A Three Hour Tour

After sending profane text messages to his girlfriend, Bears LB and Paris Hilton vector Brian Urlacher has been ordered to a three hour parenthood class:

A judge has ordered Chicago Bears linebacker Brian Urlacher and the mother of his toddler to take a three-hour parenting class. Urlacher and his ex-girlfriend, Tyna Robertson, are in a legal battle over Urlacher's parental visits with his 2-year-old son, Kennedy.

I can't imagine what this class will be like. They'll probably just show the Steve Martin movie Parenthood - but with a runtime of only 125 minutes I'm not sure what they'd do for the balance of the class. Although.... maybe it takes longer because you have to stop it so many times due to sustained and uncontrollable laughter (It's Keanu Reeve's best work).

Other suggested topics:

• Why you shouldn't shoot each other in front of the child
• Strategies from removing your son's head from the oven (how does he get in there!?)
• Slapping does not equal Hugging
  
• How this is all Rex Grossman's fault

But seriously folks, three hours? That's it? Feral Dogs spend more time learning to care for their young. I haven't been this disappointed in a judge since I had to surrender my "World's Most Flawless Body" crown because my eyes were ruled to be 'performance enhancers'. They sparkle like a bejeweled sea, full of hidden vulnerability and a mysterious, sexy past you know.

How to Catch a Snake

Jon Gruden is trying to "lure" retiring QB Jake Plummer to training camp. I have never been shy about my feelings towards Jake the Snake, and to be honest I was hoping Gruden planned to entice the bearded one onto what looked like a normal football field, but once Plummer stepped on it, he would fall into a pit of spikes that have skulls of other victims on them (they always do). Unfortunately for Tampa Bay, and the sport of football, Gruden wants Plummer to play instead:

Ten-year veteran Jake Plummer, acquired by the Buccaneers in a March 3 trade with the Denver Broncos, has not reported to this week's three-day minicamp. But Gruden continues to woo Plummer despite his stated intention to retire from the NFL, and acknowledged this week he will hold a roster spot open for him.

"We're talking about Jake Plummer here, so we'll reserve a roster spot for the 'Snake' a little while longer," Gruden said. "If it was Jake Jones or Jake Johnson or Jake Gruden, we'd probably bypass the holding pattern we're in right now. [But] this is one heck of a football player who has accomplished a great deal. At this point, he's retired, and hopefully, at some point, he changes his mind or reconsiders."

This is the kind of guy who isn't so much lured, but does the luring, if you know what I mean. All that's missing is a white van and a bag of candy.

My favorite quote is "We're talking about Jake Plummer here." Ummm.. yeah. You are. But if Gruden is intent on luring Plummer, here's what I found on the intertubes:

To Catch a Snake

1. Be sure the snake isn't venomous. You don't want your first attempt at snake catching to end in disaster! Observe the snake--its length, its colors, and other distinguishing features. Identify the species by using a search engine (e.g. +snake +red +yellow +"North Carolina"). If you are at all uncertain of what kind of snake it is, and are worried it might be venomous, call the local animal shelter ASAP and let them know before anyone gets hurt.

Analysis: Plummer is fantasy poison. You could drink a glass of lye and still have fewer stomach issues than putting him in your lineup. As for distinguishing features, that mustache is superb. Jake Plummer's other defining characteristic is that you have no idea what kind of QB he is at any given moment. So please, call the Tampa Bay Animal Shelter (727-586-3591)

2. Get a stick, or whatever you have at hand.

Analysis: This sounds promising. Go with it.

3. Hold the stick in view of the snake as a distraction. Snakes can only concentrate on one thing at a time. With its eyes on the object in front of it, the snake won't be as concerned with you, especially if you stand to one side

Analysis: Hmmm. Not where I thought it was going, but it might work. This singular-focus thing is new to me. It explains a lot of Plummers career. Like finding an open receiver AND throwing. I would suggest using the stick to poke him just in case. And by poke, I mean listen to that voice that saysstab stab stab stab stab.

