Astronomists Advise to Drink Moonshine to Tolerate Moon's Shine

Remember when Phil Knight, Nike co-founder/Oregon megabooster, wasted money on this in 2001? Well now that his alma mater actually has a legit Heisman candidate in Dennis Dixon, we're told that the publicity paid for by the billionaire is set to reach a luna-crous new level.

That's right, Knight is putting the Dix on the moon motherfuckers. For the next two months we will be circumgyrated by a 6'4'', 200 lb spread-option hurler. Those bitches Selene and Luna have been bounced, and the Dix is your new orbiting overlord. Your new night light? A neon number 10. Your old hopes and dreams? Shattered. All you will think of now is the Dix walking down that blue-velvet aisle in the Downtown Athletic Club, claiming what's rightfully his. Tebow for Heisman you say? We don't see him in the sky, singing children sweet dreams fairytales and slinging pigskin at teenagers on Lookout Point.

We are entering a new era. Our thoughts have been implanted. Our natural satellite now has steel tread shoulderpads. Our eyes are burning worse than when the Kenny Rogers' Roasters sign was shining. Quaaaaack.

A-Rock? Former Yankee Dreamin' Denver

NEW YORK (AP) -- After announcing he will opt out of his current contract with the New York Yankees during game four of the World Series, Alex Rodriguez may now be on his way to the Mile High City.

"Out of respect for the game of baseball," Rodriguez's agent Scott Boras said. "Alex wanted to wait to declare his desired destination until after the World Series ended... he would like to play for the Colorado Rockies starting next season."

Boras went on to state that his Cooperstown-bound client's decision was quite simple, and had nothing to do with Jesus, the alleged lord and savior.

"Truth is Alex hasn't felt comfortable playing in the uniforms of any of his previous clubs. He would like nothing more than to finally be able to coordinate his lipstick with his jersey."

Sources close to LBMS say Arizona was Rodriguez's first choice, but when the Diamondbacks removed purple as their primary color early in 2007, he had to look elsewhere.

"We're hoping the deal will be done by Rockcember," Boras said. "Rockuary at the latest."

Lateralus

Holy balls! Not much we can say to lead into this one. Just another hot potato trick with some D-III magic-dust sprinkling. You're gonna need to take off your shoes to be able to count the times the ball changes hands.
Thanks to Unsilent Majority at deadspin for pointing out this gem.

My Favorite Fortune 500 Company Is Procter & ... Uhh...

Evin "The Locomotive" Murphy finds time to belt out taint-tingling prose for LBMS from his real estate office in Santa Cruz, CA. In this edition, he supplies readers with performance enhancers in a manner slightly less gay than rubbing the "cream" on your inner thigh.

Something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

-Bob Dylan

I’ve been watching a lot of Rescue Me recently, a lot of West Wing, listening to a balanced diet of the Blood Hound Gang, Todd Snider and gospel praise music. As you can imagine Wednesday night's 13-1 drumming handed out by the Red Sox didn’t garner much attention from me. I don’t care who wins this Series (Ed. Note: We would like Boston to go up 3-0, then lose the next four in agonizing, extra-inning fashion).

Sports are down across the board…The NFL is plodding along towards the playoffs when the contenders (Pats, Indy, Dallas, Pitt, San Diego) will finally duke it out. There is no NBA and the NHL is just warming up. The only semi-interesting story line in sports is whether Tom Brady will set every single-season passing record in history and solidify himself as one of the top five passers of all time amongst (pick four): Montana, Marino, Favre, Young, Manning, Bradshaw, Starr, Unitas, Staubach, Elway, and Namath.

So how can we satisfy our sport-loving spirits? Look to heavy and erratic gambling.

As the human male ages, becoming more calloused, he requires heavier doses to achieve the same levels of joyriding ecstasy he has become accustomed to; boozing replaces candy, interracial threesomes replace naps, and hop scotch is supplanted by grape flavored blunts and action thrillers.

Simply watching the game will no longer suffice. From high school through college graduation man can find reasonable contentment through sports, drinking, recreational drugs and finger foods but that quickly wanes when he is shocked by the so called ‘real world.' Put in a box for 40 soul-sucking hours per week and cursed to the rank and file of ‘happily married’ suburban dwellers, the male psyche is revolted, imploding or rebelling against the modern obsession with even keel.

Testosterone demands exalting peaks and crushing valleys, so step aside Dr. Phil, the dark underbelly of America, sports gambling, is here to facilitate. Grab your MasterCard, click over to your favorite internet sports bookie, lay a week’s wages on some football, load up your armrest fridge with MGD, Bombay Sapphire and a fifth of Jameson, fire up the grill, download some digital adult entertainment for half time enjoyment and settle in for a long day of America’s purest form of hedonism. Guns, strippers, and felonious drugs optional. Bow wow wow sports fans. Now that’s entertainment. Let the good times roll and let your winnings ride. Good luck and mahalo.

The Summer of Adam

So Bobcat forward Adam Morrison is most likely out for the season with a torn labia ACL. After a productive rookie year on offense (11.8 ppg) and a manikin effort on defense, what is everybody's favorite young, mop-topped, whisker-stached, diabetic basketbawler to do with all the free time? We thought we'd toss out a few suggestions:

• Head to the Paragon and help Jerry film a bootlegged copy of Cry, Cry Again for Brody.
• Play drums in a Beatles cover band. Name the group: J.J. and I's Anal Beadles.
• Eat a candy bar when your insulin levels are low, and shoot insulin when your blood-sugar level is low, to see if you can get a buzz.
• Sit in the luxury box with MJ during home games, gamble profusely, shed tears while there is still time on the clock, before you've lost.
• Practice defense by playing NBA Live.
• Take up gardening, maybe plant some radish seeds. Conserve water by crying on the soil.
  
