Monday Morning Punter will act like he knows shit about FF throughout the year.

Without fail, I have at least one moment during every FF draft that I feel like a blind nun trying to masturbate with an upside-down barstool. And when your league has 16 teams, those moments are even more likely to, uh, come. And they come quickly.

In this column, we’ll walk through Monday’s FFLXDSP draft, as I saw it, and try and figure out what kind of team I have, as if anyone has any sort of clue before the season starts.

Our Roster Regulations and Scoring Rules:

Scoring Type: Head-to-Head
Start Scoring on: Week 1
Can’t Cut List Provider: None
Max Moves: No maximum
Max Trades: No maximum
Trade Reject Time: 1
Trade End Date: November 17, 2006
Trade Review: League Votes
Waiver Time: 1 day
Post Draft Players: Free Agents
Playoffs: Week 16 and 17 (4 teams)
Roster Positions: QB, WR, RB, TE, W/R, W/R, K, DEF, BN, BN, BN, BN, BN, BN

Stat Categories: Passing Yards (50 yards per point)
Passing Touchdowns (6)
Interceptions (-3)
Rushing Yards (20 yards per point)
Rushing Touchdowns (6)
Reception Yards (20 yards per point)
Reception Touchdowns (6)
Return Touchdowns (6)
2-Point Conversions (2)
Fumbles Lost (-2)
Offensive Fumble Return TD (6)

Field Goals 0-19 Yards (3)
Field Goals 20-29 Yards (3)
Field Goals 30-39 Yards (3)
Field Goals 40-49 Yards (4)
Field Goals 50+ Yards (5)

Point After Attempt Made (1)
Sack (1)
Interception (2)
Fumble Recovery (2)
Touchdown (6)
Safety (2)
Block Kick (2)
Points Allowed 0 points (10)
Points Allowed 1-6 points (7)
Points Allowed 7-13 points (4)
Points Allowed 14-20 points (1)
Points Allowed 21-27 points (0)
Points Allowed 28-34 points (-1)
Points Allowed 35+ points (-4)

Fractional Points: No
Negative Points: Yes

The First Thirty-Two Picks Are The Hardest

I’m picking 15th. I don’t expect to see any marquee players left on the board when I pick. But I’m also picking 18th on the way back through the order for Round 2, so I should be able to pick up 2 decent players (I’m hoping for RB-RB) and then wait 45 minutes until my next pick. I am already flipping out before the draft starts, as people can’t get into the chatroom I arranged for the draft, but also, I cannot get the Draft Room chat copied or pasted to anyone else. Motherfucker, motherfucker.

Iracane picks first and takes LT, which surprised me, and a few others, and he takes some shit for it from the other owners, including me. Personally, I don’t expect LT to perform up to his standard with a new quarterback, In my 6 FF drafts up to that point, this was the first that LT went first. Hey, that’s the beauty of picking at No. 1, you get whoever you want.

Rusty picks Larry Johnson at No. 2, and Mr. Poon gets my favorite of this elite trio, Shaun Alexander, in the 3-hole.

Will Leitch is picking at No. 4 and Big Daddy Drew is in the 5-hole. Before the draft, Drew emailed me and asked for my input regarding his first round pick, assuming Tiki Barber was off the board. I really thought 4-11 were interchangable picks, but agreed that Tiki would not fall to him:

As for your # 5 pick, I really like Ronnie Brown this year. He had 900 yards last year, while he was splitting time. I would even put him in front of Edge; I’m just not buying the Cards this year. If you think Portis will get PT in week 1 (I do, at least some,) he would not be a bad choice, either. Hope that helps

But Will shocks most of the room and takes Ronnie Brown, leaving Drew to jump on Tiki like a dog in heat, while simultaneously taunting Will for the Brown pick (which I still like, but am in greater awe of Drew’s multi-tasking). Jefferson DArcy takes Rudi at No. 6, no real surprise, and Good vs Evil selects Stephen Jackson at No. 7.

Unsilent Majority, our resident Redskins fan/apologist, can’t believe his luck as Clinton Portis has fallen to him. UM takes Portis, who should be ready to play by Week 1. The rest of our round looks like such:

9. The Gentleman Masher
10. Tom
11. BigTDog
12. The Dude
13. GoinYostal
14. Suss
15. Monday Morning Punter
16. Footsteps Falco, who is auto-picking his team.

I expect the remaining second-tier RBs to be gone before I pick, along with most of the first-tier WRs and maybe even Peyton Manning. I am considering wavering from my RB-RB strategy and just grabbing whoever might be left. This is like picking 10th in a 12-team league, without a first round pick. I am going to go 0-15 in my own fucking league and look like a shit-eating asshole.

Cue the barstool.

