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

“The Oakland Raiders are back. We’re going to go win football games and we’re going to be a playoff team. You hear me? I’m not afraid to say that.”

-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.

Int. Romo’s apartment

[phone rings]

Tony: You got Romo!

Peter King: Hey Tony, how are you doing today?

Tony: Oh hey, Peter. I’m good, I’m getting ready for Sunday’s game.

Peter: I bet you are, I bet you are.

Tony: Yeah…so what is it you’re calling about?

Peter: Oh you know, I just wanted to chat.

Read the rest of this entry »

Until recently, I thought Peter King reserved his breathless enthusiasm for the likes of Brett Favre and Tony Romo. But that was before Drew brought this week’s slurpfest regarding Marriott’s exercise rooms and breakfast buffets to my attention. Then a question struck me, is it possible King effusively fawns over every single thing he enjoys even slightly? Well, today we got our answer…

“I was on the way home yesterday, trying to make my way from the baggage claim to the taxi stand at LaGuardia. Between my bags and a hot cup of Peet’s Garuda Blend, I had my hands full. It was then I saw someone outside walking towards the same door I was. Now here’s the stunning part, this nice gentleman—who didn’t know me from Adam– actually paused to hold the door open for to exit before he walked in himself. What a guy! I mean, he didn’t exactly open the door for me because it was already open, but he kept it from closing in my face. He had on a sharp-looking pine green J. Crew shirt—he looked like a million bucks! As I approached, I caught a slight whiff– just a faint aroma, mind you, nothing overpowering by a man of his quiet dignity, of his aftershave (it must have been aftershave as he didn’t strike me as a body-spray or cologne type of guy).

Under his arm he carried a book, and even though I couldn’t see the title, I’m sure it was something quite literate and heady—but not pretentious. No a chap like this could never be pretentious. He gave me a slight smile as I passed. Not one of those “gee, aren’t I a prince” grins, just a slight “hail-fellow-traveler-well-met” uptick to the corners of his mouth. In an earlier age, he might have even given me a quick doff of his fedora.

This guy surely has a beautiful wife, a couple smart little kids and a hearty pot roast waiting at home for him, yet he takes time out of his busy day to help out a complete stranger. Keep your eyes on this up-and-comer, America! I wouldn’t be surprised if that fellow winds up in the Senate someday. Just a super, super gentleman from whom we could all stand to learn a thing or two!

Oooh, and let me tell you about the young lady at Baskin-Robbins…

[INT. PANERA BREAD, NEW ORLEANS]

Drew Brees: How’s your ciabatta chicken sandwich, Peter?

Peter King: Oh, it’s delicious. So, Drew, you have to be upset with all of the concern after another hurricane in the gulf.

Drew Brees: Yeah, I really wish we could just move the team to LA and get it over with. I mean, what if the damage to Gustav would have been more severe? Are we going to be rebuilding that shithole every three years?

PK: Drew, that’s not very sensitive.

Drew Brees: What do you mean? It’s true.

PK: I suppose that’s true, but people live there.

Drew Brees: Well, people are stupid, Peter. We’re putting all this money into disaster relief when we should be fighting terrorism here at home.

PK: Oh, come on, Drew.

Brees: I’m serious. Some Arab terrorist could walk through that door and kill us all. The government should be doing something to protect us!

PK: Drew, I can’t believe what I’m hearing from you.

Drew Brees: It’s time to be aware of our role in the world, Peter. People want to do bad things to us, for reasons we don’t fully understand. Wrap your head around that for a…

PK: Drew, do you really want to live in a country where we’re expected to police the rest of the world? I mean, give me one reason why we should assume that role.

Drew Brees: Peter…is that your dad behind you?

PK: Actually, my father’s been…Oh, Christ, no! Read the rest of this entry »

There’s no doing justice to this video, which comes to us via HBO via Deadspin via the video capture wizardry of Awful Announcing. You have to fucking watch it. I’m fucking dying. I wish they hadn’t edited this segment in any way, shape or form. But I’ve taken the liberty of filling in some of the gaps for you.

Jerry: Thank ya, darlin’. Look at that! YEEEEEHAWWWW!!!! THAT IS GOOD, HOT STUFF! ALMOST HOTTER THAN ONE OF MY STEWARDESSES AFTER I’VE DUMPED A WARM DIET PEPSI MAX ALL OVER HER TITS!

