Wait, that came out wrong.

Mike Vrabel makes this post 1000 words shorter

Good morning, football fans. We’re happy to inform you that our resident Redskins fan and gambling addict, one Unsilent Majority, is still alive this morning — if just a teeeeeeeeensy bit touchy — despite the Redskins playing the role of Monica Bellucci in Irreversible yesterday. In fact, he’ll be along later with some good ol’ homerade if we can get him to pull his head out of the oven.

In the meantime, let’s take a look back on Maj’s gambling advice over the last several weeks.

October 2

The New England Patriots are the NFL’s version of blood diamonds, they may be evil and tainted but they’ll make you rich! Richer than astronauts! Do you want to know how you too can actually enjoy the diabolical reign of Belichick and company? Of course you do! How else are you going to pay off your student loans from that semester at DeVry? Follow my three easy steps (plus one fuckin’ complicated step) to success and soon you’ll have a boat filled with gorgeous women like you were some sort of brilliant midget with a twin brother in tow.

1. BET HEAVILY ON THE PATRIOTS POINT SPREAD

2. MASTURBATE FOR 3 HOURS

3. COLLECT YOUR WINNINGS

4. EAT CAVIAR OUT OF A HOOKER’S ASS

Yep, it’s really that easy. Now go sell all of your earthly possessions (yes, your daughter counts) and take the proceeds directly to your offshore bookie of choice.

October 4

New England -17 vs. Cleveland
I’ve now increased my bet on New England for the third consecutive week. Now we’re up to a $100 wager, by the end of the season I’ll be living here.

October 19

New England -17 at Miami
Patriots–FUCK YEAH!

October 26

Washington +17 -115 at New England
I’ve bet on the Pats every single week this season so it’s been easy to tell what’s going on here. They kept covering so Vegas kept raising the spreads… But now the Pats are playing an actual team (disclaimer: team may not have actual coach) with a defense rated in at or near the top of the league in every relevant category. I’m not saying that I’m picking my Skins to win outright, but Jesus fucking Siddhartha, they’re certainly more capable than the incompetent pussybaskets of the AFC East.

What the fuck is this shit? I thought Sunday Night was Football Night ™? I was ready for a game. A football game. And now, here I sit, at 8 o’clock, after a full day of…stuff…and now YOU’RE TELLING ME THERE’S NO GODDAMN FOOTBALL ON TONIGHT?

I don’t want to…wait, what’s that? There’s no football…because of baseball? No, noooo, this is fucking bullshit. This is America, goddammit! We don’t cancel football for baseball. They cancel baseball for rain. For fucking rain, man! They can’t even stand up in the face of precipitation! We cancel games for when presidents get shot in convertibles, not for some lame-fuck baseball game. We can have a cocksucking game in tea-and-crumpets London, but not tonight? At its regulary-scheduled space in my life? Fucking bullshit, man.

This does it. I don’t wanna hear Jerome Bettis ever again, telling me that Sunday Night is, or was, whatever. Not if he’s gonna fold up his tent like some loafer-toting French infantryman every time baseball walks into town. As of now, Sunday Night Is Jerome Bettis Runs Like A Little Bitch Night. It wasn’t bad enough when Willie Parker ran you out of Pittsburgh. Now you’ve got Tim McCarver and that crooked little finger he keeps up Joe Buck’s ass running you off of the calendar. You’ve gotta represent, Jerome; this looks pretty fucking Grosse Pointe.

Leave it to fucking white people to ruin everything, man. Cocks.

Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

While rumblings of a Buffalo Bills move to Toronto are hardly new, they certainly have gained traction since the team announced last week they were seeking league permission to play some of their games in the Great White North.

Sadly, the writing is on the wall for the upstanding people of upstate New York– as soon as the old man buys the farm that team is his-toe-ree. Enjoy your Sunday afternoons at the Anchor Bar after you get Irsayed. Unless you are willing to do something about it, of course. Like maybe assembling at the border with pitchforks and torches and showing those Canadian fuckups what you’re made of.

I wanted to dedicate this week’s column entirely to the Buffalo Jills (yes, they actually call their cheerleaders the Jills). Problem is… they’re not that attractive. Enjoy your weekend.

By popular demand, a different shot of a favorite Bronco honey from the past. Popular demand = me. I’m popular. No, really.

“Oh, eat my chair.” - Rick Gassko

Maj hates to see them leave, but he loves to watch them go.

It may not mean much in the grand scheme of the league, this meeting of the 2-4s, but it does mark the first showdown between Andy Reid and his former coordinator, Brad Childress. And it may be the last. They were once allies, now they’re - well, they’re not really bitter foes. But they have embittered the fans of their respective teams. Let the bad blood flow while they still have jobs. WHO YA GOT?

Welcome to the latest installment of Always Be Covering.

I’ve just returned from week out of town and I’m still trying to get caught up on my shit. Last week’s failed teaser (imagine, a failed teaser!) and successful single bet (thanks Dreamboat, fuck you Matt Cassell) left me with a relatively even bankroll but I went and got greedy. After losing another late teaser (I’m firm in my belief that the Philadelphia Eagles should be lit on fire) Things were looking ugly, so I decided to go heavy on the Steelers. That was the second worst thing to happen to me on Sunday night (the sliding glass door to the hotel balcony locked behind me…i don’t want to talk about it), but thank Jesus for the Indianapolis Colts (and that woman who heard my cries of desperation). I won the straight-up bet and the first half Colts/Under teaser to put me up roughly $13 for the week. That’s the kind of comeback that will keep me in Dockers forever!

