Billy “I Own Four TV’s” Simmons had an article detailing the Pats 4th and 2 call from Sunday Night. It contains the usual assortment of Simmons arguments that he deems irrefutable. But forget all that. Look at this:

Seattle loves me for defending its Sonics after Clay Bennett hijacked them and moved them elsewhere. If there was ever a place I could get out of a speeding ticket, it’s Seattle. Or so I thought.

And he walked away with my license.

Someone buy this cop a fucking steak and a blowjob. It’s one thing to pull the “Do you know who I am?” bullshit with a cop. It’s another to assume that people will find that story charming. Oh, and Simmons also uses his column to brag that he used to watch 12 hours of football every Sunday when he was in elementary school, which is funny because Sunday Night Football didn’t start until 1987, when he was 18 years old. Bill Simmons is a FUCKING IDIOT. YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT I PUT THAT IN ALL CAPS, BECAUSE THAT MAKES MY POINT INARGUABLE.

Wade: Gosh dangit. We had to go and ruin a perfectly good four-game winnin’ streak by strollin’ into Green Bay and layin’ a darn egg! Ugh.

Well, guess I better get to work. We got those pesky Redskins comin’ in this week, and I know darn well they’ll be loaded for bear. I better study some tape. Except… aw hell, no one around. No need to get cracking just YET. Lemme just play one game of solitaire. Helps sharpen the ol’ noggin.

(opens up solitaire game)

Oh, that’s a lousy draw.

(resets the game 50 times)

Ah, much better. Now, to just drag these three aces up to the top…

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEHAW!!!! YEEEEEEEHAW!!!! YEE! HAW! DOUBLE GODDAMN YEEHAW! WELCOME TO THE JERRYDOME, FAT POWER!

Wade: Oh, crap.

Jerry: What you got there, Tubby? Little bit of solitaire? Ah, solitaire. OFFICIAL GAME OF FAT CRAPS THE WORLD OVER!

Wade: I just had this open as a goof, sir. I’m getting right to work. Honest.

Jerry: Oh, save it, Tubby. You just go right ahead playing your little game.

Wade: You mean, you aren’t mad? What’s going on? Why aren’t there horns comin’ out of your head? We got killed on Sunday.

Jerry: Haven’t you heard, lard shark? THIS IS THE NEW GODDAMN DOUBLE J! They said I couldn’t be patient! They said I’d kick your flabby ass to the curb the second things went wrong! BUT I’M NOT! AND YOU KNOW WHY?

Wade: Because stability is good for a football team?

Jerry: BAHAHAHAHAHAHA. No, no. Stability is for children and faggots! No, the reason I’m keeping you around is because, if I fire you now, I don’t get to fire you LATER! And firing you later is gonna be sooo much better, chubtard! I can hardly wait! I AM GONNA FIRE THE SHIT OUT OF YOU! I’m gonna sneak up behind you and ZAP YOUR FAT STEER HIDE WITH A GODDAMN CATTLE PROD!

Wade: Ugh.

Jerry: Now you listen to me, Fatass. You are my puppet. My big, fat, mushy puppet. And for the rest of the year, I’m gonna have my three-ringed hand right up your endless ass! You see that phone over there?

(points to giant red phone with two big J’s painted on it)

Wade: Yes.

Jerry: That’s your new Jerryline, you fat shit. Anytime that phone rings, you better pick it up. And you better do exactly what I say! OR ELSE I’LL FIRE YOUR ASS FOR CAUSE! If you want to see the balance of your contract, you better do EVERY GODDAMN THING I SAY! And I know you got a daughter who acts, so YOU NEED THE DOUBLE J’S CASH!

Wade: Sir, this hardly seems necessary…

Jerry: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! You’re gonna get your fat on me! You just answer that goddamn phone any time I tell you to! AND IT MIGHT RING AT ANY TIME, SO YOU BETTER HAVE YOUR FAT ASS IN HERE ALL DAY AND NIGHT!

Wade: But who will run practice if I have to stay in the office all day long?

(door flies open)

Garrett: Hmm. Yes. Indeed. Methinks my portly companion here doth protest too much. Also, he doth EAT too much!

Jerry: BAHAHAHAHA! Good one, Princeton Boy!

Wade: Oh, shut up, you big jerk.

Garrett: Calm down, my good man. You just stay here in your little suite. I have a game plan that will make those little Redskins cower in fear! Do you know the secret? GOAL LINE PASSES! GOAL LINE PASS AFTER GOAL LINE PASS, AND ONLY TO OUR WORST RECEIVERS! They’ll never see it coming! And then, my good friend Jerry and I shall have a fine EATING. Would you like that, sir? We shall dine on scallops, and pumpkin soup, and other refined foods that would never cross the visage of Melville’s creation over yonder. OH, WHAT A FINE EATING IT SHALL BE!

Jerry: Good idea, Jason!

Wade: This is ridiculous. I can’t be expected to…

(Jerryline rings)

Wade: What the? (picks up) Hello?

Jerry: (on cell phone) YOU’LL DO AS WE SAY, BEARCLAW!

Wade: Oh, for Pete’s sake.

(door explodes into pieces, whose pieces then explode individually)

MBIII: JASON GARRETT! JASON MOTHERFUCKING GARRETT! WHERE’S THAT MOTHERFUCKING RED ASS HONKY?

Garrett: Oh, Marion! My dear friend! Will you be joining us for bruschetta and other fineries?

MBIII: BRUSCHETTA THIS, MOTHERFUCKER!

(puts Garrett in choke hold)

Garrett: Marion, I can’t breathe!

MBIII: I GOT A POP QUIZ FOR YOUR ASS, HONKY. HOW MANY TIMES DID MARION BARBER GET THE BALL ON SUNDAY?

Garrett: Oh, well I’m not quite sure. You see, my game plans are often so intricate, it can take hours of film study to discern…

MBIII: (chokes harder) FIVE! FIVE MOTHERFUCKING TIMES, YOU MOTHERFUCKING RETARD! WHO THE FUCK KEEPS THE BARBARIAN IN A CAGE?

Garrett: Bluhhhhhhhh!!!

Wade: Heh heh. Choke on THAT!

MBIII: SHUT UP, FATASS!

Wade: Yes, sir.

Jerry: Marion, what I think my boy JASON is telling you is that he has every intention of getting you the ball. Isn’t that right, Jason?

Garrett: Bluhhhhhhhh!!!

MBIII: Y’ALL BETTER GET MARION BARBER THE MOTHERFUCKING BALL. OR I WILL BURN YOUR WHITE ASS TILL IT’S BLACKER THAN MY ANCESTORS! DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND THE WORDS COMING OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKING MOUTH?

Jerry: Yes! Yes, we do! In fact, we now have a system in place to ensure my boy ROMO gets you the ball! Watch! (calls Jerryline)

Wade: Hello?

Jerry: (on the phone) GIVE THE BALL TO BARBER, FATTY ICE!

Wade: Oh, for Pete’s sake.

MBIII: YOU BETTER CALL THAT MOTHERFUCKING PHONE 25 TIMES A GAME, JERRY JONES! YOU BETTER CALL MARION BARBER’S NUMBER, OR ELSE MARION BARBER WILL TEAR OUT YOUR MOTHERFUCKING TONGUE AND PUT HIS FOOT THROUGH YOUR MOUTH AND OUT YOUR FUCKING ASSHOLE!

(leaves)

Jerry: You heard the man! You sit by that phone all day, you fat cunt!

Wade: Oh, god dammit.

(phone rings)

Wade: What the?

(phone rings)

Jerry: Well, PICK IT UP, FATTERLINE!

(Wade picks up phone)

Pacman: CHUH CHUH. Iz diz da place I call fo da puzzy? Pacman need sum puzzy. BULLEE DAT. He gon shine. He gon smack dat puzzy till it luuk lik a dik. AND HE GON DRANK…

Wade: (hangs up) This sucks.

Jerry: YEEEEHAWWWW YOU BETTER ANSWER THAT PHONE, PIZZA BOY! OR ELSE YOU’LL BE COACHING GIRL’S VOLLEYBALL BY NEXT WEEK! WOOHOO! YEEHAW! GOD DAMN, YOU ARE FATTER THAN THE SUN! HOT DIGGITY GOD DAMN, I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!

When we last left professional groin watcher Peter King, he was growing up before our very eyes, stomping all over poor Taylor Swift’s red dress with his size 14 circus feet, and finding himself entranced by Peyton Manning’s words. Oh, Peyton Manning’s words and stories. I could spend weeks in your semi-sirenesque thrall.

So what about this week? What does Peter have to say about Belichick’s 4th down call in the great city of Manning? Did Peter JUST discover the thrilling sounds of the Postal Service? Will we ever see Philip Rivers squint? Read on. BUT FIRST… a letter. This letter has nothing to do with Peter King. And it was submitted for tomorrow’s Deadspin mailbag. But I want to make fun of it NOW, because I’m a dick.

This is from reader Joseph R, with the subject PISSED OFF NEW ENGLAND FAN (cue the bacteria-sized violin):

It just had to be that way. Lakers are the champs, Yankees are the champs, and the Patriots are now blowing games and letting the team that consists of Hoosiers basketball and Vols football fans get their shit eating kicks some more.

Aw, poor baby! Truly, no fanbase has ever suffered from such a terrible run. Not only have your sports team not won a title for a wrenching fifteen months, but all the teams you greatly dislike are winning them! HORRORS! THE CLOUDS ABOVE MAY NEVER PART!

You listen to me, you stupid fucking Boston fans. I don’t GIVE A FLYING FUCKING FUCK about who your rivals are. I don’t care about the history you have with them, and I don’t sympathize with you. AT ALL. Ever. Those aren’t my rivalries. I don’t give a shit. In fact, BULLY FOR THE YANKS AND COLTS AND LAKERS. GO BOSTON RIVALS! WOOHOO! YOU GUYS DEFINE CLASS!

We could’ve just done the normal, fuck we suck lost, I could’ve shut the game off around the 10 min mark, caused some accidents in NASCAR practice mode to vent my frustration, and then gone to bed, ready to start my fucking job that doesn’t pay me enough to afford a place in the damn Boston area without either working weekends or selling my nutsack to the mafia.

You must live in the Back Bay!

No, we had to take a big lead, I had to start saying OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG, and then only to see retarded thing after retarded thing happen, only for that fucking system product superstar Reggie DA U Wayne put the final dagger in…

Indeed. When I watch Reggie Wayne play, all I can think to myself is, “Well, Todd Pinkston easily could have put up similar numbers in this system.”

…allowing me another yell to dwell in my hatred of that team and their shitty fucking 95% female fanbase whose knowledge of football is Peyton Manning and Spygate.

So I’m fucking stuck Drew, there’s babies to be punched, and shit to be thrown, and you know what the worst part of this all is?

No, and I don’t give a fuck. You lost. Your coach made a retarded gamble because he’s so smart, and your team choked because of it. Now go die in a ferris wheel accident.

