My Advice To Monday Night Football

     If Monday Night Football wants to have any hope of surviving on ESPN, they'd better take this bit of advice to heart:

Tell Tony Kornholer to shut the fuck up!!

Reds Name Batboy Interim Manager

     Just one day after the Cincinnati Reds fired Jerry Narron, the Reds upper management named Ricky "Wet Pants" Pantolozzo Interim Manager. GM Wayne Krivsky said that Pantolozzo showed "spunk and the will to get the job done". The 13 year-old Pantolozzo has spent 2 seasons with the team as batboy

     "I always wanted to play in the big leagues, but this is just awesome!" exclaimed the visibly excited Pantolozzo.

     Ricky’s dad said that details of the contract terms still need to be worked out. "I mean, what happens when school starts?" the elder Pantolozzo queried. "Ricky has a curfew you know. We’re very strict with that, his mother and I. 10 o’ clock, no ifs, ands or buts. And then there’s homework also. When will he have time for that? It’s all got to be discussed with the organization. I’m sure we’ll come to some sort of compromise though."

     Ricky’s dad is also worried about what kind of salary Ricky will earn. "Ricky just a few months ago got a raise in his allowance, up to five bucks a week. That’s a two dollar a week bump. I want him to learn the value of a dollar, and that things just aren’t handed to you in life. You have to earn it."

     Krivsky defended his choice for the position by saying "(he’s) a good kid. He has a dedication to the team, and for a thirteen year-old, he has an immense understanding of the game. Besides, we have the worst record in baseball, what could it hurt?"

     Numerous phone calls to Jerry Narron’s home number went unanswered.

I Want My NHL

     How did we get to this point? How did we allow this to happen? What must be done to change it? The NHL has become.....I don’t know if I can bring myself to say it. It is a universal truth, however. The NHL has become candy-assed. How can we, the die-hard, beer-swilling hockey fans have let things get this bad? For two years now I have been wondering who suffered most from the lockout and the new CBA. Now I know. The fans are the losers here. Gary Bettman bent us over the bench and fucked us, no lube. After a year without hockey, we were happy to just have it back, regardless of it’s transformation. We were ecstatic to have the boys back on the ice. Now, I’m not so sure.

     We have been slowly and methodically robbed of the game we love. So slowly it happened, that we didn’t even recognize the fact that the thieves were here. Hell, some of us even invited them in. A few of us even asked them to stay for dinner. Like the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, Bettman and his pack of money worshiping suits snuck in and replaced our hockey with a watered down, feel-good, family-fun night.

     I’m sick over this. I was fooled right along with the rest of you. Gary Bettman told us he could make hockey as big as the NFL, or the NBA, and we believed him. He said he could spread the love of hockey from sea to shining sea, from north to south, and we believed him. Now, the league is straddling the fence, on the brink of total failure if something isn’t done soon to fix it. Fans, real fans, life-long fans, are giving up. My old pal Ken Socrates told me that he didn’t watch the Stanley Cup presentation after the Anaheim Ducks won it in five games over the Ottawa Senators. For those of you who don’t know him, that’s somewhere along the same line as me not sticking around for dessert. It just doesn’t happen. Another friend of mine didn’t even watch the final Cup round. He said he was so disillusioned with the NHL that he was boycotting it. I watched it all, but I was left with a feeling of emptiness. It was a letdown. It was the same feeling I get when I expect a massive top sirloin steak and a bottle of Glenlivet, and instead receive flank steak and shot of Old Crow.

     So, how do we fix it? First and foremost, Gary Bettman needs to go. The man has done nothing but fuck things up since he first took the reins. Get somebody in there who is serious about making hockey a sport to be proud of. Someone who can say no to the big money that seems to be dictating how things are going to be. I don’t know who that someone is, but we’d better find him soon. Second, bring back the game that used to be. Ban visors and helmets. This is hockey, you candy-asses! Take it like a man! You wanna be a pretty boy? Go play in the NFL. Get rid of these God damned monster pads that they wear. Personally I think the pads are at the root of the injuries we’re seeing now. The prospect of doing as much damage to yourself as to your opponent on a hit would make you think twice before delivering it. Third, don’t pretend this is a sport to take the wife and kids to for a fun night out. Hockey is about big men beating the shit out of each other for an hour, and liking it. If you don’t like that sort of thing, stay the fuck away! Yes, this will shrink the fan base, but what would you rather have, widely popular candy-ass hockey, or a niche sport that hangs on to it’s integrity and it’s soul. It’s up to us to decide.

