Tom Brady is Better Than You

(photo from Boston.com)

I’m sorry, I know people are getting tired of the Brady crushing and man-crushing. I know fans of other teams are rolling their eyes. I’m sure you’re sick of it. (Unless you’re a Colts fan, in which case, SHUT IT). But damn, dudes, last night, Tom Brady was better than you. And better than me. And better than everyone. That was a fun football game.

But can I tell you all how insane I am? Can I explain to you why I’m not a balanced person? Can I share that with you? Marianne showed up and I demanded she put on the Junior Seau jersey. Then the Pats were leading 31-7 with four minutes left in the game and I really needed to pee. However, I was sitting cross-legged on my couch with my laptop on my knees and I WOULD NOT GET UP because I was convinced that something bad would happen if I did. Earlier in the game, I grabbed Marianne’s Sox hat off the couch and put it on. Then Brady threw an interception and I took off the hat and threw it at her as if it were covered in maggots. Because, obviously, the hat was the problem. Then I got irritated with her when she fell asleep because HELLO, IT’S THE PATRIOTS STAY AWAKE, PLEASE.

So, in short, I am not well. It is a wonder my roommate has not killed me in my sleep.

Oh, and while we’re here, Brady’s receivers would like to address ESPN and everyone who said that he needs to work on his passing game.

Dear ESPN,

Tom Brady does not need a “go-to receiver.” We prefer the element of surprise.

Sincerely,
All 10 receivers Brady used last night.

But I know one thing: If I’m Peyton Manning right now, I’m not looking at next week’s game at Gillette as a walk in the park. I’m more than a little concerned about that Laurence Maroney fellow and Tom Brady is clearly not messing around. I hope it snows nineteen feet. The good thing is that said game will be taking place the day after my birthday and it’s possible that I’ll still be inebriated. If by “possible,” I mean “probable.”

Dear Patriots,

All I want for my birthday is to beat the Colts in our house! (And maybe a Tom Brady bobblehead).

Love,
Me

I know Broncos and Steelers fans will also be cheering for the Pats this coming week as we all come together in our mutual hatred of the Colts. It’s really quite a touching story when you think about it.

Man, I LOVE football.

No more distractions

Pretty birdy…

So…that happened. And, so far as I can tell, no one around these parts did much more than shrug and turn our attentions fully to football season. And while I still think it’s kind of bullshit that an 83 win team won the World Series, I guess thems the breaks. Pretty sure it says something though about the relative lack of excitement in said World Series as Amy, Marianne, Jen and I were nearly falling asleep as the last outs were recorded. Of course, we’d spent the earlier part of the evening watching the DVD of Game 4 of the 2004 World Series as it was the two year anniversary and the strongest reaction when the Cardinals secured the victory was from Amy who said, “Those motherfuckers stole our day!” But we quickly moved on, changed the channel and Amy and I left to attend a boy band singalong at the Coolidge. (Shut up, it was AWESOME).

So that’s how it went down. And that’s about as exciting as it gets. People have lamented the fact that baseball season is over for a few months now but personally, I’ve felt like it’s been over for a while. Not that I didn’t enjoy the playoff games I watched and not that Sam’s descent into lunacy wasn’t HIGHLY entertaining, but it’s almost November. It feels like fall. The Patriots are playing good football and the Colts are, once again, being giant show-offy pains in the ass. It’s football season.

Speaking of the Colts…I don’t think I could really be considered a Denver Broncos fan but yesterday, oh boy, yesterday, I was. Mentally decked out in orange and blue and waving the foam finger, I was channeling the spirit of John Elway and imploring John Lynch to “JUMP ON HIS HEAD!” Because no one ever gets to Peyton. Why? And I have never, ever, ever wanted Adam Vinatieri to miss so much in my entire life. Jerk. I hate that I have to hate him now.

Of course, this just means that the hype for next week’s Colts/Pats game is already threatening to eat the world. And now I don’t just want to beat them, I want to break them. Into many, tiny, unrecognizable pieces. I hope it snows nineteen feet.

But, before we deal with the Colts, we must deal with the Vikings tonight on Monday Night Football. Lomo makes his triumphant return to Minnesota and the boys face off against someone who is both named Brad and wearing purple. But I’m sure they’ve overlooked nothing.

