Armen Keteyian’s investigation into the death of former Titans quarterback Steve McNair has ignited renewed skepticism surrounding the apparent murder/suicide. While revelations about the alleged shooter and her relationship with the young man who provided her with the murder weapon may be old news to the police tasked with investigating the crime, it has opened the door for outside observers to don their sleuthing hats. One such amateur crime solver has taken to Twitter to air his suspicions. Good suspicions. Lofty suspicions.

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Everyone over at Sports Illustrated is crafting their own sports bucket list, and their preeminent Buckethead Peter King delivers about what you’d expect. His complete list can be found here, continue after the jump for some highlights.

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Peter King shows how a man about town can look cool, all while RESPECTING THE SUN. Our own Christmas Ape had some fun with the picture, which you’ll find after the jump. It’s well worth the trip.

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Allow me to apologize in advance for the lack of venomous vulgarity in this week’s breakdown of Peter King’s reviled Monday Morning Quarterback column. Drew’s unavailable today, and while Princess Assloaf provides the usual amount of retardation today, I can’t help but soften my stance somewhat, given that King kindly filmed the above segment as the opener for Saturday’s Blogs with Balls conference, where Christmas Ape and I both appeared on panels to swear about how to “make it big” in blogging. Yes, do it right, and you, too, can barely eke out an existence! Join the movement!

After the jump, prepare to not talk about Favre (read: talk about Favre) and get informed with totally unbiased recommendations for summer reading!

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That’s right, SI’s preeminent coffee and travel blogger turns 52 today. In honor of the momentous occasion we’ve compiled some first-rate gift ideas.

-Land
-Elite flyer medal (really just the plastic wings they give to kids to get them to behave on the plane)
-Red Sox championship ring
-Brett Favre stubble
-Walking cane
-Reimbursement from Schlereth
-Long term parking for one seldom used car
-Toone P. Wiggins gift card
-A copy of Coldplay’s Viva la Vida or Death and All His Friends
-Season 3 of House on DVD

Continue after the jump for our own special gift to the birthday boy.

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Mortimer must be his butler. “Enough of the zany fun. Time to go to work. It’s a writing day in the King condo in the South End of Boston. Envy you, Mortimer.” [Twitter]

This week in “Proof that the Media Should Think Twice Before Sending Press Releases to Blogs,” a kindly Director of Communications at Time Inc. made sure that KSK was made aware that Tom Brady is on the cover of this week’s Sports Illustrated (his 11th appearance on the cover! That’s more than Cheryl Tiegs!).

It’s the first extended interview Dreamboat’s given in almost a year, and SI turned to its biggest non-stroke-impaired NFL writer for the heavy lifting: Peter King.  (”That Brady’s so cool he keeps Kit Kats from melting on a summer day!”)  From the press release:

Exuding confidence in his surgically rebuilt left knee, Brady tells SI that his recovery is on schedule and that he is running and cutting without pain or restricted movement. King writes: “He was convincing when he said he was ‘as confident as anyone could be that I’ll be ready to play, back to playing normally, when the season starts. I’ve done everything I could to push myself, sometimes too hard. Right now, I’m doing everything. Literally everything. There’s nothing I can’t do.’ ”

Brady tells King that he has learned much about himself during his forced layoff and that he is so anxious to play again that he looks forward to the grind of two-a-days. “‘When I was playing every week, I bitched about the little things,’ he said. ‘Like, God, we’ve got to go outside today? It’s raining! Or, why is Bill dunking the ball in soap? Or, why do we have a meeting at 7:30 to talk about everything we’ve already talked about. Geez! Then when you’re not playing, you realize that you would [gladly] do any of that—whatever they wanted me to do.’ Brady drew an analogy based on his parenting experience with his 21-month-old Jack. ‘I don’t see him everyday”—Brady shares custody with former girlfriend Bridget Moynahan—‘and we play when I change his diaper: lifting his leg up, playing with his toes, biting his feet. There’s a different appreciation. If you had him every day, you’d go, Let’s just get this done. But when you get him, say, one week a month, you’re like, This is so cool!’ ”

“If I had to be a parent every day, it sure would get boring!”