Now, to Peter…

Three o’clock in the morning, and I’m still rolling Bill Belichick’s call around in my head. I wonder how many people in New England aren’t asleep yet … and how many won’t be able to sleep all night.

BECAUSE OW-AHS IS THE MOST TAHHHHCHAHHHED FANBASE IN ALL OF SPARTS! I COULDN’T SLEEP AT ALL! I HAD TO GO PUNCH A DAHHHKIE IN THE CUNT JUST TO CALM MY NERVES! LET’S SEE WHAT THE FACKIN’ STOOL HAS TO SAY ABOUT IT!

First of all I have no idea how we lost that game. Like no fucking clue. Like you can’t dominate a game more than we did and lose. And yes it was a horrible use of the 2 timeouts on offense before we went for it on 4th down. But let me just say this loud and clear. I LOVE the decision to go for it. LOVE IT…LOVE IT….LOVE IT. Anybody who critcizes that move is just a fool. If we punt that ball Peyton Manning takes it right down the field and scores. Doesn’t matter whether he has to go 60 yards or 30 yards. Our defense was gassed. We had ZERO chance of stopping them. So the right move was to try to end it with our best players on the field. And guess what? It was a horseshit call by the refs. Sure Faulk juggled the ball but he juggled it for a nanosecond and then caught it. The spot was full yard and a half off. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is Belichick made the right decision. I go for it 100 out of 100 times there. Just look back to the AFC Championship game when we blew that huge lead. What happened then? We punted it and it took them 3 seconds to go the length of the field and score. Bottomline is that our offense is our moneymaker. Let Tom Brady and company win it or lose it and that’s exactly what Belichick did. The only thing that sucked was the timeouts because we should have been in a position to get the ball back after the score and get a game winning field goal. But the call to go for it on 4th was absolutly the right call. I literally can’t say that enough. It took balls of steel to make that decision and that’s why Belichick is the best coach in the league.

PS – We’re still a team to be reckoned with in the playoffs.

PS – the Bar Stool Sports guy has a buttpussy the size of the Mariana Trench. I LITERALLY CAN’T SAY THAT ENOUGH. It’s like reading Harry Knowles defend and Uwe Boll film. Know what other genius coach would have made that ballsy call, Boston fans? Mike Martz. Back to King.

Belichick’s too smart to have something so Grady-Littlish on his career resume

Some may say the call was even semi-John McNamaralike.

He trusted Brady to get two yards. Let’s place the odds of Brady getting two yards at 60, 65 percent. The odds of Manning going 72 yards to score a touchdown in less than two minutes … that’s maybe 35 percent.

Reader Mike P.:

OK, so if he thinks the Colts have a 35% chance of scoring that TD, that means that they have a 65% chance of NOT scoring that TD, meaning the Pats win, right? That’s the same percentage he gives for converting the 4th and 2! So he’s arguing that one call was horrible but gives the same percentage for a Pats victory with either decision.

Defensive Player of the Week

First, Woodson winning this is an achievement in itself, because the Bengals had about five guys who deserved this.

But YOU won it, Charles! And now you get Peter’s special prize of a SPICY CORNCOB! Ross Tucker only ate half of it!

Goat of the Week

I hear the natives in the Loop are beyond restless, and they’re not naming sandwiches after Trader Jerry Angelo anymore.

What about the veal Cutler? ZING

Stat of the Week

The ESPN documentary on Jimmy “the Greek” Snyder was absolutely terrific the other night — insightful and accurate.

Except for the part where they hired a voiceover to IMPERSONATE JIMMY’S FUCKING GHOST. That part, not so insightful.

As I tried to think of a way to put the importance of The Greek and his show in perspective, I thought of one word: volume.

As in, he was often both loud AND wrong, not unlike today’s NFL analysts. Truly, a pioneer.

For those too young to remember the significance of “The NFL Today” and Jimmy The Greek, or for those of you reading this in a college dorm and who know Brent Musberger only from the big college games on Saturday, take a minute to learn history.

It’s important history you should know, on par with the history of both World Wars.

The Greek, angry at a perceived lack of TV time, once slugged Musberger in a bar. He was fired after the 1987 season for making racially divisive comments. The ESPN show focused on the tragic life that Greek’s became. Good viewing.

Lofty viewing.

People ask me what the biggest difference is in covering the NFL today versus the early years I covered it; my first season as an NFL beat guy was…

I’m sorry. This is boring me. I’m gonna have to pull an Elvis Costello here and change the tune. Get a load of this piece of shit from pock-marked, pubic headed retard Dan Shaughnessy. Keep in mind that King moved to Boston specifically to read this man’s work.

This was as bad as anything the Red Sox ever did. Had it been a playoff game, it would be right up there with Bucky Dent, Bill Buckner, Aaron Boone…

HOLY GODDAMN SHIT, DO YOU ASSHOLES EVER NOT LINK ANY EVENT TO THE HISTORY OF THE FUCKING RED SOX? “Honey, the dishwasher’s broken. THIS IS JUST LIKE THE TIME CALVIN SCHIRALDI LET GAME 6 GET AWAY FROM HIM! Oh no! I broke a glass. This is reminds me of the fragility of a Red Sox lead in the AL East!” Jesus fucking Christ.

And Bill Belichick played the part of Grady Little.

That’s TWO assholes now comparing Bill Belichick to some baseball manager you and I don’t give a shit about. Stop doing this. STOP. This is not some historical tapestry you are fucking weaving for the world.

Even the legions of zombies who say “In Bill We Trust’’ and the formidable pay-for-play Patriot media machine will have a hard time defending the brilliant coach on this one.

Oh, I see. So the reason Boston fans trust Bill Belichick’s judgment is NOT because he won three Super Bowls, but because he’s William Randolph Hearst.

This one will linger for a while, maybe into the winter. This was a horrible loss. It changes everything.

I’LL NEVER LOOK AT ANYTHING THE SAME WAY AGAIN! IT’S AS IF A PARENT DIED, WHICH IN TURN TOTALLY REMINDS ME OF SOMETHING THE RED SOX DID.

Die.

Back to King.

Access to players and coaches is monumentally different. The NFL landscape is under siege from reporters, producers, anchors and editors, all wanting to do something different, something new, and all wanting time with the big players of the day. I don’t get angry about it, and I don’t pound my fist on desks of PR guys or agents, screaming for access.

The perfect example is the Peyton Manning story that graced the cover of Sports Illustrated last week. Manning had no interest in cooperating or dining or sitting down with me.

And he never ate the boxed chocolates I sent!

Today, it’s rare to talk to a player the night before the game, and actually being in his room, having an in-depth interview?

Why can’t I be in the player’s rooms anymore? Where’s the companionship? The spooning? The bathrobes I steal and then go home and never wash, only smell deeply?

Enjoyable/Aggravating Travel Note of the Week

Three Kindle readers in my Amtrak car to New York on Saturday.

AND THEY ALL CHEWED GUM!

I had the thinish John Grisham book of short stories…

Semi-skinnyesque.

…and the Kindles were thinner — and they contained up to 200 books. I peered over the shoulder of the woman in front of me for a minute and saw bright, easy-to-read type, and I thought of every bookshelf in our apartment being full, and I thought: I know exactly what I want for Christmas.

AND I’LL GET IT, BECAUSE I HAVE A GREAT DEAL OF DISPOSABLE INCOME AND I DO NOT USE AUTOMOBILIZED TRANSPORT, SO I EARNED IT.

Tweet of the Week

What an odd choice.

The NFL choosing a very old band to perform at halftime? BIZARRE.

Why, oh why, would Bill Belichick have arguably his most important pass-rusher, Tully Banta-Cain, playing special teams in Indy?

Because he always has starters play on special teams. Check out the punt returner.

When we talk about the great tight ends, we too often forget Antonio Gates.

Who? Never heard of him. Oh, the mean the tight end who always goes to the Pro Bowl and is usually the first or second tight end drafted in fantasy? BUT HE’S SO QUIET!

When’s the last time you heard Patrick Kerney’s name?

Does it matter?

I think Todd Haley’s going to blow a gasket on the sidelines soon. Good for him, winning his second NFL game in Oakland Sunday…

No, not good for him. Todd Haley is a cock. He doesn’t deserve to win. He deserves to be shot in the back by his own men.

…but if he wants to last in this job, he needs to learn to swallow some of the anger. He really laid into Matt Cassel at one point in Oakland — and that’s in a win.

Because he’s a dick.

Not bragging or anything…

BUT I ALREADY KNOW I’M GETTING A KINDLE!

LaDainian Tomlinson had some special inspiration Sunday, his wife leaving the positive results of a pregnancy test for LT at the stadium so he could find it before the game.

“Fuck. I need a new contract now.”

e. Play of the Day I: Buffalo running back Fred Jackson takes a Wildcat snap, pauses, rears back, throws a perfect spiral 35 yards in the air, hitting Lee Evans in stride in the end zone. You talk about your basic amazing play. That’s one right there.

You talk about your everyday miracle!

Ricky Williams is very much alive and well.

This just in: Ricky Williams? ALIVE.

Why the timeout with 14 seconds left, Tony Sparano?

Because he might have wanted to punt.

Department of Redundancy Department: ESPN’s Jesse Palmer referred to the Western Athletic Conference as the “WAC Conference” Saturday night. Does he know he was saying the “Western Athletic Conference Conference?” If you say the WAC, you’re saying Western Athletic Conference. But Palmer added an extra “conference” on the end. Same as announcers who call the Mid-American Conference the “MAC Conference.”

This item brought to you by Gregg Easterbrook’s Department of Nitpicking.

Hilarious “Rear Window” spoof on “Saturday Night Live” the other night.

And so timely! Can’t wait for their West Side Story riff!

Coffeenerdness: Saw Dan Marino early Sunday morning outside the Manhattan hotel the NBC and CBS crews use on NFL weekends. Good ol’ Dan — sucking down the Starbucks.

Then spilling it on himself, and blaming everyone else around him for it.

In honor of him (Dan always loved the green tea in our HBO “Inside the NFL” days), I went with the China Green Tips Sunday morning at my West 57th Street Starbucks while working.

Good to know.

Stay, Jason Bay.

You say…

Come, Adrian Gonzalez.

Let me touch your groin.

UPDATE: I loved this comment over at ESPN:

monsterdog5 says:
November 16, 2009, 2:27 AM ET

Live by the sword, die by the sword. The Patriots’ decision to go for it on fourth down will pay ample rewards later on. Belichick just flat-out told his defense “I believe in you guys”. Come playoff time, that’s going to matter.

I believe he told his D the exact opposite there, monsterdog.

Mark Sanchez: Have a good bye week, Thomas?

Thomas Jones: Yup.

Sanchez: Who we got this week? Jacksonville? They kinda suck.

Jones: Yup.

Sanchez: But who are we to talk, right? Can’t believe we got swept by the Dolphins.

Jones: Yup.

Sanchez: Think Coach Ryan is pissed?