Oh, and while we’re on the subject of football, I’d like you all to know that my mom called me after the Steelers lost to the Raiders, (seriously, Sebastian, I’m coming over to take away all sharp objects), and called Roethlisberger an idiot, Cowher a moron and the entire Steelers organization irresponsible jackasses. Because, seriously, why do you play Baby Ben in that situation? Why? In less than a year he’s been concussed twice, had his appendix removed, had a dangerously high fever and, I think, some thumb thingie. And, you know, he’s also played like shit. So you play him why? I’m just really glad, at this point, that the Steelers aren’t my team. Because wow, that’s finding new and impressive ways to suck right there. Yikes.

So no more baseball to distract us from the task at hand, that being marching into Minnesota, kicking ass and taking names. Go, boys, go!

Oh, and I’m not what one would consider a basketball fan but it’s worth noting that the Boston sports scene lost an icon this weekend when Red Auerbach died. It’s reasonable to call him the architect of the Celtics past dynasty and to say that without Auerbach, we wouldn’t have a standard against which to measure greatness around these parts. Rest in peace, Red.

Behold the Power of the Head Sock

You guys, we know why the Tigers lost last night. There was nary a head sock to be found. I’m telling you, therein lies the key. Forget about resin or dirt or pine tar or chocolate cake or whatever the hell, the power rests in the head sock.

Personally, I think Placido needs to bust out the one on the right, with just the eye holes and make himself look like The Fly. Who doesn’t want to see that?

Get on it, boys. It’s best not to mess around with this kind of mojo.

Body Language

(photo from Boston.com)

If we want to read into Tom Brady’s body language some more, how about we take a look at the utter look of disbelief he flashed after tossing an ill-advised touchdown pass to Doug Gabriel on Sunday. Brady is just really glad that sometimes, his receivers are smarter than he is. From Yahoo! News:

“Stupidity by me,” Brady said.

He wasn’t referring to an interception or incompletion. Rather, Brady was discussing a 5-yard pass on the run that found Doug Gabriel open in the end zone with the game already out of reach in the fourth quarter.

“Lucky,” Brady said.

But those are our Patriots, not content with just a win so long as there are things to work on. And this is the NFL, there will ALWAYS be things to work on. Rosevelt Colvin sums it up best:

“I feel pretty good right now just because we won the game,” said linebacker Rosevelt Colvin. “But I do feel we can get better.”

Of course, our Patriots are never going to admit that the other team was largely responsible for the clusterfuck on their side of the field. At least, not while Bill Belichick is steering the ship. But the Bills themselves don’t seem to have a problem with it:

“Our performance out there was embarrassing,” linebacker London Fletcher said. “It’s just not good football. … It’s the same mistakes over and over again.”

You can say that again. At one point, during one of the final series of the game – you know, the one where JP Losman attempted to scramble, ran directly into a ref, fumbled and was immediately buried under the entire Patriots secondary – a member of the Bills O-line was actually laughing. Laughing! At how badly they suck! Hilarious for us, not so much for Losman who was, if I’m not mistaken, doing that thing that people do where they pretend to yawn so you don’t see them cry. Because there is no way he was actually tired. Unless getting pounced on by the Patriots is boring to him.

Oh, and since he popped right back up like a Whack-a-Mole, can we all agree that Brady running directly into a sack and ending up flat on his back, staring up at the Buffalo sky was actually pretty hilarious? He’s fine, he’s not hurt and I’m sure he’ll look at film and laugh. It’s just funny to see your golden boy quarterback run with a full head of steam into an immovable object. I’ve been saying lately to anyone who will listen (and probably many people that won’t), that Tom Brady is deceptively tough. And I really think he is. He’s taller than people think (6’4″) and by all accounts, is always the first to the weight room and last to leave so it’s a reasonable assumption that a high percentage of his 225 lbs is muscle. (And no, I did not know Brady’s vitals by heart, I had to look them up. Okay, that’s a lie, I knew them by heart. So sue me). He’s not going to be winning any footraces anytime soon, but he’ll be the first to tell you that. But Brady is no sissy QB. He can take his hits with the best of ’em.

Next week the Pats are showcased in Monday Night Football against Minnesota. The Vikings have been playing well lately. And the Patriots are…the Patriots. Should be a good matchup.

