Contributor’s Note: This was originally planned to be today’s cheerleader post, before it was learned that Mr. Ape had facilitated that need earlier in the day. Probably a good thing, since this piece does not feature any “cheerleaders.” In fact, it probably has nothing to do with football at all, so continue at your own discretion.

I suppose that Unsilent Majority would agree with me on what I’m about to elocute here, which may be the first instance, documented or otherwise, that The Semi-Semitic One and I have seen eye-to-eye on anything. Anyway, let’s have it out, and let’s put it in italics:

Christmas is retarded.

I can say that now, primarily because I’m over 25 and my parents no longer spoil the shit out of me, now that I have “grown up” and “[got my] sorry ass a job.” It’s challenging for me to pretend that I don’t loathe my family, even if it’s only for a few hours. This year, however, I’ve managed to cultivate that resentment into an awesome Christmas shopping strategy.

1. Gift Cards
2. Gift Cards
3. Gift Cards

What’s that, you say? Gift cards aren’t thoughtful? What a coincidence, neither am I. Never mind that all I’m doing is GUARANTEEING that you’re getting something that you like, something you can load up in your wood-paneled PT Cruiser without a hemmorhoid flare-up. You’re just pissed off that I didn’t suffer in the mall for 35 hours like you did. Come to think of it, you’re just pissed off at everything.

What is it about being old that makes you hate the world? Seriously. I thought about all the old people I know and made a list of stuff that they like and dislike:

How the fuck do you shop for this person?

Some of you, bless your hearts, are going to try. Good luck with that. If you still have grandparents (or anyone else) and have a desperate desire to fuck with them while making the appearance of an effort, I say go expensive.

Get them either a PS3 or a Wii.

See? You’ve already got it narrowed down to two choices that will be hard for anyone to turn away. But how to decide between those two? How to decide? How to decide…

That should keep your yuletide a little less gay for a while. So, while I’m busy slashing the tires on the ‘89 Cutlass parked in front of my parents’ house, I hope you and yours are having a safe and happy holiday.

It’s three days until Christmas, I’m not done with my holiday shopping and the most important thing on my mind is whether that professor is really mouthing, “What. the. fuck?” to the stylishly wonkish chick in the Dr. Pepper “23″ commercial. I’m still on the fence.

But before I run out and get everyone I know “Free wig with purchase of another wig — Downtown Wig Emporium” coupons, there’s still the pressing matter of the weekly cheerleader fix. (Quick aside: the best New Year’s Toast I’ve ever heard, and couldn’t verify, comes from Jimi Hendrix, who toasted, “To good health and a fix.” Yes, concise and drug-related. Quite nice, says I.)

Appy-Polly-Loggies if this photo of the Cold Miserettes is no larger than the lump of shit I’m getting is my stocking (coal being too expensive). I felt the need to get the Colts in on the holiday action, as the post-Christmas period is never particularly kind to the fortunes of Lil’ Ronnie’s favorite squad, and this year appears even more dismal, so they might as well get all that merriment out of their system now.

Here’s a negligibly larger one of the Rockets - Rockets!? As in basketball? - cheerleaders or dance team or somesuch nonsense. Sorry, apparently tracking down photos of cheerleaders in chintzy Santa hats is more than five minutes’ work. Next year, I’ll stick with cheerleader gift certificates.

I feel like the guy who didn’t go to Jared.

Welcome to the Week 16 edition of Always Be Covering, the following is a random sampling of games that look appealing. If you bet them and lose it is your fault, if you win I expect a cut of the money or your first born daughter.

Down and out KSK reader or Jeremy Shockey circa 2015?

Disclaimer
You are probably an idiot, just send us your money. We could use it to buy that donkey that MMP’s had his eyes on.

America’s Team -3 @ NY Giants

Remember that “home” game New Orleans had to play in the Swamplands (it’s not a meadow you fucktards)? Well the Saints remember it vividly…except for Reggie Bush, although I imagine he was all up in Katrina Kaif around that time (at least that’s what I’d be doing if I was Reggie Bush). The bitches in blue have one win in their last six “efforts” and they’re more likely to throw the world’s gayest temper tantrum than cover a spread.

