Bleacher Report - Articles by Smarty Pants

Ty Lawson's Big Toe Injury: What Really Happened

Smarty Pants — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 19:52:19 -0400

The incident quickly becoming known as "Toe-Gate" is coming into focus.

It turns out that in the week leading up to the March 8, 2009, showdown against arch-rival Duke, University of North Carolina point guard and little-engine-that-could Ty Lawson did not actually jam his toe, as first reported. There was no toe jam. Lawson was the victim of teammate Tyler Hansbrough's latest machination.

"Tyler calls it 'Texas style this little piggy,'" a reticent and grimacing Lawson said.

"Basically, it's a game of 'horse'—except the winner of each basket twists the loser's toe until he cries "THIS LITTLE PIGGY!" said Hansbrough. "First, the little piggy goes to the market, then he stays home, then he has a little roast beef, then none."

Hansbrough smirked. "Eventually, the loser goes home."

"Ty's lucky—friggin' Hansbrough's original version involved nipple twists. Sadist..." said senior guard, Bobby Frasor, rubbing his chest.

And you thought playing ping pong "Texas style" with Tyler Hansbrough was dangerous.

Wayne Ellington added sarcastically, "Yeah, we can't simply have a karaoke contest around here. We've got to hurt each other."

However, the incident begged the obvious question: how on earth is Tyler Hansbrough shooting the rest of the team into submission?

"Dude cheats," Lawson shrugged. "One word: midgets."

Hey, Ty, that's little people to you. And the rest of us.

Hansbrough laughed. "You see, I know this group of little guys that are built like little miniature houses. I have them jump on my back and arms—kind of like what's happened every single game I've played in this year—and I hit shots."

He continued. "I call it every time. Two midgets, swish. Three midgets, bank. Four midgets, bounce ball off free throw line, right shoulder midget does header, two roll 'round the toilet bowl and down."

"So the other night, Tyler had three midgets stacked on his shoulders and he buries a half court shot. So he's already ramped up," Frasor said.

"Then Ty attempts the same shot. In and out. Well, Tyler goes berserk."

Lawson recounted the incident with horror. "He runs out to half court, shoves his little buddies aside, yanks my right shoe off and just starts jerking my big toe all around."

Ellington laughed. "Ty's yelling, 'I'M AT THE MARKET, YOU FREAK!!! I'M AT THE MARKET YOU FREAKING (BLEEP) (BLEEP) (CURSEWORD) (MORE SWEARING) PSYCHOTIC FREAK!!!'"

"I got him good," Hansbrough admitted.

When it was noted that his shenanigans could cost his team a national title, he pondered the implications for a moment and stated, "Wow, that would be a stinker..."

Despite all the pain he's endured, Lawson's take is still optimistic.

"At least he didn't pull my groin. That would have been worse. Much, much worse."

Writer's note: If you haven't guessed by now, this story is a total fabrication. I'd hate for this to make it to major media networks. I'd really really hate that type of exposure. Really.

Crickets Heard at Nate Davis' Pro Day

Smarty Pants — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 00:15:16 -0400

Ball State quarterback Nate Davis received a virtual groin shot by the NFL as pretty much nobody showed up for his pro day last Friday. Only the Indianapolis Colts, based a mere hour and change away from the Cardinal campus, actually made it to the workout.

"It was a total accident. We somehow got turned around and ended up in Muncie. Polian wanted to go to the Olive Garden. He loves that place," said an anonymous Colts exec.

Davis, who forfeited his final year of eligibility in order to enter the draft and has been criticized for having a "weird" (more of a technical term) grip on the ball, was able to see the glass as half full.

"There was no pressure. It was like practice. A very poorly attended spring practice..." said the snubbed Ball State signal caller.

"Just because I went to Ball State doesn't mean I wanted to be kicked in the balls. State," he sneered.

The writer tried to contact Coach Brady Hoke, but forgot he'd bailed out on the team before the Cardinals' bowl game and is no longer with the team. Obviously, he was unavailable for comment.

Davis' debacle reminded this writer of his own pro day six years ago.

It was March 24, 2003, in a cornfield in East Central Indiana. A slow-footed white male, who had skipped the NFL Combine so as not to hurt his draft stock, sent invitations to several NFL teams (and a couple of D-I programs who generally paid better than the Cincinnati Bengals) in hopes of duping, er, impressing a team. Any team.

His parents had contacted Subway and ordered a variety of party-size subs on white and wheat bread. His wife baked brownies. And his grandmother, though on a fixed income, purchased 36 two-liters. That's 72 liters of stone-cold refreshment.

The slow-footed white male had prepared a variety of drills. There was a game, er, drill called "tackle the man" a politically correct version of "smear the queer." There would be feats of strength and a pinochle tournament. The "say Uncle" kind.

Some cow tipping had also been arranged.

However, when 12 noon rolled around, neither the NFL, USC, or Florida had dared to show.

It was demoralizing.

One can only hope that Davis will handle the disappointment better than the writer of this article, who gave up football and is now writing questionable material for a variety of non-paying sports websites.

Paying Tribute to My Customized Indianapolis Colts Jersey: RIP, My Friend

Smarty Pants — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 02:48:52 -0400

I received a customized Colts jersey from my parents for Christmas in 2004. With a heavy heart, I have chosen to lay my good friend to rest today, Sunday, July 27, 2008.

I remember opening the jersey on Christmas Day. It was the new, darker shade of blue the Colts had adopted at the beginning of the season. A bright, white 12 adorned the front of the jersey. When I flipped it over, the back displayed another large 12 and ADAMS spelled out in caps for all the world to see. It immediately became my favorite article of clothing.

I find it appropriate that I put my jersey to rest on a Sunday, for it was his favorite day of the week.

For almost four years, we were inseparable friends. I generally met with him at least once a week, sometimes twice a week or more during the fall. However, he served notice to my fanhood throughout the year.

I first officially donned the jersey on Dec. 27, 2004, the day Peyton Manning broke Dan Marino’s single-season TD record. I proceeded to wear the jersey for every single Colts game thereafter.

We witnessed the 49-24 dismantling of Denver in the playoffs a couple of weeks later.

We witnessed the 20-3 dismantling by New England the following week.

The next season, we watched and rooted as the Colts amassed a 14-2 record and clinched home-field advantage throughout the AFC Playoffs. The most significant of all the impressive regular-season victories was a 40-21 rout of the Pats in Foxboro. The team won its first 13 games and was the talk of the nation.

Our hearts subsequently broke when Pittsburgh totally outplayed us (and got screwed out of a clear interception in the process) in the Dome, en route to a 21-18 win and their own incredible Super Bowl run.

We sat with arms folded and teeth gnashed during the following 2006 season as the most porous run defense I’d ever seen allowed team after team to run roughshod over us, finally leading up to the embarrassing 44-17 debacle in Jacksonville.

We sat, stunned, as Asante Samuel returned a Peyton Manning interception 39 yards to give the Pats a 21-3 first half lead.

We stood, ecstatic, as Joseph Addai bolted into the end zone two quarters later to give the Colts an improbable 38-34 lead. A lead that stood and gave Indy the AFC Conference Title.

Two weeks later, Peyton & Co. toppled the Bears and we witnessed our first and only Super Bowl title together. It was beautiful.

We followed a frustrating and injury-filled title defense that saw a young, but much-improved, defensive unit betrayed by injuries and a depleted offense—ultimately ending in another mind-boggling home-field playoff defeat, this time to a determined group of San Diego Chargers.

We made it to the Dome twice. Once against the Jags and once again the Texans.

We were 2-0 live.

However, sports fans all know that our jerseys are worn more often than gameday. We proudly display them after a sweet victory. And in them, we accept derision from friends and rivals after a bitter defeat.

That jersey took a lot. It withstood stains from Clara’s barbecue pizza sauce, B-Dubs and Fricker’s wings, steaks, steaks, and more steaks. A spilled Coke here and there. For goodness sake, I should have worn a bib most of the time! Hundreds of washes. I attended music rehearsals, family gatherings, and Blue Fridays with my loyal friend.

And while these moments were truly incredible to experience, my jersey was witness to even greater life events that I’ll never get back and will never forget.

The day my daughter was born, for example. I “coached” my wife through delivery wearing the ADAMS 12. I held the life I helped create for the first time. My heart melted beneath that jersey. One of the two proudest moments we ever shared.

The second was when my infant son was born only 22 months later.

I taught my little girl to walk while wearing that jersey. Watched my son crawl for the first time. It bore the brunt of being a new daddy, taking on an ocean of spit-up and drool. It never complained once.

I cheered my dad on through his recovery from and eventual victory over cancer. And celebrated the announcement of my brother’s engagement.

But sadly, he’s nearing the end. The 12 on the back has practically faded from sight. The D in ADAMS has been peeling off for a good six months now, and while I have no problem with the last name A AMS—as it is indeed a fine name—certainly, it is not mine.

No longer is it fit to wear to home games, family nights, or Blue Fridays.

Disgracefully, it recently even suffered the shame and humiliation of being demoted to a workout shirt.

I looked at him in the mirror one morning after coming home from the gym. He was damp and stained with sweat. An image I now regret having to see.

However, instead of subjecting him to eventual disposal, I decided it was time to show a little respect. For someone who’s helped me stand by my team and celebrate some of the greatest moments in my life.

In a fitting tribute to my trusted friend, I shall frame it and save it for mounting in the sports-themed sports bar I hope to build in my home someday.

And I shall sign my name in silver on the front of the jersey.

For crying out loud, I’d hate for anyone think I’d saved a Jim Sorgi jersey.

But, all joking aside, I shall truly miss wearing my old, trusted friend.

To the old ADAMS 12: you were the best.

Rest in peace, pal.

LeBron James Will Know When to Retire: An Open Mic Exclusive with Wise LeBron

Smarty Pants — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 05:25:41 -0400

I wasn’t really sure what to expect from my interview with Wise LeBron, probably best known these days for his role in LeBron James’ Nike ads of the past three years.

However, I needed to do a serious editorial on someone who had retired from an actual sport, and my giving up badminton due to having torn my rotator cuff (while absolutely destroying my 85-year-old grandmother on July 4, by the way) didn’t seem terribly interesting—even to me.

While most NBA fans will remember that Wise posted a quadruple-double in a high school state championship game—he tallied 35 points, 15 rebounds, 12 assists…and 12 blocks—many don’t realize that Wise also dazzled ABA fans as a 50-something two-guard for the Kentucky Colonels from 1968-1976.