Oh, and one more thing about the football. You knew I wasn’t going to ignore the fact that Rodney Harrison was voted the NFL’s dirtiest player by his peers. Of course, if I’m not mistaken, the voting was done before this season started. And Harrison missed most of last season. As Junior Seau, Harrison’s teammate in San Diego and now New England said on Channel 4 news the other day, “You hate him when he’s playing against you. But you love him on your team.” I don’t think Harrison is particularly dirty. I think he might be overzealous at times and yes, he does not readily take shit from anyone, but as Steve DeOssie pointed out, “What no one will tell you is that you’re trying to take the other guy down. You want them carted off the field. You want them gone.” To that end, I don’t think Harrison takes cheap shots. He hits hard, sure, and I’m certain that he takes pride in that (while the Colts whine to the league and beg to have the rules changed), but Harrison has been hurt himself and knows what it’s like to miss serious time. I don’t think he’s a bad guy. I think he’s an excellent football player. And, as my brother’s shirt says, “Talk shit, get hit” with a #37 in the background.

Also, apparently Brady got a single vote for dirtiest player as well. “Huh,” Brady said in a post game press conference, “I wonder who I pissed off. Must be a Jet or a Dolphin or something. Those guys don’t like me too much.” Maybe, Tom, but my money’s on Matt Cassel.

And speaking of backup QB’s, last night in Dallas marked the third time in his career that Drew Bledsoe has been benched in favor of his backup. We all remember what happened when Brady took the field (as they say, the rest is history), but Bledsoe also lost the starting job to JP Losman in Buffalo. The very same JP Losman seen powering through his tears on Sunday. And now, Bledsoe was benched at halftime for Tony Romo. Who’s first pass was intercepted. Yikes. As Tony Kornheiser said approximately twelve seconds before Bledsoe was sacked for a safety, “I don’t know if you make that play call with a QB who’s as immobile as the actually Statue of Liberty.” Romo didn’t look much better. I think if you’re a Dallas fan right now, you can reasonably raise your alert level to “Clusterfuck.”

And a single note on baseball: Game 1, no head sock, Tigers lose. Game 2, head sock, Tigers win. Forget about Kenny Rogers Mysterious Substance of Mystery and Wonderment, the key is in the head sock, people.

And then there were two.

(photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Dear Carlos,

Why aren’t you swinging?

Sincerely,
Everyone

I mean honestly, if you’re going down, at least go down fighting. Bases loaded? Two outs? Bottom of the ninth? Winning run on? Pretty sure even Mark “Cheetos” Bellhorn would have taken a hack at that pitch. ‘Course, it might’ve been three yards outside the strike zone but still, he likely would have tried. You just can’t watch that stuff go by.

Amy, who was busy counseling her Mets fan friend, Christopher through the drama, was relaying his psychosis. Which, naturally, I understood. As Lo Duca drew his walk to load the bases I told her, “Please tell Christopher that it is times like this where I wish we could timeshare David Ortiz. And that must mean that I think he’s a lovely fellow because the gift of Papi is not a small one.”

“Man,” Christopher replied (via Amy), “If we had Papi, I would have just turned off the TV and started celebrating as soon as Lo Duca drew his walk.” So, see? Red Sox fans and Mets fans, bonding in their time of need over the unbelievable badassery and clutchness of David Ortiz. Willing to bet people do not have that conversation about Derek Jeter. Hmph.

Also, I know St. Louis is in the Midwest and all and therefore, there’s a sort of polite, nothing too crazy nature about these ballplayers and their fans but I gotta say, what a lame celebration. La Russa looks positively amped. I mean, I know they were in New York but if you’re not gonna do it up, what’s the point? I guess maybe I’m spoiled as, short of a World Series celebration by the Cubs and their fans, I can’t really imagine anything coming close to the intensity and bugshit insanity of the 2004 ALCS and World Series celebrations. I distinctly remember thinking that last year’s White Sox celebration was rather ho hum as well. Sure, you’ve always got one or two guys jumping around like lunatics (Bobby Jenks last year, Jeff Weaver this year), but when the Red Sox did it, normally stoic guys like Jason Varitek were getting hammered on Bud Light and rapping along to Eminem. To say nothing of what Kevin Millar was doing. It was cathartic. But I’m biased. I guess it’s always better when the insanity is yours. Although I refuse to believe that Jose Reyes and Pedro wouldn’t have been HIGHLY entertaining for everyone watching. Ah, what could have been.

