I am 30 years old now, and have reached the point in my life where drinking alcohol has begun to fuck with my sleeping patterns. If I drink a six-pack and a glass of bourbon on a Friday night, as I am wont to do, I’ll sometimes wake up at 2AM, unable to fall back asleep.

This pisses me off greatly.

God, the greatest hater of them all, is forcing me to choose between boozing and a good night’s rest, and that is wrong. Shit, if I don’t drink BEFORE I go to sleep, then I have trouble getting to sleep because my brain won’t shut the fuck up. It’s a problem with no solution, which is why I’m planning on becoming hooked on barbiturates very, very soon. Can you snort Ambien? I’ll be finding out shortly.

Anyway, as you well know, the NFL is not only the greatest sporting spectacle in the universe (and when you’re competing against the likes of soccer, baseball, and the NBA, this is not a terribly difficult goal to reach), it’s also the greatest excuse to drink and drug ever. I’m the sort of person who will find any excuse to celebrate something. It’s Friday? Time to celebrate! Just got my paycheck? Time to celebrate! Company over? Bust out the Zinfandel! Lanced a boil? Time to fucking get down. And so it will be with the coming 2007 NFL season. I’ll drink to kick off the season. I’ll drink when the Vikings win, all three times. I’ll drink Sunday nights AND Monday nights. I’ll drink if TO tries to commit suicide again. If there’s even the slightest opening to engage in shallow and self-destructive behavior, I’ll be on it. Promise.

After all, Roger Goodell has made it all but impossible for NFL players to enjoy themselves. But he can’t control US, man. There’s no suspending you if you get fucked up and piss on a street lamp. So I say, full speed ahead. Get out there and embarrass yourself. Do it for Pacman. Do it for Chris Henry. Do it because you’re life is boring and there’s no other way to numb the pain. Without further ado, here are your drinking and drugging options for the 2007 NFL season. Yes, they’re exactly the same as last year’s. But, I tell you, this shit never gets boring.

Light Beer
I live in DC, so sometimes drinking light beer is helpful if you need to drive home. But, let’s face it: drinking light beer is like eating light potato chips. You’re going to overindulge to the point where you may as well have had the real thing anyway. And so I say: fuck you, light beer. If I’m going to get busted doing 80mph on Canal Road coming back from Maj’s apartment with one eye shut, I may as well go all the way with it. This season, it’s real beer or nothing.

Regular Beer
Last fall, I was in NYC at a block party that had free beer. And not only was it free beer, it was GOOD beer. Ommegang or some shit like that. It was so good, I just dunked my face in it and began sucking it through my oral and sinus cavities simultaneously. The burn let me know it was working. Anyway, during the party, we looked over onto Seventh Avenue and saw a man rollerblading down the middle of the street in full hockey gear, holding up all lanes of traffic. Upon further review, it was Tim Robbins. So, if you ever wanted proof that Tim Robbins is a complete douchebag, there it is.

Anyway, stock up on the beer this year. It’s the only way you’ll tolerate the Patriots going 16-0. Guhhhhhhhh.

Wine
I like buying wine at Trader Joe’s. The assholes there really overestimate themselves. “This hearty Cabernet contains hints of oak and pear, and makes a great pairing with a spicy stew or blackened catfish.” Dude, I buy wine at your fucking store because it’s $6 a bottle. And tell your cashiers to stop being so friendly. It creeps me out. I like wine after a fantasy team winning. That’s what arrogant prick NFL GM’s like Bill Polian drink after a victory, so I like taking the fantasy all the way.

Champagne Bukkake
I’m pretty sure no man has ever entered a bar on a Sunday and ordered a glass of bubbly for himself. And, since Brady Quinn is otherwise occupied, it won’t be happening again this year.

Mixed Drinks
It’s a Rum and Coke year this year. My team will be god awful. So, instead of drinking to wallow in that fact, I’m going to drink to overcome that fact. That’s right. Instead of drinking to artificially feel happier, I’m going to drink to artificially feel more confident. It’s a subtle move only seasoned alkies can pull off. By the way, the more lime juice you add to a rum and Coke, the more rum you can add. You won’t find drinking analysis like this anywhere else, bitch.

Scotch
Some people are scotch people. Some are bourbon people. I don’t really get this. Both are brown. And delicious. And make me happy. I, of course, am a beer whore. But I’d like to formally expand my whoring to all brown spirits. Single malt or blend? Who fucking cares? I’m drunk and horny.

Irish Whiskey
Jameson whiskey ages well. And, unlike other Jamesons, it never needs a vaginoplasty.