To this day, Wise is the only AARP member to compete at such a high level of basketball, for such a long period of time.

We met at the home of LeBron James, who was gracious enough to allow me and “Pops” to chat while he mini-camps in Las Vegas in preparation for the Olympics.

GA: Thanks for meeting me today, Wise.

WL: No problem. LeBron’s out there in Las Vegas, so I don’t have nothin' goin' on.

GA: Let’s just hope his game doesn’t stay in Vegas, right?

WL: What in h-e-double-hockey-sticks are you talkin’ about, boy?

GA: Uh…forget it. So I’m doing this article about retirement and when someone should retire…

WL: Son, you don’t never retire! Never! I’m just as good in my 80s as I was in my 50s.

GA: Now, Wise, I think we all remember that dunk you clanged in that ad a couple of years ago…

WL: [Expletive] producers! They didn’t show you the 19 stone cold flushes I delivered. I even threw down on that Jheri Curl Business—hoity-toity pansy. They only put in the last one...the one I bricked.

GA: You had quite a career in the ABA. Quite a long career, that is.

WL: What’s that supposed to mean, Fatty?

GA: Wha…huh?

WL: I’ve seen your scouting report, Dough Boy. You think you’re some kind of fancy joke maker, don’t you? Well, not here, home slice. I remember we was playin’ the Carolina Cougars and Artis Gilmore went down. Who’d they ask to come in and bail their sorry a-double-dollar-signs out? They called on Wise.

GA: Really? I didn’t come across that in my research…

WL: Of course you didn’t, Mister Smarty Pants! I came in during the third quarter and had 39 points, 18 rebounds, 14 assists…and 14 blocks. That’s a quadruple-double. That’s some numbers.

GA: Did you win the game?

WL: Well, no.

GA: If you were so good, why didn’t you play more than 2.3 minutes per game during your career?

WL: The League was scared of my skills.

GA: Well, back to our discussion of retirement. So you retired when the Colonels folded up in 1976…

WL: NO! I DID NOT RETIRE!

GA: Excuse me?

WL: I never retired. I never filed retirement papers with the league.

GA: The league disbanded…

WL: How’s that ol' Wise’s fault? That’s on them.

GA: So you’d still be available if the NBA came calling?

WL: Dad-gum straight, Four Eyes.

GA: LeBron’s been struggling with his supporting cast. Do you think you could dust off the Chuck Taylors and help bring a title to Cleveland?

WL: I worked out for their brass. I worked out for that Ferry…is his name Danny? He said not to call him, he would call me. I bought a cell phone so I could take that call. Should be anytime...

GA: What do you think about the guys that do retire—

WL: Soft, soft, soft.

GA: No, I…I didn’t finish the question. If a guy thinks he should retire, when should he do it?

WL: When he thinks it.

GA: No, I mean should he retire when he’s at the peak of his game? After he wins a title? After he attempts to defend a title? When his passion for the game is gone? When his skills regress? If he can’t decide to retire, retires anyway, changes his mind and demands an outright release or trade…when?

WL: Hey, Captain Earwax, CAN YOU HEAR ME? I said when he thinks it.

GA: You know, that’s great, I think we’re gonna go with that. When do you think LeBron James will retire?

WL: LeBron James will know when to retire.

GA: But how will he know when to retire?

WL: He’ll stop breathing.

GA: What do you think of Jackie Moon?

WL: That boy couldn’t sing or play basketball. Pure stinker.

Brett Favre, Brad Childress, and 35-Cent Boneless Wings: A Very Tall Tale

Smarty Pants — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 05:13:18 -0400

I had headed over to my local Buffalo Wild Wings after work with visions of 35 cent boneless wings and a basket full of mini corndogs dancing in my head.

I needed a chance to unwind after another tough day of shuffling papers at my work desk while monitoring comments on a variety of Bleacher Report articles I had written during my mini-vacation from earlier in the week.

Little did I know, my night was just beginning.

After the hostess seated me, my server graciously took my drink order. “Coke with ice,” I said with confidence.

A variety of sporting events were playing out all around me in beautiful Hi-Def, but none were terribly interesting.

I quickly noted that B-Dub’s was a lot less fun in the middle of July than it would be in another eight weeks.

As I waited for my food, I couldn’t help but notice a pair of eyes peering in my general direction. I moved my head to make eye contact and maybe say, “hey” or something else profound.

The gazer nimbly averted my glance.

However, as I looked at the man, I took a moment to study him. He was wearing a flannel shirt (in July, no less), jeans, and cowboy boots. I also noticed he had a scruffy, grayish beard. He couldn’t have been more than 38-years old.

He looked anxious, as though he were waiting for somebody. As though he didn’t want to be caught.

But I had bigger fish to fry…er, breaded pork to eat.

The mini corndogs had arrived.

I quickly tossed the mustard for my corndogs over my shoulder. I heard a man fall and utter a curse word. I shrugged and dug in.

Then, out of nowhere, Gray Beard approached my table.

“Y’all eatin’ all those mini corndogs?” he drawled.

I looked around, thinking maybe he had a lazy eye and that perhaps I’d been caught in the crossfire—I was, um, not with anyone…

“You talkin’ to me?” I asked.

Gray Beard nodded.

“Uh, no man, have a seat,” I replied.

“Do you even know who I am?” the stranger asked as he plopped his beer down on the table.

“Honestly?” I asked.

Gray Beard shook his head affirmatively.

I lowered my voice to a whisper.

“Well, I have to admit you look a lot like a certain former Green Bay quarterback who retired after the season, decided he wanted to un-retire, then permanently retired, only to recently announce that he wanted to play, requested his unconditional release, gave a two-part interview to FOX’s Greta Van Susteren, threatened to show up at Green Bay’s training camp, announced that he wouldn’t be attending Green Bay’s training camp, and has so far refused to apply for reinstatement.”

I then took a breath. What a long sentence. Not very web-friendly, that’s for sure.

Then Gray Beard revealed his identity. “I’m Brett Favre.”

“Oh, is that the name? I hadn’t actually heard it bandied about the last week or so…” I quipped.

Just then a man wearing a purple pullover jacket with a mustard stain sat down next to me at the table.

“And you are…” I asked.

“Shut up,” the man replied.

Favre interjected. “Whoa there, Trigger. We're just hangin’ out a little.”

“That’s great, Brett, but what if we’re seen? And who’s this guy?”

I was just about to tell the bald-headed, bespectacled stranger exactly who I was when Favre cut me off.

“Chill out, man, it’s okay. No one’s here. It’s July and there’s nothin’ to watch. This is, buddy, I’m so sorry, I never caught your name…”

“Greg,” I said.

“Craig,” Favre said.

“You a member of the press?” Dome Boy asked.

“Well, I write for the Bleacher Report when I have time. I actually write mainly sports hu—“

“Favre, he writes for a website! You twit!”

“Relax, dude. Craig-o here isn’t a real journalist,” Favre said.

“Well, I don’t know about all that—” I replied.

“So what is he—some loser who writes about sports for free in his spare time?”

Favre responded, “Yeah he probably blogs from his mother’s basement...”

I was getting hammered here! “I take offense at that—”

Favre moved on. “Speaking of offense, I briefly spoke with your boy Darrell. I don’t think the Packers are going to release me unconditionally. They’re so selfish! It’s like, if they can’t have me, no one will! They’re like a psycho ex-girlfriend. I mean, get over it already…”

Then out of nowhere, I quickly put two and two together and blurted, “You’re Brad Childress! You coach the Minnesota Vikings…dude, you’re, like, really bald!”

“Shut up!” he yelled as his face (and head) turned bright red with anger.

“Wow, just really, really bald…did you ever have hair?”

He pulled a hat out of his back pocket and said, “Is that better, Nancy?”

The server set my wings down in front of me.

“Great! Wings are here! About friggin’ time!” Favre smacked his hands together and grabbed a couple of boneless wings tossed in medium sauce.

Finally, the light bulb inside my head flickered on. “It’s true!” I pointed at Childress. “You guys were tampering! I am so going to string you up by your little ba—”

Childress interrupted and poked his finger on my chest. “You’re not going to do anything, you little…”

Favre said, “Calm down, Brad. Don’t worry.”

Then the legendary quarterback looked squarely at me. “The thing I hate most about these outlandish allegations is the wording. They keep saying that Vikings officials have been accused of ‘making inappropriate contact with me’—Brad here hasn’t ever touched me anywhere I haven’t asked him too.”

Childress and I both looked at Favre like, “Dude…what...”

“I mean…you know what I mean,” he stammered.

As I got up to pay the bill, Childress said, “How ‘bout we take care of the check? Under one condition...”

“What?” I asked.

“You must never say anything to anybody about this conversation as long as you live.”

“Scout’s honor,” I said.

Poor guys…I never said I wouldn’t write it!

Peyton Manning's Knee Surgery: 10 Things Bound To Happen

Smarty Pants — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 16:50:41 -0400

If you’re in Ohio, fear not. That sound to the west of you is merely the state of Indiana. Hyperventilating.

They’re doing so because three seemingly unrelated pieces of information have converged to create a variety of strange possibilities.

Here's what we know: Peyton Manning had surgery to remove an infected bursa sac from his left knee. The Colts have said it was a routine procedure and that Manning should be back in four to six weeks.

We also know that Marvin Harrison had a bursa sac issue that effectively ended his season last year. The injuries are different, but the Colts are saying the same things they did a year ago. Which should make Colts and Pats fans piddle themselves. Colts fans out of fear, Pats fans out of sheer jubilation.

Oh...and Jim Sorgi is the Colts' backup QB.

With that in mind, I now present 10 things that will happen as a result of Peyton's knee surgery.

10. The State of Indiana will run out of paper sacks...you know, due to all the hyperventilating.

9. Hoosiers (including this one) will quickly learn how to read a calendar and count to either four and/or six.

8. Church attendance in the state will likely increase by at least 75 percent over the next month or so.

7. Brett Favre will now have 11 potential destinations (seriously, folks, are there really 10 to begin with?).

6. An unnamed B/R humor writer will likely overreact to the situation and write an article about it.

5. It should get a whole lot easier to find out what's in "Manning's Mind."

4. MasterCard's stock will plummet—however, the general public will be glad to know that "Peyton's Moments" ads will be pulled.