• Learn how to be an ambassador for the game from sensai Lorenzo Mata.
• Take a trip back to Spokane, trip balls with Josh Heytvelt.
• Repeat.
  

The Rank and File of the National FL

1. New England Patriots (7-0)
Ok Brady can just throw it up into double coverage and Moss will catch it in the endzone. We fucking get it already. Now let's get that Kool-Aid guy a few carries near the goal line seeing as his balls are healthy again. Man, Boston just can't do anything wrong anymore. 'Gone Baby Gone' may even challenge the 1972 Dolphins.

2. Indianapolis Colts (6-0)
Note to Kornheiser's bus driver: Take a wrong turn somewhere on the way to Denver next week and tell the MNF producers you got lost in a snowstorm. When little TK stays up past his bedtime to work these games on Mondays, it shows.

3. Pittsburgh Steelers (4-2)
Yeah, yeah they lost to the Broncos at Mile High on GM's Night Football in America, nbd brah. Steely McBeam's biggest problem is that everytime Santonio Holmes is targeted we have to do a double-take to make sure it's not Kordell frolicking across the field.

4. Dallas Cowboys (6-1)
They've got one quick, physical running back who gets the yards. They've got one facemask-fucking goatslayer who gets the touchdowns (Watching Barber III run is like watching someone playing Madden with a stuck R1 button. Cyclone straight-arms baby. We're pretty sure even Jerry Jones will get stiffied by Marion at some point this season.) Oh, and Dallas also has the league's smiling leader.

5. San Diego Chargers (3-3)
Potentially having to play in Arizona this Sunday may present the Bolts with Buzzsaw side effects. But worry not Charger fans. It should take more than a one-week stay for Rivers to start fathering illegitimate children, or Norv to hold a Coors Light commercial-fueling press conference. No promises though that the QB won't get hammered off one glass of white wine and read a tear-riddled passage of his diary to a reporter.

6. New York Giants (5-2)
But Big Blue lost to the Cheese Week 2, at home! Don't care. Eli was banged up, Jacobs didn't play, and Coughlin hadn't unleashed the double-headed dragon out of its dungeon yet. Osi and Strahan can spit fire through your castle wall/offensive line. They will even set your moat ablaze, sparking a ring of fire, on their way back to the huddle.

7. Green Bay Packers (5-1)
The Pack are going to sputter soon enough. So be nice to cheese heads now. Definitely don't do this. Favre will be available to throw interceptions at parties and banquets come January.

8. Jacksonville Jaguars (4-2)
Bad-ass defensive tackles. Intimidating uniforms. Back-up QB who plays by feel. Three checkmarks for a championship team... Wait, you thought it was a dumb idea for Quinn Gray to don a bottom-of-the-well-black visor for a night game against Indy? Nah, eyesight is overrated when playing the most difficult position in sports, as evidenced by Gray nearly tying Rob Bironas' record of eight footballs through the goalposts. Hey Quinn, those guys wearing Jacksonville jerseys in the stands aren't eligible receivers! Hurry up and RSVP to week 8 Gerrard, you can finally feel wanted.

9. Carolina Panthers (4-2)
They always seem to get lumped in with the Jacksonville. Same expansion year, same animal. If DeAngelo Williams emerges as a premier tailback, the Panthers could go deep into the postseason. We're positive that they're better off with Vinny Testicles than with the belle of the ball David Carr at the helm. And we're about 95-percent sure they're better off with Old Man Testes than with Delhomme.

10. Washington Redskins (4-2)
This could be Tampa Bay here. Both have formidable Ds, but we give the running game edge to DC. And fuck, those 1970 throwback unis the 'Skins loined a few weeks back were sharp enough to make even Chief Wahoo blush.

Indians Slugger Vows to Use Actual Bat Next Postseason

On the heels of an ALCS that saw Cleveland blow a 3-1 lead, and over-priced designated hitter Travis Hafner whiff mercilessly throughout, the slugger promised tribe fans Monday to bring a wooden bat with him to the batter's box for the 2008 season.

"Late in August I became fatigued using my normal 34 oz. bat," Hafner told reporters. "It got so bad that at the start of the Red Sox series I couldn't even lift wood. Fortunately, FOX was looking out for my best interest and was able to digitalize a holographic bat into my hands. It helped to make me look legit in the ALCS and gave the viewers the impression I actually had a bat in my hand."

The results of using a make-believe bat were not surprising. Hafner went through a stretch against Boston in which he went 0-16 with 10 strikeouts.

"Fans assumed that because I'm such a naturally big guy that I didn't use steroids," Hafner chortled. "But, I mean if you look at my 2004-2006 numbers and then you look at the numbers I put up this year, once the stricter 'roid testing began, well... I mean I just didn't want to take the risk of juicing this year. My performance paid as a result."

Hafner later added that he "humbly" apologizes for deceiving his fan base and the baseball community for not using a bat during the ALCS.

"In the offseason, my little dwarf friend Paul is going to help me with my strength training. It is my ultimate goal to be able to swing a real, wooden bat for the entire 2008 season and throughout the playoffs."