Unsilent’s Team +2 @ St. Louis
Laugh if you want, but St. Louis is fucking terrible. They’re 1-5 ATS in their past six while the Redskins are 3-1-1 in their past five. Washington is finally starting to play relatively well while St. Lou’s season is going about as well as a Chinua Achebe novel.

Talmudical Teaserboth games teased six points

It’s time for the Colts to get serious, the playoffs are coming and they can snag home field from the Chargers. The Texans are just fucking awful, it’s not even funny anymore. Fortunately they’ve been scheduled for an unprecedented (outside of Texas) 53 man execution this February…alright, they’re still a little funny.

Big Daddy Drew and I are very different people; he’s funny and I’m mean, he’s a father and I hate children, he’s a bad Christian and I’m a bad Jew, he has sex with red-assed baboons and I prefer the company of…well we’re pretty much the same in that regard. But mostly we differ in terms of our choices in entertainment (the exceptions of course being football and Estonian snuff films).

Earlier today Drew posted this week’s honorary Meast along with his “best of” picks for the year. Once again his overwhelming whiteness confused and frightened me and apparently I’m not the only one. An intrepid commenter suggested that I offer up my more soulful selections (by “soulful”I obviously mean “druish”) so here we go…

Favorite Movie- Truthfully I don’t go out to the movies much anymore. All other people are annoying and they always laugh at shit that isn’t funny. Needless to say, I hate all other people. The other problem I have with the movie theater Gestapo is their whole “no bong” policy. It’s bad enough that I can’t light up a Parliament halfway through, but denying me the right to see a movie with an appropriate mental glaze is unconscionable. So there were only three movies I recall seeing that were worthy of my attention. While Borat and Talladega Nights were both funnier than watching a bear turn into a eunuch (synergism) I thought that Little Miss Sunshine was the best.

Favorite Album- Even though my boys Talib and Kanye didn’t put out new albums this year we were awash in greatness. There shouldn’t even be any debate by now, St. Elsewhere made everything else sound like a newborn being shoved into the garbage disposal…too harsh? Yeah, there were some other great ones, notably Lupe Fiasco’s debut Food and Liquor is the best debut album since College Dropout (sorry Jeezy). Honorary mention goes out to last month’s Hell Hath No Fury, the latest offering from The Clipse. Also Ghostface Killah’s Fishscale is the best thing to happen to Wu Tang since ODB shuffled off the mortal coil.

Favorite Song- Damn there are a lot of great songs. When it comes to football games nothing can beat DJ Unk’s Walk it Out…but of course this has nothing to do with football. My two favorite songs off of my two favorite albums were The Boogie Monster and Daydreamin’ respectively. But the one song that I’ll always remember from this year was The Clipse’s Wamp Wamp. Unfortunately the reason I’ll never forget it is because my buddy would never shut the fuck up about it, going so far as to label all the bad/wet weed in the city as “the wamp wamp.”

Favorite Book- That’s another tough one, lots of good choices. My favorite piece of fiction from the past year was Elizabeth Kostova’s The Historian. I’m not one of those guys that reads a lot of books by women but oddly enough this one wasn’t about ovulation and needlepoint. The best non-fiction had to be Michael Lewis’ The Blind Side. Not only was it both well written and about football, but now I have a reason to watch Ole Miss (aside from my crippling gambling problem).

So there you have it, the best of ‘06 from both Drew and myself. Obviously mine is better.

Oh and just so this has something to do with football, here’s my Meastiest Hit Of the Year: 2006. The guy in the video is playing against Lower Marion High School; up until now they were best known for producing Kobe Bryant. Now they’ll be forever known as the school to produce the guy who could eat the Mamba…I think he’s my new hero.

This is the time of year when film critic/child rapists like Gene Shalit release their top 10 lists for books, movies, shows, games, and all that stuff. I used to go watch independent movies and buy obscure music, until I realized that I liked the idea of liking that shit more than I actually liked it. For example, I saw The Squid and the Whale. I guess it was all right. But then I rented Firewall. Is it a good movie? Well, at the end, Harrison Ford buries a pickaxe in Paul Bettany’s back. And that is fucking sweet. Well worth the $4 rental fee I paid, and far superior to watching a 10-year-old kid pull his pud in the school library.