3. The Double Stuf Racing League will, unfortunately, fold.

2. Colts' owner Jim Irsay, new stadium sponsor Lucas Oil, and the city of Indianapolis will all swallow one giant mozza ball.

1. Tony Dungy will pen the inspirational bestseller: My Bursa, My Friend.

2008 MLB All-Star Game Gets Off to Late Start

Smarty Pants — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 15:08:55 -0400

FOX’s coverage of the 2008 MLB All-Star Game began with a parade.

And then proceeded to amble along like one.

In a pregame ceremony that seemingly had everything sans Ted Williams’ frozen head, FOX and MLB trotted out an overblown, ‘roided-out version of pregame fun that could have lasted into the next millennium, had cooler heads not prevailed.

“I was actually getting tired of announcing every player to lace up a pair of cleats in the 20th Century,” Joe Buck quipped as he popped the top of his favorite chilled beverage.

“It was like a marathon, only Joe had to run his mouth for hours on end,” a depleted Tim McCarver mused.

With things working like, um, sundial-work, Sheryl Crow began her campfiry version of the "Star-Spangled Banner" at approximately 8:30.

In the morning.

Wednesday, July 16.

“I guess we got a little carried away. George Mitchell was so good at getting most of his investigation written off that we were flush with a little extra cash. The only thing I regret is that we couldn’t have made it even longer. Although we did manage to dig up Hank Steinbrenner’s daddy to throw out the first pitch…” a wistful Bud Selig said.

Texas Ranger slugger Josh Hamilton found it difficult to keep loose.

“I was already a little sore after smacking 28 homers in one round of the Home Run Derby, only to still lose to a guy who hit fewer homers than I did overall. But that pregame ceremony...holy cow, as Phil Rizzuto used to say. I stretched at 7:45 p.m., 11 p.m., 2:30 a.m. and for the last time at 4 a.m. Then I went to sleep. They were just then getting around to the highlights from the 1955 World Series. I didn’t need to see that.”

Cincinnati Reds ace Edinson Volquez was waiting in the wings as a potential last-hour starter, as NL starter Ben Sheets had already thrown three simulated games prior to his first pitch.

Volquez spoke to the press, but with no one there to translate, let’s just say it was difficult to get a good quote.

Here’s a sampling of just how long the pregame went on:

Yogi Berra managed to string together two fairly coherent sentences.

AL Manager Terry Francona shaved his head. Twice.

Tim McCarver applied Just for Men to his hair. Twice.

Kevin Youkilis trimmed his goatee. Twice.

Ken Griffey Jr. announced his retirement from baseball, recanted his desire to retire, retired again, came back to baseball again—stating he had an “itch” to play baseball—asked for his unconditional release from the Cincinnati Reds, demanded a trade and finally decided he’d like to stay in Cincinnati—but only if he could start in right.

The author’s eight-month old son, though barely crawling at the beginning of the festivities, learned to walk and made Daddy a milkshake three minutes before Cliff Lee’s 147th pitch of the night—the first official pitch of the game.

Justin Goar managed to tear himself away from NCAA 09 long enough to write a college football article.

Yankee Stadium went from smelling like one big public toilet to about 30.

And finally, A-Rod left Madonna for Cher and eventually Patti LaBelle.

Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to start some bacon and eggs and enjoy the rest of the game. Go National League!

Which is quickly becoming the Senior Citizen Circuit, by the way.

Boxing: Jose Canseco Becomes Punchline Again (and Again and Again)

Smarty Pants — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 04:23:20 -0400

Former NFL player Vai Sikahema sik-a-hammered Jose Canseco this past Sunday, knocking out the former A/Ranger/Red Sock/A/Blue Jay/Yankee/White Sock/author/reality TV star/“cycling” expert/Roger Clemens party host/glass-jawed boxer in 97 seconds.

The former outfielder/pitching ace’s performance has at least inspired a new line of jokes. And just when you thought the well had run dry…

Canseco apparently intends to write yet another book entitled “Juice: My Brain on Punch(es).”

At this point, the only good news for Canseco is that he plans to parlay his defeat into some significant gambling winnings. He reportedly knows the scores and stats of nearly every sporting event for the next week, thanks to Sikahema knocking him there.

It sounds like clown school is paying off for Canseco, who after a brief two-week hiatus, intends to unveil his next huge, embarrassing failure at an undisclosed pawn shop in the Midwest.

It was reported that Canseco felt “more than comfortable” not wearing a cup for the fight, deeming it “completely and totally unnecessary.”

Of course, why he wore protective headgear is still a mystery…

The fact that he thought taking on a diminutive boxer from Philly was actually a good idea indicates that Canseco—in addition to not being much for fancy booklearnin’—apparently isn't much of a movie buff, either...

And finally, a simple knock-knock joke:

Knock-knock.

Who’s there?

Jose.

Jose who?

I’m not sure, but I think I used to be a baseball player.

Feel free to add your own below. The winner will receive a “Bozo Button”—which is really just a picture of Jose riding a donkey…oh I’m sorry, Jose being ridden by donkey…oh wait, Jose is a donkey…

I guess it will just be a picture of him.

Alex Rodriguez and Madonna: The IM Chats

Smarty Pants — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 03:25:00 -0400

While the whole world knows that Yankee third baseman Alex Rodriguez and the Material Girl have successfully managed to break up at least one marriage—and possibly two—few know that A-Rod (OctoberCries13) and Madonna (KabbalahNut1) began their somewhat perplexing relationship in an AOL chatroom.

Too bad NBC’s Chris Hansen couldn’t have blown this up.

Chat No. 1

OctoberCries13: Would you like to chat?

KabbalahNut1: What? Who says that?

OctoberCries13: I do.

KabbalahNut1: And you are…

OctoberCries13: A major league baseball player. But “I’d Rather Be Your Lover.”

KabbalahNut1: I’m a megastar with a one-word name.

OctoberCries13: You’re Beck?

KabbalahNut1: No! Way off! Anyway, what’s up?

OctoberCries13: My home run production. Do you know Jose Canseco?

KabbalahNut1: Well, yeah, you could say that.

OctoberCries13: Well, I don’t. Don’t know him or his ex-wife. At all.

KabbalahNut1: Is this Alex Rodriguez?

OctoberCries13: Umm…uh-huh. Are you Madonna?

KabbalahNut1: Yeah…wanna grab a Starbucks?

OctoberCries13: Sure. Where? Your dojo?

KabbalahNut1: It’s called a Kabbalah Center.

OctoberCries13: Oops. “I’m So Stupid.”

KabbalahNut1: Yes, you are.

Chat No. 2

OctoberCries13: Hey, Material Girl.

KabbalahNut1: Don’t call me that. I’ve evolved. I’ve re-invented myself.

OctoberCries13: Could you re-invent yourself into a 25 year-old woman? “Your Little Body’s Slowly Breaking Down.”

KabbalahNut1: You’re a pig.

OctoberCries13: I think I love you. “Now I’m Following You.”

KabbalahNut1: You’re pathetic.

OctoberCries13: Sorry.

KabbalahNut1: Meet me at Starbucks, Sugarlips.

Chat No. 3

OctoberCries13: I’ve been thinking about you. And not my wife. Or children. “I Want You.”

KabbalahNut1: Have you given any thought to Kabbalah?

OctoberCries13: Yep. Scott Boras thinks he’s my bff but he’s not. I need a center.

KabbalahNut1: You need to come through in the clutch in the playoffs once in awhile.

OctoberCries13: Can Kabbalah help me produce in the playoffs? Help me “Keep It Together”?

KabbalahNut1: It sure as Hades can’t hurt. Anything to keep you from nutting up would be an improvement.

OctoberCries13: Sign me up.

KabbalahNut1: I already did.

Chat No. 4

OctoberCries13: Last night was amazing.

KabbalahNut1: It sure was.

OctoberCries13: I’ve never felt so content. I was “Like a Virgin.”

KabbalahNut1: Actually, you were. It was only your first Kabbalah class.

OctoberCries13: The instructor gave me a notebook. I drew a sad clown on the inside flap. “Nobody Knows Me.”

KabbalahNut1: Your next class at the center is tomorrow night. Don’t be late.

Chat No. 5

OctoberCries13: Madonna, who am I, anyway?

KabbalahNut1: You’re someone who has to be loved. By everyone.

OctoberCries13: I want to be the all-time home run leader.

KabbalahNut1: What about a world champion?

OctoberCries13: Jeter’s into all that crap. I’m so over it. “Nobody’s Perfect.”

KabbalahNut1: Don’t type with your mouth full. It’s unbecoming.

Chat No. 6

OctoberCries13: Would u like 2 go out w/me?

KabbalahNut1: What, are you in high school?

OctoberCries13: You don’t want to go out? “I’m Going Bananas.”

KabbalahNut1: No, I want you to type like a man. Capiche?

Chat No. 7

OctoberCries13: My wife’s with Lenny Kravitz. He scares me. I think there may be some “Hanky Panky” going on there. Oh, and I made my Kabbalah bracelet…does that make me a Jedi?

KabbalahNut1: You’re an idiot. By the way, I enjoyed the game. Thanks for the tix. Get me some more.

Chat No.8

OctoberCries13: Did you see my new home run celebration?

KabbalahNut1: Yes…what was that, anyway?

OctoberCries13: I “vogued”—it’s totally the “in” thing.

KabbalahNut1: Um—yeah—like, 20 years ago. Zip your fly, it’s not a barn.

OctoberCries13: What does that mean? And how can you see my fly?

KabbalahNut1: You forgot to disable your webcam. Loser.

Chat No. 9

OctoberCries13: My wife’s filing for divorce. How’s your marriage?

KabbalahNut1: It’s fine.

OctoberCries13: So you’re not breaking up with Gay?

KabbalahNut1: It’s Guy.

OctoberCries13: Sorry…Guy? But I’m getting a divorce because of you.

KabbalahNut1: Psyche. “Bye Bye Baby.”

Why I Think a Local MMA Fighter Wants to Kill Me

Smarty Pants — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 04:53:31 -0400

And to think I joined a gym to prolong my life.

Recently, at the request of my wife, my doctor, and several people I didn’t even know, I joined a gym in order to a) drop a few excess pounds and b) get everybody off my back.

The gym is so reminiscent of “Average Joe’s” from the movie Dodgeball that I’ve affectionately named it “Below Average Joe’s”—because it’s just a tad dirtier.