In addition, Brady tells King that he’d like to play for 10 more seasons: “I want to play until I am 41. And if I get to that point and still feel good, I’ll keep playing. I mean, what the hell else am I going to do? I don’t like anything else. People say, ‘What will you do after football?’ Why would I even think of doing anything else? What would I do instead of run out in front of 80,000 people and command 52 guys and be around guys I consider brothers and be one of the real gladiators? Why would I ever want to do something else? It’s so hard to think of anything that would match what I do: Fly to the moon? Jump out of planes? Bungee-jump off cliffs? None of that s— matters to me. I want to play this game I love, be with my wife and son and enjoy life.”

Hmmph.  All in all, he sounds disgustingly well adjusted for a two-time Super Bowl MVP/baby-daddy of a Hollywood actress who instead got married to a supermodel.  And that’s probably the most infuriating thing about Brady: for all the “Best Dressed Man Alive” articles and goat-holding photoshoots, he never comes across as an ignoramus or a total asshole.

Which is why we should hate him even more.

It’s the NFL offseason now, so you might think Peter King would go take some time off to, I don’t know, work the land, or discover strange new urinals to relieve himself in, or buy people free dinners and then remind them that he bought them a free dinner. You might think Peter would go on vacation at a tropical resort of some kind.

BUT PETER KING RESPECTS THE SUN FAR TOO MUCH TO DO THAT.

Instead, King has other things in mind.

I need to relive the Steelers’ last drive of the Super Bowl. I want to relive it.

I want to invent a time machine, and go back in time to tell my past self about the amazing drive I’m about to witness. Because my past self was far too busy asking the staff at Raymond James Stadium to refill the spinach dip bowl. Len Pasquarelli ate all the spinach dip. Good for him. Sick people need to eat. But where I come from, when the spinach dip goes empty, you refill it for people. That’s common courtesy, people. Raymond James Stadium employees, you have a long way to go before you get to work the Capital Grille.

4. Not sure I’ve ever heard John Madden as excited about a play as he was about Holmes’ winning touchdown catch. A guttural “UNBELIEVABLE” came out of Madden’s mouth when he knew Holmes had kept both toes inbounds and fallen to the ground in possession of the ball.

That’s far from the only guttural sound to ever come from John Madden’s mouth. Here now are ten others:

1. HUHHUHWHOA!

2. ITELLYABRETTFAVRE!
3. FRUH!

4. BRECHHH!

5. GUMMA!

6. AMAZEBOOM!

7. DUCKEN!

8. MUDDY!

9. PERFECTPASS! (spit when you say the P)

10. YOUSEETHAAAAA??!!!

Big Ben will never have a championship game drive like this again — 88 yards, trailing by three, final three minutes, starting with a first-and-20, eschewing anything like a play-it-safe mode, ending with one of the great clutch passes thrown in the NFL.

Lofty words. True words.

Look at the stature of my words!

Roethlisberger is an interesting case.

He’s the only person I’ve met who thinks jelly donuts are cultivated.

I’ve asked other quarterbacks — Peyton Manning, Brett Favre, Tom Brady — about big plays and big drives, and they remember tiny details. They’re like Tiger Woods going shot-by-shot on a Thursday round (particularly Peyton), able to tell you why he went with the three-iron instead of the four-, 278 yards out from the tall grass on the seventh hole. Not Ben.

He’s that special kind of retarded.

“I don’t remember a lot of the plays from that drive,” he said. “I just don’t remember things in great detail like that.”

“But I had a lot of fun out there playing volleyball against the Blue Jays.”

Roethlisberger has oversized hands, and when he pumped the ball to Moore, he did more than pump…

He worked the tip!

Quote of the Week II

-Raiders coach Tom Cable, upon having the “interim” tag removed from his job title on Wednesday.

Oooooh! He’s so ballsy! Empty bravado from the Raiders? That’s such a refreshing change! OMG look! Coach Cable just rolled a pack of cigarettes up his sleeve! And he’s challenged the other teams to a drag race at the Point! THAT YOUNG TURK DON’T GIVE A DARN ABOUT NOTHIN’!