Plus, after Endy Chavez’s freakin’ AMAZING catch to rob the home run earlier in the game, I felt confident going forward that he would be hitting the game winner, thus completing the “unlikely hero” story. Alas, it was not to be. I hate it when the cosmos don’t listen to me.

And is it just me or does Yadier Molina look like a pretty, pretty lady? Just me then? Okay. Moving on.

I also heard tell that Jeff Suppan won the NLCS MVP. Heh, I’m sure it was for his baserunning prowess.

So I’m going Tigers all the way. They’re just more fun. And these Cardinals are nowhere near as good as their 2004 counterparts who got steamrolled by the Red Sox so somehow, it just doesn’t seem right. Besides, I haven’t seen anyone on the Cardinals break out a Head Sock yet and you know Polanco is just dying to bust his out again. World Series starts Saturday.

Playing Favorites

(photo from Yahoo! Sports)

My own personal Tiger is, without question, Placido Polanco’s Head Sock. I know Sam calls it a “snood” but to me, “Snood” is a computer game designed to waste hours and hours of college students’ time and their parents’ money. So a Head Sock it will be. I had one of those once. It was supposed to be useful for skiing and other cold weather ventures but I didn’t like it because it always made me feel as though I was choking. I am glad that Mr. Polanco does not seem to have that problem.

I would also like to point out that a combination of Marianne, Amy, myself, Jack Daniels and Jose Cuervo called the game- and series-winning home run. In the interest of honestly, I should probably tell you that we actually decided it was going to be hit by either Neifi Perez or, in a moment of sheer brilliance and fairy tale happiness, Kenny Rogers, pinch hitting. But we will also take a shot by Mags and his special hair. Because Mags’ hair is special. Very special.

It’s also possible that in the split second that Mags swung and the ball went screeching, without a doubt, towards the seats, you could see Huston Street’s soul leave his body. It was eerily reminiscent of the way Albert Pujols broke Brad Lidge last year. Lidge has never been the same. I weep for Street’s future. ‘Tis too bad. He seems like a nice boy.

But I am psyched for these Tigers. The second they got matched up against the Yankees, they became my postseason favorites and I’m glad to see they’ve kept up their end of the bargain. And is it just me or has Kenny Rogers gone from “crazy jackass” to “loveable uncle-type person with a dash of crazy?” Because I find myself hoping that Fox will show Rogers in the dugout so I can delight in his spasms of insanity and fist pumps of badassery.

Of course, anything would beat listening to Tim McCarver who, I swear to god, is just spouting out random words now. “Fastball!” “Fried chicken!” “Phantom of the Opera!” Joe Buck’s hostility is now plain to hear and poor Luis Gonzalez, in shots of the booth, is clearly mentally willing himself to his happy place. He was reduced to explaining basic baseball principles to McCarver the other night and I am just waiting for the moment when Gonzalez says, “You know what? Screw this shit. I’ve won a World Series. Someone paid $10,000 for my chewed gum. I don’t need this bullshit,” and storms out of the booth. THAT would be good television. Perhaps then someone can take the inevitable step of putting McCarver and Lou Piniella in the booth together, giving them microphones that aren’t plugged into anything and telling them they’re broadcasting the World Series on ESPN59 while they call every white player “Brandon” or “Jeff,” and every non-white player “Carlos,” except for Albert Pujols whom they call “Luis.” Hopefully, the combined stupidity and alcohol fumes would create a black hole and they’d disappear forever, never to haunt any of us further.

As for the players that actually are named “Carlos,” they’re doing their damndest to tear it up. CarlosSquared knocked three homers yesterday en route to a 12-5 win over the Cardinals in St. Louis. And it’s not that I don’t like St. Louis, as they were more than accomodating in 2004 when the Sox straight up rolled over them in four games to take the series, it’s just…I like the Mets better. I like Jose Reyes and David Wright and Carlos Delgado and, of course, Pedro. This is, of course, with the understanding on the part of Mets fans that Pedro is not really theirs. I mean, he’s theirs, he’s on their team, he pitches for them and cashes their paychecks. But he’s not REALLY theirs, you know? What I mean is, I don’t need Mets fans telling me about Pedro. “Oh, well Pedro will do this.” Don’t tell me what Pedro will do. I know Pedro. Pedro and I were tight. I know how it works. It’s like when Dodger fans try to school you on Nomar. Yeah, don’t do that. We know.

