This is Dr. James Andrews, and if you follow professional sports you’re probably familiar with his work. It is Andrews’ nimble fingers that have been responsible for breathing the life back into hundreds of lame limbs from all across the sporting spectrum, and now he’s taking on Brett Favre’s bum bicep. Clearly the man has gone mad with power.

Jesus fucking Christ, James, if God really wanted Brett Favre to make another comeback he wouldn’t have taken the time to reduce the man’s throwing arm to delicious shredded beef. Who are you to interfere with His divine will? You must have an ego the likes of which we’ve only seen from Favre himself. I am pleading with you to think long and hard about what you’re doing before you selfishly repair another man’s injury.

That is why I am humbly requesting that you kick the Hippocratic Oath to the curb for a day and “take one for the team” by botching this procedure. In fact, I’m willing to start up a collection on this very blog to compensate you for doing as such.

Cancel the procedure?

We’ll figure out a way to make up for the lost income (invaluable gambling advice!).

Go through with the procedure but intentionally botch it to make sure Favre never so much as lifts his right arm over his head?

Double compensation, plus a free whore to do with as you see fit.

Feel too guilty to screw up on purpose?

We’ll buy you a case of Red Bull to chug before the surgery. That way your conscience can remain (somewhat) clear while your hands do their best impression of a Parkinson’s patient.

Feel free to sleep on it, James. But if you don’t have an answer soon I’ll be powerless to stop Drew from offering a bounty on your veiny hands.

It has nothing to do with his unfunny and not particularly offensive remark about Hispanics last night. What it does have to do with is the fact that Tony Kornheiser has reached near-Theismann levels of putrescence in the MNF booth. Whereas his colleague Mike Tirico has developed into a pretty good commentator in the last two years, Kornheiser has gotten, if anything, more schmaltzy and adulatory of superstar players. And, worst of all, less funny.

Readers may wonder why we’re offering the bounty on his car and not he himself, especially after a “stalker” already made off with a car recently from his garage in D.C. (Only a stalker could find the keys he left lying next to the vehicle, of course). Well, Tony’s an old guy and any harm we would visit on his person may soon be inflicted by the ravages of age anyway. Besides, there’s a much easier way to keep him out of the booth: exploit his well-known fear of flying! That’s right. All you need to do is make off with Tony’s car and MNF will see a significant reduction of self-serious opening soliloquies and Favre references.

That said, I have no personal animus toward Tony. I’ve never met him despite the fact that we worked for the same massive blogger-terminating paper for three years. He did mispronounce my name on his radio show once though (rest assured, sending that fussy letter to him wasn’t my idea).

So if there are any more Bernard Pollards out there (though I suppose for this mission Niko Bellic may be more suitable) you stand to reap the reward of $75, no inconsiderable amount in these lean economic times. With it, you could buy:

- Three hardcover John Feinstein books!
- American Idol: The Best and Worst of Seasons 1-4 on DVD!
- An actual old radio for Old Guy Radio!
- A guy who can poorly mimic a British accent!
- Something Jewy!
- Three crab-filled entrees at Rehoboth Beach restaurant of your choice!

Your options are only limited by your imagination. That and obvious economic factors. We realize that with his considerable wealth, he could always get another car should this mission succeed. Then again, we never said this was a one-time offer. So get on it!

pic courtesy Midwesterner’s Guide to Living in New York

Yahoo is reporting that Tom Terrific is out for the year with a torn ACL. And it’s all thanks to the one bright beautiful man who was steel willed enough to heed our demands and make good on the challenge of a generation. For making ribbons of Dreamboat’s ligaments, we present you with this legal tender entitling the holder to $50 $60 worth of goods and services. And a goodie bag!

With it, you can buy:

-Commemorative Super Bowl XLII DVD
-One month of Netflix AND Gamefly membership
-Probably a decent lamp at Ikea
-Armed protection from Bahstan fans (5 minutes)
-6,000 Bernard Pollard football cards
- Lucrative bet against Maj’s picks that you’re bound to win

These are just a small sampling of the many options at your disposal. Don’t feel constrained by our suggestions. The money is yours to spend as you see fit. And thank you, sir. Thank you from the bottom of our cold, black, unfeeling hearts.

