Yesterday we introduced the idea of a tournament to decide who is the true heavyweight champion of the world, and today we have an official 16-man bracket. We started with a list of some 40-odd football players before eventually narrowing it down to the current field. And as you can see by the masterful artwork on the bracket we’ve spent countless hours on this project.

Starting tomorrow we’ll be posting a tale-of-the-tape for each of the eight first round matchups and you’ll have the opportunity to vote for your pick to move on, or for Shockey to go home in a bloody heap.

Feel free to bitch about the rankings in the comment section, or congratulate us on a complete lack of Patriots.

The poindexters at Pro Football Reference have unveiled their list of the worst quarterbacks in the history of the game. You won’t find perennial benchwarmers like Jelly-Roll Lorenzen here, rather the stat-monkeys focused on quarterbacks who logged enough playing time to really stink up the joint. I doubt that anyone in the D will be shocked to learn that Joey Harrington topped the list.

No QB has performed so far below the league average for so long as Joey Harrington. To be clear, Joey Harrington probably isn’t the worst quarterback of all time in an absolute sense. But in terms of being so far below average, but far enough above miserable to earn more playing time, Joey Harrington hurt his team more than any other QB in NFL history. If Harrington had been worse, he would have played less, and he wouldn’t have set back the teams he played on.

Ouch. Don’t sugar-coat it or anything.

Also worth a look is their compilation of the worst quarterbacks in each individual season. This list is a pleasant blend of the expected (Archie Manning, Ryan Leaf, David Carr), the surprising (Phil Simms, Joe Theismann) and players I had all but forgotten (Stan Gelbaugh, Billy Joe Tolliver). Check out Joe Ferguson’s staggeringly awful run as worst QB in three straight seasons (1982-84).

Of course in this day and age a team would never give a QB that long before making a change. Americans will no longer tolerate protracted mediocrity from their quarterbacks. Mediocrity from our President, legislature, courts, social service structure, public schools and economic system is one thing. But from our quarterbacks? No effing way.

[ ht: MLive.com ]

For reasons I cannot begin to fathom, this guy called selloutasaurus on YouTube recreates memorable moments in NFL history using toy frogs wearing gum-ball machine mini-helmets. Along the way, he incorporates low-tech special effects, old network broadcasts and constant non sequiturs. Sure, we’ve seen cutesy stuffed animal videos before, but these are downright surreal. It’s like NFL Films hired the Church of the Subgenius to produce a highlight film starring the Muppets.

The centerpice in the collection is an homage to Drew Peason’s disputed catch in the 1975 playoffs. The last-minute score gave the Cowboys a victory over the Vikings and introduced into football vernacular the phrase “Hail Mary.” In this Greatest Croaks series, a David Lynchesque disregard for continuity turns a 30-second highlight into a three-part (so far) saga detailing a historic pass’ trip around the world. Also available are reenactments of the Heidi Game, the Ice Bowl and a tribute to the Fridge.

And all you Pats fans, be sure to check out the Giant Snatch. Certainly seeing David Tyree played by Kermit the Frog takes some of the sting out of the loss. What’s that? You say it doesn’t? Good.

Bert Sugar, the beloved cigar muncher/boxing historian has frequently expressed his belief that the dearth of great American heavyweights can be directly attributed to the rise in popularity, and profitability, of leagues like the NFL. Forty years ago it was boxers who were on top of the American sports world while professional football was still struggling to find its place (fortunately it had some ardent supporters).

Obviously today’s landscape is far different. Ethan Albright is earning millions and enjoying the fame associated with being Madden ’07’s lowest rated player while some guy named Vodka Drunkenski is hoisting our once beloved title belts over his Chernobylized head. But what if that weren’t the case?

What if all of the tremendous athletes in our beloved NFL had grown up in headgear rather than helmets, and throwing jabs instead of footballs? When asked which NFLer would make the best boxer Sugar contends that “Ray Lewis would be a hell of a heavyweight,” but I think we need a tournament to make things official.