And though the gym doesn’t feature either a pirate or Stephen Root in goggles, it is cheap. And that’s just fine with me.

Working out at Below Average Joe’s been pretty cool. Except for one tiny, little problem.

Thursday morning.

You see, I like to walk but absolutely hate treadmills and ellipticals. My gym has a track upstairs, and I use it for walking. It’s not a big track, mind you—22 laps will get you a mile—but it gets the job done. Unfortunately, my gym also has MMA classes. Upstairs.

And guys who’ve done well enough in classes to compete. You know, competitively. In competitions.

One guy has apparently done well enough to compete competitively in competitions and trains just after dawn at least one day a week…

On Thursday...morning.

Did I mention that he's a psycho? By the time I’ve hauled my total sorriness upstairs at 6 a.m., “Rocky” (it’s what I call him in my internal monologue) is already sprinting around the track.

I calmly lay my keys, cell phone, and slice of pizza down on the floor near the counter I will use to, um, count my laps. The ones that I walk.

After he’s done sprinting, he begins the serious training. He moves over to a punching bag and just starts ripping into it. He makes the “whoosh whoosh” sounds with his mouth while he’s beating the absolute inanimate life out of the bag.

He’s not using gloves. He howls and then eats a live chicken.

Next, he moves onto kicking another bag. He’s actually attached two 45-pound weights to the bottom of this bag. He’s totally wailing on it. He grunts with each kick. He sounds like he’s pooping.

And now comes the most uncomfortable five minutes of my week. After the kicking is complete, he stares at me, kneels to the ground, straddles yet another punching bag, and just goes to town on it. When his back is turned to me, two related observations spring to mind: a) he looks as though he’s dry-humping this poor bag and b) dude needs a girlfriend.

Honestly, it’s hard not to double over with laughter. But I’m just afraid enough of dying that I manage to stifle it.

Meanwhile, I nervously round the circular track and try to hide behind the hexagon cage where the MMA guys will spar in another 12 hours.

After the punching bags are thoroughly whipped, I often feel his eyes bearing down on me in the hopes that he’ll get a reaction. The only thing I think to myself is if I don’t show fear I can avoid becoming his female dog.

And it’s at that point that I usually trickle just a little pee.

In fact, I’ve begun wearing black shorts on Thursday so that he won’t be able to perceive that I may have slightly urinated myself.

I’d like to take this moment to come clean with the MMA crowd. I don’t understand the fuss over the sport. Heck, I never even figured out why boxing was a big deal. I guess I’m just a lover.

MMA fighters and fans are totally hardcore. And that I respect. The sport’s best performers work tirelessly and are obviously talented.

It’s just that I’m not a terribly intense person myself. My hobbies involve watching my favorite teams play baseball, football, and basketball; working on a variety of writing projects; and reading to my kids.

I also enjoy spending a lot of my time not bleeding.

Obviously, you can understand why I may have trouble relating to a guy who beats the crap out of inanimate objects in an effort to better prepare himself to beat the crap out of living, breathing human beings.

Seriously, why couldn't my gym have started a dodgeball team? I know the five D's. I can do the five D's. Plus, I could appear on the Ocho. Who wouldn't want that?

But I digress.

So on Thursday morning, while you're safely tucked away in your nice, warm bed, I’ll be busy walking for my life, hoping that a crazy-psycho MMA fighter won’t try to kill me.

And to think I joined a gym to prolong my life…

Hump Day Monologue: June 11, 2008

Smarty Pants — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 04:53:57 -0400

Since this is the first of what I intend to be a regular Wednesday feature, I should probably explain what I'm doing here.

The Hump Day Monologue will be similar to a late-night talk show monologue or SNL's "Weekend Update." Only it will feature sports topics from the previous week.

It will appear every Wednesday, which is commonly referred to as "Hump Day"—or the day you get over the hump. And yes, I generally snicker whenever I say it...

Hump Day Monologue: Moving the bowels of truth without the fiber of common sense.

"Disgraced" (sorry, that's what everybody else is calling him) ex-NBA official Tim Donaghy has alleged that NBA officials helped determine the outcome of two different playoff series and fixed a variety of other games.

In a recent poll, most NBA fans felt the allegations could be true.

However, a closer look at the numbers revealed that NBA fans age 12 and under overwhelmingly thought that the allegations were false.

Sadly, it appears that New England Patriot offensive lineman Nick Kaczur is addicted to the painkiller Oxycontin. After being arrested on illegal possession charges, Kaczur was allegedly involved in a Drug Enforcement Agency sting in an effort to nail Kaczur's dealer.

However, when a reporter showed up on Kaczur's doorstep requesting comment, Kaczur claimed he didn't know what the reporter was talking about.

Clearly, the DEA brainwashed him, per agency policy.

What's interesting about the whole sting operation is that the DEA relied on surveillance equipment supplied by none other than Pats coach Bill Belichick. A DEA agent said, "Belichick's stuff was so much more advanced than the crap we get from the government...it was a no-brainer."

After L.A.'s Game Two NBA Finals loss to the Celtics, Laker coach Phil Jackson—surprise!—complained about the officiating and the 38-10 free throw disparity favoring the Celtics.

What most fans are unaware of is that the postgame tirade aired by various media outlets was merely an amalgam of all of the Zenmaster's officiating complaints spanning his previous six NBA Finals appearances.

Much was made of Jackson's mispronunciation of Celtic reserve Leon Powe's name, pronouncing it "Pow." Jackson said he made an honest mistake, noting that a "Pau" played for him.

He subsequently apologized to Powe for the misunderstanding, saying, "Powe was an absolute beast inside. Pau's never made a strong interior move his whole life."

During a recent press conference, frustrated Laker star Kobe Bryant supplied his own "bleeps" to censor expletives he would like to have said while describing his Finals performance, his teammates' effort, and the officiating.

Kobe haters applauded the move, stating they'd been asking Bryant to go bleep himself for years.

Things are looking up in L.A., though. The Lakers managed a Game Three win at home over the Boston Celtics and are now down 2-1 in the series. Kobe Bryant led the way for L.A. with 36 points.

However, the Lakers may have had help from a more philosophical source as the team was seen wearing "Win with Zen" T-shirts during pregame warmups.

Well, it sure seems like it's back to the boat for Captain Cedric Benson. In an obvious case of catch and release, Cedric "the Open Container" was allegedly caught drunk driving in Austin, Texas, and subsequently released by the Chicago Bears.

No news yet as to whether or not the Dallas Cowboys are interested in signing the Cap'n.

Ken Griffey Jr. (finally) launched career homer No. 600 in Miami. Unfortunately, the only witnesses to the event were a spattering of FSN television viewers, players from both teams, some members of the media, and 13 Florida Marlins fans.

Indiana Pacers team president Larry Bird raised more than a few eyebrows when he hired former NBA player and toker Sam Perkins to be a mentor for his troubled team. Perkins, who has a history of marijuana use, said he'd like to help players stay out of trouble, "one doobie at a time."

The move served to provide a spiritual awakening for Chicago Bulls center and toker Joakim Noah, who reacted to the announcement by stating, "I think I've found my calling in life, man."

Speaking of the Bulls, they announced the hiring of a new head coach on Tuesday. And to the surprise of practically everyone not directly involved in the decision-making process, the Bulls have selected none other than...former NBA player Vinny Del Negro.

The excitement in the Windy City was quelled only by its sheer disappointment.

Previous to coaching the Bulls, Del Negro was the head coach of, well, no one. However, he was Steve Kerr's assistant general manager in Phoenix.

It's rumored that Kerr will try to initiate a trade to send Shaq to Chicago for Luol Deng, Ben Gordon and the No. 1 overall pick in an attempt to "make up for screwing up last season."

To his credit, Bulls GM John Paxson isn't taking the bait, saying, "I'm not making any deals with the guy who hit the big shot for the Bulls long after I did."

At press time, Paxson's cryptic statement was still being analyzed for meaning.

Miami Heat President Pat Riley apparently isn't enamored with consensus No. 2 overall pick Michael Beasley. Riley reportedly is "not all that interested" in "getting better" next year.

In fact, when asked to explain the logic behind trading the pick, Riley responded, "We can suck worse. Much, much worse."

It's even been rumored that Dwayne Wade could be shipped out of Miami. Riley, to his credit, intends to see a neurologist at least two weeks before the draft.

The Detroit Tigers made a minor splash when they optioned former Marlin ace/current Tiger flame-out Dontrelle Willis to their Class A minor league affiliate.

Detroit Tigers fans caught a glimpse of the root of the team's current problems when the team's president, CEO and general manager Dave Dombrowski said, "We didn't want to totally deflate Dontrelle's confidence by sending him all the way back to Triple A ball."

When a member of the media pointed out that Class A ball was a far lower level than Triple A, Dombrowski exclaimed, "What the (expletive)! Triple A's better? Crapadocious—Dontrelle must be totally deflated!"

And finally, foxsports.com provided endless fodder for sports fans and comedians everywhere when it published an article on the use of Viagra in sports. Apparently, athletes are using the drug to improve performance on the field after years of using it to increase performance off of it.

My only complaint about the article was its title: "Father's Little Helper? Viagra May Offer Athletic Edge." Personally, I would have gone with "Major Leaguers Raise Bar, Whole Lot More."

The use of Viagra by steroid users makes a lot of sense, given some of the more unpleasant southerly side effects of steroid use.

While it appears that chicks did in fact dig the long ball, it's also evident that they weren't quite so enthusiastic about smaller bat sizes.

You've been great. See you next week!

B/R Humor Writer Tallies 10,000th Article Read

Smarty Pants — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 02:36:30 -0400

I would like to point out that 99.9 percent of our stories on Bleacher Report are about sports.

This makes up the other .01 percent.

When I woke up and logged onto Bleacher Report this morning, I learned that I had just hit 10,000 article reads. On the one hand, it’s not that large of a number of reads for Bleacher Report—as far as I can guess. But it is a milestone.

And what are sports without milestones?

So like an NFL player racking up his fifth criminal charge, an NBA player collecting his 25th career technical foul, or a major leaguer emptying the contents of “Syringe No. 100” into his buttocks, I now celebrate my 10,000th article read.

It took me 22 articles to reach this milestone. And 21 humor articles. That's a lot of goofing off friend. At about 455 reads per article, I guess you could say I inched my way there. Just like (insert the name of your favorite underachieving running back here—personally, I'd go with Cedric Benson).

