If we are to effect the kind of change necessary to improve the lot of future generations, we must reach out the most disenfranchised and marginalized among us. We need individuals whose message will be heard by inner-city youth. I established a nationwide network called Amer-I-Can, that takes young people headed down the wrong path and instills them with a sense of self-worth and puts them on the road to being productive citizens. But these at-risk youngsters don’t want to listen to politicians or crusty old-timers like me. They are attuned to their heroes, people like Tiger Woods and LeBron James. They need to hear it from these men that they can determine a future where they will succeed and prosper—a future where they can slap the shit out of any trifling chickenhead they see fit.

There are some athletes out there who feebly try to follow my example. Stephon Marbury sells a pair of shoes that cost $3 to make for $15 instead of $90 and he is lauded as an activist. Can you believe that shit? Let me tell you something, in 1986 in Los Angeles, I personally negotiated a truce between the Crips and Bloods. That’s activism. Selling some cheapass shoes is not activism.

That hussy from the Golf Channel said other players on the PGA Tour should lynch Tiger Woods and Tiger just let that shit go. Said it was ‘an unfortunate choice of words’. Lemme tell you something, when they put the badmouth on ol’ Jim, I just threw those bitches off the fucking balcony and went about my business. They don’t press charges after that, they just keep their mouths shut. Lynch this, devil-woman!

Lately, when I go around the country and speak to various youth groups, there’s always some wiseass youngblood who says, ‘But Mister Brown, Brandon Marshall beats his women way worse that you ever did’. Sheeeeeeit, don’t get me started on Brandon Marshall. I didn’t just choke bitches for a few seconds or put a couple of bruises on their faces. I beat that ass. My wife once had me arrested for smashing in some for car windows. They charged me with vandalism. Ain’t that some shit? Who in the hell do they think paid for that ride? How am I supposed to vandalize something I already own? I showed her though; when I got done she went on Larry King and said it was her fault because of the PMS. WHEN JIM BROWN BEATS ‘EM THEY STAY BEAT!!!”

We’re two days removed from Donte’ Stallworth’s apostrophe-deficient plea deal with the state of Florida that saw the Cleveland Browns  wide receiver cop to manslaughter in exchange for serving a whopping 30 days in jail. Personally, I’ve spent more time in jail on tours, visiting friends, and shooting my new adult film, Cops And Cradle Robbers 7, available at finer adult video stores near you.

Some of you are comparing Stallworth’s sentence to that of Michael Vick, who was sentenced to 23 months in federal court for orchestrating an interstate dogfighting ring which, while grotesquely inhumane, makes a lot more sense than anything the UFL has ever done. But let’s get a grip and do the math. Thirty days is pretty fair, when you consider the surrounding factors involved, and compare those factors to Vick’s proceedings:

The case against Stallworth was not a slam-dunk. Stallworth blew a 0.126 at the scene, minutes after he ran over Mario Reyes with his Bentley on March 14th, but wasn’t charged with DUI manslaughter until April. Why?

The big issue centered around a wrinkle in Florida’s DUI laws referred to as “causation,” meaning that if the drunk driver is involved in a crash, that driver is not necessarily responsible if the other party contributed to that crash. Like if I have get drunk and have sex with your mom, but she pays for the hotel room; I can’t be held responsible, unless of course your dad is bigger than I am (fat chance).

This applies to the case since Mario Reyes was jaywalking when Stallworth hit him. Reyes’ illegal action–petty as it is–could have potentially absolved Stallworth. There also would have been difficulty provinig that Stallworth was impaired, since he was able to honk and flash his lights. The prosecution might have had a better case if Stallworth was texting behind the wheel while sober.

And there’s probably a going-over-the-middle joke here that, due to time constraints, I’ll leave to the fine commenters of this site.

Conversely, the case against Vick was damn near iron clad. Several of Vick’s friends flipped and testified against him. Significant physical evidence, including 70 dogs, were seized. Investigators were confident that they could prove that Michael Vick was the de facto CEO of an interstate dogfighting operation that involved gambling, drugs, and the violations of both state and federal laws. It’s also worth nothing here that Virgina has suspended all charges against Vick, because they’re just mighty swell folks.