What we need from you readers is some nominations. It’s quite simple really, you name an active NFL player in the comment section and they will be considered for the field. Once the competitors are decided upon we’ll seed them and provide a tale of the tape for each match-up to help you vote. In the end, only one man will remain standing.

I’ll get the ball rolling with one guy who’s a lock for a favorable seed. He’s big, he’s crazy, and he actually boxes in the off-season. He’s Shawne Merriman.

Remember, we’re limiting this to potential heavyweights so all competitors should be at least 5′11″ (taller than Tyson) with a hypothetical boxing weight between 215 and 299 pounds.

The Big Lead has long been sports bloggers’ quiet in-joke. But the LA Times’s David Wharton had to go and portray the blogosphere’s intellectual stepchild as some kind of mouthpiece for sports bloggers, and that didn’t go over too well. On Buzz Bissinger’s outburst against Will Leitch:

“The initial reaction was ‘Buzz is a lunatic,’ ” McIntyre said. “After that, people calmed down, listened to what he said and thought, ‘You know, maybe we should clean up our act a little bit.’ “

As someone with a fully functional frontal lobe, I of course disagree. As did Leitch, who wrote about the article — and McIntyre’s disconnect with reality — yesterday on Deadspin. That prompted this response on The Big Lead:

And then a flurry of emails saying, “[The Deadspin post] is like Puffy laying in the cut setting up Tupac at the studio and now it’s time to bust back!” Sorry folks, I never really played that game. This guy named Matt Ufford attempted it repeatedly, and I just elected not to engage in it.

Oooh, “this guy named Matt Ufford.” That cuts deep. The Big Lead barely knows I exist! Why, he’s far too busy fellating local columnists to know who his peers are! Golly, thanks for turning the other cheek, mister! Otherwise I would have wasted all sorts of precious seconds destroying someone with the verbal acuity of a community college dropout. Or, say, an US Weekly staffer.

Just so we’re clear: I never attempted to “engage” Jason McIntyre in anything. After months of occasional and frustrating dialog over email, I told him precisely why I don’t respect him professionally and asked that he not email me. I’ve also occasionally expressed my opinion — usually via subtle digs, once openly — that I don’t like The Big Lead. So, breaking news: I don’t like a website. It doesn’t mean I’m trying to engage said website’s author in some wasteful war of words. Besides, everything bad about me has already been said: I’m overly sensitive, I’m egomaniacal, I’m condescending, I’m pretentious, I won’t hesitate to lord my military service over people, I peddle smut – really, the list goes on. There aren’t any more original angles to take on how much of an asshole I am. Not that McIntyre would be able to take one, anyway.

But, while we’re on the subject of a hypothetical battle royale, you’ll pardon me if I yawn while I contemplate his pointed barbs. Here’s McIntyre’s sharp-tongued response to a commenter who questioned his typically twisted syntax yesterday:

Didn’t know EB Shrunk read the site. Good to know!

You know, it would be funny if it were an act. After one of McIntyre’s readers sends him this link — Lord knows he doesn’t read any blog posts that aren’t served to him over email — perhaps he can purchase his very own copy of the essential guide for anyone who cares about written communication, co-authored by the foremost American belletrist of the 20th century, E.B. White, and one of his professors, William Strunk. Strunk. With a T. You fucking clod.

Until that happens, McIntyre, keep my name out your mouth, unless it’s to say, “Thank you, Matt Ufford, for having the decency to not reveal my identity while I was collecting paychecks and wasting oxygen at US Weekly.”

Leave me to my nice little bubble of cheap jokes and frivolity, and get back to doing what you do best: counting your page views and sucking media cock.

From time to time, KSK has reeled in big-name NFL players and analysts to answer questions from fans the world over. Well today, we have a very special guest here with us. It’s Cowboys’ defensive back Pacman, nee Adam, Jones! Onto your questions!

Pacman, what did you think of what Don Imus said about you on the air recently?