Which begs the question: How could I have done this sooner? I mean, c’mon! Seriously!

Well, here are five ideas:

5) The easiest one of all. Written one MMA article featuring Kimbo Slice. It’s a topic I know nothing about and have no interest in. My lack of knowledge would certainly get the sport’s passionate fan base all worked up. It’d be like throwing a large pizza at a group of Weight Watchers: just release it and watch the swarm grow.

4) Two articles catering to the Raider faithful—a group, I might add, that, although it is extremely knowledgeable and passionate, doesn’t seem to have a whole lot else to do except wait for the next Raider article to drop on B/R (said the guy who’s written 23 articles in less than two months while balancing a full-time job and family life).

3) Maybe been just a tad more serious…NAH!

2) An article about John McCain working out with the Patriots and Tom Brady.

1) Crafted 200 separate one-word articles that are really just part of one big 200-word article. I’m calling this the “Voltron method.”

Hey, don’t knock it. If 50 people had made it through the whole set of articles, I’d have been in like a dirty shirt…

Before I go, I would like to say that we all owe Bryan, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave and Zander our sincerest thanks. Without their vision we’d all probably still be doing this somewhere, just not amongst such a great group of sports fans.

So enjoy the community, everybody.

And thanks for reading.

Game Summaries for a Litigious Era: Beating MLB at its Own Game

Smarty Pants — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 16:43:45 -0400

It was recently reported that Major League Baseball will be cracking down on various little league uniform makers who are, in its opinion, infringing on MLB's trademark.

Good grief! MLB's even going after little leaguers now! Truly, no one is safe.

Well, they've scared me straight.

In an effort to steer clear of the wrath of a certain professional diamond-players' confederation of clubs, here's a sampling of last night's small white spherical action. This is from the more elderly group of teams. And these were the only finals at press time.

Plural for the Jetson's Dog: 2, Swashbuckling Eye-Patch Wearing High-Seas Terrorists: 0

The game was played in the ballpark of a popular name-brand tomato-based condiment. The visitors scored a run in the first and didn't look back as they made their opponents walk the plank by throwing a blank.

Brotherly Lovers: 3, Commies: 2

In the town of the Liberty Bell, Ben Franklin, and all that crap, the home team put a temporary end to tyranny by halting a tired philosophy in its tracks behind 6.2 solid innings by the first man at the buffet table. In the words of Austin Powers, "Yay, Capitalism!"

Valiant Ones: 5, America's Favorite Firearms: 4

Get off me, Peach! The courageous men pulled the trigger on two runs in the eighth, as the visitors ran out of ammo late in the game. A popular anti-virus program knocked in the tying and go-ahead runs.

Alers: 7, Baseball Field Butts: 1

Fermented drink-makers score two in the sixth, two in the seventh, and three in the eighth, as woozy southwest serpents pass out in the home of the Hog. Joanie loves Chachi. Or for younger readers, "I love Wisconsin!"

See, this way no one gets sued and everyone knows what's going on (sort of). A perfect solution to a major league, er, big, problem.

Greg would like to salute Joe W. for sparking the idea for this article in a comment thread from a previous article. Hopefully, this further adds to your confusion.

How the Spurs and Pistons Could Ruin My Weekend...and My Life

Smarty Pants — Thu, 29 May 2008 02:02:31 -0400

San Antonio and Detroit: I know you've got bigger fish to fry right now, but I could use your help.

You see, San Antone, I really need you to extend this little Western Conference dealio to at least a sixth game.

I could also use a little Deee-troit basketball on Friday.

No, I don't have any bets pending. No one's coming to my apartment with a sledgehammer to smash my kneecaps…at least, I hope not.

Unfortunately, I've got far more frightening problems to deal with.

Sex in the City: The Movie premieres this weekend.

I think I just threw up in my mouth.

You see, oh Honorable Gentlemen of the League, I'm married. My wife tolerates my passion for sports…just not always on her watch.

I generally exchange weekends of excessive sports consumption for a variety of flicks involving chintzy, gooey romance and poorly constructed, fairly obvious jokes.

So here we are. We have the NBA Playoffs...which, frankly, I could have cared less about this year.

That is, until recently, when it has served my best interest to become a fan.

NBA basketball…it's FAN-tastic.

Or is it amazin'?

Whatever.

The point is that I can't sell my wife on the fact that Cincinnati Reds games 55, 56 and 57 really matter. Especially since they're currently cleaning gutters in the NL Central.

This means that if the Spurs lose Thursday night, instead of spending Saturday with a pizza, an ice-cold Coke, Tim Duncan and Kobe Bryant, I'll be hanging out with Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte (and, yes, I did have to google Sex in the City to get the names).

I'm going to need buckets and buckets of Milk Duds to get through this.

Detroit, we already have a Friday night date, so I know you've got my back Friday. However, if you could win, that also ties up my Sunday. I mean, how could I possibly miss a Game Seven? You know, as one who writes about sports...

But Saturday's the big problem. Both my parents and my in-laws are available to babysit. We have 10 "movie bucks" that are good anytime. There's really nothing going on…

Especially if San Antonio can't keep the Lakers from getting out in transition.

Let's be a little more careful with the ball there, guys.

So man to men, certainly you can sense my pain and desperation. I actually saw Made of Honor two weeks ago.

I don't want to endure that pain again for two more months.

And if you can't win…

Maybe I'll have to grab that sledgehammer after all.

MLB to Unleash Instant Replay by 2020

Smarty Pants — Fri, 23 May 2008 06:48:48 -0400

Instant replay could be coming to a ballpark near you. Eventually.

Major League Baseball infuriated purists and not-so-purists alike when it decided to institute instant replay—but only for controversial home run calls—by the year 2020.

And by then it should be fun hovering to the ballpark in your flying car.

Bud Selig explained the move during a conference call.

“We figure it’s going to take a good 12 years or so to get the technology figured out and running to full capacity.”

When asked why it was going to take so (expletive) long, Selig responded with a shrug and an eyebrow raise.

It should be noted that this was a video conference call. Set up by MLB.

“The bottom line is, it’s not like you can take all the camera angles at the game, send them to a centralized location—like a production truck, send that signal back to the ballpark, and then have a person send that signal down to field level.”

When it was pointed out that the NFL already does this, Selig froze.

“Oh, I should call them. Is Paul Tagliabue still the commissioner?”

Following Selig’s statement was the audible sound of several mute buttons being pressed simultaneously.

Laughter aside, baseball purists are clearly upset.

“How can we possibly watch baseball anymore? Steroids, interleague play, wild card teams, designated hitters—alternate jerseys—my word! Now instant replay! Let these guys play! Bad calls are part of the game—(expletive) (expletive)!” a disgruntled Livan N. DePast exclaimed.

Non-purists are pretty whizzed off as well.

“How can we possibly watch baseball anymore? Wooden bats, pitchers hitting, leather gloves, metal spikes, natural grass, day games. Now we have to wait 12 friggin’ years for replay? (Expletive) (expletive)!” a fan who simply goes by Neeko complained.

Take heart, Livan and Neeko. For years MLB’s motto has been that it can’t make everybody happy…

While somehow failing to make anybody happy.

Selig said that even if the technology was available, and apparently it is, there were other details to hammer out.

“Do we add a fifth umpire to each crew? Or do we simply assign a replay umpire to each ballpark? Do we have a booth on the field—this would be a revolutionary concept—or are replays viewed in a separate room—like something called a ‘replay booth’ that would be off of the main playing field—which would also be revolutionary.”

“I also think we’re still figuring out how we’re going to pass the costs of this technology onto the fan.”

It appears baseball seems ready to do something. Just not quickly.

“Listen, I know we tried to give Carlos Delgado a half a homer. That’s okay for Carlos, but when A-Rod misses a homer due to umpire error—well, we have to give things a more serious look.”

“He might have to come and save baseball in a few years, and we don’t want to cheat him out of homers when he’s chasing that ‘roid-freak juicer—I mean, our current home run record holder, Barry Bonds.”

“Basically, every homer that is a homer should count.”

And it will. Thanks to MLB’s "swift" action today.

Jason Taylor Dishes on His Miami Dolphin Boycott

Smarty Pants — Wed, 21 May 2008 17:26:35 -0400

"What Tony and Bill Dolphins-seem-to-be-moving-on-without-Taylor" target="_blank">don't know, won't hurt them."

And that's how my interview with kinda-sorta Miami Dolphin defensive end Jason Taylor began.

I hadn't even asked a question yet.

Even so, it wasn't hard to decipher that he's not fond of the Tuna.

"You know, I can't figure out why the Dolphins hired the Tuna. I remember back in the '90s when we were being told not to eat tuna, because sometimes dolphins got caught in the tuna traps."

He took a drink of his Milky Way Latte and stared off into the distance.

"This Dolphin feels caught in a Tuna trap."

Somewhat perplexed, I asked the strapping—yet soft, agile, and sensitive—6'6" former Defensive Player of the Year to elaborate.

"You see, Gary...is that your name?" He asked.

"Actually, Mr. Taylor, it's 'Greg.'"

"Oh, sorry, Craig. Names are important. And you don't have to call me 'Mr. Taylor'—it's not an autograph session."

I sighed.

"Thanks, Jamie."

"That's Jason."

"That's fine...how's about firing me that elaboration?"

"What were we talking about?"

Sensing that this was a good time to change the subject, I pulled out my pen...and notebook. And started asking important questions.

"So, Jason, I understand that you won't be attending any Dolphins workouts during the offseason...why not?"

"Well, Gerald, I'm 33, and I'm not getting any younger. I went through an awful season last year. I mean, we were excrement."

"So during the offseason, Cap'n Blockbuster hires Parcells to turn the franchise around. I don't want to go through a rebuilding process. Do you know how many different head coaches I've played for?"

"Um, no, I'm not really that kind of reporter," I admitted.

"Oh, are you one of those celebrity reporters?"

Sensing there may be another, more important story in my future if I posed to be a non-sports entity, I panicked.

And then blurted, "I'm Kevin Frazier! Entertainment Tonight!"

Upon my pseudo-confession, Taylor sized me up. I knew the strategy carried great risk. Surely a guy who'd studied so much film, in addition to being known for his exceptional intelligence, would figure out that I was not a black man!