And that’s not where the similarities begin and end with the ‘86 Celtics and the ‘07 Patriots.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. Why do you make it so hard for me, asshole? Just when I was trying to swallow my pride and appreciate the Patriots run, along comes William Of Greenwich to bring my acid reflux back.

When the Colts ducked the AFC Championship Game with an indefensible choke job against San Diego, many die-hard Boston fans thought the same thing: Ralph Sampson.

And by many fans, he means ONE.

Look, I’m not saying the ‘07 Colts or ‘86 Lakers openly chose to lose. They just took the easy way out. Subconsciously, they were probably thinking, “Deep down, we know we’re not winning the title this year,” and responded in crisis with the appropriate amount of urgency.

Wow, what an amazing analysis of the collective psyche of 50 to 60 players and coaches on the Indy sideline! I’m sure they subconsciously really wanted to lose to avoid your precious Patriots. No competitive fire in that team! What’s the view like inside your own large intestine? Is it shiny?

In the process, they cheated two unforgettable teams of punctuating unforgettable seasons by topping their natural rivals.

Oh, poor you! You get to go 19-0, just not against the teams you wanted to go 19-0 against! Oh, you poor millionaire you! You were so cheated! IT’S ALL SO UNFAIR!!!!

On top of that, (Brady) excelled during an unhealthy era in which we digest sports through various mediums, argue about them constantly and pick athletes and coaches apart on a 24/7 basis.

It’s true! If only it were like back in the old days, when people couldn’t write columns on the Internet! That was really the beginning of the end! It’s also terrible when people can anonymously rip other people online, like the Sports Gal does!

He has the same satisfied smirk on his face that someone has when they’re meeting the boyfriend of a kinky ex-girlfriend, like he’s particularly delighted to make eye contact for that split-second as they’re shaking hands.

“Kinky women usually leave me for other men because I play a Dictaphone of Adam Carolla reading my columns, and I make them wear a Kimmel wig! I also like to give smug glances to other men, just to be a fucking prick!”

I have this one on tape — in the second half, the entire Celtics team morphs into Clint Eastwood during the final 15 minutes of “Unforgiven.” It’s incredible to watch. This game should run on ESPN Classic once a week.

Because Boston fans would really enjoy it! And they’re the only fans that matter!

The ‘86 Celtics had one of the most significant home court advantages in sports history, finishing 50-1 at home (including the playoffs) and breaking records for “Most times a group of fans recognized that a great pass was about to happen even before it happened,” and “Most times a crowd has ever lifted a team from one level to another.”

Because Boston fans are smarter and better than regular fans! In fact, they’re so good, they can literally improve the athletic potential of the team! But that’s not all! Boston fans can also turn lead into gold! And heal by touch! And when they take a shit, little animated birds appear from out of nowhere to wipe and powder their asses clean!

You can’t say enough about that gag job by the defending champs. What a disgrace. Part of winning a title is defending the title after you win it … and that wasn’t anything remotely resembling a defense.

So true. If you don’t do well the next year, your title shouldn’t really count! Like when the Patriots when 9-7 in 2002 and failed to make the playoffs! So weak!

Whether it’s a team or a player, the test remains the same: Will you be bouncing your grandkids on your lap some day and telling them how great Player X or Team X was? (Note: I always thought this would be a great way to decide the Hall of Fame — if somebody doesn’t pass the Grandkids Test, they’re out.)

I see someone is taking notes at the Woody Paige School For Idiotic Hall Of Fame Selection Methodology.

You know, I started off liking Simmons because I thought he was different from every other sportswriter out there. But he’s fucking EXACTLY like them all. He only gives a fuck about HIS team, HIS life, HIS opinions, and getting you to side with him. And all the old Rocky III jokes in the world (“Oh look! Two men hugging! That’s so funny! Don’t you think it’s funny that I find that funny?”) don’t make a goddamn difference. Know why I can’t ignore Simmons? BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO. I want to be reminded exactly of what it’s like to be some self-satisfied asshole who doesn’t give a shit about entertaining readers.

So, to that end… WE’RE UPPING THE BOUNTY!!!!

