Who cares if it's terrible writing? He can do it! Click me for the rest!

He's a real reactionary...

First things first. I guess Brewers management thinks they're even deader than I do, eh?

On another note, disappointing or not, I saw a lot of encouraging signs out of the Eagles tonight, foremost among them Desean Jackson. I didn't expect nearly the scoring I saw tonight, but I'm not surprised given the caliber of offenses the teams saw last week, but I saw an Eagles offense which was as explosive and diverse as any I've ever seen, and as accurate a Donovan as I've ever seen. If they play defense against everyone more like they did against the rams than they did tonight, this team will have only injuries or itself to blame for not making a deep postseason run. And now back to regular programming. Let's go Phils. Click me for the rest!

I've got a hunger, twisting my stomach into knots...

In non-Phils news (for the unaware: Phils post directly below) I'm hungry, which means I'm cranky, which usually makes for a good blog post. So I'm gonna starve myself a bit whilst recounting my ridiculously inane existence. Most recently, I became aware of my hunger only when the Apple TV -- which is currently handling music to keep my computer from heating up too much without requiring the A/C, which I don't want because the breeze is so nice -- played "The Sound of Settling..." and my stomach said "yo fucker, your ACTUAL stomach has is twisting into actual knots." while I was writing my Phils post. Truth be told, I really don't have anything else to report. Dropped by the new Fiji house for the first time over the weekend, met a bunch of new rushes who seemed legit enough to me, witnessed the usual debaucherama (which, to clarify, is debauchery and drama, not lots of debauchery...though perhaps it was really a debaucheramarama? In any event, I think I've got the only word ending in in "ock" or "ama" which the MegalObamaniacs can't co-opt), in addition to later seeing my very wise, politically-minded friend Captain Riggs for the first time in a while who regaled me with tales of the capital and conventions, and who I hope to be lucky enough to visit some time in the next year in Oxford. Other than that the rain and the arrival of rock band (a night early, because I rule!) pretty much guaranteed that Michelle and I would be glued to the tv screen for the rest of the weekend, alternating between the 42 monumentally important baseball games played in the last 48 hours and the weekend's footballing, highlighted of course by the Steelers' riveting 10-6 victory over the Browns in what was left of Ike last night. Somehow, it was actually even less entertaining than the 3-0 game they played against Miami last year. I never thought I'd say those words, but it's really true. Anyone who watched them both couldn't possibly argue with me. This game featured football every bit as poor as that one, without any of the fun of sloppin it around in the mud or seeing a punt stick out of the ground like Punxatawney Phil. It's too bad I don't have a football game to be excited about tonight. Click me for the rest!

Fergalicious definition make the boys go loco

So, it's been a little while since I checked in. Not a shit-ton of things going on really, but I'll bore y'all to death with my random thoughts none the less. Coming up after the jump: Brett Favre, Step Brothers, Eureka, Weeds, Baseball's playoff race, and Lollapalooza.
As most people who know me probably already know, I've never been much of a Brett Favre fan. The guy has always been completely reckless in his decision making on the football field, has one of the desert island all time top 5 egos in the history of professional sports, and over the past handful of years with regards to his retirement, he's handled himself, as Rick Reilly brilliantly pointed out, more like Cher than Jordan or Clemens or any other oft-retired superstar. I watched this unfold for weeks heaping praise on the Packers' front office constantly for finally recognizing the parasite that is Brett Favre. It's too bad they're every bit the weasels he is. Meanwhile, Aaron Rodgers has already convinced me of his poise under pressure 100-fold. Here's hoping this "open competition" (AKA this horrific mistreatment of Aaron "The Green Bay Packers organization must move on" Rodgers) spells the beginning of a massive humiliation for Brett and the Pack. It's only just.

I spent last weekend in the even-in-stifling-heat-Windier-than-New-York-City with my Mother's entire side of my family celebrating my great aunt's 95th birthday, with a notable pre-family excursion into the insanely pot-scented mass of humanity that was Radiohead's crowd at Lollapalooza. A combined result of my being dehydrated, our flights not landing till after 4, and a lack of overt desire to see anyone else playing at the end of night 1, we only witnessed Radiohead's set, but let's be honest...there wasn't shit else to witness anyway. Even from about 50,000 people deep in the crowd, with absolutely no view of the stage save for on massive (and very well-programmed) video screens to either side of it, they were every bit the crowdpleasers I had last seen 7 years prior.

Saw Step Brothers yesterday. Utterly fucking hysterical. Easily my favorite Ferrell starring vehicle since Old School. If it was music, it would be like Fergie crossed with Jesus.

By way of a PSA: If you haven't ever seen Eureka, you don't know what's good about television, about Sci-Fi (genre AND network) or about life. Usually when I make a statement like this, it's because I'm trying to do my part to save a beloved, underappreciated gem like Arrested Development or Veronica Mars, and usually, you all ignore me until it's already cancelled, at which point you watch the DVDs and proceed to walk through life with an immense sense of guilt for having blown off my advice when you know as well as I do that I know what quality entertainment looks and sounds like. This is not that situation. Eureka doesn't need your lazy asses, and neither do I. It's a massive hit for the Sci Fi network and it ain't goin anywhere. No, you need Eureka, and if you don't believe me, take the challenge and try to watch two episodes of it without getting hooked. I dare you.

I simply refuse to believe that the recent pickup of Weeds for 3 seasons beyond this one doesn't signal the show's inevitable decline. So much of that show's tension, which, despite all its laughs, is what brings the masses back week after week, comes from the idea that Nancy and her ever-shrinking wardrobe are just one false step away from taking a bullet in the head. Good luck convincing me of that when I know you've got 40 episodes left on order from Showtime. But then again, i thought they had painted themselves into a corner introducing the DEA storyline at the end of season 1, so I'm clearly a fuckin fool.

I'm still pretty convinced that the lack of activity in the NL East at the trade deadline was perhaps even more beneficial to the Phils than any individual move they could have made to bolster the club. While all three teams obviously have severe flaws, the Phils still bring more balance to the table than either the Mets or Marlins, no matter how you slice it. They're younger than the Mets, older than the Marlins, have every bit the powerhouse offense of Florida, albeit every bit as reliant on the longball as Florida, with more depth behind Cole than the Mets have behind Santana, and a massive and undeniable advantage in the bullpen. Since the deadline passed, the Marlins and Mets both lost uninspired, low-scoring series marked by mental errors and shoddy situational hitting against vastly inferior competition, while the Phils took 2/3 on the road from the playoff-contending Cardinals, despite one of Cole's worst performances of the year, and behind incredibly encouraging lights-out performances from Myers and Blanton, who seemed to feel the spectre of J.A. Happ looming over their tenuous spots in the rotation. Even at this stage of the season there's a lot of baseball yet to play and it's a humbling enough game for me to wind up lookin like a fuckin fool, but with StandPat Gillick doing his usual routine at the deadline, it's fair to assume that what we've seen all year resembles what we'll see in the next several weeks. So I'm officially ready to make this proclamation: there's simply nothing which should stop the Phillies from returning to postseason baseball except for themselves. Anything short of being swept by the obviously superior Brewers in the first round will be an out and out failure.

Finally, I've been making good on the proclamation which I made in this blog's initial post, having enacted plans to reconnect with all manner of old friend. Having seen and had a lovely time with Ms. Sharkey, similar plans are in the offing with such characters as Texas, Fishhead, and Miriam, seeing all of whom should be delightful. And with that, I bid thee adieu.

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