When I looked through it, there was actually much more we could have called if we wanted.
-NFL vice president of officiating Mike Pereira

When I looked through the tape, we could have been even MORE petty dipshits than we really were. You folks in the audience got lucky. We could have easily made that game last nine hours. So go fuck yourselves.

Enjoyable/Aggravating Travel Note of the Week

Sight to behold on the day after the Super Bowl at the Orlando Airport: Group of Steelers fans, getting ready to fly home, seated in the Continental departure area, waiting for a flight to Newark. They’re happy. They’re disheveled. One 40-ish man, portly, has a black Penguins T-shirt on, and he’s eating some chicken, and he doesn’t have a napkin, and when he finishes, he takes the bottom of his T-shirt, lifts it up, wipes his mouth with it — revealing a huge and hairy stomach –and then wipes his hands with it.

Yep. Quite a sight to behold. John Madden saw it and let out a guttural THATSJUSFOOTBALL. By the way, this is an accurate description of most any Steelers fan. You people are fucking pigs. I’m surprised you have time to yell out support for your team in between inhalations of gorgonzola fries. You people are the most down to earth people I know. And by down to earth, I’m mean you’re all so fucking fat that you can’t resist gravity enough to stand on your hindquarters. Oh, but you have six Super Bowl titles to brag about! Nice. I’ll be sure to congratulate you when you’re bagging my groceries.

I think everyone doing free-agent lists should add one name in pencil: Terrell Owens. I’ll bet you a month’s worth of lattes he’ll be free in six weeks.

Just doing my calculations… and yes, a month’s worth of Peter King’s latte supply WILL indeed fill the Caspian Sea basin. But at least he didn’t put his daunting crumbcake supply on the line as well.

I think Jon Gruden is absolutely, positively right. “Tim Tebow is a Wildcat who can throw. This guy is 250 pounds of concrete cyanide.”

Gruden would love to have him as his QB, only to dump him three weeks later for the first asshole available on waivers. Concrete cyanide, by the way, is by far the most effective form of cyanide. People can never tell if they’ve inhaled a cinder block or not.

(Todd) Haley first coached under Bill Parcells with the Jets, and this is the advice Parcells had for Haley when the pupil phoned the teacher for advice last week: “Don’t [screw] it up.”

That’s just the kind of first class advice I’d expect from Bill Parcells. “Oh, you got a new job? Hey, don’t fuck it up. Or I’ll rape your wife’s mouth. I know how to motivate people. Where’s my frozen custard?” But that wasn’t the last piece of advice Parcells gave Haley:

-”Hey, win lots of games and shit, you fuck.”

-”Run the greasy slope plays when you can.”

-”Don’t fucking lose, asshole.”

-”Win a Super Bowl, cuntfuck.”

The man is a master.

I think some of you might not agree with me, but I’m boycotting the worst all-star game in sports history, the Pro Bowl. You’ll have to look elsewhere to read about meaningless nothing.

Okay, let me look elsewhere for meaningless nothing. Oh, here it is in the next paragraph!

8. I think one of the biggest MMQB fans on the planet, Michael Whelan of New Orleans (formerly of Detroit), got married over the weekend and deserves a kudo or two, particularly for finding such a lovely gal in Emily Edwards. But Michael: No invite for the Kings of Montclair? Come on!

So if you’re an aspiring sportswriter, children, be sure to follow these simple rules:

1. Always use your column to privately address people no one in the audience knows or gives a shit about.

2. And BE SURE to bitch people out publicly for not inviting you to their wedding

We sat home Saturday night and watched Casablanca!

It’s this cool new movie I just saw! Have you heard of it?

How dare you not invite Peter to your wedding, Michael. He could have come in, talked on his Bluetooth the whole time, bitched about the free food, and then written about the traffic. NEW ORLEANS, YOUR TRAFFIC IS OUT OF CONTROL.

David Beckham should be ashamed. Nice message he sends to his children and to the soccer community full of children by signing a five-year contract with Major League Soccer in 2007, opening a soccer academy in California, then trying to walk out on the deal last week because he likes his new team in Milan. Play hardball, Don Garber. Get a ransom for the bum.