4. Quickly and firmly grasp it directly at the base of the neck. This must be done close enough to the the head so the snake can't curve around and bite you. You might want to grab and hold the tail with your other hand so that it doesn't wrap around your wrist.

Analysis: This might be hard for Gruden, cause he's so little. Like Richie-Rich little.

5. Release the snake into an area that is far enough away to ensure the snake does not wander into your property again. When you let it go, let go of the head quickly, with the snake facing away from you, and step away immediately.

Analysis: This worked for the Broncos.

Personally, I like Alternate Method #1:

1. Lay a large garbage can on its side (ie Tampa Bay Buccaneers)
2. Sweep snake in with a household broom. Snake can easily be transported to a wilderness area, away from homes. Or is certain cases, a football field.
   

All this snake talk reminds me of my own encounter with the world's largest python - which was this morning, when I used the bathroom. Ladies, call me.

Brief Playoff Updates

Basketball: I hate watching basketball. It's a bunch of dudes who seem incapable of staying on their feet against even the slightest wind (cheerleader fart?), but outside of the game try and claim street cred as a tough and thugged out playa. Please. Stop. Trying. To. Draw. Fouls. If you all were really that incapable of staying upright, then there should constantly be YouTube's of pro NBA athletes getting knocked around on busy sidewalks, writhing on the ground. This would be awesome by the way.

For that reason alone I don't watch basketball at all, much less the playoffs. But I can bet they looked something like this:



Hockey: what's a hockey?

I like to think this goes against the conventional wisdom of a clock in sports making a game more exciting or fun to watch. Baseball - no clock, Golf - no clock. And football gives the finger to the clock by having one, and then making 15 minutes last for an hour. Eff you time. Eff you right in the A.

Great Moments in Air Guitar Sportscasting

I thought of not posting this video because I object to the very existence of NESN. But I am a student of dance, of culture, and of course potential injury.

These Are Indeed Strange Times

Brett Favre throws a tantrum and demands a trade, while T.O. shows up to minicamp, works his ass off, and then says to reporters, "I have nothing to talk about."

Ummm, clearly I've eaten some rancid meat or something, so I'm just gonna sit here and stab my leg until things go back to normal.

NFL Draft Recap: Patriots Add Depth at CrazyPants

Let the "A Rolling Stone gathers Moss" puns start...... Now.

Have you ever wanted to do something once but couldn't? And then you waited a year for your next chance, and as if by magic the same situation presented itself - only this time you could in fact draft Randy Moss and get San Francisco's (likely high) first round pick in the next NFL draft? No? Well then you can go back to your boring ass life right the fuck now.

So the Pats got Moss. Normally, I am wary of Len Pasquarelli over at ESPN.com, but because he's writing what I want to hear, I agree with his article on the Pat's newest acquisition:

On Sunday morning, the NFL's master chemist, Bill Belichick of New England, decided to add perhaps the most combustible element in the league to a Patriots locker room where the chemistry is one of near-perfect balance. But lest explosive yet enigmatic wide receiver Randy Moss be misled into believing he will mess with the equilibrium created by Belichick, personnel chief Scott Pioli, owner Bob Kraft and the band of veteran leaders they have assembled, the five-time Pro Bowl player should be forewarned.

I am crazy. Like, real authentic bat-shit crazy.

Dude wants rings. And he'll shut his trap to get them. If he doesn't act right, he's got Rodney Harrison, Tedy Bruschi, Tom Brady, and a shitload of other vets who will knock him into shape very quickly. And may I take a moment to prempt those who point to the way T.O. poisoned the Eagles - it's worth noting that the only spine in the entire Philly locker room then was floating in McNabb's Chunky Soup.

As for the dude who was actually drafted, Brandon Meriweather, I am going to give him the benefit of the doubt. Granted, he stepped on a player during a brawl and has since fired a handgun in a dorm, but he's from the University of Miami - a place where grades and academics are routinely put before sports and competition. So at least he's got a good head on his shoulders, and that's what counts.

