[Int. Coach Belichick's office]

Matt: Hey coach, thanks for calling me in for this chat, I figure there’s some things we need to talk about.

Bill: [mumbles incoherently]

Matt: Sir?

Bill: Have a seat.

Matt: Yes, sir. So what is it you wanted to discuss?

Bill: Enough dickin’ around. I gotta know right here and right now, are you ready to lead this team to the Super Bowl?

Matt: I certainly hope so, sir.

Bill: The fuck is that supposed to mean? Hope? Fuck hope. Can you play or not, you little shitstain?

Matt: I think I’m good to go, sir, it’s just that I haven’t started a game in almost nine years now.

Bill: You think I didn’t know that already, dipshit? I know every god damn thing there is to know about you, except for all of that namby-pamby personal bullcrap.

Matt: So what is it you’d like to know?

Bill: Well I know you can run the offense, so what I need to know is how to make you… comfortable [grimaces]. As you said, you haven’t started a game since you were in high school, so I want to put you back in that frame of mind. How did you get ready on a gameday back then?

Matt: Well usually my mom would make be a big breakfast before school. You know, pancakes, eggs, bacon. The whole deal.

Bill: Good, good. We can arrange for all that. [into intercom] Peggy, have Matt Cassel’s mother woken from her mid-afternoon chardonnay nap and fly her out here posthaste.

Matt: That’s really not necessary sir.

Bill: I’ll tell you what’s necessary around here. So what else? You want me to get that cute wife of yours off of the President’s cock long enough to give you a servicing?

Matt: That won’t be necessary, I didn’t date Laura until I was a backup at USC who never really had to play. It worked out because I had plenty of time to go to her volleyball matches.

Bill: Well isn’t that sweet. So aside from the breakfast, what else did you do on gamedays?

Matt: I’d always eat a chicken for lunch. That was one of my rituals in my old playing days.

Bill: Fine, whatever, we’ll get you some fucking chicken. Did you do anything besides eat to get loose?

Matt: To tell you the truth, one of the varsity cheerleaders would always make one of the new freshmen girls give me a blowjob right before the game. Not that I’d force them or anything, they’d be totally in to it, for the most part.

Bill: Of course, of course.

Matt: But obviously we can’t arrange for something like that now, can we? [nervous laughter]

Bill: Why the fuck not? [into intercom] Peggy, get us a young cheerleader in here doubletime. And find one with some of those DSL’s I’ve been hearing so much about.

Matt: Uh, sir, I really don’t think any of this is necess-

Bill: Like hell it’s not! Your job is not to make decisions, your job is to do what the fuck I tell you when I fucking tell you!

Matt: Of course, sir.

[Cheerleader enters]

Bill: [mumbles incoherently] So what do you think, Matty?

Matt: Well that’s not a real cheerleader sir, that’s Hayden Panettiere dressed as her character from Heroes. And I happen to know that she’s really 19 years old.

Bill: [into intercom] Peggy, get me some real ones, and make ‘em farm fresh.

Matt: Sir, I really don’t think we should be bringing underage girls in here. I could get in a lot of trouble if anybody finds out this time.

Bill: [silencing glare]

Matt: Yes sir, whatever you think is best.

[Three giggling cheerleaders enter]

Matt: Ooooh, braces over there really brings back memories.

Bill: Oh yeah?

Matt: Yeah. Now if you can get that one to puke on my lap afterward it’ll feel just like that last game day all over again.

Bill: Excellent. Oh, by the way, how did you perform in that game?

Matt: 3 for 11 or something like that. Why?

Bill: [mumbles incoherently]

Matt: I’m sorry sir, I didn’t catch that.

Bill: I said “get the fuck out of here!”

Matt: Yes sir. Come on girls, I’ll drop you off at the mall or something. Don’t worry, you don’t have to blow anybody you don’t want to, at least until you rush a sorority.

Bill: Leave them.

Matt: All three?!

Bill: Take metal mouth.

Matt: Thanks, coach!