I began to sweat. I may have even broken wind. A nervous habit...and possibly the result of the ill-advised combination of pizza and hot wings for lunch.

"Kevin Frazier...I thought you were black!"

"Actually, I prefer African American, and I happen to be undergoing some chemical treatments that wash me out. You know, to keep my skin clear due to, um, all the sun, er, no, chlorine from swimming, wait, um, makeup I have to wear...because...I'm on TV so much."

Fortunately, Taylor bought the whole story. Hook, line, and sinker.

Which meant I had to control my natural urge to soil myself.

"That...is...so...Hollywood! I had to wear so much makeup for Dancing with the Stars—I totally understand."

"So Jay, what's on the horizon for you since, uh, DWTS is finished? And congrats on finishing second to a female figure skater, by the way."

Taylor smiled. "Six months ago, using a line like that—mm, mmm, I would've dropped you like nobody's business."

I laughed nervously. And made a mental note not to crack any more "losing to figure skater" jokes.

Taylor took a bite of quiche and detailed the situation.

"Well, you see, my owner hired a guy named Bill Parcells (apparently, Taylor forgot that I, I mean, Kevin Frazier, once worked for ESPN) and we don't get along so well. Although we've never really publicly acknowledged that there's an issue."

"But Dancing with the Stars actually started me thinking about life after football."

"I want to be a reality TV star."

At this point, I ordered a fruit punch and ginger ale. And some Chex mix.

It was apparently about to get all stupid up in here.

"So I'm working with a vocal coach and plan to try out for American Idol. Season Eight auditions should start around training camp."

"So that explains the boycott."

I was absolutely astonished.

That a man so smart could be so dumb.

"Jason, to be an AI participant, you have to be between the ages of 16 and 28...you're 33."

I gave the undersized D-lineman time to chew on the knowledge I'd just dropped on him.

"Crap, man. Crap!"

"Sorry, dude, I thought you knew."

"What about The Hills?"

"Too old."

"The Real World?"

"Old."

"A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila?

"Not gay enough."

"Survivor?"

"Well, yeah, that'd work, actually—"

"—But I could get dirty and it could be dangerous..."

"Dude, you played in the NFL..."

This was exasperating! Then I had a thought.

"Well...what about So You Think You Can Dance?"

"I'm danced out, Kev."

"America's Got Talent?"

"I think it starts in June. No more auditions."

"Last Comic Standing?"

"I'm not that funny, Fraze."

"Yeah, you're right. You're not that funny."

"Hey, watch it, Chemical Peel."

"Just keepin' it real, man. Just keepin' it real."

Taylor then ordered a Tab, popped the top and took a sip.

"Maybe I should just go back to Miami."

"Why don't you just audition for a Mr. Clean commercial? You know, start small."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

We just kind of awkwardly sat there for a couple minutes, Taylor drinking his Tab while I borrowed his compact and proceeded to run my fingers over my face, acting like it stung.

Finally, I broke the silence.

"Jason, you're an All-Pro. I know you'd like a Super Bowl ring and all—that really makes a lot of sense to me—but what's your real beef with Parcells?"

Taylor sighed and then confessed.

"Because it's Miami and it's warm all year. I can't watch that man walk around in the Miami heat wearing those polos and short sleeve henleys he loves do much."

"I just can't see him jiggling around—you know, top shelf—during two-a-days. It's hard enough not to hurl between the drills and the heat."

"Maybe he needs some support," I said.

"You mean, maybe I shouldn't be such a jerk?"

"No, I mean maybe he needs to wear a 'Bro.'"

"I thought it was called a 'Manziere.'"

"Whatever, Jason. Hey, good luck with your boycott. Maybe you'll get traded. Sounds like you've really thought this out."

"Thanks, Kev. See ya around."

As I was leaving, Taylor was racking his brain for one more brazen idea.

"I wonder if that guy from Deal or No Deal likes his job..."

NFL Owners CBA Opt-Out Multiple-Choice Quiz

Smarty Pants — Tue, 20 May 2008 06:31:31 -0400

NFL owners unanimously voted to opt-out of the current Collective Bargaining Agreement.

Why?

This eight-question quiz will test your knowledge and clarify the issues.

Maybe...

1. Why is the timing of the opt-out perfect?

a. The NFL is experiencing an unprecedented level of health and success.

b. It had to be done fairly soon—by November 8 of this year.

c. Doing so now allows the owners more time to splinter into factions.

d. What...are you stupid? This is idiotic.

2. The owners view the current CBA as evil because:

a. They don't have to hand out guaranteed contracts.

b. There's a salary cap in place.

c. Ownership can pretty much make any cost-cutting roster move it wants to make in the current environment. It would like to see its hands tied a little more.

d. Revenue sharing is a real bummer to a guy like Jerry Jones—whose team hasn't won a Super Bowl since the year of the "Macarena."

3. Gene Upshaw can best be described as:

a. The NFLPA Union chief.

b. A real bulldog.

c. "Surprised."

d. Apparently good at e-mail.

4. Fans of professional football couldn't possibly understand the issues at hand because (check all that apply):

a. The NFL and the NFLPA are only haggling over the money we pay them.

b. They're busy doing real, actual work.

c. Too many Saturday football games without protective head gear.

d. Their paychecks don't stretch far enough to pay for the "sports tier" in the current economy. (Hence, no NFL Network.)

5. The party responsible for the current labor situation in the NFL is:

a. The owners. They are greedy.

b. The players. They are greedy.

c. The fans. Who put up with this bullcrap.

d. President Bush. He gets blamed for everything else and is a lame duck anyway.

6. Which of the following factors will put the biggest crimp in the owners' solidarity?

a. Jerry Jones will chastise Mike Brown for not selling the naming rights for Paul Brown Stadium.

b. Al Davis will lose his sunglasses and accuse Pat Bowlen of stealing them.

c. Daniel Snyder will go on an unprecedented free-agent spending spree that will cause Dan Marino, Bruce Smith, and Willie Gault come out of retirement.

d. Roger Goodell will need to use Gene Upshaw's bathroom at some point during the negotiations.

7. If I start training now, is it possible to cross the picket lines as a replacement player for the 2011 season?

a. Umm...maybe?

b. Sure! Go for it, G!

c. I don't know...are you willing to be called Greg "the Scab" Adams?

d. Just keep eating your pizza and hot wings, and leave the replacement playin' to youngsters who are already in shape.

8. Will Keanu Reeves' character Shane Falco be a player or coach in The Replacements sequel—The Replacements II: Hips Included?

a. Coach. Go get 'em, Coach Falco!

b. Player. Go get 'em, Falco!

c. His character's storyline was fully developed during the first movie.

d. Who's Keanu Reeves?

Thank you in participating in the NFL Owners CBA Opt-Out Multiple Choice Quiz!

Carlos Delgado Granted Partial Home Run by MLB

Smarty Pants — Mon, 19 May 2008 04:25:58 -0400

Bob Davidson didn’t realize that his reversal of Mets’ former slugger/current player Carlos Delgado’s three-run jack would change the course of baseball history.

“I already (expletive) apologized. I feel (expletive) awful,” a reticent, potty-mouthed Davidson lamented.

Don’t (expletive) worry, Bob. Major League Baseball’s got your back. Sort of.

While some media outlets thought that re-instituting instant replay would have been a more logical reaction to the blown call, Commissioner Bud Selig one-upped the entire sports world.

“Carlos Delgado will be granted half a home run for his effort...and 1.5 RBI.”

For those of you scoring at home, that means that the Mets put a Sunday night beat-down on the Yankees by the score of 12.5-2. Not 11-2.

Vegas odds makers weren’t sure what the decision meant for them.

Cy Schmuckner, a Vegas odds maker, had this to say: “It’s hawd enough to handicap basebawl bets when you dealin’ wit whole runs. Now we gotsta deal wit half runs? Da whole thing gives me da runs…”

Bud Selig defended the move.

“Listen, I’ve been accused of complacency in not dealing with the steroid mess—er, allegations of steroid use—and then allowing the All-Star Game to end in a tie. Then I was accused of overreacting to the tie by tying the All-Star Game winner to home-field advantage in the World Series. My hands, I felt, were tied.”

“It was time to act swiftly and sensibly.”

For Carlos Delgado, the Commissioner’s decision brought more questions than answers.

“What if I end my career with 499.5 home runs? What if I have 499.5 home runs and I hit another ball that ends up in a blown call? Do I want my 500th homer to be declared after the fact?”

“Do I get two asterisks next to my name in the record book? One for the two ‘half homers’ I hit and one for the illegitimate 500th homer? All because Davidson (expletive) up?”

Delgado now has 6.5 home runs and 20.5 RBI on the season.

When asked what he ultimately thought of Selig’s decision, Delgado didn’t even flinch.

“It was a half (expletive) effort by a half-pint (expletive).”

Broken, Bitter LeBron James Renounces Sponsor

Smarty Pants — Sun, 18 May 2008 16:20:10 -0400

So rarely have we seen a product’s endorser drop his sponsor with such a thud. And "tho thuddenly."

Moments after his Herculean 45-point, five-board, six-assist effort in Cleveland’s 97-92 loss to Boston, LeBron James ended his short-lived marketing relationship with VitaminWater.

"I’m through with VitaminWater. It’s Gatorade from here on out," James tersely stated in the postgame press conference.

"Dude, I shot my number from three-point range in this series. And that’s unacceptable."

When asked what he meant by that, he snapped, “I shot 23 percent, okay? 23 freakin’ percent from three-point range in this series. My new nickname’s 'Brick James, SuperDoink.'"

Sounds like more marketing if you ask me there, Brick.

Let’s face it, B.J. could have used a little more help in Sunday’s loss. I mean, 45 points is a whole lotta scorin’. He almost singlehandedly won this series.

Of course, it didn’t help the King of Clang that Daniel Gibson separated his shoulder, or that Ben Wallace’s inside scoring game could use a shot of Viagra.

(Incidentally, how many times did we hear that the defender playing the artist formerly known as Big Ben didn’t actually have to worry about guarding him? Is this news?)

The pressure’s mounting on the King to win a title. Not necessarily from people like me, but from people like him. Or more specifically, him.

LeBron James lives a charmed life. At just 23 years of age, he’s living the dream as an NBA basketball superstar. However, few people knew there was a lawyer lurking within the 6’8” All-Star.