Random note: the Pats also drafted an RB named Justise (Not a misspelling, at least not mine). Add him to Tom "The American Way" Brady, and all we'd need to do is draft Paul "The Truth" Pierce for the trifecta. New England is the heart and soul of America, bitches. Captain America himself is gonna have to move to Natick if this keeps up.

Prediction: The Pats are going to win the Superbowl. Suck it.
Fantasy Prediction: Tom Brady now worth a first round draft pick. Suck it harder this time.

Body Building is a Sport

You know my definition of sports: if it's got a 'bloopers' reel and there is no Tom Bergeron or Dave Coulier narration, it's probably a sport.

Image from Full House Bloopers*

So here I give you Body Building bloopers. At first I thought the 'blooper' was the part where the weights fall on people, the kid falls through the floor, or a guy gets his nuts bitten by a cat. Then I figured the 'blooper' is that while these men spend time lifting dead weight, their wives and daughters make out with a a real man who doesn't bore them with silly talk about delts and pecs (I tell them the story of my abs instead).



But actually, a blooper is when you get a BJ on the toilet*. Which doesn't even occur in this video. So I think we can conclude that this video is terribly mislabeled.

Oh God, I do not want to see Full House Bloopers now.

Matt Cassell Is Gonna Be A Star

I was asked recently to rip Curt Schilling a new one about how arrogant his blog is or else I would lose 'credibility'. This was coming from the worldwide arbiter of credibility, mind you - he's got the mug in his office to prove it. It's next to his Clean Hands & Face Award, and a sticker that says "I Voted!". That's not the kind of shit they give out for free, people.

But I'm not willing to mock His Curtness. He hasn't done anything worth jeering in my opinion. Except bring an elusive championship back to a storied franchise at the expense of the hated Yankees, of course. When the time comes, I'll be the first to demand he be put in his place - a little town called Cooperstown, NY seems about right. So we'll work our way up slowly, from the bottom. Instead of mocking one of the best pitchers to ever grace the game, we'll look at a second string quarterback. Via With Leather, I present the musical gifts and groovy moves of Pats Backup QB Matt Cassell:

There's a reason that Matt Cassell also spells "Smallest Act."

Did I mention he's a good dancer? I wonder why not.

I'm guessing this is the song that he uses to get pumped up before every game. Personally, I don't need any music to get ready for anything, much less a sporting event. It's probably because I embody all that is sport and possess competitive fire*. But also it's because I can't hear anything over all the loud screaming voices that constantly follow me wherever I go. I used to think I was crazy, but it turns out it's just a wild pack of sex-crazed supermodels who follow me around 24/7 begging for me to acknowledge their romantic pleas. Yup, again.

*Is a race to burn down the most houses considered competitive fire? No? What if it's timed? Fuck.

ESPWN3D, Vol II

Last week, when Shrutebag took down The Big Lead, it was cool to see the online sports community rally around one of their own. As the Big Lead says themselves:

A week ago, were just another sports blog with some bandwidth and a voice; now we’ve got lawyers pressing us to file a lawsuit and readers urging us to take this to the FCC. Wild stuff.

What's wrong with this picture? You guessed it. No Angie "The Hotness" Harmon.
Unless... she's Batman. Of Course! It all makes sense!

Much like balancing my checkbook and wearing clean underpants, I find this whole thing fascinating and at the same time incomprehensible. They link to a sports law blog (seriously) which I find even more compelling and mysterious.

One last point on framing the appropriate analogue: Much depends on how the DNS attack was carried out. Was it in fact the lawful act of many Cowherd listeners accessing the site at once? Or was it done by a small number of individuals using computer programs to constantly reload the site (apparently as often as once per second)? If the latter, it begins to look more like so-called "cyber-vandalism" and less like a large number of people lawfully accessing the site.

Check it out, it's fun to read and try and make sense of. I'll admit, I got lost at "analogue" - which is either a word they made up, or a description of poo. I don't know which, but those are the only two options.

Support A-Rod with Soothing Techno, Not Boos.