-Jimbo, East Plano

Pacman: Man, FUCK Don Imus. Old bag muthaphuckka. Fuck hiz azz. FUCK HIZ AZZ WIT A DIK AN A STIK. Prolly got a dik look like beef jerky. Fuck hiz hat. What he think, he a cowboy? He ain’t no cowboy. Pacman a cowboy. Imus just a horse-azz BITCH. Pacman tak dat horse and smack it on da azz. Gon whip Imus lik he da fuckin’ Black Stallion. Turn hiz azz in2 kung pao and shit. Fuck him and hiz old azz bitch. Cookbook writin’ bitch. Pacman tak dat bitch and giv her da Hoova. Put som shampoo in dat bitch’s platinum hair. FUCK DON IMUS.

Pacman, do you think Tony Romo’s love affair with Jessica Simpson will again distract the team as it tries for a championship?

-Jim Bob, Midland

Pacman: Oooh, Pacman lik dat gurl. Gurl be thick! Pacman do tha drizzle on dat azz. Gurl hum a nice tune when she got a dik in her mouf. Romo know what time it iz. He giv her dat Creamsicle. Ain’t gotta take her down Mexico way fo dat skeet.

Hi, Pacman! Long time Cowboy fan and Laker fan. Have you heard any word recently about Roger Goodell reinstating you?

-Jimmy Bob, Odessa

Pacman: Fuckin’ Orange Whitey fuckin’ wit Pacman. Pacman ain’t down wid it. Pacman been good. Ain’t bitin’ no stripper puzzy on Sundays. Only drankin’ wine. Only smokin’ when I at da hizzay. Orange Whitey dont wanna hear it. He keepin’ Pacman danglin’. Pacman gon tak hiz wife to ChocolateTown fo fukkin’ wit him.

Pacman, I thought you gave up the Pacman name. Shouldn’t we all be calling you Adam?

-Bobby Jim Rob, Arlington

Pacman: It Tuesday! Pacman good on 2sday!

Pacman, how did you get your nickname? Also, would you hook up with Ms. Pacman? She’s kinda hot!

-Robbie Jay Jimmy Bob, Dallas

Pacman: Ooooh, Pacman gon bust Ms. Pacman wide. Gurl give good head if she all head. Pacman hear she give great circle. Gon gobble dat bitch right up. Pacman gon take Ms. Pacman and chomp her dotz. Ain’t no ghostz getting’ ta dat bitch befo Pacman duz. He outrun Blinky fo dat glowin’ pussy.

Pacman, how are you getting along with your new teammates? Between TO, Romo, and the rest, there’s a lotta egos in that locker room!

-Bobby Dingo JayBob, Ft. Worth

Pacman: Ain’t no thang. Pacman ain’t got no hate fo nobody. Pacman all good. Pacman just gon kick back and wait fo Orange Whitey to let Pacman tear dat azz up again. ‘Cause Pacman gon tear dat azz UP. Pacman gon bury it in dat azz. He gon drill some holez. Buleev dat. And he gon drank. You betta buleev he gon drank that drank. Pacman take dat drank and bow da roof off the bitch. He gon make a bitch howl. He gon cork some bitchez. He gon chew dat trim. Put a bitch thru tha wall wif dat dong.

AIN’T NO MUTHAPHUCKKAZ GON BE PHUCKKIN’ WIT PACMAN WHEN HE GIVIN’ DAT BITCH DAT LUV SNORKEL. HE GON MAKE A BITCH CRY FO DAT CHOCOLATE CHARLESTON CHEW. BULEEV DAT.

Ads like this one have popped up on Facebook recently. Looks like some unscrupulous advertiser is using Brady Quinn’s image without his consent– or not. Maybe he is getting a piece of the action. If so, good for him.

[ HT: Jock Talk Blog ]

If passed, legislation currently working it way through Congress would make compulsory breathalyzer locks on all regulation-size footballs in the United States. Such locks not only counteract the public interest by making standard what should only be used in extreme cases, such as for running back Cedric Benson, they would create a de facto prohibition.