Bourbon
You know, I never buy bourbon out of plastic bottles, but I think I’m being too snobby. This year, I’mma try that Uncle Dale’s Tennessee Mating Fluid. It should go well with the Cleveland offense.

Tequila, Gin, and Mezcal
I don’t touch these. There’s no quicker way to black out. Might come in handy for Chiefs fans.

Cognac/Port
Port is fucking cheap! You can get it for like $5 a bottle. And that is NICE. Here’s the problem with spirits like Cognac and port. You drink them like liquor, but they aren’t as high in proof. So really, it’s not very efficient drinking. These are drinks for connoisseurs who prize the flavor of spirits over just getting drunk. These people are assholes. Anyway, they make fine holiday drinks for watching games with the family. It’s a good way to hide your blind lust for pure drunkenness.

Construda
Last year, I watched the Chiefs-Colts playoff game high. HUGE improvement. The beauty of watching a game high is that you don’t really care about what happens, which in turn makes for far more enjoyable viewing.

Coke/Ecstasy/LSD/Meth/Crack/Ice/Swank/Vicodin/Valium/PCP
For those who are really, really into not caring.

There’s your 2007 preview. Remember: the preseason starts in a matter of weeks. Better get that liver in shape.

After days of meticulous editing the ESPY’s finally aired last night, although nobody’s quite sure why. The annual event of homogeneous cross-promoting and self-congratulatory nonsense (they totally stole that from us) was ably co-hosted by the Disney Corporation’s resident bad-boy, Jimmy Kimmel. Teaming with the late night star host was the subtle and understated LeBron James.

In the first award of the evening (I think) Devon Hester beat out my homegirl Morgan Pressel for Breakthrough Athlete. Sadly the most interesting part of his off-field persona is his hair.

ESPN tried to stir up the pot with a cat fight when they sent Ashley Judd and Pat Summit to present the inaugural Jimmy V Perserverence Award to the incredibly inspirational Coach Kay Yow of NC State. Yow is in grips of a battle with cancer but she credits God for allowing her to attend the show. Which is more than she could say for those asshole doctors who kept trying to force her in to bed. No other nominees were mentioned, the are presumed dead. Immediately following the show Sidney Lowe went to have his colon checked out.

Under Armor just got my pants very interested in amateur female athletics.

I’m gonna need about another minute here.

Christian Slater is in attendance… HEY THAT’S MICHAEL PHELPS’ PUBLICIST!!!

Kimmel on the glittery star adorning TO’s white blazer: “I didn’t even know you were Jewish.”
TO: (Laughter) [whispering to date] “What’s a jewish?”

There’s nothing quite like the awkwardness between the athletes and celebs backstage. Maria Sharapova and Josh Duhamel just spent an awkward fifteen seconds killing time on camera before they could sneak away to start humping. Hey, that Aryan superman isn’t going to create itself.

Samuel L. Jackson is up on stage talking about violence in Ireland, because why the hell not!

The theme of the evening seems to be group showers, and why the hell not, that’s why all guys play sports to begin with. First came the non sequitur skit involving Kimmel, Danica Patrick, Street Sense, and Jerry Tarkanian sharing a group shower. Kimmel was flirting with the Shark but a blind guy could he was eye fuckin’ that horse.

Disney’s new anti-hetero agenda really got legs when Kimmel invited LeBron into his home, and bathroom, during his time in Los Angeles.

I swear to god Taryn Mowatt just said she wanted to cup my balls. I’m super cereal, not even bullshittin’.

LeBron thinks he’s having fun with Bobby Brown, but I’m pretty sure this is all a producer’s practical joke that went a bit too far. Well Annika Sorenstam seems to be enjoying it, who am I to argue? Thank God Jimmy’s there to make rehab jokes.

Dane Cook ALERT: This is not a drill. Parents should now secure their 15 year-old girls before he gets too many laughs. On a serious note, I hope Dane Cook suffocates on a horse’s cock.

I swear I can’t remember the last time they gave out an award to somebody who doesn’t teach kids of different religions to play soccer without blowing each other all the way to Wales (I’m just assuming Wales is far away). I just don’t get you gentiles. Don’t you all pray to the same Jesus?

Hey Boise State won their second award. Good thing too because the NCAA just took the first one away from Ian Johnson.

I think Shaq wants to grab a shower with the OG Blazer.

Apparently there was a storm in New Orleans, Tiger Woods’ dad died, and two African American coaches led their teams to the Super Bowl. They must all be related because they just shared a moving montage . Jesus Christ ESPN, that’s some racist ass shit. Are you trying to say that two African American coaches going to the Super Bowl was a tragic event or was that just your stock African American montage? Does anybody have dibs on FireNorby.com.