Via Deadspin comes a new A-Rod themed site that truly ups the ante in awkward internet sports obsession. The sad premise is A-Rod needs cuddling and positive affirmation to succeed at his wildly enriching and untaxing profession. And through the power of love of the game and happiness and, positive thinking, and... I'll be honest, I couldn't really get past the first few pages because reading all this crap made my head fill with images of bear cubs frolicking with each other under sunny rainbows at the fluffy puppy birthday jamboree.

C'mon everyone! Alex is up to bat! Let's clap till we puke at how pathetic
and delicate even his most ardent and imbalanced fans know he is!

You think 38pitches is a bit over the top in its fan-appreciation of a player? Try this little nugget on for size:

Think about it. Have you ever seen a player more in need of positive support—especially from his fans at home—than A-Rod? Here is a man with otherworldly physical skills—the fastest player to 400 home runs, two-time AL MVP, ten-time All-Star, a Gold Glove, and on and on and on—and yet in four playoff series for the New York Yankees, his average has closely resembled a fading ray of the light attached to the setting sun...brilliant at first, and then quickly, sadly, nonexistent... 421... 258... 133... 071... Does anyone see a pattern here? [Ed Note: Uhhhh... elipses....?] Do you think Alex was dropped from fourth, to fifth, to sixth and then eighth in the lineup because his physical skills are diminishing—at 31—or for some other, intangible reason?

I am assuming that the intangible reason is the thunderous home crowd booing, but it might also be that people throw batteries at him. I can't be sure, because I'm not really in the mood to go look up what 'intangible' means. It's probably some cosmic new age term involving a goddess and the alignment of stars or some shit. Thanks but no thanks, Yanni.

Shockingly, Eddie Griffin Ruins Something

Not content with keeping his signature "I'll turn this to shit" touch limited to film and sitcoms, Comedian (?) Eddie Griffin crashed a rare Ferrari Enzo during a practice for an upcoming movie. The Ferrari Enzo was valued at $1.5 million, and belonged to the producer of the movie.

"Undercover Brother's good at karate and all the rest of that, but the brother can't drive," Griffin, referring to one his past films, said after the accident.

This is excellent in almost every way. First, you have have one of only 400 Ferraris crashing (awesome? check). Then you see it belongs to the douchebag producer who was using the film as a way to flaunt his exotic and expensive car collection (rich guy feeling stupid and sad? check). And finally, it involves Eddie Griffin ruining something that's not his, like what he did to UPN and every movie he's ever been in, watched, or even heard about. (completely avoidable situation? check). This accident is a metaphor for the man's entire career.

As the sole owner of the other 399 Ferrari Enzo's still out there, I plan to hire Eddie Griffin to crash one per day for the next 399 days. This will not only spare us from Eddie Griffin movies for at least a year, but it will also be a new way for me to display my own opulent lifestyle for my harem of sexy supermodels who are tired of using cold diamonds to cool their drinks and watching me swiffer my kitchen with live baby California Condors.

You can see the movie trailer below. The tagline is Fear Nothing. Risk Everything. I think they should consider my suggested tagline: Is that the Kid from Dawson's Creek? If it is, his forehead is smaller than it used to be. Was he sick or something?




UPDATE: Here's the good stuff:

But Do They Have a '97 UVM Bongwater?

Mike Vick is opening a restaurant, called The Tasting Room.

"I can't play football forever. I'm going to have to become an entrepreneur and make my money grow. This is a step in a different direction. I'm trying to do some things differently."

Judging by the name of the place and the desire to make his money grow, I think it's clear he's decided to sell weed en masse - just in a nicer place than an alley or my parent's garage. He's also making the classic moves when trying to become a drug lord. Or at least the ones I've picked up from the first 5 episodes of The Wire.

1. Advertise your shit
2. Create a front organziation
3. Keep your name off it
4. Tell Wee-Bay to shoot people.

This shit's reddish, and that other shit ain't.