That is, few knew until he started downing VitaminWater like he was some sort of dehydrated desert monk.

"I owe my court skills to hard work, sacrifice and God-given ability—I owe my courtroom skills to VitaminWater. How else is a high school graduate going to pass the state bar exam...in midseason?"

"But M.J. won six titles drinking Gatorade. Of course, Shaq’s won four titles eating Nestle's Crunch Caramel candy bars..."

He paused and shook his head. "But Michael Jordan’s the gold standard—plus, I don’t like eating candy during a game."

"Anyway, as I was carelessly jacking up—and severely missing—threes with under four minutes to play when we still had a chance to win, I had this clip from The Waterboy run through my head."

"Remember the scene where Coach Klein is trying to motivate Bobby Boucher? He says, 'Water sucks. Gatorade’s better.'"

"Well, I think Coach Klein’s right: Gatorade is better...than VitaminWater. VitaminWater sucks. It really, really sucks. At least, I sucks at shooting when I drink it."

"So screw VitaminWater. I’m out. 'Propel me,' Baby!"

Actual attorney and ESPN college basketball analyst Jay Bilas was relieved about the King’s announcement.

"I’m proud of LeBron for reneging on his endorsement of VitaminWater. It was embarrassing. I mean, I went to Duke, and Lord knows we can’t play basketball these days. At least give us some lawyers."

"We can’t have America’s youth skipping college and law school to pursue careers in law simply because they’re getting smarter on VitaminWater."

"I drank some of it, and I still didn’t understand half of Bob Knight’s analysis at the end of the college season. So while VitaminWater might help you become a lawyer, it won’t help you understand Bob Knight."

"Or Dick Vitale, for that matter. But that was kind of a given."

With VitaminWater out of the way, James seems short on excuses and long on expectations next year.

"Let’s just say that by the end of next season, everybody’s going to want to be like me..."

He sighed.

"And Peyton Manning. And Derek Jeter."

Horse Racing: Big Brown Requests Name Change

Smarty Pants — Sat, 17 May 2008 17:42:02 -0400

Big Brown loves winning. He'd just prefer it if you didn't call him Big Brown anymore.

"I'd like a new name," Big Brown announced through his interpreter, Mr. Ed.

His trainer, Rick Dutrow, was unsympathetic.

"He's one win away from the Triple Crown. He should be focusing on Belmont. He wins at Belmont, we all get steaks. Huh? 'Scuse me? Oh, not those kind of steaks..."

Big Brown countered, "It's just so blatantly racist. I don't go out calling my jockey, 'Short Whitey.' No one refers to LeBron James as, well, I'm not sure I can actually say that—but you get my point."

The colt continued, "Listen, I'm this close to a shoe deal and may or may not be doing some Winstrol ads. A name like 'Big Brown' really hushes my mellow. It's not gitchy. Not gitchy at all."

When asked if he'd been considering any alternatives, Big Brown responded, "I always liked 'Rusty'—the name of the horse in the 'Beef-A-Reeno' Seinfeld episode. I occasionally have some issues with gas and have always identified with that character."

Big Brown paused. "I'm also partial to PetaSux."

Dutrow suggested Big Brown's name was suitable. "Listen, he's big. He's brown. Big Brown. End of story."

Nonetheless, this writer would like to see the odds on Big Brown getting that name changed before his Triple Crown try on June 7.

You can almost hear the call now: "PetaSux makes his way through the field. PetaSux on the move. PetaSux takes the lead! Heading down the final stretch—it's PetaSux, PetaSux, Petasux! Lordy, lordy. PETASUX!"

Charles Barkley’s Gambling Debt Raises 10 Questions

Smarty Pants — Thu, 15 May 2008 07:47:47 -0400

Sometimes what happens in Vegas spills onto the newswire.

The Associated Press is reporting that former NBA player and current TNT analyst, Charles Barkley owes a $400,000 gambling debt to the casino Wynn Las Vegas (I guess we know why it’s not “Win” Las Vegas).

To be fair, in the article, it is noted that Barkley can make restitution to avoid felony bad check charges.

Yowsers. $400K? That’s a lot of cheeseburgers there, Chucko.

To be unfair, here are 10 questions for the rest of us to nibble on:

1. Wouldn’t it have been cheaper to have just gone fishin'?

2. Do you think Barney the Dinosaur’s getting a kick out of this—you know, since the "Round Mound of Tapped Out" emasculated him on SNL several years back?

3. Can a felon become the Governor of Alabama?

4. Is it funnier that there’s a $400,000 gambling debt, or that bad checks were written to cover said debt?

5. Aren’t the fees from all those bad checks a killer?

6. Will Chuck skip a meal or two in order to save a couple grand here and there? (I haven’t seen the line on this but I'm guessing it’s a long shot.)

7. Has Sir Charles ever heard Kenny Roger's song, “The Gambler”? (You gotta know when to walk away, Baby!)

8. Is this just a PR stunt to make us believe he really isn’t a role model?

9. Do you think ESPN’s Gene Wojciechowski has any second thoughts about this column?

10. Is Chuck still in D-Wade’s myFaves...you know, since he now needs money? (Pick me, D-Wade. Pick me!)

Yankees’ Derek Jeter Gives Hank Steinbrenner Belated Mother’s Day Gift

Smarty Pants — Thu, 15 May 2008 02:53:30 -0400

In response to Hank Steinbrenner’s comments that the team needed to start winning immediately, Derek Jeter gave the Lil’ Boss a belated Mother’s Day gift.

A 2008 calendar.

“I just thought that Lil’ Boss needed a little perspective. It’s a long season,” Jeter said.

The calendar, which Jeter allegedly purchased at an 80 percent discount, includes colorful nature scenes featuring a man alone in the wilderness named Oku and his journey of isolation over the course of a year.

Interestingly, Oku never says a word over the entire twelve months.

When asked if the calendar contained a hidden message for Steinbrenner, Jeter responded, “Are you stupid? I wrote in every remaining game we have left and even provided Lil’ Boss with a role model—a guy who knows how to keep to himself and shut his butt puffer! There’s nothing subtle here! Stop smokin’ weed, Man—it messes with your mind…”

The writer would at this time like to emphasize that he passes on grass.

Jeter also picked out a heartwarming Hallmark card which listed the 10 reasons the Yankees love their mother. It was signed by Yankees' players and staff, including one George Costanza, who almost lost the card when his friend Cosmo Kramer had it framed and sold to a memorabilia dealer.

The card ended up in the hands of a sick young boy who was recovering from a tonsillectomy. To get the card back, Kramer had to promise the child that Yankees' second baseman Robinson Cano would get his season average up over .200 by the end of the game.

Cano was able to do so thanks to a courageous 4-for-4 effort. He’s now batting a whopping .205.

Steinbrenner did, in fact, comment on the gift. Unfortunately, we are unable to print most of his profanity-laden tirade.

However, it was clear that he took offense to the Yankees’ “mother” analogy when he stated, “I don’t wear women’s clothes all that often anymore. I’m kinda sorta done with that phase of my life.”

Whatever the case, it certainly is time to panic in the Bronx. After Wednesday's 2-1 victory over Tampa Bay, the Yanks trail the Rays by 3.5 games with only 121 left to play.

Roger Goodell Calls Matt Walsh Regarding Spygate: Um, I Think We Have Enough

Smarty Pants — Fri, 09 May 2008 10:05:19 -0400

The NFL Commissioner's Office likes taping things, too. Namely, telephone conversations. Unfortunately for Roger Goodell, the Commish also has former disgruntled employees...who leak tapes...to guys like me.

You won't believe your eyes as you read the transcript of the recent conversation between Commissioner Goodell (RG) and former Patriots video assistant/current golf pro and general white guy Matt Walsh (MW).

MW: Hello?

RG: Yeah, Matty boy, this is your ol' pal Rodge. How's it hangin', my man?

MW: How's what hanging, Commissioner Goodell? Excuse me ma'am, mind if I play through?

RG: Never mind, dude. Anyway, I was checkin' out those phat videos you sent me...

MW: The Spygate material or the other stuff...

RG: Well, all of it. Wink, wink. But specifically, the Bellidork stuff.

MW: FORE! (Loud crack in background coupled with the sound of someone falling.) Sorry sir, I'm on the phone and swinging with one hand!

Random Old Guy: Ever heard of Bluetooth, you friggin' idiot!

MW: Excellent point, Sir. Might want to ice those! Just to be safe...sorry, Roger. Can you actually call him Bellidork?

RG: I can fine his cheatin' butt $500K, can't I? Where are you right now?

MW: An undisclosed location.

RG: Well, anyway, listen Mattster...hey, do you fish?

MW: Occasionally.

RG: You bait your own hook? You good at it?

MW: Yeah, yeah.

RG: You're a "Mattster baiter!" Dude, that was so awesome! Burn!

MW: Commissioner is there a point to this phone call or are we just going to dabble in innuendo for the next 10 minutes?

RG: Here, let me put my tie back on. (Pause.) Okay, that's much better. Yes, well, Mr. Walsh, I don't think we're going to have to meet Tuesday May 13 after all.

MW: Why the H-E-double-hockey-sticks not? I'm already in New...I mean, an undisclosed location!

RG: Sorry, Mr. Walsh, it's just that these tapes you gave me, it was like watching a "Two and a Half Men" re-run. I've seen it over and over and over again, and it wasn't all that good the first time. I mean, where's that Rams walk-through video I read about in the Globe?

MW: Commissioner, are you feeling okay? I wasn't the source for that...

RG: Then by-gum, who was? We knew those scumbuckets were taping defensive signals. Criminettly, we'd destroyed all that gar-bahge. Now I learn they're taping offensive signals...lah-dee-freakin'-dah! Before you know it, I'm going to have to investigate something like they're playing with the communications system in Foxboro...

MW: I have no idea what you're talking about, Sir. After all, I'm just a golf pro. I teach golf. For a living.

RG: Well, Mr. Walsh, watching those tapes with my staff was a real let-down. We'd made popcorn and ordered pizza. Crap, I even made everybody wear pajamas. I wished I'd phrased it differently. I told one guy, "Just wear what you wear to bed." He showed up naked...I'll have to deal with that next week.

MW: Are we done here then? I'd like to get back to Hawaii.

RG: Yeah, I think we've done enough to get Senator Sphincter, er Specter, off our backs.

MW: Off your back, Sir.