The "slugger" ended the press conference assuring his long-time fans they needn't fret, that of course he will continue to swing at every 0-0 and 0-1 breaking pitch in the dirt.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Charlie Weis!

You thought Charlie Weis' pep rally speech before the USC game was laced with sarcasm? That it was Nick Cannon-hilaaaarious? No, Charlie is just a very honest man. Paraphrased:

"We're 1-6 and USC has only one loss. We can't score any points on offense. Our defense is okay, our special teams is okay...I told the team at our hotel last night to take a vote to see if we should even show up Saturday."

Well... next time coach, make sure to count the votes. Recount. Then if it comes out in favor of your boyz taking the field: vote again, this time making it anonymous. That should keep your "squad" from having to go out and embarrass the echo-wakening university.

Really though, you don't need to care. You're signed through eternity. And today, you did have a legitimate excuse for losing. When your team dresses in mustard-stained pants, naturally you're thinking hot dogs down the gullet, not passing down the field.

If you do decide to recondsider this whole head coaching thing, we're sure your career as a stand-up comedian would be man-titillating. You've already proven with your above mentioned pep rally performance that you have the dry observational-humor skills of a Jerry Seinfeld after finding out his Porsche parking garage has burned down.

"Thank you, thank you very much for coming. It was a long flight out here, boy are my arms tired...from eating all that fried chicken on the plane. Say, what's the deal with all those dead people in Darfur?"

Our Love Will Never Go Sour, It Grows More Pure With Every Hour

Plaxico Burress is a man. He's forty 30! He is Spartaaa*!

This season Burress has savagely shed the 'plexiglass' moniker he once carried and become BFF with the endzone. For us Burress owners submitting our fantasy lineup, we don't even say we're starting Burress. We just put down '15 points.' Because 90 yards and a score is the bare minimum Plax delivers.

So CBS Sportsline, don't bother putting that little medical logo next to Plax's name anymore. We know he still has the high ankle sprain. We don't give a fuck Plax isn't prackicing. We just know he'll be spiking the ball on Sunday (and no, not just after first downs when the play is still live). After touchdowns. Football touchdowns.

As a fantasy coach, this is the most dependable, healthiest relationship we've ever had with a player. We don't stay up all hours of the night worrying that Plax is yasserbossin, or who he's yasserbossin with. Because Sunday he'll be at our doorstep with our 15+ point delivery^.

Would it be cataclysmic if Plax snapped both femurs? No. Just strap him in a stretcher, have Toomer give it a push start toward the endzone, tell Eli to lob it in the stretcher's general vicinity, and we've got six...plus yardage.

*MSU, Class of 1999
^Although this Sunday, Nate Clements will be playing the role of King of Persia

A Small, White, Hydrocodonian Sporting Delight

Evin "The Locomotive" Murphy finds time to belt out taint-tingling prose for LBMS from bathroom stall A at his real estate office in Santa Cruz, CA. In this edition, he answers some fan mail and warns the children: definitely do stay away from drugs!

Hey, hey, hey. Sportsnation, loyal readers, last week I gave you some insights into why the NFL no longer greases my flanks like she used to. Maybe you thought it was funny. Maybe you thought it was offensive. Probably you didn’t read it.

I understand. Reading someone’s hate speech about the NFL most likely makes you feel uncomfortable, awkward, shattered, alone…I felt that way once. Junior year of high school, during an otherwise innocent lunch, Arvitas glanced up from his popcorn and lemonade to confide in me: he had used the previous night’s family reunion to overrun second base with his liquored-up cousin. He was sober at the time. I felt ill.

No one wants to hear about that stuff, even if it is true. Keep it to yourself. And so it is with my thoughts on the NFL.

However, there was one reader who giddily received my NFL tirade. John in SLO who writes: “Dear locomotive, I have been feeling a bit 'down' recently. I feel misunderstood, alone, like the world is against me. You're right, the NFL is boring…and now with my brother changing all his porno website subscription passwords, I don’t know what to do. I’ve been drinking peppermint schnapps and listening to Radiohead for the last two weeks but nothing seems to work. Is there anything in the sports world to cheer me?”

Dear John in SLO,

There’s only one thing in the sports world currently guaranteed to give you wood with the consistency we young males have learned to expect from new dawns…the Rugby World Cup. If you need something to break the modern melancholy, rugby is just what the shrink ordered. Cheaper than Prozac and much easier to slip into cocktail conversation, rugby-watching could be just the healthy outlet you’ve been longing for.

For our readers who have yet to witness an international rugby game, you’re probably thinking to yourself: “…hmm, was Tom Hanks more brilliant in Sleepless in Seattle or You’ve Got Mail? Golly, it’s gotta be a tie. He’s brilliant in all his work, dynamic even. Tehehehehehe.”

Or: “Rugby, isn’t that like football with no pads…?” Sort of. Think of football as a bottle of Flintstone vitamins: they taste ok, remind you of your childhood, and in some way resemble candy. Now, is rugby like a big bottle of Flintstone vitamins? Not really. It’s more like a bottle of Vicodin, which could still be considered a vitamin but the definition would leave much to be desired.

Think of football like a ho-hum Wednesday afternoon prophylactic session with your girlfriend. And rugby like waking up with a leather high heel on your throat that leads up the taut legs of a silicon-enhanced exotic dancer named Destiny, followed by a wildly violent and primal eighty minutes of skin slapping fun and hazard. No rubbers allowed. So keep the faith sports fans, entertainment doesn’t always require a digital subscription.