Wait…

The Gentleman Masher, perhaps fumbling for a barstool of his own (or acting on sheer cunning accquired from his Stump The Schwab appearance), takes Peyton at No. 9. Suddenly I think I might get a Top-10 RB after all.Tom takes Steve Smith at No. 10, and now I’m almost sure that I will.

But then Lamont Jordan and Edge leave the board next, and Yostal picks up a Cadillac in the lucky 13-hole. Now I feel like shit again, as I know Suss will scoop up McGahee and leave me sitting in a steaming pile of Torry Holt. Motherfucker, I shoulda rigged this damn draft when I had…

…but then Suss takes Marvin Harrison at 14.

I stop.

Deep breath.

Exhale.

Find McGahee.

Click his name.

Click DRAFT.

I have my running back.

The first round was little odd, and with HAL 5000 making two picks for Falco on the corner, I don’t know what to expect to see on the board when I return with the 18th pick. I am considering another RB on the way back, and when HAL picks Larry Fitzgerald and Chad Johnson(and with TO burning my ass last year), I really have no choice.

I narrow it down to Brian Westbrook and Willie Parker. Westbrook gets more touches, but Parker can score from anywhere on the field, and hopefully will get at least some goal-line carries this season (Hindsight: probably not). I take Parker.

Suss pops the TE cherry with Antonio Gates at 19. Yostal makes a quasi-jingo-ist pick with fellow Michigan alum Tom Brady to round out the top 20. Westbrook is next. Then TO.

Then Tom takes Reggie Bush at 23, and I could have thrown my cheat sheet out the window at this point. Fewer people are talking shit at this point, as we are all slowly realizing that every subsequent pick would be scraped off a shoe in any other draft. I realize I’m not the only one whose confidence is shot to hell. Holt, Tony G, The Offensive Roy Williams go next. Randy Moss, ‘Quan, Domanick, Julius, then Hasselbeck and Droughns are selected to put the second round out of its misery.

I don’t want to say I threw my notes out the window at this point, but I really had a case of panic. I took a QB with my next pick, and then had to scramble to put together a WR corps. I look at teams like Tom, Suss, and even GoinYostal, and I don’t think my team has the balance that theirs do. I feel like, to some extent, that I am already stuck in a rather deep hole.

Here’s how my team turned out after it was all said and done:

QB - Delhomme
Carr

RB - McGahee
Parker
Maroney

WR - Galloway
Reggie Brown
Glenn

TE - Troupe
C. Anderson

K - Longwell

DEF- Seattle
Dallas

Yep. So I don’t know if I shit the bed during the draft, or what. Maybe I don’t know enough about FF, but I know enough to realize that this team, uh, blows. But that’s it. 0-15, here I come…

Manditory Update in Italic Font: BigRicks and friends are in one of the two other Deadspin commenters’ leagues, and their draft review is as thorough as it was prompt. Nice work, fellas. I look forward to being “demoted” to your league for 2007.

My junior year of college our football team went 3-5. I certainly bear no responsibility for that record. I was the fourth string left tackle for the scout team. Third string was a large sack of flour.

But I do know the real culprit: music. This was 1996, full bore into the neutering of rock. Before games, our locker room blasted a mix of one third Alanis Morrisette, one third Hootie, and one third Dishwalla. Or some other horrid shit. There were times I had to listen to Jagged Little Pill and/or Cracked Rear View IN THEIR ENTIRETY prior to a practice or a game. And you know what songs my team played on the locker room stereo when we won? One of them was “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Deep Blue Something. The other one was “Send Me On My Way” by Rusted Root. That’s right. The fucking Ice Age song. One time a friend and I tried putting a Faith No More CD into the player. It was ejected two minutes later.

This was bullshit. BULLSHIT. I get fucking pissed about to this very day. That is not football music. It’s pussy music. Unacceptable. Fucking Unamerican. And these days, it’s only gotten worse. One guy I met once said he didn’t like seeing the band Idlewild play in concert because they were “a little too hard rocking”. Excuse me? Too fucking hard rocking? Die.

That’s why I, Big Daddy Drew, have taken upon myself to institute a mandatory pre-game playlist for all NFL locker rooms (and channel Maddox in the process). That’s right. Ten songs, all guaranteed to bend you over and shove a stick of dynamite up your butt. I don’t care if you like this music or not. If you don’t like it, go write for fucking Pitchfork and have fun with the rest of your Animal Collective-loving dipshit breathren. This is FOOTBALL music, music designed to put you into a state of murderous rage and use up 80% of your energy before the game is even played. That’s what real fucking football is all about. All these songs adhere to my DFF Principle, which states that a song cannot be considered rocking unless it’s about Drinking, Fighting, or Fucking. Let’s go:

1. “Enter Sandman” (Live) - Metallica - Live Shit: Binge & Purge
This song is just fine off the Black Album. But you know what’s better? When it’s being played in front of 100,000 drunken Mexicans, and includes the intro theme music from “The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly” that drives said Mexicans completely batshit. Crucial here is James Hetfield changing the lyric, “I tuck you in,” to, “I fuck you in.” Because nothing fires you up for a football game like the implicit threat of child rape. Also important is the moment right after Hetfield whispers the Lord’s Prayer or whatever the fuck it is, when the crowd explodes into the chorus along with the band. Just thinking about it makes me want to put on a helmet and start bashing into things. That was always my favorite part of pre-game warm-ups.