I like to think that Mike Vick knows a lot about wine and amassed years of knowledge by experimenting with complex pairings - rare beaujoulais and Doritos crumbles, argentinian syrahs and tubs of cool whip, delicate pinot grigios and Subway. My palette developed like this too, when I was addicted to Boones Farm and mexican food. I remember I was selling my valuable possessions just to get a quick fix of some salsa fresca. I got to the point where I was injecting it between my toes and rubbing it in my eyes just to get high. It was a low period for me, but I try to remember it as delicious.

I'm looking forward to seeing this become an ongoing offseason adventure.

MLB Spring Training

I meant to post this for when spring training started on Feb 17th to inspire the players of Major League Baseball, but I failed. I didn't take it Higher & Higher. I'll never let that happen again.

I Learned it From Watching You

I've always admired soccer hooligans for their passion, commitment and ability to sing team's fight songs while withstanding multiple tear-gassings by law enforcement. I've wondered where this kind of behavior comes from and where responsibility lies. Well I think we finally have the culprit: the ever-lethal mix of soccer players and karaoke:

Liverpool striker Craig Bellamy added a new twist to the problem of soccer violence last week when he attacked a teammate. The Wales forward allegedly hit John Arne Riise in the legs with a golf club while Liverpool was in Portugal at a training camp preparing for a Champions League match against defending champion FC Barcelona.

Bellamy now faces a fine of $155,000 and an uncertain future with the 18-time English league champions.

If teammates whacking each other with golf clubs after a night out isn't absurd enough, consider the reason for the fight -- they were arguing about a karaoke competition.

They were probably arguing over who was gonna do the horn part of Sweet Caroline ("Dah Dah Dah!!!") . The purist in me says leave it out completely because it's not even in the song, but then there's that other part of me that just wants to belt out every sweet note Neil Diamond ever wrote. I think that's the same part of me that says it's OK for dudes to really like Prince.

No, not me - a different Bellamy. I assault people's minds with my humor.
Wanna talk about how white people and black people are humorously different?
Why are you punching me?
You know what, keep punching, I miss the attention.

Either way, what we have here is a free swinger who's definitely in the wrong sport. Change "Portugal at a training camp" to Vegas Strip Club and "preparing for a Champions League match against defending champion FC Barcelona" to Partying with Pac Man Jones , and you can see this is NFL class assault - deranged, creative, and wildly awesome.

Note: What the fuck happened to Bill Bellamy? And how do we spread it to others? Let's take his blankets and give them out to Tara Reid, Paris, Britney, and Carrot Top in hopes they too pass into the netherworlds. Christopher Columbus would be proud.

Stephen Jackson Makes You Wanna Dump! Dump!

Yesterday it was reported that law-abiding Warrioirs guard Stephen Jackson had testified that he dishcarged his gun in order to stop a brawl that he started.

He said he fired a couple of shots in the air to break up the fight, and then the car hit him.

Whoa that's awesome. How did he start the brawl? Why by being Stephen Jackson of course.

Jackson testified that when he was walking from the club to his car, a man approached him shouting, "dump, dump!"

"Where I'm from, 'dump' means pull out your gun and shoot," he said.

Pacers guard Jamaal Tinsley testified that he also grabbed his gun and put it in his pocket when he heard "dump." He did not fire any shots and was not charged.

Jackson said the man, identified by prosecutors as Willford's cousin, Quentin "Fingers" Willford, had one hand in a back pocket and another in his shirt. The fight started after Jackson and those with him realized Willford had no weapon.

"It was like an all-out brawl," Jackson said. "I started seeing more and more faces I didn't know."

There's almost too much awesomeness here to process. Everyone is armed to the teeth, someone actually named "Fingers" runs down a baller, and a new slang for popping a wanksta is introduced to mainstream America.

One of these days, Jackson's time is going to run out. It always does when you're in the game. Drawing from my own experiences on the block, hustlin, just tryin' to get my ends - one day you're holdin' it down, and the next you fall and scrape your knee really bad in your street's cul de sac because the landscaper left some woodchips at the end of the driveway. True Story.

When his time does come, I hope I'm there to see Jackson tell God that the dress code in heaven is racist.