Twenty-one whole dollars to take out our man’s hands (NOTE: Offer not valid). He’ll never type or stroke his fingers through Wes Welker’s hair again. That’s the price you pay for making me root for fucking Marmalard, assfuck.

Doug and Doug return following a fallow week, and what do they have to show for their mid-autumn vacation? Trading in the green headband for a beige one? Crafting a newfound irreverence for bounties? Easy you two, we’ve got $50, maybe $55, more that we can spend on hits. How hard can it be to bomb one garage?

For those, unlike us, who don’t have time in the middle of the day to commit an hour to read the 33,000 words that usually comprise his Friday picks column (in which this week he relegates the “picks” to a small box to the side of his rant, forgoing any additional commentary on his shitty recommendations).

Anyway, here’s the quick rundown: He blubbers on about how the Pats totally got hosed in a game they won by referees working for the RAND CORPORATION, in conjunction with the saucer people, under the supervision of the reverse vampires, to totally screw the Pats over and have the gall to call Randy Moss for pushing off, like he’s been doing all year. He compares the refs to the Nazi officials in “Victory!” Leaving aside that a lot of former Nazis probably reside in Indianapolis, this is completely ludicrous.

He does provide us this helpful, if obnoxious, tidbit:

“After the final three kneels and a delightfully icy handshake between Belichick and Dungy, I grabbed my dogs for a prolonged victory walk — still wearing my good luck Wes Welker jersey — and mulled a scenario in which the Pats finished 19-0, then picked first in the 2008 draft with the first-rounder acquired from San Francisco last spring.”

So now we know Simmons likes to take victory strolls following Patriots games. All you need to do is find the douchebag in the Welker jersey walking a labradoodle and hack off his hands. He has a new kid, so perhaps he should be around for that. And nobody watches E-60, so no harm is done there. The Welker jersey probably narrows it down a bit in L.A. but if you happen to lop off the appendages of a few innocents of a similar description, who are we to judge? He is your quarry and upon successful termination you will receive a crisp new twenty.

With which you can get:

– Copy of NBA2K8 for PS2 so you can beat the Celtics 300 times in a row
– Butthash kit, deluxe edition
– Three (3) 5 lb. bags of key lime mints
– Wes Welker Dolphins jersey
– a “Van Heflin”
– Fudgie the Whale

But I am nothing if not persistent. This week’s is the Patriots’ bye week, and it presents a perfect opportunity to kneecap this pretty bastard as he enjoys his leisure time. I happen to have come across a copy of Brady’s bye week itinerary. He’ll be in New York with that floozy of a Brazilian girlfriend of his all week. Tomorrow, they plan on window shopping in SoHo. What perfect opportunity for you to injure Mr. Wonderful and collect my money. IF YOU’VE GOT THE BALLS. Just picture it: one minute, our friend is delighting at the sweet treats in the window of Jacques Torres Chocolate Haven. The next minute, BOOM! A fucking Lincoln Navigator pins him right against the glass, rupturing vital arteries and teaching him an important lesson in humility. Do you have the steely determination to carry this out? I don’t like what you’ve shown me so far.

And I’ve got an extra treat waiting for you if you pull this off, Mr. Defender Man. Last week, I threw in a bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. But this week, I’m going all out. I get it. You’re a celebrity now. Money is no longer as thrilling as it once was. Well, I know one thing no celebrity can resist. A GOODIE BAG!!!!

Aw, yeah. Feast your eyes. No celebrity can resist the siren song of free shit wrapped in tissue paper and then stuffed inside a decorative paper bag. It’s fun! It’s tax-free! It’s an incredible insult to working class Americans! No one can deny the appeal of that. Tara Reid has lived off of gift bags alone since 2002. Your gift bag will include the following items:

-Reese’s Cups
-Bottle of Stetson (for ironic purposes)
-Two day stay at Rancho Relaxo
-Free Movado watch
-Home pedicure set
-5 Lottery scratch tickets
-Free test trial sample of new Glaxosmithkline anemia pill
-Matt Ufford sex tape
-? (mystery item!)
-? (another mystery item!)
-? (yet another mystery item!)
-? (mystery item that’ll really make you cream your jeans!)