Brett Hull Comes Clean: "I have a small penis"

Brett Hull, future NHL Hall of Fame-er, is usually classified as a bad-boy. Some classify him as a jerk. There are even those that would go so far as to say that he is a complete fucking asshole. He is rough, opinionated, and doesn’t care who he pisses off. Most of Canada would like to give Hull a blanket party for his "traitorous" act of defecting to the US National Team in 1986, after having been turned down by Team Canada. Hull holds dual citizenship in Canada and the US by virtue of his legendary father, Bobby Hull, being Canadian and his mother being a US citizen.

     Brett Hull has also ruffled the feathers of many an NHL suit by being very vocal in his criticisms of Gary Bettman, NHL commissioner, and also the Versus Network, rival NHL broadcaster of NBC, for whom Hull is a part time analyst.

     If you watch NBC’s hockey broadcasts, you will notice Hull is as abrasive on the air as he is behind the scenes. In the banter between Hull and fellow hosts Bill Clement and Ray Ferraro, you can hear a constant stream of "stupid", "ignorant", "moron", and "retard", being muttered by Hull. You know that if it wasn’t for the FCC he would be spouting a string of "pussies", "shitheads", and "fucknuts" as well. Not to mention the fact that he looks bleary-eyed drunk. His father Bobby, despite being one of the greatest hockey players of all time, was an abrasive, hard-drinking wife-beater, and well, they say this stuff runs in the genes.

     I recently bumped into the Golden Brett outside his dressing room after a late night playoff game. I’m not one to pass up an opportunity, so I approached him and asked if he’d mind a quick interview. His response was less than friendly, but it wasn’t a no.

     "Jesus Christ! What kind of mad-scientist experiment gone wrong are you?"

     I explained that I was a sports writer, albeit an amateur, and again asked him if he could spare just a few minutes.

     "Holy fuck! How can I say no? You might fall on me."

     I inquired about his abrasive nature, how it seemed sometimes that he was purposely saying things that would provoke and antagonize people.

     "Look, I’m just a no bullshit guy, okay? I say what’s on my mind. I don’t believe in sugar-coating things just to be ‘sensitive’ to people’s feelings. If you can’t handle the truth, that’s not my problem, is it? I can’t help it if the world is full of panty-waste pussies that can’t deal with truth."

     I then fed him a statistic of the number of psychologists who claim that aggressive and antagonistic behaviour in men can usually be traced to an overcompensation in response to feelings of inadequacy. Either that or they were molested as children.

     "What the fuck did you just say?" was Brett’s response. "Are you saying I was molested? Look, you fat bastard, my dad may have been a mean-drunk son-of-a-bitch, but he never laid a finger on me like that!"

     Whoa now! I assured Mr. Hull that I had not implied anything of the sort. In fact, the stat I had given gave two possible causes.

     "I know!" screeched Brett, "But I didn’t understand the first part!"

     I made a couple attempts to clarify the statement about feelings of inadequacy, but Brett wasn’t getting it. This was going to take a blunt approach.

     "Mr. Hull, sir, do you have......." I wasn’t sure I was ready for the consequences of the question I was about to ask. "Do you have a.............small penis?"

     His face flushed to the color of a Redwings jersey, and I thought that I was about to see the full fury of the Golden Brett unleashed upon my body. I braced myself, with visions of some of the checks I had seen him throw during his career racing through my mind. However, the most unexpected thing happened. The flood gates opened. Tears began to stream down his face. He began to shake uncontrollably, then he buried his face in my chest and it all came out.

     "Yes! Yes! It’s true! I have a small penis! I don’t want to be an asshole! I just can’t help it, because I have a small penis! I HAVE A SMALL PENIS!"

     It was a hard situation to handle, but it was necessary. Afterwards we went to a bar, got shit-faced drunk, traded some punches, and even got a couple tattoos. I assure you that Brett Hull is now more of a man than he has ever been in his life.

Jim Playfair? Not!

     I think the Calgary Flames have been getting too much sugar in their diet lately. It’s clogging up their bowels and turning them into candy-asses. I can’t remember the last time I saw a hockey team have a complete sophomoric breakdown like the Flames had during Game 5 of their NHL Playoff Quarterfinals against the Detroit Redwings.

     From what I’ve seen, the ‘Wings have completely outplayed and outclassed Calgary in nearly every game of this series. Game 5 showed what the Flames are really made of. When it became obvious that Detroit was wiping their noses with the Flames, Calgary seemed to just lose it and became like that bully in school that we all knew, whose reaction to losing always seemed to be to beat up the nearest target.