How dare Beckham commit to one team, then leave it twisting in the wind as he decides whether or not to leave them? Brett Favre would NEVER do that. Not with all the Junior Percocet clinics he’s helped set up in South Jersey!

Nice friends you’ve got there, Michael Phelps. Even if a total stranger snapped that photo at the University of South Carolina, the mercenary who took it and sold it should be more ashamed than Beckham.

THAT’S THE KIND OF PERSON WHO WOULD LET A KIT KAT MELT.

e. Whoa, Coldplay. Heck of a performance at the Grammys last night. Tremendous. That’s a band I need to see.

I never knew music could be so sterile and lifeless! Move over, U2! I’ve got new harmless background music for all my affairs!

(SIDE NOTE: I watched the first two minutes of the Grammy Awards last night, when U2 debuted a new song. And apparently, that new song is “Wild Wild West” by the Escape Club.)

f. Nice week for Jennifer Hudson, starting with the National Anthem at the Super Bowl and ending at the Staples Center with a live performance at the Grammys. Gutsy.

You define clutch. And if you also define loose, Peter may have to undo his belt.

g. If I don’t see Gran Torino soon, I’m going to scream.

THE EXTORTION CONTINUES! I BET MERRIL HOGE AND MARK SCHLERETH GOT TO SEE IT! THIS IS BULLSHIT!

A very sad thing happened last week. Our friends at Fire Joe Morgan decided to shut down their site. But their legacy will not be forgotten. I don’t want to live in a world where people can’t repost breathtakingly inane commentary and mercilessly tear it to shreds. So it is up to each and every one of us to carry their torch, and to piss all over retard columnists as often as humanly possible.

So let’s do that right now. Say, Peter King, what do you think of that Kerry Collins fellow?

Tennessee has to sign Kerry Collins to a fair-market deal, even if it means Vince Young has to sit behind him for two more years … or if it means the Titans lose Bud Adams’ favorite boy toy.

Never thought Bud Adams and Kevin Spacey had so much in common, did you?

Tony Romo’s a hero.

He sure is. To bravely sit out a month with a broken pinkie, and then to make a triumphant comeback by playing somewhat better than Brad Johnson and Brooks Bollinger? And to do it all while still leading the league in smiles? What a man. I’ve known men who have been shot down over Hanoi and tortured with ice picks who aren’t 1/50th as valiant as Tony Romo. A memorial to his gallant actions must be erected.

“That’s why I came back.”
-Brett Favre, in a text message at 1:14 a.m. Friday, following the scintillating win over the Patriots.

“That’s why I came back, Peter. So I could barely defeat an injury-ravaged team, then send you text messages in the dead of night, so that you could then write a 30,000-word paean to me the following day about how much I love the game. There’s no better feeling in the world than having your tongue rooting around my rectal cavity.”

The numbers don’t matter. They never matter in classic Favre games.

So true. You can’t brand a five-pick game a “Favre classic” if you actually pay attention to how he did.

The Jets needed a classic Favre game to slay the Patriots in Foxboro, and they got something better.

Consistent accuracy? Balls not thrown 50 yards down the field just for the fuck of it?

But I write this note because of what I noticed in the wood-paneled, spacious, Wi-Fi-enabled locker room. The room, on an 78-degree Tampa afternoon, was odor-free… The theory: If the odor-causing items — shoes, pads, helmets, practice gear — are near or next to an exhaust system designed to suck nearby air out of the locker through two big vents, there won’t be any smell to linger.

What a country.

That’s the kind of Renuzit-inspired innovation that will put our economy back on track!

Don’t you get the feeling the Jeremy Shockey experiment is going to turn out very bad for the Saints?

A classic King observation. Take something that is already glaringly obvious and recast it as a prediction. Here are a couple of other samples I made up just now. You can do it, too!