And if that’s not enough, we’re raising the bounty… TO SIXTY DOLLARS!!!!!

God, look at that. One fifty and one ten. Or get three twenties. Or six tens. Or twelve fives. But don’t ask me to pay you in singles. Go to Pacman Jones for that shit.

Your move, NFL defenders. It’s Tom Brady’s week off. But a week becomes a year so easily. All you need is a Louisville Slugger and an iron will.

Pretty pathetic.

You people are nothing but a bunch of cowards. Which one of you will finally have the courage to deliver a late hit to Brady’s tibia well after the whistle has blown? My old o-line coach used to tell us to keep hitting through the “echo of the whistle”. Now, you’re playing your games in quite a large stadium, so I’m sure the whistle is still echoing a good five minutes after the play has ended. An extremely late and vicious hit would then be legal. At least, it would be to me, and that’s all that really matters. Yet none of you have been able to sack up and carry out this vital task.

I’m the one laying it all on the line here. I’m the one who had the courage to step up to the plate, anonymously and online, and ask someone to do my dirty work for me. That takes balls. That takes grit. That takes gumption. And others have stood up and taken notice. That’s right, the Tom Brady Knee Bounty Sensation is sweeping across the nation. Americans from all over have emailed in, asking to donate $20 of their own. These are good, hard-working people, people who deserve to see a man who has everything crippled on live national television.

It’s a grass roots campaign that’s spreading like goddamn wildfire. Why, just check out this guy with an acoustic guitar and a pirated copy of Final Cut. Or, how about an endorsement a little known guy named Michael freakin’ Wilbon?! To wit:

…if I was on the opposing team, I’d hit Tom Brady with everything I had as late as I could and take the penalty and join the fight that would surely follow. Football is a violent game and there’s got to be somebody out there sharpening his fangs for the Patriots Golden Boy in the 4th quarter one of these weeks.

That’s right, kids. No need to read any deeper into the context. Michael Wilbon completely and unequivocally supports the KSK bounty on Tom Brady’s kneecaps. Finally, the mainstream media shows a little courage in their convictions.

And yet, here we are, NFL defenders. It’s midseason, and you’ve continued to let all of us down. You should be ashamed. You should go home right now and cut off your finger as penance, just like that one dude in “Black Rain” did.

Well, perhaps you need a bit more motivation. Perhaps drastic measures are needed here. Perhaps it is time… TO RAISE THE BOUNTY TO FIFTY WHOLE DOLLARS!!!!!

That’s right. Soak it in, NFL defenders. That’s Ulysses S. staring you right in the motherfuckin’ grill. He was one of our worst presidents ever, but the man rocked one hell of a beard. With this single $50 bill, your life could change FOREVER! Think of things you could buy:

-Showtime Rotisserie Grill (Set it and forget it, bitches)
-“Are You Being Served?” DVD box set
-Synthetic hair extensions
-Bottle of top shelf liquor (not for drinking, but for interior design purposes)
-Lunch for two at Houston’s (if you don’t order any alcohol)
-Balsa wood model boat kit
-Very large bag of asparagus

Holy fuck, that’s some good shit. But that’s not all. Act now, and I’m also throwing in this special Halloween bonus: an entire bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup singles.

That’s right. The Mona Lisa of trick-or-treating candy. No need to go from house to house dressed like Jacinth Baker with a knife sticking out of your chest. No need to knock on doors, hoping for a Reese’s cup (or a Fun Size Snickers. Snickers minis are horseshit), getting a roll of fucking Smarties, and then pissing on the side of the neighbor’s house. No, I’m giving you the good stuff directly.

So man up, Dwight Freeney and Robert Mathis. I got $50 and some delightful Halloween treats for you if you give Tom Brady’s calf a good forearm shiver. C’mon, guys. He rocked a pageboy cap in his last press conference. Don’t you just want to tear that motherfucker to pieces? Don’t let me down.

No, strike that. Don’t let AMERICA down.

Trent Green
Jake Delhomme
David Carr
Kurt Warner
Matt Leinart
JP Losman
Steve McNair
Marc Bulger
Chad Pennington
Tarvaris Jackson
Vince Young

What’s the point of injuring David Carr? That’s like robbing the Take-a-penny tray at the Mobilmart. Look at him. He was fucking begging for you to injure him. Oooh, are you planning to take out John Fourcade next? Diabolical!