Jones: Well, he doesn’t really get pissed, does he? Losing just makes his ass crazier.

(door flies open)

Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?

Sanchez: Good, coach.

Ryan: Oh, men, OH, MEN. Men… guess what I did last night. Go on. Guess. TELL ME WHAT I DID, JALAPENO.

Sanchez: Did you…

Ryan: Hell yes I did! I FUCKED MY WIFE! FUCKED HER CRAZY! You boys ain’t the only ones who get to have all the fun! I grabbed her hair and made her call me Daddy all night long! She was making Africa sounds by the time I was finished! Nothing like waking up the day after you laid wood to the missus. What about you? You boys clean up that pussy while you had your little week off? Well, did you?

Sanchez: Well, I…

Ryan: OHHHHHHHH, you did! Jalapeno, your new nickname is POON TANGO! That’s Espanolish for sloppy pussy! Now, men. MEN. We got business to tend to. First order of business for the day: THE BOOM BOX. Now, I know some of you like rock, and some of you like country, and some of you like that rap shit. BUT EVERYONE LIKES NIGHT ON BALD MOUNTAIN. That’s why I put that symphony in the CD player and glued it shut. BECAUSE IT MAKES YOU WANT TO KILLLLLLLLLL! It makes me feel like a fucking DEMON. A giant, murderous, pussy-stomping DEMON! Are you a demon, POON TANGO?

Sanchez: Yes, sir.

Ryan: Good! Next order of business: the Jaguars. We got those assholes from Gainesville coming in this week.

Sanchez: Jacksonville.

Ryan: Whatever. It’s all shithead country, if you ask me. Men, I don’t think your minds were clear two weeks ago. I don’t think you had your heart and soul in the game. I DIDN’T SEE YOUR KILLER EYES! DO YOU HAVE KILLER DEMON EYES, POON TANGO? LOOK AT ME LIKE A KILLER!

Sanchez: How’s this?

(furrows brow)

Ryan: Son, you look like you’re squeezing out a gravel shit. Men, when you play for a Rex Ryan team, you don’t hold back. You understand me? YOU ARE ANIMALS. YOU ARE WILD FUCKING ANIMALS THAT HAVE BEEN OUT IN THE DESERT FOR WEEKS, AND ARE STARVED FOR BLOOD. Louie, bring in the jaguar!

Sanchez: Holy shit!

Ryan: Did you know jaguars kill different than any other animal? It’s true. Let me read this to make sure I got it right: “It bites directly through the skull of prey between the ears to deliver a fatal bite to the brain.” Now, how do you like that? Look in his eyes, men. What do you see? I SEE A KILLER. You wanna beat a jaguar? YOU BETTER BE READY TO SKULLCHOMP THAT FUCKER RIGHT BACK. YOU BETTER BE READY TO BE A FUCKING PREDATOR.

(takes out knife, Ho Ho)

Ryan: Okay, Poon Tango. Take the knife.

Sanchez: What?

Ryan: You wanted to be a MAN in this league, right? You wanted to be King of the Mountain? You take this knife.

Sanchez: What am I gonna do with it?

Ryan: I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do with it. You’re gonna bring me ITS BALLS.

Sanchez: WHAT?

Ryan: You can handle a football? You can handle a KNIFE. You take that cat’s balls and you bring them to me.

Sanchez: But I can’t possibly…

Ryan: HE’D DO THE SAME TO YOU IF HE HAD A PAWKNIFE OF SOME SORT. He wouldn’t hesitate. Not for a second. Men, I know what we do out on that field is unnatural. I know you’ve been told all your life to be nice to people and not to hurt them. But that’s not really who you are. You wanna be a killer? You’re gonna have to have the sack to shed your civility and BE THE FUCKING KILLERS YOU REALLY ARE. NOW, DO IT! CASTRATE THAT FUCKER, JACKIE SHERRILL STYLE! BRING ME HIS BALLS! BALLS! BALLS! BALLS! BALLS! BALLS! BALLS! BALLS! BALLS! BALLS!

(smears war paint on Sanchez’s face)

Everyone: BALLS! BALLS! BALLS! BALLS! BALLS! BALLS! BALLS!

Sanchez: I can’t.

Ryan: THE ZOO NEEDS THIS DONE ANYWAY! NOW BECOME THE ANIMAL! KILLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!

Sanchez: AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

(cuts jaguar’s balls off)

Sanchez: HOLY SHIT, I DID IT!

Ryan: HOLY SHIT, HE DID IT!

Jones: HOLY SHIT, HE DID IT!

Everyone: HOLY SHIT! HE DID IT!

Ryan: Poon Tango, you ain’t no rookie no more. You are now a fucking LEADER OF MEN. Men, this is exactly how we’re gonna play on Sunday. When you go out on to that field, I don’t want you to be human. I don’t even want you to remember how to fucking TALK. I want you to be a FUCKING ANIMAL, AND AN ANIMAL FUCKING. The same way Poon Tango here was when he lopped off Chester’s nutsack. The same way I was when I banged the shit out of Mrs. Ryan last night. That’s what it takes. That’s how you get to the top. You don’t ask. YOU RUTHLESSLY FUCKING CLAW FOR GLORY. YOU ATTACK. ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK KILLLLLL!!!

(everyone cheers)

Men, you are fucking WINNERS. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Poon Tango here didn’t think he could cut off a jaguar’s balls, but he did! He was a winner, and he didn’t even know it. Now, it’s your turn. You’re going to go out there, and you are going to lose control, and you will become DEMON FUCKING ANIMAL KILLERS. Are you ready? ARE YOU FUCKING READY TO KILL?! ARE YOU READY TO DELIVER A FATAL BITE TO DAVID GARRARD’S SKULL?!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: LEMME HEAR YOU ROAR! RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Everyone: RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Ryan: Are we gonna win?

Everyone: YES.

Ryan: Are we gonna kill?

Everyone: YES.

Ryan: Are we gonna cut those fuckers’ balls off?

Everyone: YES.

Ryan: GODDAMN RIGHT WE ARE. WE WILL KILL, AND WE WILL WIN, AND THEN WE’RE ALL GOING OUT FOR CHICKEN AND HOOKERS! Fucking bring it in!

(everyone brings it in)

Ryan: Fucking KILL on three. ONE TWO THREE…

Everyone: FUCKING KILL!

Ryan: Hoo wee! That was good! I gotta go change my undies!

Sanchez: What do I do with these balls?

Ryan: Put them in your pants! It’s good luck!

Sanchez: Okay.

Marvin: Hey, Chad! Chad! Get down here! Victory Monday is OVER! We have to get to practice! ANDIAMO!

Ocho: Comin’, coach! Comin’! I got the scoopty, poopty! You Coach, check this out. Check this out, brutha. Tell me what chu think of THIS!

Marvin: They’re glasses.

Ocho: They’re BIG glasses! Ha ha! Look at how big these bitches are! Now I SEE why nerds are so smart and shit. The bigger your glasses, the more you see. And that makes you smarter!

Marvin: No, none of those things correlate. At all.

Ocho: Sure they do! You should try these glasses on, Coach. I bet you end up drawing some seriously ASSNASTY plays if you got these shits on. And you know what else is cool about these Urkel dealies? I can see colors!

Marvin: You can see colors with your normal eyes.

Ocho: And I can see shapes!

Marvin: You can see shapes with your normal eyes.

Ocho: Yes, but if you SPIN these glasses around, the shapes and colors change! You see all kinds of colorful patterns! Just like one of those Horseshack tests!

Marvin: That’s a RORSCHACH test. And what you’re describing is not a pair of glasses, but a kaleidoscope. Your glasses are not a kaleidoscope.

Ocho: But they are! Look!

(spins around)

Now there’s a lamp! Now there isn’t! Now there’s a lamp! Now there isn’t! That’s a microscope!

Marvin: The shapes and colors are changing around you because you’re rotating your body. That’s how that works.

Ocho: And if I tilt my head, everything gets all tilted! This shit is CRAZY! I’mma pitch this to Marlon Wayans. We gon call it BLACK NERD. And it’s gon be about this brother who wears some glasses and LOOKS like a real shithead. But turns out he’s trippin’! AND HE’LL TALK WITH A FUNNY WHITE PERSON VOICE, TOO!

Marvin: That sounds like the worst movie ever made.

Ocho: If by worst, you mean THA SHIZNIT.

Marvin: Listen, Chad. I don’t have time for this, this morning. We’re actually a good team this year, so we have to stay focused. YOU have to stay focused.

Ocho: Oh, I’m focused, Coach. Very focused. These glasses aren’t my subscription, so everything I see is VERY CLOSE.

Marvin: Those are reading glasses. They’re hurting your eyesight.

Ocho: AND I got a fresh set of dollar bills for the refs this week. HOLLA FOR A DOLLA!

Marvin: I told you I didn’t want you pulling that kind of stuff this week.

Ocho: But it worked! You saw how hard the refs worked for us once they knew Ocho had a little tastykake for them!

Marvin: So you were serious about bribing them?

Ocho: OH HAIL YAYSE. You think a ref is gon turn down a buck? Nuh nuh. I see those refs every game. They only got ONE outfit! They can’t afford SHIT!

Marvin: Those are their uniforms. They’re supposed to wear the same outfit every time.

Ocho: But why? Why couldn’t they wear a leather jumpsuit? Then they could get RAW!

Marvin: Because that’s not the way it works. They have a uniform, just like WE have a uniform. So you can tell who’s who.

Ocho: CHILD PLEASE. Who’s who? You look at this face. You tell me you couldn’t pick these pearly whites out in a crowd. TING! You hear that? My teeth said TING!

Marvin: YOU said TING.

Ocho: Nuh nuh. That was my TEEF talkin’!

Marvin: Teeth can’t talk. They’re made of enamel.

Ocho: But they COULD talk, if they felt like speaking up!

Marvin: But they can’t.

Ocho: But they could!

Marvin: But they can’t.

Ocho: But they could!

Marvin: But they can’t.

Ocho: But they could!

Marvin: But they can’t.

Ocho: But they could! I’ve Strahan’s teeth talk! They keep shouting to me, WE’RE SO LONELY OUT HERE, OCHO!

Marvin: Whatever. I don’t have time for this. We have to get to the practice facility. It’s Pittsburgh Week, and we can’t mess around.

Ocho: Oh, snap! Pittsburgh! That reminds me! I got a care package ready for those guys!

Marvin: I told you I don’t want you pulling any of this crap.

Ocho: Check it out, Coach. Check it out.

(opens box)

Ocho: Look at what I got these guys! Very small glasses. That means they won’t be able to see as good as us. And look at this sweater!

Marvin: It’s a baby girl’s sweater.

Ocho: But look at the label.

Marvin: “Made in Korea”

Ocho: That’s right! That’s Hines Ward’s sweater! HE USED TO BE A GIRL! BAHAHAHAHAHA!

Marvin: That doesn’t… oh, never mind. Go on.