HT: onemoredyingquail

A Snake Throws in Texas?

According to John Clayton of ESPN,

The David Carr era may be coming to an end. Gary Kubiak appears to be seriously looking at trading for Jake Plummer. Where that leaves Carr is anyone's guess. The Texans are tired of losing.

But I thought they were tired of losing. No one has ever said, "The game's on the line, send in The Snake." Except of course these people. And to be honest, if your fans are myspace-based, it's more likely that they have a better working knowledge of a minor's anatomy than the game of football. I'm not saying everyone on myspace is a pervert trolling for jailbait, mind you. All I'm saying is that they're all HUGE perverts.

Word is that the Texans' front office plans to take the $16 million cap space they have and give it to Mario Williams for that... uhhh... awesome thing.... he did... that one time... when.... Nope, nuthin.

Neil Diamond once tried to kill me just to get an erection.

The Bill Belichick System Works in Love. Sort of.

Bill Belichick has made a career of turning otherwise who-dats into legitmate threats. Two years ago, David Givens and David Patten were incredible receivers for the Patriots, and now Givens is somewhere in Tennessee.. err… doing something… and I think Patten has been filming himself catching passes in front of his video camera. Regardless of where they are now, these were two players that Belichick got for cheap and made them better than they were without him.

But can Patten rock a head band like this guy?

Now it appears Belichick took the system into his love life:

The New Jersey mom who is allegedly fooling around with New England Patriots head coach Bill Belechick, has received cash and gifts from the gridiron guru totaling more than $80,000 over the past two years - a windfall she tried to hide from the court.

Under questioning by attorneys for her husband Vincent Shenocca, the blond stay-at-home soccer mom detailed the caches of cash her alleged pigskin sugardaddy provided - some $3,000 a month beginning in June 2005 and continuing to the present.

A windfall to her maybe, but that shit is couch money to the hooded sensei. What he got here is a pick from deep in the draft, determined her worth, and stayed within his salary cap (the amount it would take for his wife to notice he was paying a mistress).

Now the ice goes on my nuts.

But then the system breaks up. Too many loose strings, too many chinks in the armor:
(via Ben Maller)

Sharon Shenocca, 41, admitted she lied to the New Jersey family court in November 2005 when she claimed she got no dough from Belichick. Under questioning by attorneys for her husband Vincent Shenocca, the blond stay-at-home soccer mom detailed the caches of cash her alleged pigskin sugardaddy provided - some $3,000 a month beginning in June 2005 and continuing to the present. Additionally, Sharon testified that Belichick bought a $2.2 million home in Brooklyn where she intends to live with her two kids. The four-bedroom, two-bath brownstone was purchased in the name BR Realty Trust - a handle her husband’s attorneys contend stands for Belichick and Radigan. Radigan is Sharon Shenocca’s maiden name.

Kids?! House?! The only thing that makes this OK is if she became his Troy Brown. You know, she would play both ways and he could watch.

I Miss Dolemite

It's a slow day. No, fuck YOU.

Shopping Cart Racers are Winners, Nekkid.

On Saturday, NYC’s “hipsters” (read: unemployed) raced from Brooklyn to Queens in various ‘uniforms’ while pushing modified shopping carts. Obviously, a bunch of semi-nude idiots throwing food at each other required the presence of an NYPD helicopter (I assume this is the one they use for Stephon Marbury, but the Knicks were losing in Milwaukee this weekend, so it was free).

In a competition for whose parents must be proudest, it is a 15-way tie for first, last, and disappointment

I am seen in only a few pictures from the event (team COBRA’s locomotive cart). Actually, I am in tons of photos, but because I am part vampire I’m invisible in pictures. True Story.

All pictures here.

UPDATE: Behold some rockin' videos:

Allen Iverson is a Little Giant

We're dressed the same and both grabbing our shorts. We're like sisters!

Is it me or do they both look exhausted from writing funny things on each other's arms? I bet those sleeves are covering the pictures of dicks and swear words.