Peter King: (stuffing face) Mmmm, yes… so good… helps ease the pain of Brett being so far away…

Jerry: Hey, slow down there, Porkville Eatingcocker! Save a few for the Double-J! Don’t just leave a few unpopped kernels on the bottom of the box. I FUCKING HATE THAT SHIT, YOU FAT JERSEY QUEER!

Peter King: (stuffing face) Can’t stop eating it… gonna write three paragraphs on it and give it an A-… wish it had had juuuust a bit more canola oil… may have to create new “What’s Poppin’?” section in my column…

Jerry: Jesus Christ, you are a disgusting eater. It’s like your mouth is a goddamn compacter. Why don’t you just shove your whole arm down your throat while you’re at it? Look at me, Fatso. I eat three, maybe four kernels at a time. I don’t stuff my mouth like it’s a goddamn UPS box.

Peter King: (stuffing face) Can’t stop eating… wish we could mix some KFC into this bucket… do you have any good scoop for me?… tell me something decent and I’ll never criticize you again…

Jerry: Well, I got this new hat. You like it, fatty?

Peter King: (stuffing face) New hat! (furiously scribbles notes) Great stuff… lemme make a call to my darling Brett and eat more popcorn at the same time… need to tell him how insensitive Jets fans are…

Jerry: Oh, just have it all, Enola Gay. I done lost my appetite. Here’s a Pop Secret for you: YOU ARE ONE BIG GAY ASSHOLE!

Peter King: (stuffing face) Getting bad reception… have to leave to tell Brett about how good the popcorn is…

Jerry: Yeah well, stay slim! Just kidding. YOU HAVE AS MUCH A CHANCE OF STAYING SLIM AS OL’ WADE DOES! NOW GIT OUTTA MY OFFICE, HARVEY MILKSHAKE! YEEHAW WOOHOO I AM FUCKING CRAZY!

You may have heard that Peter King was in attendance for his man’s debut as a New York Jet, but did you know that the stadium itself was just half full (including the two seats occupied by King)?

4. I think I don’t want to hear what great fans the Jets have. Not for a long time. That crowd Saturday night was a disgrace. At least half the stadium was empty (Ed. Note: such a pessimist!) for Favre’s debut in a Jets’ uniform. I expressed my amazement to a few fellow scribes Saturday night — emphasizing that N.Y. traded for an all-time-great quarterback, not a broken-down one — and they gave varying reasons for the poor turnout. Like it’s the middle of vacation month for New Yorkers, and it’s a preseason game. Horsefeathers. If you really love your team, and you have season tickets, you should have been at that game unless you were in Tibet. Ridiculous.

I mean, what the fuck is wrong with you assholes? What does it take for you to recognize and appreciate the unbridled majesty of pre-season greatness?

For fuck’s sake, the man threw five passes and you missed it! I demand an explanation from you self-described “fans” of the Jets right this minute.

Steve from West Orange: Every August I take the family to Montauk for two weeks. You know, it helps us to reconnect after the summer and before the kids head back to school. Besides, it was just a preseason game, so I was happy to watch the first half on television.

BULLCOCK! That kind of attitude is what’s wrong with America today. You had a chance to take your family to see one of this nation’s greatest heroes take the field for ten minutes and instead you chose to spend that time on vacation? You sir, are an ungrateful little shit who does not deserve to attend a single regular season game. Your children would be better off laying raped and murdered in a Trenton alley than they would under your care.

Ridiculous.

I don’t know about you, but I have had an uncommonly shitty day today. Work sucks. My lunch sucked. My commute sucked. My jokes sucked. Everyone has found a unique way to be annoying. On a day like today, there’s really only one thing that can cheer me up, and that is to systematically take apart another edition of Peter King’s Monday Morning Quarterback. Here’s King on Favre’s ability to pick up the Jets’ playbook.

Remember what Steve Mariucci once told me about Favre, and apply it to learning a new offense. “He’s got a photographic memory, or very close to it,” Mariucci, his former quarterback coach, said. “You think he’s sleeping there in the meetings, and he still knows everything he has to know and doesn’t make mental mistakes.”

So throwing the ball to Corey Webster in overtime was part of the plan all along? Steve Mariucci, you sir, are a master at reading body language. “Hmmm. He looks like he’s sleeping. That must mean he’s concentrating EXTRA hard.”

My Favre memory story: Two nights after seeing Sling Blade in 1996, he couldn’t stop talking like Billy Bob Thornton.

Well fuck me, that is amazing. He talked just like a highly imitated character from a popular film? He must be some kind of verbal chameleon! Only he and Frank Caliendo could possess the mimicking skills needed to pull off such a daring, original impression. Quick Brett, do Chris Walken! And Pacino! No one’s ever tried to do those two guys before!