2. “Creeping Death” (Live) - Metallica - Live Shit: Binge & Purge
And then I get even more fucking fired up when, right off of “Sandman,” Hetfield screams to the crowd, “Fuck yeah, we’re ready! You ready, my friends? Creeeeeping DEATH-AHHHHHHH!!!!!!” And then the drums comes in and everyone goes apeshit yet again. This song is most notable for the bridge, where Hetfield goads everyone into chanting “Die! Die! Die!” and then bassist Jason Newsted chimes in with “MOTHERFUCKER, DIE!!!!!” That is fucking awesome. My eyes turn beet red when that happens, and everything in my line of vision vaporizes into very fine dust. NOTE: Metallica died in 1990. Just so you know my stance.

3. “Whole Lotta Rosie” - AC/DC - Let There Be Rock
Every college coach tells you that victory is the main goal. Total bullshit. Victory is simply the means to achieve your real goal of getting ass-loaded and scoring some major league poon tang later that night. I know that’s all I thought about (the latter never happened). That’s why a five-minute, solo-laden rampage about banging fat girls will fire up any football player, even ones like myself who had no hope of scoring with anything other than microwaved nectarine. Maybe you think “Hell’s Bells” or “Thunderstruck” would be better choices from the AC/DC collection. But I’m more of a Bon Scott man. Bon Scott drank himself to death. Brian Johnson wears a golf hat. Advantage: Scott.

4. “You Think I Ain’t Worth A Dollar, But I Feel Like A Millionaire” - Queens of the Stone Age - Songs for the Deaf
This song got Queens of the Stone Age bassist Nick Olivieri so fucking fired up, his clothes melted right off of his body. He was also later booted from the group for beating his girlfriend, possibly while naked. What I like is the low key intro that suddenly shifts into Olivieri screaming, “DUT LO!!! THE LIEFFEL LAHH!!!!! ONLY BASTAGE DID TASTE THE GAHHHH!!!” I know those aren’t the actual lyrics, but I like mine better, because I like the idea of being so fucking jazzed to go out and murder someone that you can’t even speak proper English. There’s also a false ending to this song, which then kicks back in with Olivieri going, “UNNNHHHH!!!!” and then kicking more ass. Suck on that, Rusted Root. And suck it hard.

5. “The Trooper” - Iron Maiden - Piece of Mind
Written exclusively about Kellen Winslow (or British soldiers during World War I, I’m not sure which), this is a crowning achievement in 1980’s British Metal asskicking. During concerts, Bruce Dickinson of Maiden would unfurl a big fucking Union Jack while singing this song and wave it around on the stage. I’m not even British and that makes me want to machine gun down any piece of shit Flemish person that I encounter. Hey, Chester Bennington of Linkin Park: This is Bruce Dickinson. This is how you sing like a fucking Rock God. Take notes, and then slash your wrists. Pussy. Football is for killers!

6. “Tilted” - Sugar - Beaster
I don’t care that you’ve never heard of this song, or this band, or this album. All you need to know is that this song will beat you to death with a lead pipe. It also contains the single greatest guitar solo ever recorded. Great guitar solos must do three things: 1) Be short, 2) Establish their own melody, and 3) Give you a raging hardon. Done, done and done.

7. Last Two Minutes of “Paradise City” - Guns N Roses - Appetite for Destruction
I don’t need all of this song. Just give me the end, where Axl makes you think the song is finished by going, “Take me hoooooooooooooooooooooome!” but then suddenly the rest of the band flies back in to lose their fucking minds and play their instruments as fast as humanly possible. For a visual cue, I offer you the video. The awesome part that kills your brain cells is the when they shift almost entirely to the black-and-white footage at Donnington. A couple people got stomped to death by the crowd during this Guns set, and that is fucking sweet. Bonus points if you’re rocking the white bicycle shorts.

8. “Fire Woman” - The Cult - Sonic Temple
There’s no better song out there about a woman making you so horny you completely lose your shit. And that’s what football is really all about: expending the energy accumulated through years and years of sexual frustration. Am I right, fellas? Fellas? Anyway, this is good place for this quote:

“Now when I listen to a really good song, I start nodding my head, like I’m saying ‘yeeess’ to every beat. Yes, Yes, Yes! This rocks! And then sometimes I switch it up like, No, No, No! Don’t stop-a-rockin’!”

