The premiere of the Jets season of Hard Knocks went about as well as could be reasonably expected. Granted, the requisite focus on marginal players, even if one of them was named John Conner, did slow things down a little, but you never know when one of those storylines will produce gold. Otherwise, it was a non-stop cavalcade of life imitating crude, foul-mouthed KSK art, as Rex was pure KSK Rex. In fact, they might be indistinguishable at this point.

There were more than a few to cull from, but here were the five best moments for us:

5.

Kudos to NFL Films and HBO to get Rex talking shit in the first minute of the broadcast. Leave no doubt whatsoever what we’re getting.

4.

The last thing we want to resort to is using trite Jersey Shore jokes when talking about the Jets, but with the presence of one coach’s spray-on tanner and the fact that both Joe Namath and Woody Johnson were poppin’ collars, well, I’ll just stop before I stray into Eric Stangel territory. Nice old man waist, Patron Saint.

3.

LaToeInjury got a ton of screen time in this episode and some of it was actually favorable. He caught a 70ish yard touchdown pass in practice, by far the high water mark of his season. Also, he got a little poop material from Coach Rex. TIME TO START SHITTING BIKES, SON!

2.

“Does it matter that Revis isn’t here? Goddamn, he’s pretty f*cking good.” So was this speech.

1.

Bart Scott called Mark Sanchez “Nacho”. Further confirmation that KSK doesn’t so much satire NFL players as create their personalities for them. Sure, it’s possible that it was just a coincidence, since Scott has a history of race-based taunts (see: “Soy Sauce” for Hines Ward). Whatever. We saw Rex trolling the ESPN comment boards. HBO and the NFL just wouldn’t let you show KSK. We don’t believe in coincidences. WE BELIEVE IN F*CKING WINS!

I WANNA SELL TO YOU Joe Namath’s 19-year-old daughter was arrested in Florida after being found with 200 grams of marijuana in her car, as well as a bottle of rum and 11 cans of Miller Lite in the trunk (WHO STOLE ONE?). When asked about it, Broadway Joe claimed to have no knowledge of the weed, or why his dresser drawers were asking him questions about his daughter. Olivia, a mom at 16, was charged with intent to sell. Looks like Joe Namath doesn’t get to wear Ray Lewis’ “Best Dad” shirt.

Pro Football Talk, which is always right about these things, is spreading the rumor that Matron Saint Suzy Kolber is preggers or with child, or whichever other gormless idiom you use for pregnant. I prefer germinated. It sounds less appealing that way.

See, Suzy, you start hanging around NASCAR and, before you know it, you’re having kids out of wedlock. Sure, ESPN’ll be cool with it at first, provided you name the kid Norby or Norba, then tighten up afterwards. They’ll have the finest vaginoplaster money can buy.

PFT hears it’s a girl, no doubt bound to be thick in the britches. But what of the name? JET Kolber? Turtleneckesta? Chevy Tahoe, Jr.? You decide, commenters.

UPDATE: We have an idea who the father is…

As has been mentioned in this space recently, we six of KSK have been toiling away at this for round about a year now, with little reward or recompense beyond basking in our own pissed excellence. Sure, there have been awards, drugs and a measure of blogosphere fame, but what does it all mean without a connection to the progenitors of our efforts? Those two noble, buoyant souls who formed a totemic dyad – sideline reporter and debauched former quarterback – that inspired unspeakable things in all of this.

Caveman caught up with our blogfather back in February and snapped a photo with him before Namath could say he was going out for a pack of smokes and be out of our lives for good. But Suzy? She has been defined by her silence, her absence, her nose. Long have we waited for some motherly validation from our Patron Saint.

Well, shucks, here it is.

The incident made Kolber something of a cult figure. She’s now the namesake of a sports blog called “Kissing Suzy Kolber.” She said she’s seen it, but “I rarely, even beyond rarely, read anything about myself.”

Now, flattering as it is that the Patron Saint is vaguely, even beyond vaguely, aware of the occasional football satire and commenter drafts being carried out in her name, one gets the idea that her take on it is that this blog is some sort of chronicle of the goings-on in her life. I’d like to think that that’s what she wants it to be and is miffed that it isn’t. Certainly there have been times that we’ve wondered about ol’ Suze but, on the whole, she doesn’t make up much of our content. Clearly, she’s frustrated about not reading more about herself and is hellbent about doing something about it.

What then, dear commenters, will Suzy be doing to garner our attention?