     I was originally going to make this rant strictly against Jamie McLennan, who perpetrated the most vicious foul of the game, but after much thought and going over the highlights I have decided to make Calgary’s coach, Jim Playfair (an ironic name if I’ve ever heard one), the focus of my rage.

     The Flames have been known recently as sore losers, and of course emotions run higher in the playoffs, but that is no excuse for what happened in this game. The Flames are an embarrassment to the NHL and should be heavily fined for what went on.

     Daymond Langkow’s sucker-punch to the face of Brett Lebda left me with my jaw on the floor. I couldn’t believe what I had just witnessed. In my opinion there’s not much difference in that blow than Todd Bertuzzi’s attack on Steve Moore. This wasn’t the first infraction of the game, and I witnessed many hacks, slashes, cross-checks and other illegal hits that never got the call from the referee.

     Then came the most damning evidence against Jim Playfair. With the game already lost and the Flames obviously embarrassed by their lack of skill and sportsmanship, Playfair pulled starting goalie Mikka Kiprusoff and replaced him with Jamie McLennan. The part that baffled me here was that he didn’t pull Kiprusoff immediately after Detroit’s fifth goal. The game went on for a bit, then at the next break Playfair made the move. Nearly as soon as the puck hit the ice McLennan was slashing at the calf of Johan Franzen. When he was called for slashing and play was stopped, McLennan whacked Franzen across the midsection. Now I must admit that at first I was having a hard time trying to figure out why McLennan would pull such a bone-headed move. Then it dawned on me. Playfair had sent out head-hunters. It was more than obvious that Playfair knew they were going to lose, so he sent his boys out to do damage. Damage that may carry over to Game 6. He didn’t want his number one goalie to get suspended, so he pulled Kiprusoff and put McLennan in as the Kamikaze.

     Jim Playfair, you’re a candy-ass. You, my friend, have made it on to my list. You’re nothing but a sore-loser, whiney bitch.. I hope the NHL fucks you right up your sugar-coated rectum, you pussy! You now have the distinction of leading the herd for Candy-ass Of The Year, you puke.

Don Imus, Satan Make Deal

     Shortly after MSNBC announced that it would no longer be simulcasting his radio show, Don Imus shot back with his own jaw-dropper. In an unforseen move, Imus announced that he had come to an agreement with The Devil that would allow him to remain as host of his CBS radio "Imus In The Morning" talk show.

     Imus has been dragged over the coals for his insensitive remark aimed at the Rutgers women’s basketball team after they won the national title. Imus, who has defended his remarks by claiming that his show is a "comedy show" not a "news show", has apologized for his stupidity, but that was not enough for some big-wigs. MSNBC announced that it would stop simulcasting his show. The broadcasting world has been waiting for the other shoe to drop, some thinking that CBS will fire the bigot as well. It would now appear there is no other shoe.

     A press release received via Imus’ agent seems to have quelled all speculation. Short and to the point, the press release reads as follows:

     "In an effort to save my pathetic career, I have reached an agreement with a higher authority that will allow me to remain as host of my radio show on CBS. After lengthy negotiations with Satan, I believe we have reached an agreeable solution. I will continue to broadcast my "Imus In The Morning" show for the rest of my life, however long that may be. In return, when my life is over, I will spend a short period of time in the depths of Hell, after which I will be reincarnated as a ‘nappy-headed ho’."

***UPDATE***

Well, having just learned that CBS has now fired Mr. Imus, this leads me to only one conclusion. You can't even trust The Devil anymore. Go figure.

Snap!.......SNAP!

     Ok, it’s very hard for me to maintain some semblance of self control on this one. I like golf. I watch it occasionally, not all the time, but I catch quite a few tournaments throughout the year. I even tried playing it a few times. It’s not my kind of game. It probably has to do with my body type. I still like the game.

     It would appear, however, that golf attracts candy-asses. I’m not saying everyone who plays golf is a candy-ass, that would be very unfair. In fact, as a child my best friend’s dad was a golfer. He enjoyed his golf, and I must attest, he was the furthest thing from a candy-ass that you could find. The fact remains that most of the professional golfers you see are not athletes.