9. “Killing in the Name” - Rage Against the Machine - Rage Against the Machine
I don’t even like Rage Against the Machine all that much. But can you argue with this song? No, you cannot. A friend of mine in high school told me about a kid he knew whose dad once coached on an Indian Reservation. One year, the coach took the Indian kids to the state title game. For his pre-game speech, the coach opened the doors to the locker room and pointed at the all-white opposing team and crowd out on the field. “Boys,” the coach said, “those are the people that stole your land.” The Indian Reservation team won by 50 points. Now, I don’t believe that story for a second. But who fucking cares? It’s awesome anyway. Oh, and one more thing:

Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me! (x11)
Motherfucker!
Uggh!

Good song.

10. “Moonshadow” - Cat Stevens - Greatest Hits
And here’s your cool down period. Your palate cleanser, if you will. And, honestly, I can think of no music that pisses me off more than some dipshit Cat Stevens song.

That’s the list. I’m fucking red in the face just typing about it. Imagine the damage you’ll do on the field after taking this much riffage stright up your yingyang. Remember, this playlist is in the public domain now. So don’t be surprised if every team in the league goes 16-0 this year.

NOTE: Rock is for pre-game. Hip hop is for post-game mellowing and/or getting fired up for your drunkon. I will post an all hip-hop post-game list later on sometime if I feel like it.

And yes, I like new music, too. If this list is a little old school for your taste, substitute in “Club Foot” by Kasabian and “From The Ritz To The Rubble” by Arctic Monkeys. They are mildly acceptable. Feel free to add your own suggestions in the comments.

NOTE FROM DREW: The flame war below was removed by CC. But I happily encourage comments from any disgruntled readers. I promise they will not be deleted, largely because I enjoy them so much. PS - I’m never writing a music post again ever ever ever.

As most of you know, the only reason I give a shit about the Dallas Cowboys is because of their heated rivalry with my Redskins (more on this later). In fact, I traded for the rights to this preview with my buddy Christmas Ape (unlike Paul Farhi we get along with our colleagues). In exchange I gave up the rights to the Bills and a burrito to be named later. Without further delay, it’s time for you to Better Know a Football Team!

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Once again Jerry Jones has spent the off-season dropping some cash on a facelift for his beloved Cowgirls (he had plenty left over for his own surgical maintenance). Of course the only addition that anybody out there cares about involves some guy named Terrell Eldorado Owens (Eldorado? Really? Apparently Alabama truly is the gayest part of America). Unfortunately for Coach Bill Parcells (and ESPN executives), we haven’t gotten a decent opportunity to watch TO wear the famed star that he has made a career out of defiling Although Coach Lumpy won’t come right out and say so, it has become apparent that he’s getting sick and tired of dealing with the asshole on the bike. It really is a shame the team decided to part with Keyshawn Johnson (aka the inspiration for Excedrin), otherwise we could be looking at the most dysfunctional set of receivers outside of Tallahassee.

While TO works tirelessly to improve his cycling technique, Terry Glenn continues to excel under the radar. Apparently this already led to a bout of jealousy with the notoriously vulnerable prima donna. Although KSK was unable to attain an interview with Mr. Owens (Jason Rosenhaus kept trying to answer the questions) we were able to submit a single question in writing; we decided to inquire as to his perception of Terry. Shortly thereafter TO shot us the following response via email. “She was cool when I met her but I think I like her better dead.” Harsh words from TO. Harsh, plagiarized words. I’m willing to bet these two wind up in a slap fight by the time they’re mathematically eliminated from playoff contention (Week 14).

Once again Drew “The Statue” Bledsoe will return under center to guide the capable offensive attack. I fully expect the veteran to take a vicious hit at some point this season, or maybe he’ll just get crapped on by a pigeon. Just remember Drew, these Redskins have a knack of knocking the living shit out of aging quarterbacks. If you are looking for a way out I would suggest you not take the Troy Aikman route…

As is usually the case, the offense’s success will hinge on the competence of its linemen. Expect to see some new, younger, guts in the huddle this year. The offseason brought the release of Larry Allen, a stalwart of the franchise for the past 12 years. Although he’s the reigning title holder of the NFL Strongest Man competition (Holley Mangold can’t catch a break!) the poor guy hasn’t been able to walk without a limp for three years. Now all that’s left is a ramshackle group of over-the-hill veterans and overachieving youngsters. Luckily they are blessed to have Parcells as a coach, his motivational techniques are the stuff of legend. Recently we happened to overhear a speech he delivered to the struggling group at practice.

That watch costs more than your car. I made $4,275,000 last year. How much you make? You see pal, that’s who I am, and you’re nothing. Nice guy? I don’t give a shit. Good father? Fuck you! Go home and play with your kids. You wanna work here - close! You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksucker? You can’t take this, how can you take the abuse you get on a blitz? You don’t like it, leave.