“Don’t you guys get the feeling that these Tennnessee Titans could turn out to be a pretty good football team?”
“Ever get the sneaking suspicion that all is not right with Al Davis and the Raiders? That team could be headed for turmoil!”
“Call me crazy, but I’m not sure Marvin Lewis is going to be around next year.”
“Don’t be surprised if you find out I like pulling charm bracelets out of my ass!”
“You heard it here first, folks: That Steve Kroft is one heckuva journalist.”

Hugh Laurie is to acting what Joshua Cribbs is to special-teaming.

Hang on… let me just double check… yes, yes, it’s happened. You’ve broken the analogy as a linguistic construct, Mr. King. Every standardized English test in the country just self-immolated at this very moment. Yes, Hugh Laurie is to acting what Joshua Cribbs is to special-teaming. And Lisa Edelstein is to cleavage-baring japs what Scott Pioli is to player scouting and development!

Every day, I find myself saying some “Seinfeld” line. Sometimes three, four, five times a day.

And don’t get him started on the “Austin Powers” quotes, either! Does Tony Romo make you horny baby, YEAH DOES HE?!!

NOTE: Si.com has since removed that “boy toy” line from King’s post. But I swear it was in there. And, as tribute, Christmas Ape provides us with PK’s theme song.

You’ve had a rough couple of weeks. The economy is in the toilet. You fear for your job. You may have lost a significant portion of your savings. You’re not even sure the ATM will give you money the next time you go. You were gonna go out to dinner this weekend, but you decided to scale back, lest you find yourself out of money very soon down the road.

In times like these, there’s only one thing that all of us can rely on, and that is Peter King’s endless, stupefying inanity:

Sometimes when you’re parenting, you tell your kids, “Oh, everything’s fine. Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.” You don’t really believe it, but you figure it’s what you’ve got to say sometimes.

“No, sweetie. That rugged, gorgeous man you saw in Daddy’s bedroom was just his friend. We were just doing a cancer check on each other, because that’s what friends do. Daddy still loves Mommy. It’s just that, sometimes Mommy doesn’t like all the things Daddy likes, like pulling chains out of his ass.”

9. San Diego (3-3). Fairly predictable result last night. Chargers have a quarterback you can trust. Patriots don’t. Doesn’t Philip Rivers throw a beautiful deep ball?

He sure does. Look at it! It’s so wobbly, and underthrown! Look at how Vincent Jackson has to violently turn his body just to get into position to catch it! God, a thing of beauty. Like a butterfly with vertigo.

17. (tie) Green Bay (3-3). The thing I liked most about the win at Seattle was Aaron Rodgers playing well, almost Favrian, with a bum shoulder.

ZOMG! He played HURT! That is such a trademark Favre move!

f. You can’t bury Jeff Garcia. You can only hope to contain him.

And Matt Ryan is cooler than the other side of the plane ticket!

f. Aaron Kampman defines the phrase “great motor.”

Just to reiterate, that is the second (f) subset King used this week. I imagine King was a big fan of outlining term papers back in his days at Ohio U.

I. Paul Brown: God, what a man.
  a. Wore nice suits
  b. Looked very stern
   i. Not a big fidgeter
   ii. Smiled infrequently
    1. Like, never
     a. I’m not sure he’d get along with Tony Romo
      i. Romo is a great smiler

As for the Kampman comment itself, it follows King’s patented commenting recipe, now adapted by 10 out of 10 NFL studio analysts!

1. Take player.
2. Take very broad generalization that doesn’t require watching the player for more than 3 seconds
3. Employ overused metaphor, preferably related to war or cars.
4. Combine into single, idiotic sentence.

Like so!
-Peyton Manning defines the word “trooper”.
-The Saints are what we like to call a “high-octane” offense.
-Brett Favre is just like an old Cadillac!
-Two words on the Browns last night: AERIAL ASSAULT.

10. I think these are my non-football thoughts of the week:

a. Joe Maddon. Spencer Tracy.

B. Play baseball, Manny.

Those are not non-football thoughts. Those are non-thoughts. Hey Manny, stop playing jai alai, you bastard!

So you see. Life isn’t so bad. No matter how bleak things may look, take comfort in knowing that you aren’t football’s equivalent of Billy Bush.