     My case in point, John Daly. I am using every ounce of my will power to maintain control while I write this. The story is he injured a rib because a fan snapped a picture of him on his back swing. Yes, you heard me right. She snapped a picture, and this caused an injury to his rib. No matter how many times I read it, I still can’t believe it. This has got to be the most candy-assed thing I’ve heard yet pertaining to sports. Hey John, how about you stop sucking down beers and hit the gym once in a while? Cut the barbecues back to just weekends? Couldn’t hurt, you know. I’m fuming so badly over this one that I can’t see straight to type. I may start a petition to have golf banned from any respectful sports reporting agency. This kind of shit makes real athletes want to punch golfers in the nutsack. John Daly is a big, candy-assed baby, and this story seals the deal.

     So, golfers, take heed. Go to the gym, stay away from Bob’s Country Buffet, get off the fucking cart and walk! Otherwise, don’t even think about calling yourselves athletes.

     John Daly, you are a marked man, my friend. I am establishing you as the first nominee for Candy Ass Of The Year. Be proud.

The Hangover

     Well, another NFL season is over. It seemed to end with a whimper. At best it was a heavy sigh. All day I wondered which Rex Grossman would show up, Good Grossman or Evil Grossman. I was still left hanging in indecision through the first half. The second half however, left no doubt about which Rex was there. Evil Grossman reared his ugly head and refused to be vanquished. If he wants to continue his career in the NFL he had better learn that those lame-duck floater passes are not earning him any street cred. The defensive line is not getting off easy here either. I wish I could come up with a new clever analogy for this but I can't. The Bear's defense had more holes than swiss cheese. Ugly is as ugly does.

     Congratulations to Peyton Manning and the Colts. I know Manning gets a lot of crap, but he is without a doubt a good QB. I'm just glad this damn NFL brain-fuck is over. Can it get any slower? I'm sure The Great Commissioner will try. At least now we can get on with sports that hold the attention. No, stay away from that kind of thinking. This is about the Superbowl. Stay on track. That's a rant for another time. I think I'm done here. The empty glass of Guinness at my elbow verifies that. The Colts win, and nobody outside of Indy cares. Except my bookie.

The Superbowl

     Well, yet another Superbowl that I don't give a rat's ass about. In 1985 I was so for the Bears. They had personality. They had whatever it is that teams have that make you like 'em. They had 'The Superbowl Shuffle'. Well, nobody's perfect. This year the Bears have......nothing. Why does anybody follow this team? I suppose if you live in Chicago that may be some small reason, but even if I lived there I think I'd be asking myself, "How the hell did these guys make it to the Superbowl?". Rex Grossman is the most sporadic, hot-cold quarterback I've seen since Brian Griese. The rest of the team has been nearly non-existant all season.

     The Indianapolis Colts. Hmmmmm. I don't know whether to like or hate these guys. Peyton Manning is a nice enough fella. He's even a good quarterback. He makes funny commercials. They also had that winning streak going, until they crumbled like angel-food cake. I could really like them if they were still in Baltimore, but that's just nostalgia. I dunno.

     I'm gonna flip a coin on this one. Even the alpacas aren't helping me this year. The coin says Indianapolis. I'll make up the score. 34-17. My bookie is offering 7 points on the Colts right now. I think I'll take it.

Beckham Comes to America, Americans Don't Care

     David Beckham, Britain's well known soccer star, is coming to  America, and the buzz on the street is..............well, there is no buzz. The man with whom MLS is resting all it's hopes on so far has been ignored by American sports fans. When will they give up on trying to make soccer popular here? We don't want it. Some things just shouldn't be tampered with. Leave it alone already. We have baseball, the rest of the world has soccer. Deal with it. Of course, David Beckham doesn't care, he's getting $250 million whether we notice or not. It's the American Dream.

Texans' Kubiak: "We still suck."

     Texas Texans' head coach Gary Kubiak, in an impromptu press conference at an undisclosed Waffle House, told reporters that despite his high hopes the team fell well short of his expectations. Kubiak said that despite hard work and some surprising wins over some very good teams, "We still suck. We're just a really, really awful team. We couldn't find an endzone if you eliminated everything between the goal lines."

T.O. Quits Football, Starts New Career

     Terrell Owens has announced he is quitting football, for good. Yesterday in a press conference held in the troubled NFL player's basement bathroom, T.O. made it clear that he was done once and for all with the sport that has brought him nothing but ridicule and sadness.

     "I mean it. I'm done. I have a new direction in life, one that makes me happy and will bring me the respect I deserve." said Owens, his face radiating a glow not seen by this reporter in quite some time.