Anyway, that aside, David Wright is, without question, the best of the New York third basemen and while I don’t have quite the crush on him that some people do, I certainly enjoy watching him play. Same goes for Jose Reyes who is reaching “Manny and Papi eating applesauce” levels of hilarity with his dancing and hopping around and what not. They’re just a fun team. I want good things for them.

Also, I don’t quite know why but David Eckstein annoys the crap out of me. He’s a sneaky little shit and reminds me of a mosquito just waiting to be swatted. Don’t like him. Don’t like him at all. Which is strange because I have no problem with the wee players on other teams (Brian Roberts, the aforementioned David Wright and Reyes), but I cannot stand Eckstein.

So all that leads to…Go Mets! But Go Tigers more! Amy asked me who I wanted to win the World Series the other day and I said, “Tigers.” “Wait,” she said, “I thought you wanted the Mets to win.” “No,” I said, “I want the Mets to lose the World Series.” “Oh,” she said, “I guess that makes sense.”

It certainly does. After all, I’ve never seen Jose Reyes in a Head Sock.

Bye Week Shenanigans

(Who wants to fight this man?)

Bye weeks. A good thing for the team who can certainly use the extra time to rehab injuries and prepare for the coming week but a bad thing for the fans who are forced to find alternative methods of sporting entertainment.

Luckily for us, the baseball playoffs are still happening. And as such, it’s still considered appropriate to take up residence at a sports bar, order pitcher upon pitcher of beer and watch the baseball. But seeing as how neither team is really, you know, our team, we were forced to come up with an alternate hypothetical game. And so, I give you, “Ray-Ray Got Next,” a bracketed game in which various foes face off against each other for the honor of facing Ray Lewis in a fight to the death.

Truthfully, this was probably inspired by our long running “Shark vs. Gorilla on a subway half full of water debate.” But wouldn’t it be more entertaining for everyone if Ray Lewis was involved? What about Ray Lewis vs. the shark? Ray Lewis vs. the gorilla? Ray Lewis vs. one of those velociraptors from Jurassic Park? Oh, I know! Ray Lewis vs. the animal his fur coat is made out of.

I’m telling you, forget March Madness, Ray-Ray Got Next is the newest bracket sensation.

And yes, before you ask, we blame the beer too.

Sympathy and Condolences

There are times when being a Red Sox fan or a Yankee fan doesn’t matter. Because at our hearts, we’re all baseball fans. And beyond that, we’re all people.

Playing for as many teams as he did in his nine-year career, Cory Lidle had a lot of teammates and made a lot of friends. He was a baseball player but more importantly, he was a father, son and husband.

My sympathies and condolences to Lidle’s friends, teammates and family.

ETA: The Dugout gets it exactly right. Well played, sirs.

Era of Good Feelings

(Obviously, New England looks just like that right now.)

Hypothesis: Short of the Red Sox being in the playoffs and advancing to the next round (which, really, we all knew wasn’t going to happen), this weekend was perfect for a New England sports fan.

Prove or disprove.

As Marianne pointed out, “perfect” would have included a loss by the Colts, but what we did get was pretty damn close.

Obviously, the crowning moment was the clusterfuck on the part of the Yankees. I shall quote the Guinness commercials here when I say, “Brilliant!” And it really, really was. There’s nothing quite like watching a bunch of overpaid, overhyped All-Stars crash and burn. Or rather, fold and choke. Becoming quite the experts at the choking of late, aren’t they? Evidently, Steinbrenner has spent $1.2 billion in player salaries (plus luxury tax which is not insignificant) over the course of the past six seasons and has zero championships to show for it. And, as we all know, in New York, nothing means anything if you don’t win it all. I’d imagine those Yankees and their fans are feeling mighty unfulfilled lately.

Of course, talking about the Yankees’ flop takes away from the impressive and gutsy play on the part of the Tigers. I know the Tigers had the best record in baseball this season and their appearance in the post-season isn’t really a surprise to anyone but I’ve always thought of them as a scrappy team. They’re young, tough, loose, fun and everything the Yankees aren’t. They have veteran leadership with Pudge and Kenny Rogers (to whom I sang “The Gambler” for four straight innings on Friday night). And they have a crusty old baseball man as a manager who always looks like he’s about three seconds away from lighting up an unfiltered Winston and yelling at those damn kids to get off his lawn. It’s everything you could want in a baseball team. And if your team is out of it (thanks, Tommy Lasorda), you can surely do worse than to root for the Tigers. Three years ago they nearly set a record for baseball futility and now, here they are, gearing up to play the A’s in the ALCS. As Marianne, resident Orioles fan said, “They give hope to shitty teams everywhere.”