Let’s get on with these picks, I have a full DVR to catch up on over here.

All bets are for $25 dollars, all of the remaining money will likely be squandered on college football games.

Cleveland -3 (-115) at St. Louis
Stephen Jackson says he’s playing, so I’m already a bit nervous. I mean yeah, the Browns have done quite nicely in the department of coverage, but they’re still the fucking Browns.

Indianapolis -7 at Carolina
Who plays quarterback for Carolina? You know what, nevermind, I don’t really give a shit.

Pittsburgh Steelers -4 at Cincinnati
I have never spelled Cincinnati correctly in my entire life, then again, I think Babes In Toyland is more than a little bit Kevin Spacey. The Queen City? I thought as much. I think Steely McBeem is a top.

Washington +17 -115 at New England
STUPID FUCKING HOMER BET ALERT! Or is it ?(probably) I’ve bet on the Pats every single week this season so it’s been easy to tell what’s going on here. They kept covering so Vegas kept raising the spreads. Now they’ve gotten to the point where they just toss up 16.5 or 17 (excluding the Dallas game) and up until now it hasn’t been a bad strategy. They’ve probably drawn the ideal 50/50 split amongst bettors who thought teams like Buffalo and Miami would hang. But now the Pats are playing an actual team (disclaimer: team may not have actual coach) with a defense rated in at or near the top of the league in every relevant category. I’m not saying that I’m picking my Skins to win outright, but Jesus fucking Siddhartha, they’re certainly more capable than the incompetent pussybaskets of the AFC East.

Proof of divine connection: from a murder arrest
to walking away with a humble.

God, the omnipotent, all-knowing supreme being of all creation this week proclaimed Brian Billick’s call of three straight pass plays in short yardage situations to be “some bullshit, man.” These words were conveyed through the Lord’s chosen spokesman to mankind, Ravens’ linebacker Ray Lewis. In an address to his faithful, God, who in his eternal wisdom, has seen fit to deliver his blessed word via medium frequency Towson, Maryland sports radio, went on to describe the Raven’s record thus far to be “straight-up bullshit.”

Despite being able to commune directly with the hearts and minds of all living creatures though the power of the Holy Spirit, God chose to express his proclamations through the vessel that is a rapidly-deteriorating linebacker prone to lawless behavior. Former Raven Adalius Thomas has characterized the team as having a “me-first” locker room. The Almighty-through-Lewis called these comment, “just mo’ bullshit, y’all.”

When long-time listener, first time-blaspheming heretic “Barry from Dundalk” suggested that God should consider the shaky pass coverage of corner Corey Ivy, a perturbed Yahweh/Allah/Vishnu/Jah made it clear that he “ain’t even trying to hear that bullshit, man.” The Creator chastised Barry, whose soul had just been rendered forfeit for eternity, and reminded him that He “would go upside that head wit’ a quickness.”

The Word of the Almighty can be heard at 1300 on your AM dial, Monday afternoons between the Stephen A. Smith Show and “B-more Sports Nutz Weekly”.

So Channing Crowder is probably gonna get a start in that game over in England this weekend, as Zach Thomas is hurt, so he’ll have a limited amount of time to pick up some of the nuances of that defense. You know, stuff like zone blitz packages, hook coverage, and, well, learning that people in London speak English.

“I couldn’t find London on a map if they didn’t have the names of the countries,” he said. “I swear to God. I don’t know what nothing is. I know Italy looks like a boot. I know London Fletcher. We did a football camp together. So I know him. That’s the closest thing I know to London. He’s black, so I’m sure he’s not from London. I’m sure that’s a coincidental name.”

I’m sure it is.

Thanks: Rotoworld, via Brandon M. (no link sent, so fuck you)

Here’s your Wednesday evening Doug & Doug fix, to give you a five-minute reprieve from baseball. Goshkins! They’re playing through some moderate rain. What intrepid warriors!

Here’s my fantasy report: I had Ronnie Brown on the better of my two fantasy teams and now the best back I have on that receiver heavy team is Kenny Watson, who though enormously kind to me last week is about to give me nathan going against the Steelers’ run D, then return to the job to Rudi Johnson in early November. I’m 5-2 going on 5-8.

Oh, hello.

I’m sure some of you are worried about my predicament: me underwater without a breathing apparatus, these bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncati) circling in a menacing fashion.

Fear not, citizens. All is not as it seems. After I fended off the males’ initial attempts at gang rape, I’ve slowly gained acceptance into the pod. Not that it hasn’t been difficult at times: I’m not the best swimmer to begin with, and this football equipment has only exacerbated my clumsy navigation of Poseidon’s kingdom. Unlike my new friends (I’d tell you their names, but the series of clicks doesn’t translate well to our primitive language), I need to breathe more frequently than every 5-8 minutes. And have you ever tried letting one half of your brain sleep while the other operates your active body? You can’t learn that overnight.

But things are progressing. My sonar is practically fluent. The saltwater stopped bothering my eyes thanks to the development of a nictitating membrane under my eyelids (somebody tell Coach Dungy I prayed for it — he’ll handle the news better that way). And I’ve found that few terrestrial meals are as satisfying as tearing through a school of Atlantic herring cruising through the Gulf Stream.

I’m sure my quiet leadership and precision out-patterns are missed in Indianapolis, but I really feel at home here. Besides, my connection to the pod may prove to be a key alliance for the Colts. I’ve heard squeakings that Belichick’s got some friends down here, too…