So, with only my basest desires in mind, here was my favorite shit from 2006:

Favorite Movie: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. This was released last year, but I don’t particularly care. It has guns, blood, tits, and cheap gay jokes. Yup, that’s a winner.

-So what do you do?
-I’m retired. I invented dice. What do you do?

I would have said The Departed, but the plot holes still annoy me. Let me just fire off 16 text messages during this back alley deal. I’m sure no one will notice.

Favorite Album: Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, by Arctic Monkeys. Songs about getting drunk and being kicked out of clubs? Works for me.

Favorite Song: “Lightning Blue Eyes”, by The Secret Machines.

Favorite TV Show: “Heroes”, though why they cast Rivers Cuomo as Sylar is beyond me.

Favorite Book: Manhunt: The 12-Day Chase For Lincoln’s Killer by James L. Swanson. I read about 2 books every year, and I don’t like people who brag about reading all the time. Oh, you read a book a week? Here’s a shiny dollar and go fuck yourself. Anyway, this book is tits. Who knew a history book would have so much stuff happening?

And there you go. Our Meast of the Week is Pacman Jones of the Titans.

Between spitting on women, buying his own car back at auction, and throwing birthday parties that would make Sidney Poitier cry, Jones has shockingly managed to become one of the best cover corners and return men in the league. His TD return against Jacksonville helped the Titans shove their noses into the AFC playoff race, a stunning development.

I bet Pacman’s list of favorite shit from this year totally mirrors mine.

Have a great Christmas, everyone. Hope you have a good time with family, friends and whoever else you encounter.

I made the championship of my fantasy league this year. In my five or so years of playing fantasy, I’ve never even made the playoffs, let alone the championship. This win will finally validate my razor-sharp football acumen, so there’s a lot of fucking pride at stake here. And who might be my starting quarterback for this monumental encounter? You guessed it:

The Sex Cannon himself. Now I know what you’re thinking: how the fuck did you reach the championship game with that asshole as your starting QB? Suffice it to say, my roster is deep enough that I can bench the Cumslinger when necessary or make up for those days when Rex wants to impress the ladies by showing he can win a game without even touching the ball. Anyway, Rex has a good matchup against the woeful Lions this weekend, so I’m taking the gamble and suiting him up. I asked him yesterday how he felt going into this all-or-nothing contest:

“We have a game Sunday? Fuck, I didn’t even know. They don’t tell me when the games are played. I just run out onto the field and start aiming lasers for fucking Saturn, you know what I mean? If there’s a defense there, whatever. Sexy Rexy is more than happy to spray hot passes all over the defense’s chest. Who are we playing? The Lions? Pfft. Those guys aren’t sexy. You telling me Jon Kitna is sexy? I’ve seen white supremacists in prison who are sexier than that do-gooder. No wonder he’s a devout Christian. What kind of pussy would he pull on the open market? Dumpster pussy, that’s what.

What’s that color the Lions wear? Honolulu Blue? Yeah, well I nailed six Hawaiian Tropic girls last week. So while those assholes are busy wearing Honolulu, I’m busy fucking it. Wore my mesh practice top the whole time, too. And in front of a mirror. Ever stick your finger up your own ass? God, it just felt so right.

Jesus, now that you told me I’m playing Detroit, I’m all fucking hot. God dammit. I gotta go throw something. Now. I just… I just can’t take the anticipation. It’s driving me buc wild. Such a depleted secondary. So many long, long throws. You know I accidentally fucked Olin Kreuntz once? True story.

So, you play fantasy football? That’s funny. Because I am fantasy football. Girls watch me throw and they ovulate. It’s just the way I move. So poised. So strong. So fluid. They know I’m undressing the defense with my arm. Oh, Daddy says that Rex Grossman is up to no good. And you know what, honey? Your daddy is right. I am thinking nasty, nasty thoughts when I’m out there. I throw that ball sixty yards, and I just wanna ram a stick of butter up some girl’s ass. I can’t help it. Football and sex just go together for me. It’s a natural fit, just like any girl is a natural fit on me.