Stallworth made good with the Reyes family. I don’t know what happened here, but this is my best guess: A contrite Stallworth met with the family, apologized from the bottom of his heart, and pulled out his checkbook. He then gave Mario Reyes’ surviving wife and daughter more money than either of them had ever seen in their entire lives, enough to put that 15-year-old daughter through college. Enough for the widow to live “comfortably,” if such a term could even be used here.

The Reyes’ family’s wishes to get the proceedings over with may have stemmed from the settlement. The prosecution admitted that this was a factor in hurrying the proceedings, a factor that certainly worked in the favor of Stallworth and his legal team. No word on whether Vick and the survivors of the 70 dogs seized are cool.

Stallworth’s illegal action was not premeditated, and happened in less time than it took you to read this sentence. I hate using the word “accident” in general, but the fault stemmed from ann instantaneous lapse in awareness. Is that worth sending a guy to jail for years of his life? Is that fair? Vick, on the other hand, delivered the Bad Newz for six years. Oh, but he didn’t kill nobody and didn’t rape nobody. Whatever.

Legal proceedings aren’t as cut and dried as our society would like to pretend they are, and that’s a good thing. Alleged criminals don’t just walk up to a judge with their offense written on an index card and receive a cookie-cutter punishment like some sort of Value Meal of Justice.

The state’s burden of proof is one of the cornerstones of liberty in a republic. It doesn’t make the death of Mario Reyes forgivable, or any less tragic. It doesn’t diminish the value of the 59-year-old man that woke up every day to provide for his family.  Stallworth had his day in court. So did Vick. But it wasn’t just random chance or some obliviousness to humanity that Stallworth’s day turn out a lot better.

Dick joke.

We got cheated out of more football in the snow. That’s the only thing Buffalo is good for. Those are conditions overweight citizens of lakeside cities adore!

I invited resident Bills fan and Photoshoppeur 289 to take part in the festivities but he sent back this reply: “I’m going to be at the game BIOTCH. Freezing my cock off.” Don’t worry, 289, Brady Quinn still loves the cold cock.

Kellen Winslow returned to the Browns after a recent hospitalization that generated more than a little speculation. Turns out Winslow was the latest member of the Cleveland Browns to contract a staph infection. Hasn’t this problem has been going on in Cleveland for years? How antiquated is the sanitation up there? Can we get Bono to organize a telethon for these poor Third World bastards?

Winslow is not only pissed that he has contracted staph for the second time with the Browns, but he’s in a snit over the lack of bed-side fretting from GM Phil Savage. The battle-toughened veteran’s steely exterior was no match for the hard-hearted executive. Winslow said he felt like a piece of meat and considered asking for a trade after Savage didn’t check in him while he was in the Cleveland Clinic.

A trade? To one of the many teams clamoring for an under-performing prima donna? With a virulent infection too? I hope Savage intalled a couple dozen extra dedicated phone lines for the volume of calls which are soon to be rolling in.

Next time, Phil, the price of a Pick-Me-Up,TM bouquet will prevent this drama. And get some fucking bleach in that that shithole you call a football complex.

[ via Larry Brown Sports ]

It’s time you and I had a man-to-man talk, Jamal Lewis. You’ve been on my fantasy team for quite some time now, Jamal. We’ve had our ups and downs since I took you in 2005, even after you went to jail for four weeks the previous season on what was technically setting up a drug deal. I knew you were a hard, downhill runner, which is odd because I always thought the football field was a relatively level structure. But I digress.

Jamal, don’t you fuck me in the ass like you did in 2005. I had the number one pick going into that draft. Did I run off with Corey Dillon or Curtis Martin, motherfucker? Hell, no. I stood by your broken-down ass because I FUCKING BELIEVED IN YOU. And how was I rewarded for my undying faith? Three shitty little touchdowns. And way to give me that one 100-yard game on the last week of our season. That really solidified my 1-11 finish. Cocksucker.

And here we are again. Did you think I was going to throw myself onto Michael Turner like some floozy? Shit, no. EVERYONE on the Browns’ offense is ranked at or near the top five in their respective positions–except for you. You turn 29 this season. You run behind the best line in the league. I KNOW you have another 1,200-yard season in you, you big fucking loser. You can do it, buddy!

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

[ HT: Jock Talk Blog ]