He’s a doughty Doty.

We don’t typically bestow our pointless awards during the off-season, but sometimes extraordinary circumstances force us to action. In this case, the action of celebrating things that please us.

With that awkward preface out of the way, your Meast for this week is U.S. District Judge David Doty, who yesterday struck down an earlier, shittier court decision that would have allowed the fat, stupid asshole NFL owners to sit on a $4 billion war chest of funds acquired through questionable agreements with the television networks. While this certainly doesn’t eliminate the chance that a lockout will be imposed later this week, it does mean that the owners now actually have an incentive to get a deal done some time before next year now that their precious lockout insurance has been swept out from under them.

So you go, crusty old white guy. This next ginger snap is in your honor. After all, I can say without qualm that this towering feat of jurisprudence is more significant than Brown v. the Board of Education, Mapp v. Ohio and Loving v. Virginia combined.

That is, it would be, if only it weren’t carried out by the most impartial labor advocate on the federal bench. PK will tell you. ACTIVIST JUDGE! ACTIVIST JUDGE! ACTIVIST JUDGE!

Yes, the fact that we need to tailor the Constitution so that Goodell’s supreme executive power can no longer be undermined by the courts. NOBODY ELECTED YOU, DOTY. GOODELL WAS ELECTED BY A UNANIMOUS 32-0 TALLY BY THE OWNERS IN 2006. WITH THAT KIND OF MANDATE, HE IS FREE TO STEAMROLL THE PLAYERS UNION AT HIS WHIM!

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If you’ve caught a game recently on TV, you’ve almost certainly seen this Visa ad featuring The Never Miss A Super Bowl Club. Not only is it another dumb predatory promotion intended at duping people into mounting large amounts of debt with a promise of a lame award no one needs or probably even wants all that much, but its commercial features an annoying collective of misguided codgers who for whatever reason decided paying out the ass to go watch the Super Bowl live regardless of who’s playing is a lifelong endeavor.

Of course the spot is also narrated by Morgan Freeman because the association of old people and dementia quests automatically calls to mind The Bucket List, which I never saw, but surely is a movie to be commended for inspiring a handful of septuagenarians to kill themselves mountain climbing and other things old people shouldn’t be doing. Hoarding ribbon candy is what God intended for you shriveled old prunes. Embrace it.

Poking around on YouTube, I noticed that there are brief video vignettes of each of the members posted.

Don’s a boring old obsessive who sired a massive collection of Super Bowl ass pads in lieu of children. All told, that’s probably a smart call. Good on him.

Larry is certifiably insane. Not only is he of the opinion that the crowd at a Super Bowl is possessed of mental powers but he doesn’t know the difference between telepathy and telekinesis. Telepathy doesn’t make a ball go anywhere, you doof. If the crowd had telepathy, they’d have known Sean Payton was going to try an onside kick by reading his thoughts. That would have caused all the Fat Hump fans to shout it out beforehand, but then that would also require them removing the four corndogs from their gaping maws as well.

Bob’s cool. He goes because he likes to cuss out players and can’t do that at home. That’s the kind of undisguised bitterness I like to see out of old folks.

Tom is the group’s charming retard with a failing heart of gold. I really hope the story of him pulling out IVs and escaping the hospital the morning of the Super Bowl is true. Because that means the security in Miami let in a guy wearing a hospital gown. Which kind of makes sense. Hard to conceal a weapon in there.

Anyway, your Meast for Week 12 is Dwayne Bowe, who has at least 100 receiving yards and two touchdown receptions in his past three games. He had 170 yards and three touchdowns in the Chiefs’ rout over the Seahawks on Sunday. We also considered Malcolm Jenkins, for his game-saving strip of Roy Williams, Peyton Hillis and Kyle Williams. We felt we had to recognize the superhuman stretch of production that Bowe has put together. We’d also like to see if giving a receiver the Meast causes him to drop a game-winning touchdown the following week. Science must not be deterred.