RG: Indeed. Well thanks for everything, Matt. Especially those other tapes.

MW: I'm going to get a drink now...

(Click.)

Cedric Benson, Chris Henry Inspire New Generation of Sports Action Figures

Smarty Pants — Mon, 05 May 2008 16:07:34 -0400

Athletic Supporter Syndicate (we can no longer use our company abbreviation due to pending litigation in eight states) gladly announces the release of our latest product line.

The company that brought you collectible classics like "Stanley Roberts' Easy Buffet" and "Mark Madsen's Dance Party" now brings you an edgy set of sports collectibles that we're sure you'll enjoy.

We now proudly introduce the NFL Offseason Lineup. Available online and in stores now.

Captain Cedric Benson $7.99

(NFL Draft) bust a move on Lake Travis, or your kitchen sink, with Cedric the Open Container. Cedric hosts. Cedric drinks. Cedric sails the high seas. Cedric still can't average 4 yards per carry. Captain Cedric figurine features pepper-sprayed action. Although flicking some water at Captain Cedric's eyes will signal the end of his weekend fun, rest assured, Admiral, yours has just begun.

Cedric the Open Container comes complete with Captain's hat and both the Travis County Sheriff Dept. and the soon-to-be ex-Bear's conflicting account of what transpired during the arrest. Cedric-sized Zima also included. Just make sure to "lose it" before the cops board!

Cedric's Boat Party $11.99

Includes built-to-scale replica of the running back's 30-ft. boat, the Silver Bullet, 15 fun-loving passengers and Chicago Bears cooler...filled to the brim with premium ice-cold liquid fun.

Wait, there's more! Save $2 on Cedric's Boat Party when you purchase Captain Cedric on the same receipt!

Chris Henry the One Man Crime Waive $7.99

You'll love squandering your talent and building a formidable rap sheet as you habitually break traffic laws and generally wreak havoc on the Queen City. Now you can be the man once dubbed by Judge Bernie Bouchard as a "one man crime wave"—who was then subsequently waived by a team whose colors aptly feature orange.

The One Man Crime Waive comes complete with boundless potential, a concealed weapon (you'll need this if you visit Florida), a suspended Ohio driver's license and a Ziploc bag o' reefer.

Chris Henry's Electronic Ankle Bracelet Accessory $3.99

Posting the requisite bail of $51,000? Enjoy house arrest in the "513" with this electronic tracking device. Locks securely around the ankle and beeps loudly upon approaching the state line.

**EXCLUSIVE ONLINE SPECIAL** **EXCLUSIVE ONLINE SPECIAL**

When you purchase Chris Henry the One Man Crime Waive and Chris Henry's Electronic Ankle Bracelet accessory from our website, we'll give you Chris Henry's Soap-on-a-Rope absolutely free! Now #15 can skirt the conditions of his probation without some of the more unpleasant repercussions that accompany an extended stay in the clink.

Playmaker Marvin Harrison $7.99

If you've ever thought you'd like to see Marvin Harrison get mad—think again! Now you can chase your favorite fat felon through the streets of Philly while recovering from a bursa sac injury and offseason arthroscopic knee surgery.

Playmaker Marvin Harrison comes ready to paarrrr-tay Philly-style and features #88 in a stylish bartender apron, wielding a wooden baseball bat. Be the future Hall-of-Famer as he...can't...quite...catch...his...obese...quarry.

We've also included a booklet "My Bursa, My Friend" completely free of charge.

Turn Key Marv $13.99

Comes complete with a "bucket o' suds"—soap suds, that is—containing the Playmaker's custom-made Belgian weapon—it's not a waffle. Store your item in our built-to-scale replica of Chuckie's Car Wash, a Philly car care institution.

Purchase the whole Philly Athlete Entrepreneur's Set for only $17.99, a savings of nearly $4. We'll also throw in a couple of Tasty Cakes, Marvin's favorite snack.

Trespassin', Pass Droppin' Kenton Keith/Keith Kenton $7.99

You'll no longer be anonymous to the Indianapolis Metro Police Dept. as you stay out past 3:00 AM as Colts backup running back Kenton Keith, or Keith Kenton, as he is affectionately known in Circle City, um, circles. Instead of politely moving along at IMPD request, dance the night away outside of the late-night hotspot of your choice.

The rhythm is going to get you...in jail.

KK comes with "I'm a Colts player, I'm a Colts player" voice action. Just press his hands together behind his back to activate this exciting feature.

We've also included a copy of the IMPD police report, where IMPD officers incorrectly refer to KK as "Keith Kenton" and "Mr. Kenton."

The fun doesn't end here, however. Simply enter in your action figure's UPC on KK's phat website to join KK's Club (the KKC) for e-mail alerts as to where he'll be trying out after he's cut by the Colts.

If you purchase any five of the above Athletic Supporter Syndicate NFL Offseason Lineup products, send the UPC's to Athletic Supporter Syndicate (it'd be nice if we could use that abbreviation) and receive a limited edition Adam "Call Me Pacman after I Actually Do Something on the Field" Jones.

This item is not for sale and can only acquired by sending in those UPC's. So start buying and start sending so you can start acquiring.

Adam Jones comes with a variety of reinstatement letters and accompanying Roger Goodell laugh track.

Athletic Supporter Syndicate: If you don't like us you can kiss our A—thletic Supporter Syndicate.

That makes no sense without the abbreviation...

Sen. Hillary Clinton Practices With Indianapolis Colts

Smarty Pants — Sat, 03 May 2008 08:57:47 -0400

The 2008 race for the Democratic Presidential Nomination took another strange turn on Friday when Sen. Hillary Clinton stopped by the Colts Rookie Camp in Indianapolis to shake some hands and, apparently, a whole lot more.

The workout looked to be a response to Sen. Barack Obama's pickup basketball stunt, er, scrimmage with the University of North Carolina men's basketball team on April 29.

The two Democrats' presidential hopes may hinge on the results of the upcoming Tuesday primaries in North Carolina and Indiana.

As she sauntered out onto the field, an uncomfortable Clinton declared, "These aren't the kind of pads I'm used to wearing."

Clinton threw back shots of Gatorade with sixth-round draft pick Mike Hart...who merely drank his.

After a not-so-rigorous 10-minute workout, Clinton offered to shower with the rookies but was encouraged to return to her quarters by Colts players and staff.

When asked how the workout went, Clinton responded, "It was great. I successfully grabbed both of Peyton Manning's balls."

Manning was quick to step in. "She caught the two passes I threw to her." He then muttered, "Of all the days to come in for a voluntary workout..."

The Colts duct-taped "Clinton '08" on the back of her pantsuit, as she refused the cheerleading outfit they'd originally planned to give her.

This, of course, brought up another sore subject.

When asked if her husband Bill, who'd been all over the state stumping for her, was around, she sighed, stared off into the distance and icily confessed, "No, Bill's across town. The Colts happen to be announcing this year's cheerleading squad in an hour or so. He said attending the event would allow him to 'get in touch with a different demographic.' I've learned not to ask what that means."

ESPN draft guru Mel Kiper, Jr., had this to say about Clinton's workout: "Hillary might look like a dude but she definitely plays like a girl."

He concluded, "That said, although I'm no basketball expert, I still think she could take Obama on the basketball court, given what I saw out of him in Chapel Hill last week."

Colts' Keith Tells Police Who He Is; Police Unimpressed

Smarty Pants — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 15:30:22 -0400

Indianapolis backup running back Kenton Keith, also known as KK—presumably only to himself—and "Keith Kenton" or "Mr. Kenton" to Indianapolis Metropolitan Police, was arrested on Monday, April 20, 2008, in the Cloud 9 parking lot in Indianapolis, IN, at approximately 3 A.M.

Apparently, while he was resisting arrest and eventually being arrested, police said that Keith kept repeating "I'm a Colts player." IMPD was even kind enough to release the police report to the Indianapolis Star. If you have a few moments and want a good laugh, check it out.

Way to go, Keith. I mean Kenton. I mean Keith Kenton.

"Mr. Kenton" was arrested on four charges: disorderly conduct, resisting law enforcement, public intoxication (who'd have guessed?) and contributing to the delinquency of a minor.

Oops.

It also appears that he snuck a 19 year-old male into the club with him. Kenton's male buddy was on vacation from Omaha. Because many Nebraskans enjoy coming to Indiana for a chance to get away from it all.

While I was aware that Kenton Keith is a Colts' running back with suspect hands (sorry, couldn't resist), I was unaware that in addition to dropping passes near the goalline in playoff games, he also maintains a phat website. Click here to view it. You will especially enjoy the Q&A.

After reviewing KK's "Ask KK" section, I have a question for KK: Does KK know how to run a spell check?

I especially like the disclaimer "Kenton may not be able to answer all questions."

Feel free to enter your own punchline here.

Incidentally, sighs of relief were breathed throughout the Indiana Pacer organization, especially from one Jamaal Tinsley.

Although to Mr. Kenton's credit, no shots were fired.

KK could also have been accused of lying to a police officer, as the statement "I'm a Colts player" may not ring true much longer. Statements like "I was a Colt player" or "I'm a dolt" would have been far more accurate.

Keith may have already been skating on thin ice after his crucial dropped pass in Indy's season-ending playoff debacle against the Chargers. The fact that he dropped a pass was no news in Indy—he'd actually made a pretty decent habit of that throughout the regular season. However, his implication that #18's pass may have been a little on the high side didn't sit well with the organization, its fans, or (most importantly) #18 himself.

If Peyton can off an "idiot kicker," imagine what he'll do to a guy so anonymous in Indy that the cops don't even know his name. Until recently, at least.

Let's just say that I don't imagine #36 dropping many more passes as a Colt.

KK toiled in the CFL for four years before catching on with the Colts last season. Although he showed flashes of NFL talent this past season, he could once again be heading north of the border and may need to brush up on the phrase, "I'm an American."

Mountees love that stuff.

Note: Not necessarily funny, but to be fair, Keith Kenton, er, Kenton Keith pled not guilty to a charge of misdemeanor criminal trespassing on April 23, 2008. Although IMPD arrested Keith on four charges, the Marion County prosecutor's office decided to charge the Colts' backup running back with misdemeanor criminal trespassing. Pure speculation here, but I'm guessing IMPD did not administer a Breathalyzer when arresting Mr. Kenton, meaning there was no evidence of public intoxication or contributing to the delinquency of a minor.