Backstage clip from after LeBron’s performance: “Was that fun? Alright, now let’s go shower together.” I told you it was a theme.

Queen James via the transplendant wizznutzz.com

Chris Berman is on stage with Jamie-Lynn Siegler, let the shitty Sopranos jokes and lecherous downward glances begin!

They inexplicably saved it for a montage but Landon Donovan won Best MLS Player. MLS MVP Christian Gomez might as well start tying the noose.

Remember how the Florida Gators won the football and basketball championships in the same year? Apparently ESPN doesn’t. Editor’s Note: OK, they just showed them in a montage of champions set to the music of some band so fucking cool that their existence cannot be confirmed or denied.

Tony Dungy accepted the Best Team ESPY on behalf of the Indianapolis Colts but for some reason he didn’t extol on the virtues of group showering.

Just what the evening needed, Jimmy Kimmel scrubbing Mike Tyson’s tattoo in…wait for it…a shower!

That’s it! DVR or no DVR, I can’t watch any more of this shit. I’m taking a bong hit and going to bed. If anything relevant happens I’ll post about it in the morning. It’s not as if this shit is timely.

Update: Fuck! I forgot to watch Common’s performance. I knew there was some reason I was watching this crap.

He used to be a good kid, that Cody Paul. Always did his chores and his homework; you didn’t even have to ask him. What a nice young man, the neighbors would say, and Cody Paul’s parents would just smile to each other and say, “That’s our boy!”

But then something wonderful happened. Cody’s Pop Warner team went to Nationals in Orlando and kid just fucking destroyed everybody. Now he’s skipping his spelling tests, calling his mom a ho, and banging junior high school girls in his team’s motel on road trips. And his room? Why, it’s just a pigsty!

Just watch the video.

Thanks to Fanhouse via The Big Lead via The Commission via Annah @ Canesport.com via the genius that cut this and put it on the net.

CHEERS to Scott Van Pelt for mentioning KSK on the radio just now.

JEERS to ESPN for firing Van Pelt an hour from now.

CHEERS to soft tacos.

JEERS to hard tacos. Fuck you, Ortega shells. You do nothing for me. I’m sick of orange beef grease running down my hand. You hear me?!

CHEERS to whatever bourbon is on sale at the store today. Jim Beam Rye, I‘m coming for you!

JEERS to Stoli never being on sale.

CHEERS to me mailing it in!

JEERS to anyone else mailing it in, because it’s only cute when I do it.

CHEERS to Corrine, the Eagles cheerleader.

And, of course, there’s nothing to jeer about that.

Editor’s Note from UM: CHEERS to Mottram and Littles the Bulldog for tonight’s Blog Show (you’ll see).

I don’t have much time to play videogames anymore, which pains me greatly. They’ve gotten cooler as my adult responsibilities have increased, and that’s not fair. But I’ll have the last laugh. One day, I’ll be retired, Mrs. Drew will have grown to ignore me completely, and then I can play all the WiiStation I want. Fuck yeah, retirement!

Anyway, allow me to outline a scenario for you. Kang and Kodos, shown above, have decided to colonize Earth. But first, they want to test the human species. You know, to make sure they aren’t intelligent enough to resist intergalactic slavery. So they pick you (yes, you!) out of a crowd and challenge you to the videogame of your choice. If you defeat Kang, you will have proved yourself worthy of alliance, and not slavery. If you lose, we then we’re all fucked, thank you very much.

So you better choose a game you excel at, motherfucker.

The rules. Pick one game, then wait until 10 other have selected to choose another. You can pick any game, console or arcade. Different years of Madden and what not are acceptable. No cheat codes. This is a one-on-one battle, so if you choose a game that doesn’t feature one-on-one play, we’ll go by high score or who can advance to the highest level. Let us also assume that Kang and/or Kodos are well-versed in video games and have watched them being played from afar. Even with tentacles, they are still quite dexterous with a control pad.

My pick is EA Bill Walsh College Football ’95.

I’ll skip the easy Tecmo Bowl pick and go for the one game that made it even easier to accumulate yards and points on 500 consecutive sweeps. I’ll be playing with Michigan and running triple option with Tyrone Wheatley. Sometimes I will go right. Sometimes I will go left. I tell you, Kodos won’t be able to keep up. One time, I scored 100 points in a half. And that makes me awesome!

Other KSK staff have jumped in and made their picks before you as well. Sorry, they got dibs.

Ape: Goldeneye

Maj: Virtua Tennis (Dreamcast or arcade). I could serve and volley that alien bastard to death with Philippoussis, outrun him with Johansson, or punish him with Yevgeny’s backhand.