Ocho: Look at these shoes. They’re both right footed! They’ll run in circles all night! And I got them broccoli, because they won’t like that. And I heard Big Ben likes to rape-a-dape the ladies, so I got him this hammer! And I got them this.

Marvin: It’s a tape recorder.

Ocho: That’s right! And before I give it to them, I’m gonna turn it on, so it records everything they say! We’ll know their game plan! THEY WON’T KNOW!

Marvin: But they will. Because it’s on.

Ocho: Not if I hide it in this bowl of delicious red Jello!

Marvin: HOLY SHIT. I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO FUCKING BEGIN WITH YOU. YOU FUCKING PAPERWEIGHT. DO YOU REALIZE WE’RE FIRST IN THE DIVISION? WE’RE FIRST! WE’RE FUCKING WINNING THIS DIVISION, AND HAVING THE BEST YEAR WE’VE ALL HAD IN AGES. AND YET, I STILL HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR BREATHTAKING STUPIDITY. YOU STUPID FUCK. YOU STUPID ROTTEN FUCK. THOSE GLASSES ARE NOT SPECIAL. THEY DON’T MAKE YOU SMART. REFEREES DO NOT NEED SMALL AMOUNTS OF MONEY FOR NEW CLOTHES. AND THE STEELERS WILL KNOW THERE’S A TAPE RECORDER IN A BOWL OF JELLO IF YOU PUT ONE THERE.

Ocho: But if they EAT the Jello, then they’ll swallow the tape recorder, and then they won’t know it’s in their bodies!

Marvin: IT DOESN’T FUCKING WORK THAT WAY.

Ocho: See, I think you’re wrong. Ray Lewis has made a lot of people swallow things they didn’t know about. Because he stabbed them right before he did it.

Marvin: JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

When we last left noted football learner Peter King, he was eagerly discussing the constant, bulbous throbbing of Brett Favre’s groin. Could that groin injury do Favre in, right in the middle of such a great season? I don’t know. If you touch Favre’s throbbing groin, does a magic baby pop out and grant you wishes? I don’t know. Does the groin smell like rosemary, and lavender, and does its sweat give you healing powers? MAYBE.

Anyway… time for this week’s batch of esoteric, gum poppin’ fun with Peter King. I HOPE YOU FOOTBALL LEARNERS OUT THERE ARE READY FOR SOME SEMI-LEBRONESQUE LEARNING LESSONS.

Much of the past week I’ve spent researching and writing a Peyton Manning story for Sports Illustrated’s NFL midseason report, which you’ll see this week.

I can’t wait. Join Peter for this and other fabulous Sports Illustrated print stories from THIS week, including…

-The Yankees Are About To Return To The World Series!
-Surprise! The 49ers are the 3-1 darlings of the NFL
-Jacorybook ending: The Hurricanes quest for a perfect season
-Your Beijing Summer Olympics preview!

I tell you, it’s the most up-to-date sports media outlet in the world.

I’ll get to the games of the day and issues of the week in a few paragraphs — particularly the Cowboys growing up before our eyes last night in Philly.

Flowering, one might say.

I officially declare Patriots-Colts Hype Week kicked off.

Join the Normans and I as we celebrate the occasion! There’ll be food, cocktails, and a special raffle!

“Peyton Manning and Bill Belichick are twins from another lifetime,” (Qadry) Ismail said.

It’s an interesting comparison.

It’s true. AND both men have appearances that would suggest they were breastfed by wolves as infants. COINCIDENCE?

Manning’s usually a great storyteller, but he zipped it pretty tight last week, amiably declining my request for a one-on-one.

But a two-on-one he was down with. Austin Collie deserves a little taste.

We spent five minutes after his weekly media scrum at his locker Wednesday, and these were the only things I learned: He wears a Timex digital watch with a Gatorade logo that’s set 11 minutes ahead of real time.

Fascinating. Also, Manning will only use a toaster oven if it’s facing due north. He keeps a single persimmon in his jacket pocket at all times to ward off alien ghosts. And he races ants.

I actually didn’t mind Manning not talking.

I got to spend 50 minutes telling him about this German fellow I met!

He’s so good and vivid and descriptive that you can become entranced by his words and stories.

And then you snap out of it 70 minutes later with a yoyo stuck in your rectum and Vaseline smeared all over your crew neck. Such is the power of his vivid talkscapes.

I think I’ve gotten beneath the surface of the closed city of Manning a bit

It’s a small city. A mysterious city, nestled inside a dynastic womb. In the city of Manning, all buildings are triangular, and police are armed only with bags of very stale croutons.

…but I’ll let you be the judge of that. Hope you like the story a tenth as much as you like Colts-Pats on Sunday.

HOW CAN YOU PEOPLE BE BROADCASTING A FOOTBALL GAME WHEN THERE’S AN INTERVIEW WITH PEYTON MANNING GOING ON! WHAT THE FUCK?!

Daughter Breleigh was fit to be tied when Favre told her in late July he was staying retired, and, truth be told, Favre was in full waffling mode for much of August until Minnesota coach Brad Childress called and said it’s now or never.

Again, look for this timely scoop in NEXT week’s issue of Sports Illustrated. Along with their staff predictions for the 2006 NBA playoffs!

That was a potentially (and I stress “potentially”) season-altering win for Dallas last night.

Are they going to go undefeated the rest of the way? Maybe. Will they collapse, like they also do? Maybe. ARE THEY SMILING MORE? Definitely.

Upon further review, the unrestricted free-agency list is not so bad.

I wrote a few weeks ago that the UFA class of 2010 would be horrible, because it wouldn’t include unsigned fourth- and fifth-year vets if the league and union don’t have a new CBA done by March. But because of the rise of players like Aubrayo Franklin and the promise of interesting prospects like Brian St. Pierre…

Wait, what? Brian St. Pierre? He’s rising? The six-year journeyman? The guy who has thrown exactly one pass in his entire NFL career, which was thrown five years ago? He’s a rising star?

12. Brian St. Pierre, QB, Arizona. Someone might see him as 2010’s Matt Cassel and go buy him for a fifth of the cost.

But Matt Cassel PLAYED before he became a free agent. Remember? He played, and the Pats went 11-5, and it made sense to consider him as an intriguing prospect. Brian St. Pierre is the third string QB in Arizona. He’s in charge of turning off the sprinklers. Why the fuck would you pay that asshole a dime? Who sees him as 2010’s Matt Cassel? Cleveland? Do you even realize Matt Cassel BLOWS now?

I think I know what’s going on here. I think Brian St. Pierre married into the Bowers family. I KNOW IT IN MY GUT.

Indianapolis (8-0). Dates of the last five Pats-Colts games as the November sweeps continue to dictate the scheduling of this big game: Nov. 7, 2005; Nov. 5, 2006; Nov. 4, 2007; Nov. 2, 2008; Nov. 15, 2009.

My God, it’s like some sort of Jewish holiday

Minnesota (7-1). Good week for a bye, and for rest for Brett Favre’s groin.

Yes, you rest, dear groin. Take it easy. Can I give you a neck massage, groin? Can I dry hump you until the friction singes the hair off?

New England (6-2). Randy Moss, that was one of the best straight-arms in the history of straight-arming. And for you who need to know the rule about helmet-touching, the only player who can’t have his helmet touched is the quarterback.

Or a receiver, if you lead with your head, shoulder, or forearm. You know, for those of you who don’t know the rules.

You won’t be surprised to learn that Vincent Jackson is one of the two wide receivers on my SI midseason All-Pro team, at a newsstand or mailbox near you Wednesday.

But you will be surprised by his All-Pro QB. It’s Derek Jeter!

“I think a dark horse is Buffalo. They talked originally. There was some communication there. I think that could be a good spot.”

-Tony Dungy of NBC’s Football Night in America, asked about possible 2010 landing spots for a player he is advising, Michael Vick.

Oooh! I also here that Fergie will be joining them.

By the way, a small rant on behalf of Eagles fans for a moment. Now, Andy Reid was horrible last night in so many different ways. He fucked up his challenges. He wasted timeouts. He called running plays on 3rd and long. And he kicked the world’s most meaningless field goal. He’s awful, but perhaps the worst example of his incompetence was the fact that he still tries to throw Michael Vick into the game every now and then. Stop it. Vick eats a can of ass. Stop that right now.

It’ll be interesting to see if the groin injury that Favre suffered 12 days ago and aggravated eight days ago is going to be a recurring factor as the 40-year-old QB tries to make it through the final eight weeks of the regular season.

I’ll be watching that groin. Studying it. Tracing its every curve in my mind.

Enjoyable/Aggravating Travel Note of the Week

Boarding a flight from Denver to Phoenix last Tuesday, I was in the aisle walking toward the back of the plane. The aisle was full. The plane was going to be full, and it was probably half-boarded.

AND THERE WAS THIS MAN WHO BROUGHT BOTH A ROLLERBOARD AND A COAT ON BOARD! WHAT A FUCKING PIG. HEY PIGMAN, WHY DON’T YOU CHECK YOUR SUITCASE FOR $50 AND ALLOW THE ELITE FLYERS TO TAKE THEIR RIGHTFUL SEATS? I HAVE A KIT KAT TO OPEN.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready for immediate departure,” the flight attendant said, with a bit of urgency. This was a 6 a.m. flight, and now it was about 5:40. “Please take your seats as soon as possible so we can depart.”

How should we get there, ma’am? By levitating?

Or by moving briskly into your seats?

It wasn’t even 5:45 now. We weren’t leaving the gate, minimum, for 15 minutes. And this women was talking like there was a fire onboard and we had to scram or we’d all be cooked. And it wasn’t even 6 in the morning, no less. Now that’s a good time in the friendly skies right there.

Wait a second. Are you telling me planes board slowly, and this can be aggravating to some? GET THE FUCK OUT. And did you know Metallica is loud? It’s true!

An Expensive Lunch, But A Few Of You Might Be Interested

Welcome to Peter King Platinum!

New England left tackle Matt Light has a foundation, as many players do.

If it’s not called the Light Bringers, I’ll be pissed.

The Light Foundation…

CRIMINY!

…strives to instill honesty and responsibility in young people through outdoor learning experiences that include an outdoor leadership camp and a character-development football camp. He’s opened his Outdoor Leadership Camp on several hundred acres in Ohio, and he’s trying to raise money to bring at-risk and underprivileged teens from New England, Ohio and the West to the camp. I told him I’d help if I could.

With my help, these children could end up leading the league in normalcy.

What we’re going to do is have lunch at Davio’s in Foxboro…

And Hoge and Schlereth better not bogart my freebie!

just outside Gillette Stadium, on Friday, Dec. 11. We’re going to open it to the first 10 people willing to donate $1,000 to the Light Foundation. If you’re interested, contact Light’s representative, Margrette Mondillo, by email at margrette@goodwinpr.com. We’ll hang out that Friday for a couple of hours. Light will tell you every one of the deep, dark Patriot secrets.

“We hang babies.”