The man’s got a way with words.

Turning our attention to the defense you can’t help but notice a rather impressive youth movement. DeMarcus Ware and Marcus Spears will be joined this year by Bobby Carpenter the other OSU linebacker (however, he is not married to Ron Powlus’s sister as claimed in the past). The problems will likely come from the secondary; while Roy Williams is great against the run he has a bad habit of getting torched downfield with his jogging-mate Terrance Newman. Don’t forget, that’s how the Redskins were able to sweep the Cowboys last year for the first time in…well, it had been a long ass time. So to all you Cowboy fans who are thinking about starting up the shit again this year, I leave you with this.

As flubby mentioned in a previous installment of Better Know a Team, it has been a while since the Music City Miracle. The Bills, the team that got miracl’d, choose to refer the incident as The Music City Extremely Poor and Inopportune Kickoff Coverage and haven’t been back to the playoffs since.

Some things you may not know about the Bills:

• Most people know the team is named for Buffalo Bill Cody, who was not from and likely never visited Buffalo. Tom Benson will use this as his reasoning when he moves the Saints to Los Angeles and changes their name to the Genghis Khans. Or just Los Locos.

  The team’s most famous fan is occasional journalist and all-the-time fat-faced ruddyman, Tim Russert, whose son also inherited the family meathead, both literally and figuratively.

• The Bills have the ugliest uniforms in the NFL. It’s science. Perhaps they gazed lovingly at the duds of the CFL teams to the north or they saw the success that met the Patriots and the Broncos soon after they donned their new ugly suits. I’m not sure. Is it too late to name the team after Joseph Merrick?
• Even Mel Kiper laughed at them for taking Donte Whitner with the 8th pick in this year’s draft, when he could have easily been had at least 20 to 30 picks later. Turn that one over in your heads for a while, Bills fans. Mah-el Ky-poor June-yor larffed aught ‘chu. But not Isiah Thomas, surprisingly.
• Scott Norwood now resides in Northern Virginia, where he makes a living as realtor, mostly selling ranch homes that lean just a little to the right. Third prize is you’re fired, Norwood. PUT THAT COFFEE DOWN NORWOOD! Coffee is for kickers!

Bills, I’m not the first to tell you that you’re proper fucked. Your coach is Dick Jauron. Your quarterback battle is being waged between J.P. Losman and Kelly Holcomb, a contest otherwise know as the conflation Loscomb. Where’s Sharp Stick in the Eye? Cap causalty? I even heard the team brought in Primo Levi to be your general manger. Can’t be a good sign.

Note: This post was written by Christmas Ape.

H.L. Mencken, the greatest Baltimorean not named Johnny Unitas, once said that Sunday was “a day given over by Americans to wishing that they themselves were dead and in Heaven, and that their neighbors were dead and in Hell.” Mencken made this statement prior to the invention of the Sunday Ticket, so we are pretty sure he would feel differently today.

Still basking in the waning glory of their 2000 Super Bowl title, Ravens fans will not spend their Sundays this fall wishing they were dead. They will leave that to those wide-eyed cousin-fuckers in Cleveland, whom Baltimore mercilessly fleeced years ago. However, this will not be a season to remember in Baltimore.
Four things you might not know:

1. Steve McNair’s favorite television programs are “The Price is Right” and “Matlock.” So in addition to playing like an old man, he watches TV like one too.

2. The Ravens are named in honor of Baltimore native Edgar Allan Poe. Poe is credited with inventing detective fiction. In “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” Auguste Dupin correctly deduces the murders were committed by an escaped orangutan. In real life, the orangutan was framed by Ray Lewis.

3. John Unitas’ legacy belongs to the city of Baltimore, not the dipshit Irsay family. Last year, Unitas’ family went to court successfully blocking the state of Indiana from raising money for their new, shitty dome by issuing Colts’ license plates bearing Unitas’ number.

4. Avon Barksdale is about to flex nuts now that Hamsterdam is shut down.

There are a fuck-ton of holes in the wheezing apparatus that is the Baltimore Ravens. Unfortunately, they elected to fill but one in the off-season— the quarterback. While even the necrotic corpse of Air McNair is an improvement over Kyle Boller, only a fool would expect a full season from the old dude. Look, McNair got the shit kicked out of him when he played for good teams. What does he look forward to in Baltimore? Crab cakes, that’s about it.

How many games are you going to get out McNair, Raven fans? How many games until the wheels come off the old bastard? Six? Maybe ten? Twelve? (yeah, you wish). Make no mistake; we are big Air McNair fans. We just hope the old fella doesn’t crap himself the next time he gets bounced off the turf.