Bill: [mumbles incoherently]

[Matt exits]

How kickass was the George Michael Sports Machine back in the late 80′s/early 90s? The hokey phony sports computer equipment notwithstanding, his show was must-see on Sunday nights– Dan Patrick and Keith Olbermann be damned. The clip below details the 1993 regular season finale between the playoff-bound Steelers and the Bill Belichick’s Cleveland Browns.

Belichick was fresh off his dumbass decision to cut starting QB and local folk-hero Bernie Kosar in favor of Todd Philcox. You all remember the great Todd Philcox, don’t you? They built a 50-foot statute in his honor in front of Severance Hall after he won his third league MVP award. Just kidding, he was a fucking bum.

Anyway, after Neil O’Donnell led the Steelers to a come from behind win, Belichick was in no mood for post-game pleasantries. He even goes as far as to leave Greg Lloyd hanging. What a class act.

Fast-forward fourteen years, Belichick has long since shed his image of a losing philanderer with the manners of pillaging Visigoth. Now he’s known far and wide as a choking philanderer with the manners of a pillaging Visigoth. Enjoy.

[ top image via SbB ]

I’m just kidding, of course. I do not wish you Patriot fans a Happy Valentine’s Day. Unless this is the day your girlfriend decides she’s had it with you and the 500 empty tins of Kodiak you keep leaving around her apartment. I don’t wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day at all. But I will wish you a happy “Eat A Fucking Bowl Of Dick” Day. Or a “Get Run Over By A Fucking Cement Mixer” Day. Or a “Get Your Klan Rally Petition Rejected By The Board Of Commerce” Day. Or a “YOU FUCKING LOST” Day. Or a “Why Don’t You Take A Job As A Commercial Fisherman And Fucking Drown 500 Miles Off The Coast Of Nova Scotia In A Fierce Nor’Easter?” Day.

I hope you choke on rose stems. You fucking losers.

And, while we’re here, let’s tear that Simmons mailbag apart.

One gigantic disclaimer before we get to the collection of post-Super Bowl e-mails: I would have included more Giants-related e-mails if I had received more coherent ones — 99 percent were of the “Hahhhhhhhhaahahahahaa! You suck!” or “18-1!!!!!” variety.

Yes, because no one from New York is creative at all! Such an unimaginative town! What do they do there, sell insurance? It would have been far preferable if New England had won, and Patriot fans could have taunted the world with more florid taunts, such as, “FACK YOU, YOU FACKIN’ BRAWNX IMMIGRANTS! WHY DON’T YOU GO GET A FACKIN’ GREEN CAAAAAD!” Yes, if you root for a non-Boston team, you are nowhere near as gracious or poetic in winning. Maybe if you had been more fawning of the Patriots in victory, Simmons would have deigned to publish you.

Let’s play a game. How many emails did Shitbox have to comb through to get dogshit like this?

Of course, I have no pity for the Patriots, but I DO feel for their great fans.

I’m guessing 300. But wait! There’s douchier!

I really do feel for Pats fans after that loss — I still think this year’s Pats are easily the best team of the modern salary cap era. If you need proof of that, consider the fact that after Plaxico Burress made what became the game-winning touchdown, the single thought in the head of every Giants fan watching the game was “Oh God, Brady has 35 seconds and three timeouts.” I’m not sure there has ever been a team that has caused more doubt in the minds of the opposing fans than these Patriots.

So true! Great teams don’t even need to close out games! The mere fact that other teams’ fans consider the possibility of them coming back to win is all the reason anyone needs! Why even play the end of the game WHEN FANS MAY HAVE DOUBTS ABOUT THE OUTCOME? Crazy!

Finally…

What are the odds that Asante Samuel’s dropped INT at the end of the game will replace Buckner’s bungle as the worst play in Boston history? That was devastating on a level far surpassing anything I’ve seen in all my years as a Boston sports fan. If he ever wears a Pats jersey again, it’ll be too soon.

Allusion to ’86 Red Sox loss? Check.
Boston fan playing up his emotional devastation to invite your pity? Check.
Throwing longtime, outstanding player under the bus? Check.
Desire in me to choke this person with a hockey stick? Check.

Fuck your Valentine’s Day, Patriot fans. I hope you get the runs.