Don't Getcha Popcorn Ready

FROM THE PRODUCERS THAT BROUGHT YOU PETER WARRICK, DAVID TERRELL, AND MIKE WILLIAMS

Michael Clayton (Michael Clayton) is a fantasy football "fuck-up" on one of the largest NFL teams in Florida. A former LSU standout, Clayton takes care of fantasy owners' excessive point production at the behest of the team's head coach Chucky Gruden (John Gruden). Though burned out and hardly content with his job as a FF fuck-up, his brick hands, a failed health venture and mounting zeros have left Clayton inextricably tied to the waiver wire. For his FF owners, meanwhile, the prospect of a super-.500 season rests on the ability of Clayton to string together ten or more healthy games in a year. But when Tampa Bay's brilliant and bald-headed midget quarterback PowerAlley Garcia (Jeff Garcia) throws touchdowns to tight ends, Clayton faces the biggest challenge of his career and his life: 0% ownage.

(Film synopsis edited from Rotten Tomatoes)

I'm Going to be Coaching, Yayyyyyy!

Bob Hartley, head coach of the Atlanta Thrashers was fired by the team Wednesday on the heels of an 0-6 start. Read: 7-percent through the season.

In a non-televised press conference after the announcement, General Manager Don Waddell lamented that the club had no other option. "No team has ever gone winless in its first six games and come back to make the playoffs. There's just not enough time. We're f---ing done. It is a shame that we had to let a rookie coach go. But our hopes and prayers do go out to him and his family that his old job at Louisville is still there."

Waddell reportedly had been heard asking team officials last week as to why the field looked so white and even stated that there seemed to be "about half the amount of players running around as usual" during a recent Atlanta home game. The GM has also been witnessed, on multiple occasions, screaming "it's all Ookie's fault!" while sprinting through the halls, arms flailing, of the team's practice facility.

Waddell will assume interim coaching responsibilities following the departure of Hartley (who, by the way, won the Stanley Cup with Colorado in 2001).

In related news, the American Mental Disability Association has since awarded Waddell with a special sparkly star for his courage in taking on the responsibility.

"We find it heart-warming that Don is not held back by his handicap," AMDA spokesman Martha Rothchild said. "We wish him nothing but the best of luck throughout the rest of the season. Oh, and one more thing: it is the official position of the AMDA that it will not offend us if you go ahead and wager against the Thrashers from here on out."

McCarver Inching Closer Toward Kindergarten Graduation

Ed. Note: Transcribed from a parent-teacher conference.














First, the good news on your child. Little Timmy has mastered the science of matching round cogs in round holes and square cogs in square holes (though he is still struggling with the triangles). Plus, a while back he showed tremendous restraint after getting a sport drink dumped on his head in the locker room. And he has been cutting back on his urination troubles.

However we are concerned that he has not fully grasped the concept of numbers. This problem really reared its ugly head on national television during the bottom fifth/top sixth of the FOX ALCS game 4 broadcast. Timmy simply could not comprehend the idea that it's more likely to score multiple runs when you already have 1, rather than if you don't have any!

Timmy (paraphrased): "Believe it or not, Joe, in 2007 when a team led off an inning with a home run, it led to more multiple-run innings than when a team led off an inning with a lead-off walk! It doesn't seem like that would be the case." (Ed. Note: Awful Announcing, please find some video proof of McCarver's dillusional monologue)

Umm, yeah, so as we mentioned we are a little worried about young Timmy's understanding of math, or more specifically, counting. Fortunately we were able to slip a warm thermos of milk into the booth and tuck him in for a half-inning nap. Next time, we will have to send him home and slot Bill James into the broadcast seat. Ok? Great.

Wait, Norv's In Charge Over There? Fuck It I'm In

The Miami Dolphins traded WR Chris Chambers to the Chargers Tuesday for a 2008 second-round pick. The fantasy values of both Chambers (for gaining a semi-competent QB), and Vincent Jackson (for gaining a semi-competent other wide-out) should both skyrocket, or at least bottlerocket.

As for the fish, they're sitting at 0-6 and building for the future with this trade, a wise move. What immediate impact will the deal have on Miami? Well, Ronnie Brown will go from 98-percent of the offense to 100-percent. And Trent Green will make sure to keep mumbling jibberish to his doctor until at least January.

Quintuple Reverse Psychology: Hey Pedro, Don't Get Hit By A Bus!

How does Pedro Gomez still have a job? Now that he can't be Bonds' cock jockey what use is he left with? His baseball reports never seem to present anything, you know, relevant, and his delivery resembles that of a menopausal crochet specialist condoling her widowed friend whose fish just died.

Monday night while interviewing Todd Helton he kept asking the same question over and over while awkwardly restraining himself from cupping Todd's baseball satchel. Here's a paraphrased portion of the chat after the Rockies' pennant-clinching victory:

Gomez: Todd, how can you explain your incredibly hot beard...I mean winning streak? And don't thay you can't exthplain it!
Helton: I can't explain it. etc etc
Gomez: But how would you explain it? (Helton rolls his eyes and contemplates the risk/reward of cracking a champagne bottle Coors Light can over Pete's head)

Jesus, it's just embarrassing to the viewers and, we'd think, to ESPN to watch him work. This guy must have polaroids of John Skipper fellating a donkey in a Bristol bathroom. No other explanation for why he's still around. Pete would be better off incorporating some '20s slang into his broadcasts than staying the course. Ah, apple sauce! I'm all wet.