Ed Reed has long since eclipsed Ray Lewis as the best player on the Ravens’ defense, but that doesn’t make him the team badass. That title still belongs to Ray. Anybody can motivate ten other guys to make a big stop on third down. But how many linebackers can get their boys to butcher some playa haters like they were a couple of hogs?
After the Bloodbath at the Cobalt Lounge, Ray Lewis has worked diligently to rehabilitate his image. As the above graphic suggests, these efforts are beginning to pay off. Even the stigma of directing your goons to hack up two dirtbags washes away in the redemptive glow of rubber ducky races. Keep rooting for that vicious sociopath, Baltimore. Nevermore, bitches.

My first copy of Madden was the 1995 edition for the Sega Genesis. Remember the Sega Genesis, Grandpa? I was in the dorms at Eastern Michigan, hours from home, didn’t know anybody. It was the only game I could play with the other guys on the floor, even though they were more of a Tecmo Bowl and Bill Walsh College Football crowd. I always wanted to play Madden. This was the first time you could see the numbers on the players’ jerseys, but only when they were parallel with the goal line. Outside linebackers often ran away from the quarterback, and the sound effects were so bad, they were mocked by 386 PCs and even some TANDY models. But, between not going to class and trying to get laid, the game was a nice reprieve, and probably my only chance at breaking the ice with the black kids on my floor (that’s just how it is).

I didn’t buy another version for three years, when I picked up Madden 98 for the PlayStation, back when it was THE PlayStation, and the centerpiece of the Family Basement. The Maddenisms were fresh and actually enjoyable. Pictures of the players appeared with the descriptions of the plays.

J. BLAKE PASS INTERCEPTED.
R. WOODSON INTERCEPTION RETURNED 98 YARDS.
TOUCHDOWN STEELERS.

Glorious.

I would play my little brother, who was a total Reset Button Bitch, and would absolutely destroy him regularly, to the point where I had to guard the Reset button every time I scored, but then he would start walking away or, worse, crying like some Little League right fielder (He would eventually enlist in the Army and knock up some girl. Where’s your Reset button now, little brother?).

The next millenium, and newer game consoles, would bring even more sweetness to Madden. I was stuck in Real Life for awhile and wouldn’t pick up another copy until late 2003, when I got Madden 03 for the PC (yes, nearly a year behind, but it was only 5 bucks), and then the same copy for PS-Uno. I would eventually own or play every subsequent version of Madden from there.

I’ve hosted and played in tournaments, had Madden parties. We’ve discussed Madden at work, contemplated the overpricing of the game, compared it to NFL 2k5 (which I contend is superior to M-05 in every significant way) and even played out entire seasons using redrafted rosters. Madden has often been the bridge to friendships and conversations I may not have enjoyed otherwise.

Which is why I get just a little pissed off when people point to the game as an example of the demise of society. Jeff MacGregor was critical of the game in his SI piece last week. A quote:

Without real-world consequences, video games make us no smarter emotionally, and intellect unleavened by empathy is the empty triumph of the technocrat.

And now the English version:

Take the violence out of football, erase the pain given and taken, reduce the grunt and the struggle to the push of a button, eliminate the magnificent inconsistencies of the human heart and its capacity for courage or cowardice, and the game, the war, is no more than a fast-twitch exercise — a battle fought without personal cost. It is cause without effect, a victory only for technology and opposable thumbs.

So it was the best of chode, the worst of chode? Erase the pain and struggle? Jeff, have you never tried to pin a punt inside your opponent’s 5-yard line? Never dodged those little softballs that come after you in the Precision Passing camp drill? Never had to play a whole season with Kenny Watson as your starting tailback? Tried to use that motherfucking passing cone? That, my man, is the essesnce of pain.

What bullshit that is. Everything is push-button these days. This is 2006. Do you wash your clothes in a wooden tub, over one of those boards you see in bluegrass shows? Hell no, you don’t. Once technology advances, the skills that that technology replaced are obsolete. You wash your car by hand? Great, I guess, if you have the time. So you can throw a perfect spiral with a real football? Fuck you, go home and play with your kids.

My one gripe about it all may be that Electronic Arts, the caretaker of this noble institution, insists on ass-raping us every year with what amounts to a fifty-dollar roster update. For those of us stuck with our now-obsolete PS2s and XBOXs (XBOXes?), we may not see another significant game improvement for our systems. The XBOX 360 version looks awesome, and after having played the demo in Meijer, functions same. Is $50 too much to pay to finance and partake in this fraternity? It may seem so in terms of up-front cost, but in the greater scheme of things, at least for me, probably not. I have a real job now, I can afford it.

It’s not football, but it’s close enough. Besides, how else are we going to get close to that real football experience? By going outside?