Hope you win, kid. Either way, Rex is fucking that night.”

Needless to say, I’m in good hands.

Granted, it’s been a couple days since Stephen Mara went apeshit on some old man on the NYSE trading floor, because said old man was talking shit about the Giants, just a couple days after getting pwned by the Eagles last week.

The Giants fascinate me; they might be the closest thing football has to an NBA team. You have the youngster with a pedigree for the game (Eli), the infinitely talented athlete who’s also infinitely stupid (Plaxico), the backwater dipshit suffering from diarrhea-of-the-mouth (Shockey), and the I-wonder-if-he’s-gay All-Star (Strahan) who shoots the ball waaay too fucking much.

Anyway, back to the old man scuffle, we were going to show some footage of the old-man fight, but then we realized, you know, Rocky 6 is already out, and you could get that action there if you were so inclined. Besides, I believe this conflict would be better if dramatized through the prism that is shitty daytime television.

(Clip does not contain beastiality. Sorry.)

Yeah, didn’t you hear? Pugilistic midgets are the new the new roadside donkey fucks. Get with it, yo.

By popular demand, we present you with the video of the Namath-Patron Saint video from exactly two years ago today. And kudos to whoever included us on Suzy Kolber’s Wikipedia page. That’s using your time wisely.

You can always view this video by clicking on the “Kiss Me, Suzy!” link over on the right. You’re never far from drunken come-ons here at KSK. Guaranteed.

How good is your gay-dar? Can you tell the difference between someone being friendly and being friendly? Believe it or not, it’s much easier to pick it up with language than physical characteristics.

Take our guy Peter King, for example. He’s been covering the shit out of the NFL for a long time, and of course he loves what he does for a living (unlike, say, anybody currently reading this at work). But sometimes the plaudits and punditry that he dispenses can border on, well, homo-erotic.

Is it just me? Am I the only one getting creeped out by the PK man-love? Can we get some impartial, unbiased point of view to sift through the possibly gay debris, if only to see if I just might be freakishly paranoid? Or even (Noooooooo!) homophobic?

Can we do that? Why, yes we can.

Without further ado, I present the Peter King Manlove Translator.

This Week: Cowboys QB Tony Romo

from Week 7: “I love this game. Just love it. And there’s a good chance I’ll look foolish for writing what I think could happen here. But I see the Giants’ front seven attacking and puncturing the Dallas pocket in the first half, chasing down Drew Bledsoe.”

Uh, okay. Let’s continue.

“I see Tony Romo coming in during the second half — much to the chagrin of Joe Theismann, who immediately pronounces it a horrible mistake for Bill Parcells to ever think of benching Bledsoe for some kid who has never thrown in a game that counts since playing at Eastern Illinois — and rallying the troops to victory. A star [will be] born.”

Hmm. Not picking up anything yet.

Week 9: “It’s Romo time. Bill, you did the right thing.”

Eureka! Now we’re rolling.

Week 10: “Peyton Manning’s first trip to Texas Stadium. I trust the combo platter of Tony Romo’s uber-confidence and the double hammer of Julius Jones and Marion Barber III.”.

Week 11: Troy Aikman, looking down on this game for FOX, thinks to himself midway through the four quarter, I can’t believe I’m considering this in Tony Romo’s sixth NFL game. But the kid actually might be as good as I was.”

“I am positive that at some point in the second half, former Dallas offensive coordinator Sean Payton will look at Tony Romo and say to a trusted aide: “I taught this kid too well.”

Week 14: “Tony Romo recovers from his first bad game since sixth grade to throw for a couple of touchdowns. “Hey,” he wonders after the game, “does Jessica Simpson get NFL Network? Think she saw me tonight?”