Todd Helton shouldn't have a batting avg, he should have a batting outstanding

Watching a guy impersonate Dane Cook is like swallowing a double edged sword. You'll not only have to digest the faux-enthusiastic voice, but the obnoxious tone as well. If you think you're man enough, be our guests. Nice work from SNL here, and from The Big Lead for big leading us to the clip.

THERE'S ONLY ONE OF ALL TWELVE MONTHS!

What is this, Amateur Hour?!

Vacuous musings from Saturday's (and Friday's) NCAA football action around the country.













♠ Nice work Cal. Way to goatfuck the chance to be on top of a fly-dropping Top 10. It's tough to get too upset at young Kevin Riley for sabotaging the game though*. He probably heard beavers and point shaving and assumed he was in for a more pleasurable night. Better head to Tightwad Hill Kev, maybe Tedford's got a freshly packed bowl on a 6-footer for you to hit.

♠ We may be a little Pac-10 biased over here but wow, the SEC just does not relent. Another masterpiece of a game out there in Lexington as the Wildcats took out top-ranked LSU. Our minds aren't boggled that Lester decided to run the ball four straight times in that third OT. They're boggled that Hammerin' Hester didn't tote it on fourth down. Congrats UK, hopefully Kige Ramsey didn't impregnate any nice Kentucky girls in a celebratory stupor. "I believe I will name the boy Kige Woodson. My name is Kige and Woodson is the last name of my favorite UK player. I don't believe that abortion is right. This is Kige Ramsey for YouTube Moral Issues."

♠ 2006 Heisman hopeful Colt Brennan proved to be a real communist in Hawaii's overtime comeback win over woeful San Jose State Friday night. The shielded slinger threw as many touchdowns to rainbow warriors as he did interceptions to Spartacus. We're not advocating a BCS bowl for the islanders per se, but if this fucking bullshit keeps up...uhh, well they may be taking on Montana in the big easy come January.

*Riley was actually very impressive for 59:40+ minutes of the game.

Of Gods and the Gridiron

Evin "The Locomotive" Murphy finds time to belt out taint-tingling prose for LBMS from his real estate office in Santa Cruz, CA. Lock up your women and children in a dungeon for this one, as we present to you the 'Motives NFL history lesson. It's as optimistic as it is docile:

Ho, ho, ho and what is there to say about the NFL? I can’t say that I can stand it any more. Too much parity. Everyone’s the same and what’s the point? Ed. Note: Don't worry Murph, the WNBA will be back in full swing before you know it!

Sunday used to mean a day of rest, pigskin and fan hatred. I watched to see the Cowboys lose but they rarely did. Behind their water buffalo offensive line they showcased the skills of Smith, Aikman, Irvin and the Moose, snatching the trophy in ’92, ’93 and ’95. Times were different then, they were better…for entertainment and for America.

But who cares about the bygones? Not you, no not you. You grew up “postmodern.” They taught you to be the judge, it’s all relative man. History? That’s just about dead white guys, oppressors, greed mongers…history won’t enlighten you onto the ways of personal happiness…the past is behind us man you have to move on, expand your mind, take a hit man…isn’t “Space Jam” an awe some movie? You know who hates “Space Jam”?...The government…the government totally sucks…man, they don’t want you to get high. Fuck the gov-ERN-ment.

Indeed, even Clinton hates the government but let’s get back to football. To fully understand NFL 2007 we need a pop-culture refresher:

America, 1980’s: The Soviet Union was irreversibly crumbling, the 49er dynasty was in full swing, the “Cosby Show” finally replaced “Dynasty” as the most watched television program in America and Mike Tyson was allowed to mingle freely with the citizenry. Politics and entertainment were entering a new age. Americans were looking for a way to forget the Vietnam War, JFK and Watergate and switching on their TVs, cracking a Budweiser and beholding the American machine proved a superb elixir. A steady diet of Cosby comedy, the violently competitive NFL, federal tax cuts, and might-makes-right foreign policy helped every working American with their evening relaxation routine. Things were simpler, more American.

Good ole USA and the NFC (SB champs ’85-’97) savagely and thoroughly crushed anything in their path in a made-for-TV showcase of free market capitalism and brute force. Yes sir, Uncle Sam was waving his flesh pistol in the face of anyone who cared to look up, and times were good. Football and world domination were complemented nicely by a steady diet of His Airness and Iron Mike, which brought the world of legal entertainment to a face-melting zenith.

But everyone knows Americans won’t settle for the good when they can have the weird…and in 1998, thanks to the lusty lips of horse-faced Lewinsky, it got weird in a hurry. The Razorback was out of its bag and the fat was in the fire. A practice, which as late as the 1970s had been considered unseemly and even immoral, had the official seal of approval. The supermarket check-out line was suddenly the entertainment hot spot of America. Trash magazine, chewing gum, razor blade and tampon sales went through the roof and Americans were finally free to express their postmodern entertainment desires. The innocent and young were trampled. America cared only for Clinton’s snapper stabber and the fun was over. Iron Mike tried to eat Evander Holyfield, Clinton became a lame duck president, the NFC lost its Super Bowl reign, Seinfeld was supplanted by ER as the highest rated show in America, Air Jordan retired (again) and the NFL “reworked” its collective bargaining agreement…cursing our generation to a joyless tyrannical oppression of league parity.