Five Fast Facts about the Chargers:

-After the regular season, all Charger cheerleaders go back to their homes ON WHORE ISLAND.
-Linebacker Shawne Merriman majored in home protection at the University of Maryland for coach Ralph Friedgen, who is best known for playing the role of Clown in the movie Spawn.
-Former Charger running back Natrone Means can eat two egg salad sandwiches in a single bite.
-Former Chargers backup QB Cleo Lemon was named after Cleo, Riff Raff’s main squeeze. Cleo later dumped Riff Raff for Heathcliff, leaving Riff Raff to spend his remaining days in the junkyard smoking bathtub meth with Hector, Wordsworth, and Mungo.
-It’s 75 degrees and sunny every day in San Diego, and the women there make South Beach look like a fucking Greyhound station. Charger fans, your team could perish in a bus crash and I doubt it would ruin your day.

10 Yards of Awkwardness with: Luis Castillo

As part of our 2006 preview, I’ll be sitting down and “chatting” with a player from each team. For the Chargers, it’s starting 3-4 defensive end and admitted former steroid user Luis Castillo.

Big Daddy Drew: Luis, thanks for taking the time to sit down with us.
Luis Castillo: No problem.

Drew: I loved you in Out of Sight. “You are mean!” I love that. Oh, and you were great in Traffic, too. How did you earn the trust of an acclaimed director like Steven Soderbergh?
Castillo: That’s Luis Guzman.

Drew: No need to be modest. The Chargers jettisoned starting QB Drew Brees in the offseason. Tell me, why keep LaDainian Tomlinson around? Isn’t he really just dead weight?
Castillo: LT is great.

Drew: Marty Schottenhimer has often been criticized for his coaching in the fourth quarter. But shouldn’t he get more credit for being a shitty coach the first three quarters of a game?
Castillo: No.

Drew: The Chargers used their first round draft choice on Antonio Cromartie, who only started one game at Florida State. Why not draft his backup? I bet he’d be even fresher!
Castillo: Antonio is a fine player.

Drew: AJ Smith helped bring Doug Flutie back to the NFL. Do you think Smith was bothered at all by Drew Brees’ surplus of height?
Castillo: No.

Drew: Was Brees a bad drop kicker? Because QB’s that can’t drop kick are useless fuckers.
Castillo: I don’t know.

Drew: Are you sort of glad that Brees isn’t around anymore, so you don’t have to spend team meetings staring at Brees’ birthmark while pretending that you aren’t?
Castillo: No.

Drew: As a Mexican, do you find it ironic that your job is essentially border control?
Castillo: I’m not Mexican.

Drew: I see this is a touchy issue for you. Let’s move on. AJ Feeley: do you really need him?
Castillo: Yes.

Drew: You did steroids to help heal an “elbow” injury faster. How much can your “elbow” squat now? 700? 800?
Castillo: It really was an elbow injury.

Drew: I’ll bet. How much of an improvement is AJ Smith over Bobby Beathard? Is it sort like moving from a hovel to a shantytown?
Castillo: AJ is a good GM.

Drew: Everyone agrees the old Charger powder-blue unis are Badass. But the Chargers refuse to go back to them. What the fuck is wrong with you people?
Castillo: I don’t know.

Drew: I saw coach Schottenheimer on TV when he was an ESPN analyst. What’s it like to play for a cadaver?
Castillo: Coach is not dead.

Drew: The Chargers backup guard is named Cory Lekkerkerker. Are black guys on the team uncomfortable playing with someone who has so many k’s in their name?
Castillo: No.

Drew: Quentin Jammer: any relation to Cal Jammer?
Castillo: No.

Drew: Because Cal was tremendous in “Foreskin Gump”. He’ll be missed.
Castillo: No.

Drew: Will you kiss me?
Castillo: No.

Drew: Would you consider touching my meast? It won’t bite.
Castillo: No.

Drew: We could share a Meast Lover’s Pizza.
Castillo: No.

Drew: Luis, thanks for taking time off from doing dead lifts with your “elbow” to come talk to us.
Castillo: My pleasure.

NFL greats have it easy. Once they hang up the cleats, if they can remotely demonstrate the ability to look at a camera and speak, they can become commentators (Michael Irvin, Jerome Bettis, etc.). They can run for office (Steve Largent, Lynn Swann). They can appear embarrassingly out of shape in FedEx ads (Joe Montana). They can bask in the glow of forever being a hometown hero and own a bunch of local car dealerships (John Elway). All they have to do is have a couple ounces of sense and an agent who isn’t Drew Rosenhaus, and they’re set for life.

Unfortunately, a new wave of NFL greats seems determined to hold on too tightly. Nevermind Emmitt Smith’s embarrassing final days as an Arizona Cardinal; what’s truly unforgivable is his upcoming turn on the newest season of “Dancing with the Washed-Up Losers.” Marshall Faulk/Priest Holmes is holding on to dreams of returning to the Rams/Chiefs, even as the Rams/Chiefs move on with Steven Jackson/Larry Johnson. And don’t even get us started on Brett Favre.