Proponents of breath ball locks are using cases such as Benson and Javon Kearse, and the sensationalized accounts of their arrests in the media, as an excuse to impose invasive big government tactics into our everyday lives.

Ball carriers with a high blood alcohol content (BAC) are responsible for far more alcohol-related fumbles and premature stumbles on the football field than other impaired players. The average BAC of a drunk fumbler is 0.19, more than twice the legal limit.

By 2005, the NFL had lowered its legal playing limit from 0.10 to 0.08 percent—even though players talking on helmet microphone made more errors and have longer reaction times than players who are legally “drunk” at 0.08 BAC. (In fact, the average BAC in 2005 of an offensive player involved a turnover was 0.17—more that twice the current legal limit.)

At less than 0.08 percent most people don’t exhibit any signs of intoxication. But under “presumptive” laws in almost half of the states, players can be flagged for playing while “impaired” with BAC levels as low as 0.02 percent.

Requiring such low universal standards for using the game ball would encroach upon on way of life. Gone would be the halftime fifth of vodka, the Gatorade on the sideline laced with rum or even the stolen flask from a fan. Hell, Jared Allen’s mind doesn’t even function with a BAC under 0.23.

Citizens wishing to learn more about how ball locks would infringe on our basic and Constitutionally protected civil rights are encouraged to visit breathballfacts.org.

Most of you don’t really give a shit about what people are writing about the realm of sports blogs, and really, neither do I. They never talk about me! Seriously, it’s the same shit over and over. It’s the Wild West! No accountability! I worked my whole life to get overrun by these turds!

The thing I hate about the practice of writing is that it’s so deliberately short-sighted. Granted, you don’t really care about the political climate in Zimbabwe if you’re, say, writing a recap of the Reds game. But the legion of wordsmiths out there are more often concerned with story angles than with getting a handle on what’s really going on. The “big picture” perspective — or its intentional, smooth omission — is my benchmark for great writing. And so many people are shitty at this.

So needless to say that this was all a bit of buildup for the topic at hand, namely David Wharton (of the Cambridge Whartons? [sips brandy] ) and his thinger in the L. A. Times, which suggests that sports blogs are actually toning it down. I’d link to it, but it’s not a very good article. Plus, I wasn’t interviewed!

But it deserves a response from us. Leitch responded here, and it’s good. Because some of us can’t be part of this so-called smarting-up of America. And if you assholes want to jump on that wagon, have fun. For the rest of us, I present a quick thing in response to Wharton’s asinine assertion of ass, in its entirety, simply titled, “Henry Dickens Longbottom And The Very Wet Lake.” Enjoy.

Edgy.

Hip. Wild.

In with the cool kids.

Fuck.

Fuck?

FUCK!

Piss.

Shoes.

Licking pussy when your parents are out of town.

Not because it’s cool. Because you want to.

Cocaine. Bernaise sauce. Shake well. Serves eight.

Seven if your dad is fat. Like mine.

Timmy didn’t make you do it, shithead.

I saw some cows fucking once and it blew my mind.

I am cool. I drink beer with girls.

I’ve never eaten out another girl’s ass. I’m okay with that.

Why couldn’t McIntyre be the one quitting?

Rumor has it he licked chocolate out of another guy’s foreskin.

Electricity is expensive, but cardboard is almost always free.

Sometimes you just have to play the hand you’re dealt, or curl that hand into a fist and plunge it into the ass of someone you love.

Cactus.

Fin.

George Carlin died yesterday. He was 71. You certainly don’t need us to tell you that he was the progenitor of the pissed-off comic that has been copied with varying degrees of success over the past several decades. Furthermore, it was Carlin who officially codified the seven dirty words. And as the LA Times could tell you, KSK wouldn’t be around except for those bon mots.

Carlin was right about many things, including his observation that everyone who drives slower than I do is an asshole and everyone who drives faster than I do is a maniac. This is one of his better known bits, and our favorite. Enjoy, all you assholes and maniacs…

“Listen to this dude Rufus. He knows what he’s talking about.”