The NFL now churns out Super Bowl contenders with the predictability of bouncing lotto balls and brutalizes its quarterbacks faster than colleges, NFL Europe, and the supermarket chains can produce them. The QB slaughter has become the spectacle, the score no longer matters. Sundays are a time to drink heavily and witness race-horse fast 320 lb defensive linemen crashing through front fives across the country like apes in heat. They’re fueled on the blood of young boys and only satisfied by the crunch of a promising young quarterback’s bones, or the snap of a running back’s femur. Ratings are dropping almost as fast as starting QBs and the NFL feels more like a skeet shooting match than a football contest. So get out your favorite pair of sweatpants, put your slippers on, grab a silver bullet and settle in for this week’s orgy of violence brought to you by General Motors, Anheuser Busch (reminding you to drink responsibly), Propecia and the American Heart Association. Because you’re supposed to be a fat, bald, drunk, destined for cardiac arrest. Your country is run by a goofy child President and soon it will be taken over by the mother of Bill Clinton’s baby.

Think on that as you lay scratching yourself on the couch, texting in front of your TV, getting up only occasionally for work, to eat, urinate and watch horny young blondes whip each other on the screen of your parents’ basement computer. Welcome to the digital age and remember: when everyone’s the same there’s no one to hate except yourself. Sayonara and bai-bai.

Locomotive's Recommended Listening: the German national anthem.

It's Pronounced 'Football Game in Irving'

We don't go out of our way to rag on the worldwide leader, and we understand that it's a staple of the sports media to fabricate cute phrases for upcoming events - after all if you simplify the story down to capsulated pill form it luges down our gullets easier. We get the concept, but it should be stopped.

Last weekend the rave was gutcheck Saturday, and now, the duel in Dallas is the poison. Considering the beginning of the sports week was extremely slow (no baseball mon-wed), it's understandable to overhype a mid-October NFL game which features: two unbeatens; a 90s dynasty vs. 00s dynasty; and head coaches who appreciate a fine sweat suit (Belichick by choice, Phillips by need of the Krispy Kreme waistline expandability).

But the duel in Dallas? Come on espin. We get that the game is being played in an area of the country where spur-strapped men used to customarily pace off before pistoling each other. And that alliteration is always auspiciously awesome. But couldn't you have avoided the cliche-ish sounding phrase? Don't you get paid to do so? At least limit its mentioning to just one per Sean Salisbury stutter.

We are willing to give Bristol U. some slack for now though. However, if one more Stuart Scott poetry jam airs, we'll have to, well, do this.

J.P. Losman Advises New Zealanders, Edwards

The former Tulane quarterback has had a lot of free time on his hands since being sidelined with a knee injury earlier this season. Losman has been seen commuting from Orchard Park to NYC on a fairly regular basis the last few weeks, and he's doing just fine without football! He has made a couple of new folk music playing friends, accumulated a rainbow-spanning collection of bandanas, and has even scored a part-time gig at a pawn shop.

To prove his altruistic knack for mentoring, just last week he let rookie QB Trent Edwards borrow his shirt which features a mouse having sex with another mouse in a mousetrap. J.P. scores chicks in that shirt all the time.

Losman was kind enough to invite us out to his shop in the city recently for an intimate lesson on how to acquire free lunches:

Pete Rose's Guide to the Championship Series

Nary a baseball fan around will dispute that the four teams remaining are the cream of their respective leagues. The Rockies are the only team without a dominant ace on staff, but they make up for the void with their wet blanket defense and relentless wood.

The NLCS should require constant movement of chess pieces (or at least mancala beans), and in turn stroke the fancy of the hardball purists. As for the high-school analogists, it will finally settle the age-old dispute of determing your favorite faculty member: the drunken shop instructor or the reserved, yet welcoming geometry teacher.

Over in the bloated offense league, we have the two best teams in the game rammin' it out. Fausto Carmona's heater bulks to the weight of a medicine ball 6 feet from the plate. In fact his sinker is so squalid that J.D. Drew already grounded into three inning-ending double plays. Tarantula Hair Ramirez has been a constant gardener, raking anything and everything projected toward him. One of the many mouthwatering matchups in this emerald of a series.

However, if for whatever reason you need that little extra juice to make it through the rest of the playoffs (or, if you are Pete Rose), grab your wallet and another gambler and have at it. We present the '07 Championship Series Betting Lines, straight from a seedy dive bar's backroom bookie in Reno (think of it as Fourth Meal, to the actual gameplay's supper, if you will):

NLCS
Over/Under length of time (in seconds) Chip Carey gazes goofily at Tony Gwynn during on-cam pre game segment in TBS booth: 9.5

O/U estimated age guess of Jeff Francis by non-baseball fan in close proximity: 16.5

Odds that same non-baseball fan thinks McLovin is pitching for the Rox: 15-1

O/U number of purple/lavender/lilac/mulberry/perrywinkle articles of clothing Craig Sager wears to game 3 at Coors Field: 5.5

O/U number of times mentioned (per game) that the D-Backs were outscored in the regular season: 1.5

O/U amount of time (in seconds) lapsed between when Jose Valverde comes set, and when he begins delivery: 18.5

Odds Chip Carey will have an on-air orgasm after a successful sacrifice bunt: 4.5-1

Odds camera will catch Daunte Bichette in stands eating an extra large burrito: 2-1

ALCS
Odds Tim McCarver will refer to Hideki Okajima as Dice-K: Even

Odds McCarver will refer to Dice-K as Ichiro: 3-1

Odds Joe Borowski will resort to donning black, bandaged eye glasses and begin sprinting out from the bullpen to a certain cover of a Chip Taylor tune after blowing saves for both Sabathia and Carmona: 4-1

O/U times J.D. Drew pops out/whiffs/GIDP (per game) to end inning: 2.5

O/U times McCarver giggles at joke made by Joe Buck about Boston CF Crisp and a chocolatey kids cereal: 1.5

O/U total time (in minutes, throughout series) of on-air discussion about Yankees: 35.5

Series Note: Although the Cleveland SS plays the same position, wears the same number, and has the exact same batting stance as Derek Jeter, he is not Jeter. His name is Jhonny Peralta. He's just like Jeter except he can actually hit for power. And he doesn't squat when he takes pitches at the knees away.