I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t taking immense pleasure in the sturm und drang going down in New York right now. According to nebulous “sources,” the entire organization is in upheaval and everyone’s just waiting for George to blow a gasket and hire the hastily reanimated corpse of Billy Martin to manage the 2007 team. A-Rod’s in denial about how badly he played and people want him shipped out of town. We’re blaming Torre, Cashman, A-Rod, YES, and the peanut vendors at Yankee Stadium for this year’s failure. Interestingly enough, no one’s blaming Jeter. I didn’t realize this until I was watching one of those talking heads shows at the gym yesterday and a caller took issue with this fact.

“No one ever says it’s Jeter’s fault,” the guy argued, “They always say, ‘Oh, Jeter’s the captain. Jeter’s the leader. Jeter is the heart and soul of this team.’ And I say, well, if that’s true, then how come Jeter never embraced A-Rod? How come he never welcomed him to the team? How come he never stands up for him? Your captain has to take the bullets for everyone else and Jeter never does that when it comes to A-Rod. How is A-Rod supposed to perform if he knows that Jeter’s already hoping he fails?”

Ignoring for a second the delightful picture of a jealous lover’s quarrel that the astute caller paints for us, he makes a valid point. I mean, I’m not saying that I’d want to stand up for A-Rod either, but Jeter has been conspicuously absent in these discussions. And he is the captain, he does garner some accountability solely for that reason. Of course, you can’t possibly blame anything on Jeter because he is clearly God’s Chosen One. I’m sure I will be struck by lightning for so much as suggesting it.

Anyway, I think my point was…Go Tigers!

As far as football goes, Amy and I had a discussion about Joey Harrington this weekend based on the fact that even though the Dolphins were trailing the entire game, the announcers could not stop praising him until the final minutes when they changed their tune from, “OMG Joey Harrington is the bestest QB EVA!” to “Well…you just can’t make those mistakes against the Patriots. You just can’t.”

Me: Joey Harrington and Chadrick Pennington IV are totally BFFs. They are going to hang out on Pennington’s yacht.

Amy: The yacht is totally named “Quattro.”

Me: Absolutely. They are going to spend this week on the yacht drinking wine coolers and discussing the many ways in which they are better than Tom Brady. “Yeah, well…I could sleep with a bunch of smokin’ hot actresses if I wanted to. He’s only got one. What? I totally could. I just don’t feel like it.”

Amy: “Harrington” and “Pennington” are the most prissy rich boy names ever.

Me: I’m also pretty sure that their daddies are part of the same law firm and they refer to each other as “The Chadster” and “Jo-Dog.”

Amy: In the offseason all they do is cruise for college and 18-year-old high school girls, smoke pot, and play video games.

Me: They’re obsessed with “Madden” but they always refuse to use good quarterbacks and play as themselves.

Amy: Those games always end with scores of 6-3 or 84-78.

Me: Always setting new records for fumbles and interceptions.

Amy: Imaginary Chad Pennington and Joey Harrington world is fun.

Me: We don’t know it’s true. But we know it’s true. You know?

Amy: I know.

And then, Pennington lost. As did Chadrick, to the tune of 41-0 at the hands of the Jacksonville Jaguars. This was especially sweet because not two hours before, every talking head on television was annointing him the NFL Comeback Player of the Year. Sweet, sweet irony.

And then, of course, the Steelers lost, prompting a shot of Ben Roethlisberger standing on the sidelines after throwing an interception and chewing on the chinstrap of his helmet.

Me: I have figured it out. The Ben Roethlisberger face is one part Mike Scioscia Face, one part Peyton Manning Face, one part big, dumb dog that just took a shit on the carpet and one part “dumber than a box of hair.”

Amy: That is exactly correct.

Other than the fact that I fear that Sebastian might need to be put on suicide watch, it was a good sports weekend. I’ll be rooting Tigers from here on out and shall look forward to next week’s Patriots bye by randomly screaming nonsensical things at various other teams and writing odes about Troy Brown.

World’s Most Expensive Paperweights

(photo from Yahoo! Sports)

All that money bought you four more games, George. How do you feel about that?

That’s what I thought.

Awesome.