Fuckheads.

Stop wasting your time with these slapdicks and go after the big prize, you bastards. I’m talking the Bradys, and Favres, and Mannings of the world: the guys who like to rest a sandwich on Kornheiser’s head while he works their shafts. THOSE are the fuckers I would enjoy seeing writhing on the ground in agony. Instead, I get some piddly-shit VY quad injury. Fuck that. Stop wasting your time with these jayvee bitches. Use your head. There’s a helmet on top of it that is very hard and can break a fibula just *snap* like that.

And you call yourselves crazed dogs. You ain’t crazed SHIT.

God dammit, NFL defenders. I made you people a nice offer two weeks ago. All you had to do was take out Tom Brady’s knees, and a crisp $20 bill was your reward. Well, here we are. I still got $20, and I still don’t see no ruptured tendons. Let me just again state how much money we’re talking about here.

TWENTY. DOLLARS. American. That’s a lotta fucking money. When I was your age, I would’ve killed for that kind of cash. I could have bought all the PB Max bars I wanted. But I guess that’s not enough for you, Mr. Moneybags. I guess you have all the money in the world to blow on Venezuelan hookers and dog fighting money laundering services. I guess I haven’t offered you the proper incentive to grab Tom Brady by the ankle and give him a nice big twist. All right. Fine. Have it your way. Perhaps you need an even bigger motivation. Perhaps you need… AN INCREASED BOUNTY!

You see that? That’s ten dollars. Again, American. No fooling. I’m adding it to my twenty-dollar offer for a grand total of THIRTY MOTHERFUCKING DOLLARS.

I wish there were a thirty-dollar bill to make this bounty look more impressive, but there is not. Still, $30. Jackson and Hamilton… TOGETHER! Think of the prestige! I know $20 is a lot, but this is 50% more! Jesus, think of all the shit you can buy with that:

-3 1/2 copies of Club International
-Blood sugar testing kit
-Toaster oven at Bed, Bath and Beyond
-750 mL bottle of Knob Creek. Fucking Knob Creek, man! I’d sell my child for a bottle of Knob Creek, it burns so good
-Street abortion
-The film rights to Ethan Hawke’s next novel
-Three months subscription to savannamakeme.com
-Timex Indiglo watch
-Butterball turkey
-Bottle of Stetson (and that’s the cologne, not the eau de toilette)
-Base haircut at Jean Louis David (tip not included)

Fuckin’ A, man. That sounds mighty impressive to me.

Listen, man. I need this. I’m a goddamn Viking fan. There’s no hope for me. Fuck, there’s no hope for any of the rest of us. I saw that Patriots team play last night. They’re fucking awesome. They’re going 16-0. It’s not even silly to consider anymore. They may not win a game by less than 10 points all year. And I can’t handle that. Okay? I don’t think people like this deserve that kind of team:

And that’s the one black Patriot fan! The white ones are 50 times worse! Why do you think that guy has to wear a mask?!

I’m tired of your excuses. “But Drew, I don’t want to risk a penalty!” “But Drew, that’s immoral!” “But Drew, you’re a horrible person!” Shelve it. This is football. This is a man’s game. And real men do their best to violate the spirit of the game in order to rob another man of his livelihood. I’m tired of you injuring players like Cadillac Williams, Steven Jackson, and Rudi Johnson. You’re not focusing your energies, here. If you want my $30, you have to take down the big cheese. You gotta lower that shoulder get right into the legmeat. No fucking around. Like this:

THAT is what I’m looking for. So man up, and get this done. Thirty whole dollars awaits. Make it happen.

NOTE: To those of you who want the Pats to break the record just to shut the ‘72 Dolphins up, let me ask you: How often do you run into a ‘72 Dolphin? Are they really that annoying? Besides, they’re all nearly dead. They won’t be able to pop no more champagne once the Grim Reaper takes them. Now imagine having to deal with some smug Pats fan at a bar hanging his hat on that for the next 40 years. I’ll take Larry Csonka any day, thank you very much.