"I drove my car into a fucking lake!"

Another doozy of a college football Saturday which saw the No. 2 Prophylactics get torn by a thick gob of Stanford tree sap; an SEC poontastic battle in Lewsyanna; and coach Mike Gundy picking up a weekday gig.

First off, a truly jawesome job of preparation by coach Michael Scott and his Dunder-Mifflin Trojans against Harbaugh and the Red Forest:

Monday's (Oct. 1) team meeting: "Men, [Stanford's] starting a quarterback with 3 career pass attempts. And they've been pearl necklaced by everyone they've faced this year. Go ahead and spend the week with your heads in the sand and just try to show up Saturday sober enough to at least wobbel out of the tunnel. But I mean the game is on that hockey channel so it's certainly not imperative for appearance's sake. Ya know I'll tell you what, just try to lay off the moonshine pregame. Ok thanks I need to go meet Will Ferrell to practice our synchroswim routine. See you at the Rose Bowl, lol oops I mean the Coliseum!"

As for the real game on Saturday night, three words were the difference in the LSU win: Jacob Fucking Hester. If you need 50 inches on 4th down against an 11-man front, he'll move the chains. If there is a jailbreak to the backfield and he is arm-wrapped at the waist and the legs, he'll break through and move the chains. If a linebacker has a hole plugged, he'll split their helmet in pieces and move the chains. If you need a tool to demolish a large building in a matter of minutes, he'll gladly be at your service. And then he will once more move the chains.

Grab Your Beaker, TBS Is Here to Teach You Something About Chemistry!

Turner's found a tremendous baseball broadcasting unit in Chip Caray, Tony Gwynn, Bob Brenly and Craig Sager, as Awful Announcing will tell you.

Yesterday we had Sager's barn-burning questions to King Jamez. We had him sitting in the last row of the left field bleachers, gleefully high-fiving Indian fans and banging on a tribe skin with the coma-inducing tempo and ferocity of a current day Lars Ulrich. We had it all.

And how about today's ALCS game 2 (from the bottom of the 2nd):

Sager (after interviewing Queen Latifah): Back to you, Chip.
Chip: Alright Craig, and speaking of looking good...we had the King last night, we have the Queen tonight, and I think Craig got that outfit from Prince.
Brenly: It looks like they came straight from an easter egg hunt.

Bam! An out-loud laugh inducer for us. A real Lowell, if you will. Hell, TBS has been damn near perfect in their entire coverage of playoff baseball. From their sleek graphics, to their Ripken game breaks, and of course the use of a longtime favorite of ours, Ted Robinson!

But sadly, in the long run this is terrible news. All of this broadcasting competence now will merely leave us flacid and repulsed when McCarver and FOX take the baton in the upcoming rounds. Enjoy it while it lasts seamheads.

A Fairytale of a Swap

What if Heisman voting worked the same way the AP polls did? You beat us, you leapfrog us*. If so, then the long-lost eighth dwarve, after his superb night at the helm against Kentucky, would now be at the top of the list in the race for that highly coveted stiff-arming piece of brass.

Indeed, 'Cock freshman QB Chris Smelley outperformed Heisman front-runner Andre' Woodson of the Wildcats in the USC victory Thursday. And hey, since Disney has a hyper-vested interest in college football, maybe the megalomediamachine that is espin will get their hyping gears in motion for a Smelley 4 Heisman campaign! They can even parlay it into a movie!!

Think of all the cash Disney would rake in for a Snow White and the Eight Dwarves! Walt's Co. could even score extra cool points for adding one to the number of the original title. This particular concept is always a gonad-smashing success in Hollywood. Ocean's 12, Ocean's 13, uhh... 3 Fast 3 Furious!

Seriously though, Woodson is now out of the Heisman race right? Aren't duds on national TV supposed to be daggers? Or is it ok since everyone was watching the baseball game instead? Granted, the ol' ball coach's defensive coordinator Tyrone Nix had a hell of a game plan, but did you see Woodson miss that wide open receiver by 10 yards early on? Heisman voters saw that right? Barring absolute skull-fucking performances against LSU and Florida, Woody will just be a flamboyant suit-wearing, fake-smiling, clapper at the Downtown Athletic Club this year to be sure.

But UK fans, it's ok. We GAIR AND TEE Woodson will have a better NFL career than Tim Couch. Moral Vs baby, moral Vs.

*Unless it's App. State

You'll Take His Life But He'll Take Yours Too...

We now have a favorite Diamondback player - the man, the myth, the Trooper: Mark Reynolds.

The Arizona third baseman clearly embodies the vim and the vigor of the Union Jack-toting, bayonet-lunging badass that hurdles the bodies of Russian/Chicago Cub soldiers as he plunges into certain death.