Punter: I’m taking Contra for NES. Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A Select Start.

Your turn. Remember: Our lives are in your hands, dude.

Reader John R. sends in this clip of an eagle taking down Bambi. I knew we picked the eagle as our national bird for a good reason. That’ll learn you to nibble on my flowerbed, you fucking doe.

Back in April, Michael Vick was scheduled to lobby Congress on Capitol Hill to fund after school programs. Unfortunately, due to a late arrival on a flight from Tampa, he missed his 8:35PM connecting flight in Atlanta, and then was a no-show for the 10:50PM flight he was subsequently booked on. Here now is what transpired between those two times to cause Vick to his miss his connection.

8:35PM
Oh, man.

Oh, man.

Oh, SHIT.

I am fucking stoned.

(gets off plane)

I mean, holy shit. I feel like a neon light. Somebody get hold of me, because I can pretty much feel all my blood vessels pulsing right now. I can’t tell if I like it or not.

Man, Getting stoned before getting on that plane was a motherfuckin’ mistake, man. Fucking pilot said that flight would be 45 fucking minutes. That wasn’t no 45 minutes, okay? That was 8 days. That’s a long time to be in the fucking air, man.

I think my contacts are stuck to my eyes. FUCK. Now I gotta get on another flight? Shit. I can’t take this shit. I better smoke up.

8:50PM
(walks into bathroom stall, smokes up)

Hooo!!!!! That feels… NICE. I’m gonna shit, just to complete to the doubleheader.

8:52PM
(plop)

Hooo!!!!! Double NICE!!!!!

9:00PM
Why is the toilet paper in this place only one ply? Fucking Scott Tissue. I may as well wipe my ass with an emery board.

What’s with these automatic faucets, man? There’s no water pressure in this shit. Look at this. Takes 5 hours just to rinse the soap off.

9:02PM
Air dryers? Fu-uck.

9:10PM
Oooh, California Pizza Kitchen!!!!!! MV7 is eating like a fucking kang tonight! Shrimp scampi pizza? That’s fucking crazy. I kinda want the Thai pizza. Or do I want the barbecue chicken pizza?

9:15PM
Thai, or barbecue chicken?

9:20PM
Thai, or barbecue chicken?

9:25PM
Thai, or barbecue chicken?

9:30PM
OOOH!!!! BLT Pizza!!!!

9:35PM
Thai, or barbecue chicken, or BLT?

9:40PM
Fuck it. I’m going to Pizza Hut.

9:50PM
Holy shit, this pizza is SOOOOOO good. Man, how come the only channel they got here is the CNN airport channel? I wanna see some fucking bullriding. Damn. Gotta see some bullriding. Let me go check that depressing airport bar where all the smokers have penned themselves in like caged dogs.

9:52PM
Well, why CAN’T you put on bullriding? You seriously telling me anyone in this city wants to see a Hawks game? The Hawks can scratch my balls, man. Man, fuck you. I’ll watch bullriding on my iPod.

9:55PM
Fucking iPod. You can do everything but recharge yourself.

10:00PM
Man, look at all these departing flights. There’s even one going to Sioux City. I didn’t even know people lived in Sioux City. I thought they called it a city as like a joke and shit. Ooooh, Paris! Damn, I’d like to go to Paris. I heard French whores are completely disaffected and will let you do anything. Seattle? Ain’t nothing but pasty fuckers there. Oh, man! MEXICO!!!!!!! I gotta go live in Mexico, man. They have hammocks. Hammocks are solid.

This wall of monitors is mesmerizing. I feel like a citizen of the world. There are people here from everywhere, man. It’s like a little mini-Earth of its own.

Holy shit, I just blew my own mind.

10:10PM
Guess I better go wait at the gate. What gate am I? E62? Where am I now? A49? Oh, SHIT.

10:15PM
I gotta get one of these moving walkways in my house. These things are incredible. I feel like I’m fast forwarding… THROUGH LIFE!

No wait! We need to install one in the new offense. Know how mobile I’d be cruisin’ past defenders on this bitch? God, we’re gonna go 16-0.

10:25PM
Man, this gate area’s crowded. I’m going to Hudson News.

10:26PM
Shit man, I gotta look at that Playboy’s Nudes. Is anyone around? I gotta wait for the shit to clear. Okay, I’m going in. They won’t notice if I tear the cellophane off.

Mmmmm, tits. Oh, yeah. Tits are my friend.

10:28PM
Man, where is Rolling Stone? All I see is Vanity Fair. Who the fuck reads that shit?

10:29PM
This gate area’s depressing. Where the fuck am I supposed to sit? These fucking old people put their bags all over the shit.