Your Least for Week 12 was Steve Johnson. Any other week and this would have been an incredibly easy choice but there was an especially crowded Least field in Week 12. Alphonso Smith, Roy Williams and Reggie Bush each made for compelling candidates before last Thursday’s action was even over. Then on Sunday, Peyton Manning flamed out hilariously. Perry Riley nullified a game-winning kickoff return for the Redskins with a stupid and unnecessary block in the back penalty. Throw in the fact that Kogod started apologizing for him and we really wanted to give it to Riley. Then there was Derek Anderson’s shitastic showing and postgame meltdown on Monday night. Just an incredibly loaded crop of Least candidates. But really, it couldn’t not be Johnson. Five drops overall. Dropping a game-winning wide open touchdown in the end zone. Blaming God. Going by “Stevie.” That’s redefining what it is to be Leasty.

Here’s a travel note for Peter King: I only slept about 30 minutes on the redeye I took back from the West Coast on Tuesday night. I was in bad shape the next morning, but not as bad as the man in front of me WHO DIED DURING THE FLIGHT.

It wasn’t a complete shock: he was an old, old man, a veteran judging by his camouflage Army cap — old enough certainly to have served in Korea, probably in World War II. He was in the front row on the aisle, having arrived there only with the assistance of crutches and the flight attendants. Swollen ankles bulged from his sneakers, suggesting that blood circulation was not his heart’s strong point.

At one point during the flight he was snoring like a 19th century logging factory, and the flight attendant had to wake him up out of deference to the other passengers. When she went to wake him again as we began our final descent, she was less successful. “Well, he’s breathing,” said a second flight attendant summoned to the scene, but I doubted her diagnosis. From my vantage point in the second row, I could see the flight attendants exchange worried glances and hushed communiques over the phone to the cockpit.

When we landed, a pair of NYPD officers were the first responders. They carried the old man off the plane, and that was the last I saw of him. I suppose it’s possible that first aid and medical attention revived him, and now he’s back to his previous state of poor health, but I doubt it. I think I flew on a plane with a dead man.

Now, somber situations like this are not my forte. I only became a blogger when it became clear — to both me and all prospective employers — that my complete inability to feign seriousness made me a poor fit for the normal working world. And the normal world in general. With that in mind, here are some handy ways to break the ice when people are all upset that someone has died on your cross-country flight:

• ”Don’t bother my friend. He’s dead tired.”

• (to flight attendant) “Suddenly, getting hit in the head with falling luggage doesn’t seem so bad, eh?”

• “Ugh, I hate redeyes. I feel like death warmed over.”

• “Thank God no one realized he was dead until the final descent. That would have been crazy inconvenient if we’d had to do an emergency landing in Pittsburgh or Buffalo.”

• “Well, at least we won’t have to wait for our luggage at the carousel.”

• “People dying on airplanes is a lot more exciting in the movies.”

• “Too bad it’s not ten years ago. We could have blamed the airline food.”

• “This is why I never go anywhere with my grandparents.”

• “Oh, come on! He had friends who died at D-Day. He got, like, 65 extra years of life.”

Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick…

I don’t think I like these new energy efficient light bulbs. They have this fancy new design that makes it look like some kind of pasta noodle, but why? Why design the glass part of the bulb to look like the screw part of the bulb? How do we know which end to stick into the socket? If we really wanted to be energy efficient, we’d all settle for candle wax stains in our carpeting. Read the rest of this entry »

Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick…

People say baseball is the American pastime. But what about football? More Americans watch football on Sundays than anything else on television. But baseball gets more viewers during the week. But that’s probably because football games aren’t played during the week. But there’s not much tackling in baseball. Or padding. It’s probably because of the summer heat, which is much hotter than winter heat, or even autumn heat. Read the rest of this entry »

When you go both ways in the NFL, it’s not a gay thing, it’s a very awesome, badass thing. The second-year player is splitting time in OTAs, getting reps at fullback on offense and linebacker on defense. He also figures to be involved in all four special teams, call all the passing plays and serve refreshments to luxury suite holders at the half.