I won’t tell you much, but I’ll be there for comic relief.

“This is a nice restaurant. NOT!”

Give all you can. With your $1,000 donation, these kids may be able to go to football camp for three days and maybe recover from a stroke in the process.

I haven’t met Aqib Talib. I don’t think I want to.

He’s so dark!

I never thought Lovie Smith was in any real trouble until yesterday.

Really? Ever see Lovie coach a game? He makes Andy Reid look organized.

I told you to take more chances downfield, Matthew Stafford, which you should do — but not as recklessly as you did yesterday in Seattle.

Yes, that advice doesn’t contradict itself at all! Here’s what Peter initially said: “Throw it downfield, Matthew Stafford. Bombs away, Calvin Johnson or not.” BUT ONLY IF YOU’RE TOTALLY SURE THE GUY IS OPEN! Then you should take a risk, even though it wouldn’t be risky to make such a throw in that instance.

I think Philip Rivers was as impressive as any player in the league Sunday, just by the way he competed. “As cool as a cucumber,” tackle Marcus McNeill said of Rivers. “You very rarely see him squint.”

“Except when he’s making fun of ‘the nips,’ as he calls them. He kind of a dick.”

Still want to fire Jeff Fisher, Titans fans?

Probably. Didn’t that asshole want to keep playing Kerry Collins?

John Fox is going nowhere. Just a gut feeling, but as his team comes back to normal, that’s how I see it.

And when they finally sign Brian St. Pierre, they’ll be back on their way to the top.

e. Arizona’s dangerous.

This just in: The Cardinals can win games!

g. The Falcons will be a tough out in January. And yes, they’ll be playing football in January.

As will the rest of the league, because the last games of the regular season will be played on January 3rd.

What I find so odd about the Falcons is that we’re nine weeks into the season and they’ve only played EIGHT games. Isn’t that weird? They’re like sleeping tigers!

e. The 49ers are better that 3-5. Miami’s better than 3-5. But you get what you deserve. Both have to get better quarterback play to have a chance.

The 49ers are better that 3-5. Miami’s better than 3-5. But they’ve played like shit. And they have shitty QB’s. But they’re both clearly 6-2 squads.

I think the league won’t do anything about Chad Ochocinco’s little money gag, where he took out a dollar bill and waved it at an official during a disputed call. “You know, like, here’s a dollar, change the call,” the Ocho told me. “Just kidding. Just having fun.” Wasn’t sure the league would see it that way, and though I think league officials will look at the replay in New York today, I hear they won’t be inclined to fine Ochocinco. Harmless fun. Well, I didn’t think it was fun, but I’m old and boring.

Now join me for a HILARIOUS lunch with Matt Light!

On Saturday, I shared a dressing room with Taylor Swift at NBC. It’s not what you think.

You mean you weren’t watching Family Guy together?

All her stuff was in the dressing room for the show that night, but she wasn’t there, and I had to dress for the Notre Dame halftime pop on NBC. Well, there was an incident.

Needless to say, I had just visited my proctologist, and…

I stepped on Taylor Swift’s red gown.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Not on purpose, but there it was, the bottom of it on the ground, and I was trying to walk around it…

PETER I’M HAPPY FOR YOU AND I’MMA LET YOU FINISH BUT KANYE WEST HAD THE BEST “FUCKING WITH TAYLOR SWIFT’S LIFE” INCIDENT OF ALL TIME.

…to get my jacket, and I stepped on it, and there it was, a footprint on the bottom of the red material. I quickly wiped off the footprint off. Most of it, anyway. You guys didn’t see a size-14 sneaker mark on the bottom of her red gown Saturday night, did you?

Size 14 feet? My God, Peter King is some kind of flippered sea monster.

Don’t worry about it, Peter. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Or the big stuff. Or the medium-sized, hard to place into a distinct genre stuff.

Jeff Garlin, I know you read this column.

Jeff Garlin is a bastard. A bastard, I tell you.

You’re looking good. You’ve dropped some weight, and you’re sharp.

Is your groin throbbing? Because mine is.

But I don’t write to praise your physique or acting ability. I write to urge you, please: More Funkhauser. We out in “Curb Your Enthusiasm” land cannot get enough of the gravelly voiced weirdo who has three good lines in every scene.

Jeff Garlin won’t do it for you, Peter. He’s a bastard. A total bastard.

Coffeenerdness: Three triple lattes Sunday. Sooner or later, the lack of sleep is going to catch up with me.

I might even end up stomping on some poor chanteuse’s with my freakishly large landslappers.

Listen to Rilo Kiley. You’ll thank me.

A million hipsters died reading that.

My heart goes out to the victims of the Fort Hood and Orlando shootings and their loved ones. Senseless, senseless incidents. I will not go quietly into the night on this one.

Indeed I won’t. I WILL BURY IT IN A SMALL, BULLETED ITEM ON THE SIXTH PAGE OF AN ONLINE FOOTBALL COLUMN. THAT IS HOW MUCH I CARE.

America needs to do something about idiots with handguns. How many more Fort Hoods and Orlandos do there have to be before our political leaders have the guts to severely restrict access to murderous weapons?

And where are we on cap and trade? PETER KING DEMANDS YOU MOVE SWIFTLY. ASK THE CAPITAL GRILLE IF HE’S FUCKING AROUND.

Well, well, well. I should’ve known you Philadelphia faggots wouldn’t be able to get the FACKIN’ JAWB DONE against those GAWDDAMN FACKIN’ NEW YARK CAWKSACKAHS! Nevah send a boy to do a BAWSTON MAN’S JAWB!

(spits randomly)

You let us down, Pedro. You were-ah pitchin’ far the awn-ah of Sawx Nation! AND YOU FAILED US! This is the warst thing that has evah happened to US! You Philly jizzlawbbahs were-ah supposed to stawp the Evil Empiah so that we, the LEGENDARY FANS OF RED SAWX NATION, could be happy! That’s what America wawnted! NO ONE DENIES THIS!

(sits on chair backwards, folds arms over top and flexes)

Then again, I figyahhhed this would happen. I knew Pedro would let us down before-ah I even knew it, if that makes sense! THAT’S JUST HOW CLAY-AHVOYANT I AM! You see, even a pitchah of Pedro’s calibah isn’t anyway-ah near-ah as effective without THE SUPPART OF THE LEGENDARY BAWSTON FANS BEHIND HIM! I was they-ah when he pitched far us! It was special. IF YOU WEREN’T THEY-AH, YOU COULDN’T POSSIBLY UNDAHSTAND! Pedro knew he couldn’t let us down! And we knew he’d come through far us! That’s why his fastball was at least 30 mph FASTAH at Fenway! CHECK THE RADAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

(phone rings)

Hey, that’s my friend BawbbyO! HE’S FAGGOT NEW YARK FAN! AND HE HAS A NICE JAWB! ALL MY FRIENDS AHHHH WELL OFF AND VERY PRAWSPEROUS!

(answers phone)

HEYYYYYYYYYYY FAGGOT!

BawbbyO: Ah, another Yanks championship. Everything is as it should be. Lucky number 27, baby.

Tommy: FACK YOU! FACK YOU! YOU GAWT LUCKY AND YOU KNOW IT! You gawt to play a fackin’ National League team to win it all! The National League is inferiah becawse the Sawx ahhhh nawt in it! SHEE-AH LUCK, JUST LIKE TYREE’S CATCH, WHICH WAS ALSO LUCKY! YOU AHHH NOTHING BUT A BUNCH OF CHEATAHS!

BawbbyO: No, you’re the cheaters.

Tommy: No, you ahhhhh!!!

BawbbyO: No, you are.

Tommy: No, you ahhhhh!!!

BawbbyO: No, you are.

Tommy: No, you ahhhhh!!! This bantah we have is HILARIOUS! People should listen to it, because we rib each othah in such manly fashion! YOU FAGGOT!

BawbbyO: Let’s not fight. Remember the time we went to Vegas?

Tommy: I DO! WE DRANK AND STAYED UP LATE! OTHAH PEOPLE IN THE CASINO WERE-AH AMAZED BY OW-AH ABILITY TO DO THIS!

BawbbyO: Let’s just enjoy the fact that the media sucks our extremely unlikable team’s dicks more than any other, and revel in the shared attention!

Tommy: Good idea! You should come to my man cave, BawbbyO! I have a fackin’ shitload of TVs, and I told my cunt garlfriend to nevah come in with ow-ah stupid baby, or else I’ll knee her in her fackin’ bawx.

BawbbyO: Then she’d have a Boston Red Box.

Tommy: BAHAHAHAHA! GAWDDAMN RIGHT! RED BAWX NATION! WOMEN AHHH FACKIN’ STUPID, AND NOWHERE NEAR AS COOL AS US!

Seriously though, BawbbyO, this one hurts! Everyone was pulling far the Phils to win far the glory of RED SAWX NATION! And they let us down! We may nevah be the same again! It is up to the Pats to give us redemption! If Belichick coaches the Sawx this yee-ah, they nevah lose! FACKIN’ TERRY FRANCONA KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT BASEBAWL! I WATCH BASEBAWL EVERY WEEKEND! LET’S SEE OTHAH FANS DO THAT!

(cranks Sublime album)

FACKIN’ SUBLIME!

I guess we Bawston fans will just have to take sawlace in the Pats and Celts winning it awl YET AGAIN. BUT I’D TRADE IT ALL IN HAHHHHHTBEAT TO WATCH THAT FAGGOT A-RAWD GO DOWN!

BawbbyO: Isn’t that kind of stupid?

Tommy: YOU’RE kind of stupid! Asshole! Buy all the titles you want! No one likes yar team! The Sawx will always be #1 in America’s hahhhhts! AND THE GIANTS AHHHH SECRETLY TERRIBLE AT PASS DEFENSE! ONLY I KNOW THIS. YANKEE GIANTS SACK! YANKEE GIANTS SACK!

We get a lot of requests every week to do FJM-style breakdowns of Bill Simmons’ columns. We largely avoid this because A) Peter King is more fun to poke fun at, B) It takes about seven seconds before Simmons trolls pop into the post and tell you what a HATURRRRRR you are, C) We have Tommy from Quinzee around to serve as proxy for all our Simmons mocking.

So usually we resist. But Holy God, did you SEE this column? Sweet buttermilk titties, it’s terrible. It’s awful. It’s the smuggest smug that’s ever smugged. And it deserves your unbridled scorn in full. Let’s begin…

You may not have noticed. You may not have cared. Hell, you may have thought it was a weekly typo. But through the first six weeks of the 2009 NFL season, your buddy Simmons was enjoying a career year with his picks column.

I can’t tell you how happy this made me.

Good for you. Now why in the living FUCK do I care? ZOMG! Someone who likes gambling on sports is on a decent run! That almost makes up for the fivefold number of losing runs they’ve had! IT’S GAMBLING SCIENCE!

I spend more time on this column than you can possibly imagine. It takes me three-and-a-half days to write. I watch every minute of football on Sunday and Monday.