     What is it that has given new life to this tragically demeaned superstar? Music. Yes, music. The former Prince of the Endzone Celebration is laying down his helmet and picking up a headset. He is adopting the rap moniker 'DJ Hissy Fit', spinning discs and laying bare his heart and soul in the 'thump-thump' beat of the street. Terrell........I mean DJ Hissy Fit gave the handful of reporters present a preview of his genius song-writing skills. Songs like 'Trow Me Da Ball', 'Ref, Are You Blind!?', and 'Donovan McNabb Was My Bitch'.

     "It's been like therapy for me, man." Owens........I mean Hissy sighed, a tear forming in the corner of his eye. "Music has given me a new life. It literally saved my life. It's letting me, like, get all this aggression out, man. When I get angry about some fool dissin' me, I write a song about it instead of, like, punchin' the stupid mutha. In fact I'm almost done with another one that was, like, inspired by a situation at the grocery store the other day. I'm callin' it 'I'm T.O. Dammit, Don't Ya Dare Take My Parkin' Space, Bitch!'. That's just a working title though. I may shorten it to something like, 'Suck My Bumpa'. I'm really having fun with it."

     Owens says he has approached several record labels with his demos and is anxiously awaiting their call backs. He hopes to have a debut cd out for Valentine's Day. Says DJ Hissy Fit, "It's like, a really romantic holiday, ya know, and combined with my music, well, ya know, I'd be proud to know I was like, responsible for some homies gettin' a li'l sump'n-sumpn." Needless to say, this reporter is waiting with baited breath.

Tennis Phenom Gives Birth Courtside

     Tennis fans at the Manhattan Beach Country Club were witness to more than smoking serves and marathon volleys during first round play at the L’eggs Open Pro Am Tennis Tournament. Young tennis phenom Ivana Gurlova had just won the first set against her opponent Sissy Mann and was walking to her seat when she fell to her knees, doubled over in pain. A hush fell over the crowd as Ivana’s trainer rushed to her side, then carried her to her chair at courtside. Ivana screamed in apparent pain as medical staff rushed to her aid, but no one seemed able to determine what ailed the young athlete.

     After many tense moments, it became evident that Miss Gurlova was about to give birth. Clean towels and hot water were brought to the doctors on hand, and after about fifteen minutes of intense labor, Miss Gurlova gave birth to a beautiful 13 ounce carbon-fiber racquet. Miss Gurlova said that she had experienced some indigestion earlier in the morning, but had no idea that she was even expecting. She refused to elaborate on who the father might be. Both mother and racquet were doing well, in fact Miss Gurlova was able to finish her match. She lost to her opponent in three sets. Miss Gurlova’s coach explained, "She just gave birth for crying out loud! That takes a little bit out of your game."

I Really Want To Understand Cricket

     It is a well known fact that I don’t like baseball. It’s not that I don’t think it’s a sport, I just don’t like it. It’s a boring game. I used to watch it, and even enjoyed it. Now I can hardly stand it. Anyhow, the point is I don’t like it. Oddly enough though, I am terribly curious about the sport that gave birth to American baseball. I want to understand the game of cricket. It seems that cricket should be a fairly simple game. Why is it then, that nobody can explain it to me? Many have tried and failed. I don’t think it’s because I’m a dense person. I consider myself to be rather intelligent, yet I have had English folk, that actually live in England, and actually go to cricket matches, and actually enjoy it, try to explain the sport to me to no avail. I have searched the internet, looking for something that could properly explain it to me. No luck. Until it can be explained to me in terms that I can comprehend, I shall stick to a theory I have developed. There are no rules to cricket. Someone builds a quaint little structure made of sticks, a fellow throws a ball at the sticks, and another fellow tries to hit the ball with a wooden bat. Sometimes he hits the ball, sometimes he doesn’t. Points are awarded randomly and without reason. No wonder I hate baseball.

 

 Poker Is Not A Sport

     How the hell did this get started? There is a particular cable sports channel that I will not name, let’s just say it ends with ‘2', that seems to have come up with the idea that watching has-been celebrities playing high stakes poker is entertaining. It’s not always celebrities, of course. It started with these fucking freaks of nature who spent years playing on ‘poker-pussies.com’ because they have no other life, suddenly thinking they are someone special because they are the ‘Texas Hold’em Champion of the Universe’. Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good poker game now and then, and although I’ve never played it, Texas Hold’em appears to be a fun game. I don’t, however, want to watch it for hours, day after day, ad nauseam, on the Goddamn tv. Not when there are so many other real sports out there to watch. Hell, I’d rather watch curling than poker. Poker is not a spectator sport. Who is watching this crap that makes the big suits upstairs in the sports networks think that it is a good idea? Candy-asses.

© 2007 Ozzy McGurt