But there is a king of all jackasses who won’t let go. Saturday, from ESPN:

The San Francisco 49ers announced Saturday that [Jerry] Rice, the NFL’s all-time leading receiver, will sign a contract with the club Thursday and retire for good in November as a member of the team with which he spent his first 16 seasons. The 49ers said in a statement that Rice officially will retire Nov. 19… San Francisco will honor Rice during a halftime ceremony with a video montage, and the future Hall of Famer subsequently will give a speech.

No. Fuck that. You get one retirement, okay? That goes for everybody — I’m looking at you, Junior “Maybe my agent should call other teams before I retire” Seau. If you wanted to retire with the 49ers, then you should have re-structured your contract to play for less money in San Francisco in 2000 instead of signing with the team’s cross-bay rival. And you sure as hell shouldn’t have signed with the Seahawks, where your washed-up ass wore Steve Largent’s retired #80. And yeah, that goes for your training camp dalliance with the Broncos, too. And while you’re at it, you can go to hell for opening the “Dancing with the Stars” door for Emmitt Smith’s gigantic forehead.

Jerry Rice won three Super Bowls, winning an MVP award in one of them. He went to thirteen Pro Bowls. He is the greatest to ever play his position, and he will undoubtedly be the most prominent figure in his Canton class when he becomes a first-ballot Hall of Famer. Once that happens, the 49ers will have a nice ceremony for him to retire his number. So it’s not like he doesn’t have things to look forward to.

Is it really so cold out of the spotlight, Jerry? Is your pride worth an extra round of applause?

Let. Go. Let the fuck go. Letgoletgoletgoletgo.

Week Two of the preseason: 30% less crappy than Week One! (Links go to ESPN.com recap.)

Friday
Bengals 44, Bills 31: Chad Johnson scored a touchdown! Yes! What did he do? “I asked the ref if I could celebrate. I offered to pay his fine. He said, ‘No.’” HORSE SHIT. I don’t want to live in a world where Chad Johnson asks permission to celebrate touchdowns.

Browns 20, Lions 16: Kellen Winslow, after looking sharp while playing the first half: “I’m not nervous. I’m not pressing and I’m out there having fun… Oh yeah. I’m looking to dominate.” He then lost his right leg when he was attacked by a mountain lion.

Bears 24, Chargers 3: Another game where the Bears do more than two-thirds of their scoring with defense and special teams, which raises the question: If I made a headline for this that said Bear Shits in Woods, would you think that it was in reference to the unsurprising ways in which Chicago scored, or would you think that Kyle Orton drank a handle of Jim Beam with Natty Light chasers and passed out in the forest behind his house?

Panthers 17, Jaguars 10: At last, the answer to an argument I had in first grade: Panthers can totally beat up Jaguars. Now if only we could re-name some other team the Ligers…

Packers 38, Falcons 10: The headline on ESPN: “Favre, Packers’ offense not half bad in rout of Falcons.” Not half bad. Man, even AP journalists are getting in on the snark. Favre: 2 TD passes on long scoring drives, plus zero INT’s for the second straight game. Note to fantasy football players looking for a dark horse: Brett Favre is merely toying with you.

Texans 27, Rams 20: Last week: Mario Williams looked unimpressive, Reggie Bush electric — Man, the Texans are idiots! This week: Mario Williams creates pressure, batting down a pass and getting a tackle for a loss — See? The Texans aren’t so dumb! Yep, only twenty more weeks of this.

Patriots 30, Cardinals 3: Matt Leinart looked especially sharp in his NFL debut, taking home two BU co-eds after the game for his first pro threesome.

Broncos 35, Titans 10: The Denver running game churns ever forward, like the Nothing or Unicron — an unstoppable juggernaut the entire movie/season that inevitably falters in the third act. Vince Young scored on a 13-yard run in the 4th quarter, for any fans that happen to be registered voters of ClayNation.

Vikings 17, Steelers 10: Big Ben started and threw a TD pass despite his thumb being injured for like the 17th time in his two-plus years in the league. Helmetless Super Bowl Yinzer Bettis Detroit joke hahahahaha. /slams head against desk

Jets 27, Redskins 14: Wait, the Jets won? Seriously? Did Washingon only put nine men on the field?

Sunday
Seahawks 30, Colts 17: ‘Hawks third-string QB hopeful Gibran Hamdan looked solid during his playing time in the last five minutes of the fourth quarter, don’t you think? What? You mean you weren’t watching?!?

Raiders 23, 49ers 7: Believe me, I’m just as shocked as you are that this wasn’t the televised Sunday night game. Watch out, people! The Raiders are 3-0 in the preseason. You know what that means: the guys fighting for roster spots on the third string are TERRIFIED of being unemployed in Oakland.