Get the fuck out. You watch football on Sunday and Monday? NO ONE ELSE COULD POSSIBLY BE THAT HARDCORE.

I scour newspapers and TV shows searching for tidbits.

Like that time the Boston Globe published the full rosters of every team. You can’t get that kind of info anywhere else.

I spend two full days writing material, making picks and flipping games around every which way. Three years ago, I even turned my office into a man cave and added four televisions just so I could watch as much football as possible.

Oh, do you not have four TV’s in your man cave? Are you not able to watch the games with Tony Dungy on the Football Night in America set? Oh, then you, poor commoner, simply can’t see the game the way Bill does.

Why did this mean so much? First, I am overcompetitive to a fault. Second, I have been writing this column for 13 years and always felt like there was some magical formula that kept eluding me; if I kept plugging away, eventually everything would make sense.

Stop. Stop immediately. What are you, six?

THERE MUST BE A FORMULA. If I simply find the magic key hidden in a secreted portal in the Pinewood Forest, ALL SHALL BE REVEALED. Take these runes, good sir. Take these runes and place them in a hat. Stare into that hat and soon, the magic formula for picking football games that are inherently unpredictable will come to you, and WE SHALL ALL BE RICH. RICH AS MORMONS.

And third, it’s humiliating to have a lousy picks record in a nationally read column. During the 2006 and 2007 seasons, you might even remember the Sports Gal finishing with a better record than me, and she only knows Brett Favre as the dude from “There’s Something About Mary.” That degradation kicked me into another gear. I had to do better. Things turned last year and finally took off this season. Again, 58-32 through six weeks.

And now you’ll never lose again! EVER! You’ve cracked the code!

Was it just blind luck? Not exactly.

No. Exactly. It was luck.

You might remember my “Simbotics” column from 2004, when I tried to determine a science for picking games in the first few weeks. Bookies are terrified of that stretch for this reason: There’s no ironclad way to distinguish good teams from the bad teams yet. Check out these five lines from Week 2 in 2009.

Those five lines swung by a combined 40 points. Yowza. This is why bookies hate the first few weeks.

That’s great insight there, until you realize that bookies simply set the line according to how the public bets, and the general public knows exactly as much about how the season will play out as bookies do. So, if everyone loved the Broncos in Week 2, the line on the Broncos would have been higher to get even betting. WHEE! Oh, but Bill KNEW the Broncos would be good, which makes him SMAHHHHTAH than Vegas! Except for when he picked the Rams to be his sleeper team that one year and was wrong. Or when he picked Atlanta to be his sleeper team one year and was also wrong.

But hey, let’s pause here for the Miller Lite Great Call of the Week…

It’s time for the Miller Lite Call of The Week, where I either praise a call I loved or defend a call thought to be previously indefensible.

This week, I’m giving it to myself…

Jesus fucking Christ.

…for a prediction that hasn’t come true yet … but definitely will.

But didn’t.

You already know how great the “Giants-Eagles in the day, Yanks-Phils Game 4 at night” scenario on Sunday is… Anyway, is there any doubt — I mean, ANY? — that whatever happens in the first game will determine the second game?

Yes, there is doubt, because they are separate sporting events that have nothing to fucking do with one another. Hence, the Eagles won, and the Phillies lost. HOW CAN THIS BE? THE COSMIC FORCE THAT BINDS US ALL TOGETHER HAS BEEN BROKEN FOREVERMORE.

Lock it down.

And then unlock it, because that prediction was both stupid and wrong. Back to the column…

My picks record took off only because I correctly assessed the values of those 11 teams, save for one or two misfires. (The Broncos and Saints alone finished 11-0 against the spread in those first six weeks.) Of course, had I been wrong about half of those teams, or more than half of those teams, I would have gotten crushed. Simbotics rewards people who are stubborn and lucky. This year, I got lucky.

So your picks panned out because of luck. Glad you established that mere paragraphs after saying it had nothing to do with luck.

By Week 7 (last weekend), Simbotics had played out, the lines had adjusted and I was on my own. This made me nervous. With so many bad 2009 teams, Vegas was jacking the lines to absurd heights hoping to rope in some underdog money. This made me more nervous. But you know what made me the most nervous? Dozens of readers sending me e-mails that looked something like this:

“Awesome job with the picks this year! I’m riding you this weekend.”

MY READERS THINK I’M AWESOME AND WANT TO BE JUST LIKE ME!

Here’s what I wanted to send back: “No! No! Don’t ride me! Get off! GET OFF! RIGHT NOW!”

I’m too awesome for you! Stay away! I have four TV’s in my man cave and you don’t!

I call this the Ace Mush Corollary. During Sunday football, our friend Ace has a few established habits.

Ace, if you didn’t know, is Adam Carolla. Because Bill has dozens of awesome famous friends with even awesomer nicknames. Hey, have you guys met my buddy Pussyroper? He’s the BEST. (HINT: He’s actually Vincent Kartheiser!)

You can count on him to kill it in this scenario: a few of us deciding to wager on the same team in a late game — say, the Patriots — followed by Ace overhearing this action, then saying to everyone’s chagrin, “Yeah, yeah, I like the Patriots, too, I think I want in on that one.” Every time it happens, you can actually SEE the money flying away. It’s unbelievable. He’s the mush of mushes. We have seriously considered pretending to bet Team A but really taking Team B, then hoping Ace will “join us” on Team A for a classic reverse jinx.

Here’s the point: Last weekend, some of my bad-luck readers combined to pull an Ace Mush on me.

You see, fair reader? It’s YOUR fault that Bill’s prescient picks didn’t come to pass. Please stop ruining his expertise by getting your bad luck herpes on him.

I was doing a little too well.

I’m clearly WAYYYY too awesome.

And they were sitting there going, “Yeah, yeah, Simmons is doing good, I think I want in on his picks this week.” By doing nothing other than successfully executing my job, I became aligned with people who had such bad luck gambling that they said to themselves, “This week, I’m going to trust Bill Simmons, a guy who lost to his wife in 2006 and 2007.”

I’m innocent in all this! I was just sitting there, being my usual genius self, when these dickhead readers had to come in and mooch off me! YOU’VE RUINED THE MAGIC FORMULA, WHICH IS ADMITTEDLY BASED ON SHEER LUCK.

It’s a shame, seeing as how Bill finally figured out the foolproof way to bet on NFL games and totally isn’t going to lose to his wife in picks this year, especially since he no longer publishes his wife’s picks.

In a related story, I suffered my most frustrating week of the season. The Texans blew a 21-0 lead at home because they couldn’t stop Alex Smith and Vernon Davis — that’s right, Alex Smith and Vernon Davis!!!!! — settling for an unsatisfying push. The Vikings choked away a winnable game in Pittsburgh by giving the Steelers’ defense two touchdowns, including a spread-covering one off a deflected screen pass as Minnesota drove for the winning score with three minutes to play. And Miami blew a 24-3 lead to New Orleans, then inexplicably stopped pounding the ball in the fourth and let its lousy receivers decide the game (and they did).

That’s how 9-4 becomes 6-6-1. Bad luck.

It’s also how 9-4 became 9-4 to begin with. But no, let’s go by your theory that your magic formula, which did not involve luck, was helped by luck, and then ruined by the contagious bad luck of others. You know what’s not lucky? HOW INCREDIBLY KNOWLEDGABLE BILL SIMMONS IS ABOUT THE GAME OF FOOTBALL. Even though the Steelers earned both those defensive touchdowns by stripping Favre on the first one and executing flawless return blocking for both scores. Stop making Bill look bad, Steelers, and readers, and everyone who doesn’t make the outcome of games play out the way they ought to! THE PICKS WERE RIGHT! THE GAME IS FLAWED! LUCK SHOULD STOP PROVING ME WRONG.

Anyway, here’s my request for the next few weeks: If you have bad luck, stay away from “borrowing” my 2009 picks.

They’re mine! I only publish them so that you may admire them!

Don’t be the cooler of my column. Let me see if I can keep banging out 10-4 and 11-5 marks every week without you attaching a black cat to my ankles. If you have bad luck and are joining forces with me, that means other people with bad luck are doing the same. How do you think that’s turning out for all of us? Badly. Poorly. Tragically. It wasn’t that I lost on Brett Favre’s line-drive screen pass that ricocheted off Chester Taylor’s face at 200 mph last week, or the fact that Miami’s receivers dropped so many balls against the Saints that I tweeted, “Ted Ginn Jr. finally gives us the answer for what it would be like if someone played WR without arms.” It’s that I absolutely knew dopey things like that would submarine my Week 7. And I knew this because I knew my readers were pulling an Ace Mush on me.

Now, you might think this is the douchiest paragraph ever written. But don’t worry, people. You see, Bill is only JOKING with this whole business. He has a very active sense of humor. He’s only ACTING like a pompous ass, and that’s funny!

Stay away from my Week 8 quick picks. Hands off. Please don’t let them sway you in any way. Thank you. Here they are.

Ooooh! Let’s steal them anyway! THEY’RE TOO GOOD TO RESIST!

Broncos (+3.5) over RAVENS

Wrong.

BILLS (+3.5) over Texans

Wrong.

Browns (+13) over BEARS

Wrong.

Dolphins (+3) over JETS

Correct.

COLTS (-12.5) over Niners

Wrong.

COWBOYS (-9.5) over Seahawks

Hate laying this many points with Dallas

Correct, and yet still kind of wrong.

Rams (+3.5) over LIONS

Correct.

Giants (-1) over EAGLES

Wrong.

CHARGERS (-16.5) over Raiders

Wrong.

Jags (+3) over TITANS

Wrong.

CARDINALS (-10) over Panthers

Wrong.

SAINTS (-11) over Falcons

Wrong. But it was a garbage cover! Points shouldn’t count if you’re trying to come back!

Vikings (+3) over PACKERS

Correct. That’s a 4-9 record for the week. GASP! You BET just like Bill, didn’t you? Admit it! You ruined EVERYTHING. It’s just bad luck for Bill you had to go do that. Nothing but bad luck that in no way dilutes his awesomeness. I bet his bookie returns that money out of respect.

When we last left championship cake baker Peter King, he was 20 minutes late to a live chat over at Deadspin, then proved a rather good sport with most of the questions. I’d like to congratulate Big Jim Slade for asking Peter how the Bowers were doing. Peter’s response was a simple, “Fine.” It’s the little things.

Someone also asked Peter if the criticism he gets online bothers him, to which Peter replied that it comes with the territory. He doesn’t like it when it goes too far, but he accepts it. Well, thank God for that. NOW I CAN MAKE FUN OF THAT DOUCHEHAT WITHOUT IT WEIGHING ON MY CONSCIENCE ONE BIT! WOO HOO!

So what about this week? Will it be another Steelers Sunday for Peter? Will he and Bob Costas rattle a cage or two? Will he show up in my Junior Jumble? Read on, people…

I remember the first time Brett Favre mentioned the V word in the summer of 2008.