I’m surprised we don’t see more of this with a 47-man active roster limit. I mean, you need a kicker AND a punter, just so those two have each other to jerk off during two-a-days, but why not have that sort of Swiss Army player that can learn positions on different sides of the ball?

Truth is, it does happen to some degree within a specific offense or defensive unit. Unless a high-profile left tackle was a 1st-round pick in the Draft, he almost always has to learn all the other offensive line positions. Defensive ends and linebackers have similar mental workloads, especially in a zone blitz scheme where linemen are asked to drop into pass coverage (from a three-point stance, no less). Hell, I can barely pop off the couch to answer a phone call before the third ring.

It’s made out to be a bigger deal when a guy does it on offense AND defense, and it should be. But imagine being a 50-year-old sportswriter at some newspaper, longing for the days of Concrete Charlie when this story came along the wire last season. OMG HE PLAYED BOTH WAYS MY BONER JUST CRASHED INTO MY MAHOGANY DESK NOM NOM NOM. I don’t know, I’m assuming he’d be eating something. And then when dude found out it was a white guy that did it, he probably blasted a load clear down to the classifieds desk.

So yeah, it’s a fun anomaly; I guess I’m just surprised we don’t see more of it. But then some guys bitch and moan when being asked to move from inside linebacker to outside linebacker. I can see why the old guys like that sort of thing.

This season the Miami Dolphins will furnish hand-held gizmos to 5,000 preferred season ticker holders. These devices– manufactured by Kangaroo Media– will allow fans to watch replays, access statistics and send text messages during the game. Y’know, all the things you could do for much, much less if you were watching from the comfort of your home.

Here’s a closer look at what some of these jolly, candy-like buttons can do:

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“Holy crap, I need to start visiting grandpa more often!”

Old people at a Dallas area nursing home were recently treated to a meet and greet with members of the world famous Dallas Cowboys cheerleading squad, ostensibly for the purpose of mocking their useless withered genitalia.

Continue after the jump for more images from the depressingly arousing gallery.
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Today we have Frank Gifford, in all his wood-paneled splendor, extolling the virtues of Lucky Strike cigarettes and giving us a glimpse inside the mysterious huddles of the pre-Super Bowl era (a.k.a. the Dark Ages). Here the All-Pro halfback shows us the finer points of offense—and manliness.

Let’s break it down, shall we?

0:02 I can’t decide if ‘Captain Bijou’ sounds like a gay stripper or a third-rate super hero. “Able leap an intrusive ad in a single bound!”

0:06 “The question football fans ask me more than any other: Do you ever worry about getting caught shagging a flight attendant in a bugged motel room? And to answer that question: No. No, I do not.”

0:13 Wasn’t Vince Lombardi the offensive coordinator for the Giants during Gifford’s glory days? Are we to believe one of the true coaching geniuses in football let these hung-over jokesters hash out the plays in the huddle?

0:20 Looks like Hall of Fame lineman Rosey Brown isn’t included in this commercial. I can’t imagine why. Maybe he wasn’t a smoker.

0:32 “After a game and a good shower I always get lucky, with Lucky Strike… and your grandmother.”

0:42 L.S. / M.F.T. Lucky Strike Makes Frank something-that-starts-with-T. Shit, I never was any good at stuff like that.

0:53 Christmas cigarette cartons. Pictures of pinecones and bows are a festive holiday way to ease the pain of your lung cancer and emphysema.

1:05 Dude, we are not going to your site.

So there we have it, Frank Gifford is a man’s man and you are a wuss. Four seconds after that commercial shoot was over, Giff had a scotch in his hand, some swing on the hi-fi and a redhead on his lap. Meanwhile, what are doing? Sipping on some coffee and reading a fruity sports blog? You make Frank Gifford sick, you pansy.

SAUSAGES

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OLD WHITE LINEBACKERS

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ALL ASANTE’S FAULT

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MORE WHITE PLAYERS FROM THE DOLPHINS

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OLD WHITE LINEBACKERS

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STOP BEATING ME

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