Christ, lady, control your fucking children! Can’t you see how miserable they’re making everyone? I’mma throw them out the jetway.

I wonder if that guy is done with that USA Today sports section.

Shit. He isn’t.

I can’t take this shit much longer.

10:35PM
OOOOH, an arcade!!!!!

10:40PM
Galaga, you are my BITCH.

11:15PM
(walks up to gate agent)

Hello, I’m Michael Vick. I believe I have a reservation for the 8:35 flight. I’m ready to board.

I’m sorry? It’s what time now?

Photo courtesy of The Onion.

It’s a pretty quiet morning at KSK World Headquarters. Punter and Ufford are on gaycation, Ape and Jean Grey are enjoying a two-for-one flea dip, and the Maj is “too hungover to breathe.”

That provides ample excuse to present one of the finalists from our recent contest for the final spot in the KSK Keeper League. This fearsome salvo comes from the potentates of Blogfrica, the Nation of Islam Sportsblog. Maj loves these guys, but their rigid insistence can be a little, gulp, intimidating:

Sirs,

Your roster of already accepted entries into your “league” is quite a list of talent, insight and blogging presence.

It also reads as tho it were written with chlorox on white toilet paper.

We refuse to dance like an organ grinder’s monkey for you by submitting an “entry” for you to post on your site. The white man has used our talent for his personal gain and as a substitute for his lethargic and lazy nature for centuries. We resoundingly reject this attempt to have us provide the material for future posts to help buoy your sinking “blog”.

What we will do is this:

We demand acceptance into your league. We demand that you integrate your league with full representation of the microcosm of OUR nation.

We make these demands, respectfully. But forcefully. And they are levied with the full backing of Rainbow/PUSH, OUR nation and the United Negro College Fund.

Not including us would be akin to your willfully signing the death certificate of your “blog”. OUR support is limitless. OUR devotion is tireless. OUR righteousness is uncompromising.

Remember, a mind is a terrible thing to waste.

This is YOUR opportunity to be environmentally friendly.

Submitted with militant exuberance and the minimum acceptable appropriate level of respect,

NOISb

Allahu Akhbar

We felt duly chagrined by NOISb’s admonition, but still went another direction for the winner. We couldn’t bear the thought of spending an entire season being lectured to by these guys. We’ll keep reading them though.

[Update: "Oh, you were finished?... Oh, well, then allow me to retort."]

Ain’t looking for nothin’ but a good time / And it don’t get better than this

There’s nothing more I can say, just enjoy.

God bless you Brady Quinn, you make life more fun.

UPDATE: The delightful Brian Cook of The AOL Fanhouse FanHouse drops the knowledge on Brady’s bearded buddy, one Ryan Tucker formerly of some shitty Catholic school in Indiana frog school in North Mexico.

Five Fast Facts About The Ravens:
-Of the 276 reported murders in Baltimore City last year, only 273 were committed by Ray Lewis. He said God was responsible for the other three.
-The team brought in running back Willis McGahee not to give the offense a fresh pair of legs, but to restore the roughly 300,000 people the city has lost in the last 50 years through his hordes of illegitimate children.
-Quarterback Steve McNair was totally not to blame for the eventually dropped DUI charge he incurred over the off-season. That interception in the endzone in the playoffs against the Colts? Still kinda his fault.
-Raven Symone to fill in ably and fattily for Jonathan Ogden this season when he again contemplates retirement.
-Samari Rolle just a subpar sushi dish with a lot of Old Bay seasoning.

Projected 2007 Record:
0-16, 4th in AFC North.

Actual 2007 Record:
0-38, banished from league, America.
(…okay) 10-6, 2nd in AFC North.

Ways in which the Justice Department would change if tomorrow Brian Billick took over for Alberto Gonzales:

1. More running directly up the gut on first, second, and not infrequently, third down.
2. Patriot Act mostly unchanged, but somehow more pompous sounding.
3. Attorney General remains about as douchey, but with less hair.
4. There are no more differences.

Occasions in which purple camouflage pants are not gay:

1. Never.
2. Ever.
3. Andre 3000 wears them.

Players for whom white Ravens fans cheer:

1. Todd Heap.
2. Todd Heap.
3. McNulty.
4. Todd Heap (after Matt Stover kicks a field goal).

Wedding Crashers incorrectly claimed that Maryland was all about “crab cakes and football.” What is Maryland actually about?

1. Crab cakes and lacrosse.
2. Liberal politics.
3. Not being able to buy liquor anywhere.
4. Johnny Unitas — just kidding, he’s always been an Indianapolis Colt.