Indeed. Vaginosis. It’s no joke when your vagina secretes an “odorous discharge”. In fact, I find any and all unwanted discharges troubling.

Favre told me he pulled or strained his groin in practice on Wednesday and took it easy in practice for the rest of the week.

Oh, Brett’s groin. So firm. So supple. Like a leg of lamb pulled fresh from the oven. Pulled and strained and pulled and strained and pulled and strained UNTIL IT SIMPLY CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE. PETER MUST HAVE YOU, BRETT’S GROIN.

There was never any question he’d play, he said. But about an hour before the game, during pregame warmups at Lambeau with the groin wrapped tightly, he aggravated the muscle on the field. “I told T-Jack [backup Tarvaris Jackson] and [offensive coordinator] Darrell Bevell I may not be able to do it,” he said. “I didn’t know if I’d be able to drop back very well. After I aggravated it, there was no way I was going to be able to move around in the pocket very much. We never called one bootleg the whole game. But we made it through OK.”

“Peter, between you and I, I had an injury that NEVER would have kept me out of this game. But I wanted to let you know about it, so that people could have even greater respect for my legendary toughness. OUCH! Oh, man! Did I tell you about my very light earache? I played with that as well. Oh, a mighty ache it was. WOULD FELL A DOZEN MEN WEAKER THAN I.”

And now, I wondered, how was the groin four hours and a lot of lost adrenalin later?

And what could I do to nurse it back to life? Could I rub it with rosemary balm? Could I kiss it gently? Read poems to it? COME BACK, GROIN! COME BACK TO YOUR LOVER.

“It’s throbbing right now,” he said.

IT THROBS FOR YOU, PETER.

Now hold on here. A pulled groin? Is this the magic bullet, the injury that starts the 40-year-old Favre’s decline?

Because I had a pulled groin back in 7th grade and hoo wee, did it hurt. I did no physical therapy for it. AND TO THIS DAY, IT STILL BOTHERS ME. You athletes out there know what I’m talking about!

Is this the injury that, with Favre on the doorstep of his historic 300th consecutive start, finally rips him out of a starting lineup for the first time since Percy Harvin was 4?

Could this be the final nail in his coffin? I don’t know. Will the groin magically heal and begin to sprout precious white truffles? I don’t know. Is the core of the Earth really made of old tennis balls? I don’t know.

Favre’s laid a couple of pretty big eggs in recent years, both when playing hurt and feeling fine. He gift-wrapped the NFC title game to the Giants two years ago. But there’s something about the games that have personal stuff on the line. Maybe it’s a coincidence; maybe the three-game sample size is just too small. But three decisive wins, 11 touchdowns, no picks — I sense a trend.

And is it me, or does he just look like he’s enjoying himself more in those games? Something to think about.

He can compartmentalize the things that matter and those that don’t. It’s simple. Or at least it sounds simple. He’d make millions traveling the country, maybe as Tony Robbins’ warmup act. Topic of his talk: Don’t sweat the small stuff — or the big stuff, for that matter.

In fact, don’t sweat anything. Just walk around aimlessly, constantly oblivious to all outside elements around you: people, objects, oncoming traffic. You need not worry about any of those things. So says Breddha.

One of the things Favre doesn’t often show is how much he wants to be liked in Green Bay. But he does.

He wants to be liked there so much that he decided to play quarterback for the team they hate the most! Know why? Because the man and his groin don’t sweat the details. OR the big picture. Or the sweat itself.

I got no sense he took any great joy in beating Green Bay for vengeful reasons

Favre to King a while back: “Part of me coming back last year, yeah, was to stick it to Ted Thompson.”

How can a player have a more redemptive day than Ted Ginn Jr.?

He redeemeth!

Troy Aikman did the game for FOX Sunday, and he thinks Favre won’t need much else to leave football a happy man. “No matter what happens from here on out,” he said last night, back home in Texas, “I think with these two wins over the Packers, Brett could walk away from football pretty satisfied at the end of the year. Now, he won’t admit that. But I think for him, to win these games was huge.”

Oh, well thank God for THAT. HOORAY, SEASON’S OVER! THE VIKINGS ARE DOUBLE PACKER BOWL CHAMPS!

Baltimore sent blitzing ‘backers more often Sunday in the the win over Denver, and it worked. Defensive coordinator Greg Mattison knew the front wasn’t getting the pressure it needed, and from the start, particularly on early downs, extra defenders like Jarrett Johnson surprised Kyle Orton around the edge. Good idea. They’ll need to keep that up, for a couple of reasons. Deion Sanders isn’t walking through the locker room door to save the beleaguered secondary.

Sanders played with the Ravens in 2004 and 2005. The Ravens went 9-7 and 6-10 those two years. He sucked.

Two very good tackles — Chris Samuels and Walter Jones — are nearing the end, and that shouldn’t be something just in small type this weekend.

It should be on Page 1! Preferably in a very small portion of the bottom right hand corner! Shame on you, New York Times, for laying off employees when you aren’t making money. SINCE WHEN IS PUBLISHING A BUSINESS?

New Orleans (6-0). My friend from Montclair, Mike Norman, and his two boys, Ben and Josh, can’t get over how they were treated as Giants fans in New Orleans a couple of weeks ago.

Oh, the Normans! You remember them, don’t you? Mike was at our Easter party last year. He’s the one who had the three fingers. Remember?

I wouldn’t be too alarmed about the so-called struggling Colts on the heels of their narrow win over San Francisco.

Oh, thank God. Because I was just about to declare that team DOA. All downhill from here!

The Eagles’ weaponry is so diverse. Think back to the preseason, when all wondered how long it would take Brent Celek, DeSean Jackson, Jeremy Maclin and LeSean McCoy — all third-year players or younger, all 24 or younger — to contribute as a group. Well, in putting up 40 on the Giants, those four touched the ball 24 times for 278 yards and four touchdowns. I guess chemistry class is going well, Professor McNabb.

Professor McNabb’s First Grade In Chemistry 101

LECTURE SCHEDULE:
MONDAY: What Is Chemistry? We Study The Rituals Of The Navajo Indians To Learn More
TUESDAY: Let’s Try Bringing In That Dog Killer Guy!
WEDNESDAY: Time Is Evil: Why Hurrying Up Makes People So Unchemistratic
THURSDAY: Guest Lecturer Peter King Discusses The Bonding Chemistry Of The 2004 Red Sox
FRIDAY: Black-on-Black Chemistry: Why Can’t We Brothers Find A… Solution? Get It?

LAB SCHEDULE
MONDAY: Concrete Cyanide
WEDNESDAY: Agrarian Vomiting
FRIDAY: Steeler Anatomy

Atlanta (4-2). Seems odd that it’s Nov. 2, and the Falcons have played only six games.

Who ARE these men? They’re like a group of cat burglars! Do they even exist? Is it any coincidence the very, very quiet Matt Schaub used to play for them? THEY COULD BE OUTSIDE MY HOME RIGHT NOW.

Esoteric But Meaningful Stat of the Week: Texans lead the league on defense with 36 three-and-outs.

Esoteric def.: Understood only by a chosen few or an enlightened inner circle. Oh, sage Peter, tell me more about these “three-and-outs”! I KNOW THE SECRET PASSWORD TO YOUR CIRCLE! LET ME IN AND SHARE MORE OF YOUR DRUID TEACHINGS! WHAT IS A SAFETY?

A really impressive loss at Indy. When you lead for 41 minutes against the Colts, and hold Peyton Manning touchdown-less, you’ve done something. Not enough, but something.

Did you win? I don’t know. Does the loss even count? I don’t know. Are you awarded a gold tablet of some kind? MAYBE.

Quote of the Week I

“We’re 3-0 in the division … and it still goes through us!!!”
-Miami coach Tony Sparano, in the victorious Miami locker room after the 30-25 win over the Jets.

Indeed it would, if you weren’t two games behind New England in the standings. Couple that with Sparano’s decision to go for two with an eleven point lead, and you have yourself a fucking mathemagician.

Quote of the Week III

“No, Brett Favre did not lay down to give me a sack. Doesn’t happen in the NFL, man.”
-Michael Strahan, on KHTK radio in Sacramento

“Except for that one time when it did!”

Offensive Player of the Week

Brett Favre, QB, Minnesota.

AND HIS GROIN!

Really, could the day have been any more perfect?

And we got to cap it off with Heineken Lights on my deck on Montclair, surrounded by woods and meadows! And the, we made love under a Japanese Maple. The knots pressing into my back… they hurt. But they felt good when they hurt. Does that make sense?

Enjoyable/Aggravating Travel Note of the Week

This is not a travel note per se, but more of an event note in a place I traveled to. Does that count?

No.

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame held two concerts at Madison Square Garden Thursday and Friday, and I was lucky enough to be in the crowd on the second night, the most interesting night of music I’ve ever seen in person.

Hugely interesting music. Semi-Chinaesque.

These concerts get big acts to do a few songs — on Friday, it was Aretha Franklin, Jeff Beck, Metallica and U2 — then bring out guest stars to accompany them on songs. What a parade: Lenny Kravitz and Annie Lennox with Aretha, Sting and the ZZ Top guy, Bill Gibbons, with Beck, Lou Reed and Ray Davies of the Kinks and Ozzy Osbourne with Metallica (my first exposure to Metallica, and when I woke up Sunday, 32 hours after the show, my ears still had some weird hummmmmm going on in there) … and then the incredible U2 guests. Bruce Springsteen and Patti Smith, then the Black Eyed Peas (now there’s some energy)

NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL EXTREMELY WATERED DOWN HIP HOP!

and then, drumroll please, Mick Jagger. Each artist was onstage for seven to 11 songs, with a short intermission between each mini-show, making for a ridiculously memorable four-hour night.

It was like visiting the Texas State Book Depository… IN SONG.

The five best songs:

“Gimme Shelter,” by U2, Mick Jagger and Fergie, of the Peas

Oooh, Bono AND Fergie got to join in? That improves that song by at least –4,000,000%.

2. “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” by U2 and Bruce Springsteen. A King dream: the two giants of my music life crooning together into the same mike.

If only the mike had been made of a recycled Illy can, it would have been greatest King dream of ALL..

“Sweet Jane,” by Lou Reed and Metallica. Metallica’s good. Good and loud.

This just in: Metallica plays music called METAL. How about that? What a democracy.

“You Really Got Me,” by Ray Davies and Metallica. My God. We’ve forgotten how great the Kinks were.

Oh, the Kinks? They fucking su… WAIT! No, wait! Peter is right! I had forgotten! I thought they had turned into Canned Heat when I wasn’t looking.

I’ll be having a signing in my old hometown, Montclair, N.J., at the Yogi Berra Museum and Learning Center on Nov. 21, a Saturday, late in the afternoon.

Fuck off. There’s a real place named that? Really? Jesus. Here’s the website. Here’s part of their mission statement:

Our Vision is to provide a creative and enjoyable educational environment for all learners…

Oooh, ALL learners? Even that them there little folks who go to learning buildings?