Reynolds fired his musket a little hot in the fifth inning of Game 1, airmailing the ball a couple floors over 6'7" Tony Clark. But as a true warrior he did not shed a tear nor draw a parting groan.

He returned to the battle square (read: batter's box), smelled the acrid smoke and horse's breath of a Carlos Marmol fastball and cannon-blasted it 400+ feet over the left field wall.

Is it too late to change our pick to the D-Backs over the Cubbies? We were not aware that the desert-dwelling 3bagger had fucking Maiden as his walk-up music! What a rapturous change-of-pace from the usual Metallica/AC-DC/Link in Park that most white ballplayers walk out of the on-deck circle to.

At least Reynolds understands that playoff baseball in Phoenix isn't just entertainment for cactus-touching yuppies, it is WAR! Now, if Bob Melvin could somehow notify the D-Backs "fans" that Chase Field isn't a movie theatre...

Game 2 of the NLDS tonight at 7 on TBS. UP THE IRONS!

MLB Playoff (Pants) Forecast: Wet with excitement

Evin "The Locomotive" Murphy finds time to belt out taint-tingling prose for LBMS from his real estate office in Santa Cruz, CA. Here, we present his MLB Division Series predictions (plus a bonus of 2 other guest jokenosticators):

ALDS
Anaheim Mighty Angels of Los Angeles vs. Boston Red Sox
Of the eight playoff teams, Boston scored the second most runs in the regular season (trailing the Yanks) and sported the best regular season ERA (3.87), significantly less than the second lowest (Cubs) at 4.04. I not only predict a first-round beat down for the rally monkeys, I believe that an Angels loss is the key to the entire offseason.

After the Angels have been vanquished, the calls for A-Rod can officially begin. Who would rather have a $30 million/year (Latin) MVP shortstop than marketing guru Arturo Moreno? Selling A-Rod jerseys, posters, pins, pennants, prophylactics, lamp shades, high thread count cotton sheets and antenna balls to the AMALA faithful will be too much for Moreno to resist. A-Rod will sign for $300 million over ten years and marketing-induced priapism will strike the Anaheim owner for the duration.
Locomotive Lock: Boston in 4.
Bones Foley, CP Radio: Boston in 5.
Editor's Pick: Boston in 5.


NY Yankees vs. Cleveland Indians
ESPN's expert panel, which should be limited to: Gullet Gammons, Harold Reynolds and studio host Karl Ravech (Ed. Note: Ravi's rug does get more exciting come October!) unfortunately consists of Gullet, Kurkjian, Stark, Steve Phillips, Steve Phillips, Neyer, Olney etc etc. Their vote of 7-3 goes in favor of the Indians. Lay off the hard stuff, "experts." I can guide you away from the fog of your rapidly emptying martini glass to the stats that matter...

In head-to-head competition this season the Yankees got our their XL brooms, cleaning up the Reservation with a tidy six-victory sweep. Not a single game was decided by one run or less. Four out of their six victories, the Yankees feasted on the fresh buffalo kill that was the so-called "dominant" Indians pitching staff: winning by five (twice), seven, and nine. The experts counter, 'but Big Flanks Sabathia didn't throw a single one of those games!' True, CC (D-Train Willis on a seven-year ho ho diet) did fail to make it away from the buffet to the hill in any of those six starts against the pinstripes but don't despair: the Yankees hit a crisp .284 against lefties this year.
Locomotive Lock: New York in 4.
Bones Foley: Cleveland in 4.
Editor's Pick: Cleveland in 4.

NLDS
Chicago Cubs vs. Arizona Diamondbacks
The only enjoyment to conceivably come out of this series would be a candid camera expose of Carlos Zambrano's purported voodoo rituals. Since I have to make a pick...Arizona in 5. Why would I pick an Arizona team which was outscored and hit a syphilitic .250 in the regular season? Because Alfonso Soriano and Derek Lee have batted .233 and .208 in their respective postseason careers. Plus, Soriano's recent home run tear is just as likely to hinder his playoff production (swinging for October dinger glory has been his bane) as it is to ensure it. Regardless of who wins this series they will advance to the next round as the worst team remaining in the playoffs.
Bones Foley: Arizona in 4.
Editor's Pick: Chicago in 5.


Colorado Purple Triceratops' vs. Philadelphia Phillies
Nothing fancy about this series (Ed. Note: actually we fancy Troy Tulowitzki vigorously. Plus, the Rox have a truly fearless leader.) Ryan "Rhames" Howard and his Phils should triumph over the silver bullets in a five game offensive bonanza which promises to be the most entertaining series of the round. (Ed. Note: 32 words?! Looks like the 'Motive's arthritic middle fingers began acting up so he postage-stamped this last one in.)
Locomotive Lock: Philadelphia in 5.
Bones Foley: Philadelphia in 4.
Editor's Pick: Colorado in 4.

Umpire Feng Shui

Two blown calls in one 13-inning, sudden death playoff between the Fathers and the Purple Triceratops' at Coors Field.

That's ok. The latter (Holliday stuffed from the plate) essentially served as a make-up for the former (Atkins' home-run).

A tip for the left and right field umpires moving forward in the MLB playoffs*: Stand more than 15 feet from the diamond! It's cool that you like being so close to your blue brethren but there IS something wrong with that if it prevents you from properly performing your only task: to turn around every once in a while and open your eyes.

*Shaping up to be the most exciting we've seen in a long time

For a gaggle of analysis of this game from all over Blogstralia, deadspin's got you covered.