Special Thanks: Peter Schrager, FOXSports.com

Addendum: PK’s classic Rex Grossman quip (courtesy of Sports Bloggers Live/Jamie Mottram)

KSK Reader Mail Bukkake technically falls under the purview of Big Daddy Drew, but he, likely figuring I don’t natter on extensively or obnoxiously enough about the Steelers, thought I should field this one:

What is wrong with Bill Cowher? He’s been acting like he’s on Xanax all season. Remember when he used to physically threaten Josh Miller for a shank? How about when he came oh so close to pulling a Woody Hayes on MNF against the Jags? The time he stuffed a photo showing he hadn’t had 12 guys on the field into a ref’s shirt? Now his Super Bowl champs can’t even beat the Raiders and he stands there with his arms folded, smiling benignly. He’s not even 50; he’s got his wife and kids out of the house. He should be having the time of his life. Do you think he just still hasn’t gotten over the fact Brokeback Mountain got screwed out of a Best Picture Oscar?

Let me begin by saying I hope Frottager Freddy gets his clammy, semen-encrusted hands on Josh Miller. That fucker gave me nightmares for years when he was a Steeler and I’m pretty sure he cost us the 2001 AFC Championship Game. He goes to New England and all of a sudden becomes one of the league’s better punters. Stupid fucktaster. And now the Steelers have Chris NEVER HAD A PUNT BLOCKED EVAH Gardocki, who makes up for that proud distinction by kicking the ball 30-35 yards every time.

Anyway, the Cowher malaise, in my opinion, has been going on for years. It’s funny you mention Brokeback Mountain because I know for a fact that Cowher never saw it. Once he found out Kordell Stewart lost out on Heath Ledger’s role, he lost all interest. According to Ang Lee: “if we wanted a effeminate black guy with scar tissue, we’d get Seal instead of a sorry, former NFL quarterback. And, uh, sorry about the movie about the green Shawne Merriman”

The anger-fueled Cowher meltdowns you mentioned all happened in the late-’90s to the early aughts, or, namely, during the Kordell era. And who could blame him? The man was an emotional wreck, deep in the throes of soul-consuming, heart-rending jungle love. Why do you think he would never bench the guy? Sure, it would give them more time to spoon on the sidelines, but Cowher wanted to see his man be the strong, successful gay black man he knew Kordell could be.

The aforementioned incident in Jacksonville, when Cowher tried to maim the Jaguar player who returned the blocked potential winning field goal for a TD, happened Week 4 of the 1997 season, or the first year Kordell was the starting QB. Don’t nobody embarass Cowher’s bitch.

But eventually the fans got between the lachrymose quarterback and his jutting-chined lover, sundering their glorious bond. Kordell, heartbroken, dashed off to Chicago and Cowher had a brief, regretable fling with a turkey-necked insurance agent, before he stumbled upon an Ohio-bred lunkhead to call his own.

Things didn’t go well for Swish Stewart in the Windy City or Baltimore (Omar from The Wire wasn’t digging him). Soon, he began to resent the success that Ben and Coach Billy were having. He made a proclamation before the 2004 playoffs that the running game and coaching would break down when it mattered for Ben. He was right, of course, but only for so long: Roethlisberger and Cowher became Super Bowl champions in 2005, while Kordell eventually accepted that Kyle Boller was just too gay, even for him.

This year, Roethlisberger and Cowher, having tasted success, have slowed things down to try to rekindle the loin fire from the Kordell years. Roethlisberger attempts to arouse his coach the way Kordell did by throwing the ball directly to defenders and Cowher, in turn, never benches him for doing so. The the dynamic isn’t the same, though. Cowher is used to being a dom and Roethlisberger is too damn butch, with all his motorcycling and drinking beer, not appletinis, with women. The Week 1 make out session with Joey Porter only served to further remind him how much he needed his brown skin baby.

You could tell the passion was waning even before this year. Observe Cowher’s reaction to the worst call in any game ever. He looks peevish for a moment, then mutters something to a coordinator. Time was, he’d have his foot a yard up Pete Morelli’s ass before the teams could line up for the next play.

So, when they cut to the sideline and Cowher stands there passively, armed crossed and a look of mild constipation on his face, know that at the end of that 1,000-yard stare is some jet black scar tissue beckoning him toward his retirement home in Fire Island North Carolina.