We particularly choose to focus on children so that they may understand how baseball, our national pastime, and other sports, teach social and cultural values that are as important off the field as they are on.

I expect nothing less from THE GREATEST LIVING BASEBALL PLAYER IN THE UNITED STATES, AS NOTED BY MR. KING.

Good friend Dave Kaplan is organizing.

With the Normans?!!!111!!!1!!

Tweet of the Week
“Just noticed this on my Packers credential: It’s Green Bay home game No. 4. Of course it is.”

@LATimesfarmer, Sam Farmer, NFL beat writer for the Los Angeles Times, Tweeting from the press box at Lambeau Field Sunday.

And if you put a zero on the end of 4, you get 40. BRETT FAVRE IS ADAM DUNN AND MAY ALSO BE CEDRIC BANSON.

Good start, Vince Young. Very good: 15 of 18, and looking quite sure of yourself.

You, sir, are flowering.

Quietly, Dallas has crept back into the NFC pennant race.

I forgot they were even there! The Cowboys are the Kinks of pro football.

Now that’s the way to make big plays, Julius Peppers.

Can I have your gloves?

For a veteran who’s surely been mugged on more than a few pass routes, Derrick Mason of the Ravens went way over the top on a jersey grab by Denver cornerback Alphonso Smith. Hedeserved the 15-yard flag for unsportsmanlike conduct after throwing his helmet. Calls get missed, Derrick. Relax a bit.

I expect more from such a wonderful autograph signer.

Are you kidding, FOX? The moment the game of the year ends and Brett Favre is hugging his way across the field, we hear Thom Brennaman say: “We send you to bonus coverage.”

You do what? You send us to Carolina 34, Arizona 21? For God’s sake — FOR WHAT?!!!!!! What you should be sending us to is Pam Oliver for a live interview with Favre instead of making people wait.

Wait for what? What does Favre have to say that anyone will give a flying shit about? I’d far prefer to watch actual football. I had Jonathan Stewart going in that game, you prick. HEY FOX, THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING SHOWING REAL FOOTBALL WHEN I WANT TO LINGER AROUND AN ALREADY OVERCOVERED STORY?!

Throw it downfield, Matthew Stafford. Bombs away, Calvin Johnson or not.

Don’t sweat it! Just launch it and see what happens!

I get the sense no one really believes in Iowa.

Nor do I. It’s one of those made up places you always read about, like Atlantis, or Oz, or Doggie Heaven.

Coffeenerdness: Funny thing happened walking to get the papers and coffee Saturday morning in Manhattan. Guy walks up to me at a newsstand on 7th and 53rd and says, “Peter King!”

“YOU’RE A COCK!”

I turn and shake his hand, and he said, “Jeff Catlett. I’m the one who won the Joe Namath jersey at the Dr. Z auction last spring.” Wow, I say, and ask what’s he doing here in the city, out so early. Seems he lives in Kuwait, works in the oil business, and his wife gave him a trip to World Series Game 2 to see his beloved Yanks, and he was out for a stroll before he had to get to the airport and go back home.

We went to Starbucks and got coffee, and I asked him about Starbucks over there. Turns out he’s quite the Starbucks aficionado. “We have 76 Starbucks in Kuwait,” he said proudly. “Seven in one mall!” So Howard Schulz is taking over the world after all.

What a story. Peter ran into a guy who bought something at an auction. Turned out he liked coffee! What a world. This man might be the next Mitch Puin.

I really like FOX’s sideline guy, Ken Rosenthal, on TV. He’s smart and cool.

I hope I get to rock climbing with him one day!

“The Cleveland Show,” as spinoffs go, should last as long as “Saved By The Bell: The New Class.” Now, if there was a Brian spinoff …

I’d pop my gum!

There’s something about the Falcons that’s a little disconcerting

I think they might all be GHOSTS.

Mark Sanchez: Felt good to get back in the win column again, Thomas.

Thomas Jones: Yup.

Sanchez: Who we got this week? Miami? That’s gonna be a toughie.

Jones: Yup.

Sanchez: Heard about Coach Ryan chewing me out in the media over that hot dog?

Jones: Yup.

Sanchez: You think he’s really that mad about it?

Jones: We’ll see.

(door flies open, smell of McDonald’s wafts in)

Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?

Sanchez: Good, coach.

Ryan: What a morning. WHAT A FUCKING MORNING. Men, I don’t mean to boast, but I took a sixty-minute shit this morning. SIXTY MINUTES. With no lollygagging. There was shit coming out of my ass for sixty minutes straight. NOW THAT’S HOW YOU ENJOY A MCGRIDDLE! NACHO? WHERE THE FUCK IS NACHO?

Sanchez: Right here, Sir.

Ryan: Nacho, from now on, your new nickname is Jalapeno! Because you’re Mexican, and Mexicans are spicy! Now Jalapeno, I heard you were eating a fucking HOT DOG on the sidelines last week. Or a perro caliente, as your people would say.

Sanchez: I was, coach. I’m sorry. It was disrespectful and I know that.

Ryan: Damn right it was! I expect you to show some professionalism!

Sanchez: Yes, coach.

Ryan: And I expect you to RESPECT your opponent. To treat them as you would want to be treated (stifles laughter).

Sanchez: Yes, coach.

Ryan: You know what you have to do now, don’t you, Jalapeno? I expect a 300-word, typed apology note to Al Davis. (stifles laughter, turns blue) And I expect it on my desk in the morning!

Sanchez: Yes, coach.

Ryan: And I expect that note to read… HEY YOU OLD FAGGOT, SEE YOU IN FUCKING HELL!!!!! BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Sanchez: You’re not mad?

Ryan: Hell no, son! I tell those media shitheads whatever it is they have to hear. FUCK RESPECTING THOSE ASSHOLES! KILLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!

(everyone cheers)

Ryan: Now, men. Jalapeno here was caught disrespecting his opponent last week. BUT HE DIDN’T DO IT THE REX RYAN WAY! Jalapeno, next time you eat on the sidelines, I expect you to be eating a Black Jack Taco, or a Taco Salad, or something else that reminds me of your Mexicanness. AND THERE’S NO REASON TO STOP AT TACOS!

(smells own armpit)

This week, I’ve commissioned a full sideline spread for your enjoyment. Cold Cuts. Chips. Potato Salad. You take a cup of that potato salad, and you put it in your fucking shorts, and you smear it on Ricky Williams and tell him it’s your chunky cum! HE’LL STILL EAT IT!

(everyone cheers)

Ryan: And we don’t have to stop at food! WHO’S GAME FOR SIDELINE PUSSY? IS EVERYONE GAME FOR A LITTLE SIDELINE PUSSY?

(everyone cheers)

Ryan: Jones, how about we dress one of them there cheerleaders up like a white girl and you take her to the fucking house?

Jones: Oh, I don’t know…

Ryan: OH! OH! OUR FRIEND JONESY HERE HAS GOT A TASTE FOR THE WHITE TAIL! OH YEAH!!!!

Now, it’s the time of week where we have our solemn team prayer. Father McLaughlin?

Father McLaughlin: Would you all please take a knee and pray with me.

(everyone kneels)

Father McLaughlin: Blessed Father, we are thankful to you for the opportunity to compete on Sunday. We will play hard in your honor. And we will honor the memory of teammates who sacrificed their bodies for the sake of us and Your glory, as Leon did last week.

Ryan: Broke his leg like a fucking MAN, Father.

Father McLaughlin: Shhhhhh!

Ryan: Sorry. (opens very noisy bag of corn chips)

Father McLaughlin: Shhhhhh!

Ryan: Sorry again.

Father McLaughlin: Oh Holy Father, we experienced great joy and triumph last week in defeating our opponent, but we know the path You have laid out for us will never be an easy one. It will be fraught with adversity, and it will force us to make decisions we may not care to make. But we take comfort in knowing that the obstacles You place before us will only serve to strengthen our resolve and determination. They are Your gift. Your grace. And so we thank You for this test of gumption. We will never let You down, oh Lord. Never. We ask You today for the courage and strength to face whatever may come upon us, and we wish nothing but happiness and good health for those we would endeavor to defeat…

Ryan: Whoa whoa whoa, Father. Gonna have to cut you off there. No need for that mercy shit.

Father McLaughlin: But it’s a fundamental tenet…

Ryan: Yeah yeah yeah, God is nice blah blah blah. THANK YOU, FATHER. EVERYONE SAY AMEN AND THANK THE SHIT OUT OF FATHER MCLAUGHLIN.

Everyone: Amen. Thank you, Father.

Father McLaughlin: God be with you.

(leaves)

Ryan: Okay, he’s done praying and so am I. You listen to me, men. You men aren’t here today because of God. You are here because you are fucking WINNERS. You understand me? God didn’t make you a winner. Life ain’t no fucking divine lottery. You’re here because you made it fucking happen. YOU kicked ass in high school. YOU took your college team to a bowl game and fucked everything that moved afterwards. YOU did that. I don’t see God’s strings pulling your arms and legs around. No one, not even God, is gonna give you SHIT in this world. Lie down in the gutter sometime and see where God floats you. He didn’t put you on this Earth to lay down like a fucking dog. He put you on this earth to KILLLLL! AND FUCK! AND TEAR THOSE COCKSUCKERS IN HALF!

(everyone cheers)

The men who know fucking TAKE it. They don’t waste time. They don’t hope someone else does it for them. They don’t wait for a fucking sign from above. AND THEY NEVER EVER ASK FOR PERMISSION. They fucking TAKE that glory and they fucking ream the shit out of it.

There are gonna be fifty some odd men on that other sideline on Sunday who wanna take something from you. And three weeks ago, they did just that. DON’T FUCKING LET THEM DO IT AGAIN. DON’T LET THEM COME INTO THIS FUCKING CITY AND TAKE YOUR FUCKING GLORY. That shit is YOURS. It sure as fuck isn’t Tony Sparano’s. That fat fuck. YOU WILL FUCKING GO OUT THERE, AND YOU WILL KICK THOSE FUCKERS RIGHT IN THE BALLS. AND THEN YOU WILL EAT SLOPPY JOE’S OFF OF THEIR WIVES’ TITS!

EVERYONE GIVE ME A FUCK YEAH!

Everyone: FUCK YEAH!

Ryan: You gonna let these fuckers come into our house and eat hot dogs?

Everyone: FUCK NO!

Ryan: You gonna apologize for kicking ass?

Everyone: FUCK NO!

Ryan: You gonna have mercy on those pricks?

Everyone: FUCK NO!

Ryan: THAN LET’S DO IT! LET’S FUCKING MURDER THOSE COCKS! THEN IT’S PUSSY AND HOT DOGS ALL THE WAY HOME! FIRE UP THE HEBREW NATIONALS! GO GO GO!

(everyone cheers)

Oh, shit. It’s three o’clock! Time for a bourbon bath.