I’m not talking just a few words in the Billy Bob voice as the developmentally disabled vigilante Karl; I’m talking paragraphs. “I reckon I kilt him,” he’d say in the Thornton drawl. And on and on. “Some folks call it a sling blade. I call it a Kaiser blade. Mmm-hmm.”

He’ll learn (the Jets offense) well enough.

King here is saying that, because Favre was able to imitate Billy Bob’s character so well, and because he beat it into the ground, he should have no problem picking up the Jets’ offense. I’ve seen Favre also do a killer Schwarzenegger impression, and I remain convinced that alone is a sure sign that he could master biochemical engineering if he wanted to.

Favre is tired. I can tell you that.

Poor Brett! After everything everyone has put him through!

Just so you know, that “Brett is tired” sentence merited its own line item. I’m excited for more in-depth observations in the coming weeks.

“Favre is bearded. I can tell you that.”

“Favre has grit. I can tell you that.”

“Peyton Manning is a thinker out there. I can tell you that.”

“Tom Brady is a champion. I can tell you that.”

I expect once Favre and his family settle somewhere in west-central New Jersey… the only time he’ll go to Manhattan is when he’s forced to.

Like if someone turns on a camera. Then his hand will be forced.

In his first press conference with his new team Thursday night, Favre, who admitted how far behind he was, said: “I’m so tired of doing interviews and talking about this or talking about that. Tomorrow, hopefully, the mad rush is over.”

“I’m so tired of doing these interviews. Let me just sneak out of here and leak to Greta Van Susteren, Chris Mortensen, Reuters, Chelsea Handler, the editors at US Weekly, the DC press corps, and Matt Drudge how sick I am of doing them.”

Favre, already exhausted and with no knowledge of the playbook, probably got to bed around 3 a.m. Friday morning. And instead of rising early to get cracking on his new offense or sleeping in and getting a fresh start at, say, noon, Favre got an early wakeup to meet the mayor — and, of course, get his picture taken so the papers could trumpet the new Jet hero. Memo to Jets: Opening day is closer than you think. Learning playbooks is more important than meeting the mayor and winning the front page right now. Handle your quarterback with care.

First step in handling your QB: making it look like any and all media whoring sessions were things you forced on him, rather than things he arranged 17 days in advance. Be sure to erect a giant cross for him to lug around, to symbolize to all that Brett and Brett alone must carry the terrible, terrible burden of being Brett Favre. You’ve got some nerve making poor Brett go through this whole dog and pony show, gang.

King also unveiled his new column sections!

a. “What I Learned About Football This Week That I Didn’t Know Last Week.”

“Turns out tight ends are eligible to receive passes! Who knew?”

b. “Good Guy of the Week.”

This item was originally called “Guy who willingly ate lunch with me!”

c. “Reminds Me Of …” (And I plan to find a new title for this one.) This is one I’m most excited about. I’ll compare players from this era to those from the past and try to find similar players in style and impact on the game. I’ve already got one in mind for the first week of the season, and it involves a famous quarterback.

Can’t imagine which one.

Bob Costas, you look really smart in Tiananmen Square.

As opposed to British Columbia, where you just look like an idiot.

I’m not a big Olympics guy, but I must say the NBC pictures of a country we barely know were compelling. Looks smoggy and oppressive.

“This Van Gogh painting is incredibly compelling. Looks smeary and colorful.”

f. Speaking of letting people down, there’s a lot of people in the King family disappointed in John Edwards right now.

We thought he really had had a chance to seize the White House this year!

g. Coffeenerdness: On the advice of Braylon Edwards, I’ve recently tried Panera Bread for lunch. (What do I know? Thought it was just a bakery.) Good sandwiches. Very good dark-roast coffee, the Antiguan blend. It’s not Colgate blend, but for a chain, it’s very good.

Tune in next week when Peter discovers Cosi. He originally thought it was a Spanish furniture importer. Turns out they have flatbread. Intriguing.

This weekend Art Monk will finally be enshrined in the Professional Football Hall of Fame in Canton, OH. KSK has received a copy of the speech he plans to read upon his induction and it follows below in its entirety, and might I say, that guy is still all class.

Oh man, I can’t even tell you guys how great it feels to be standing up here. After all these years I’d begun to resign myself to the idea that I’d never see the day my bust was placed in Canton, but it just shows you the importance of perseverance.

As many of you know I am a man of humble beginnings. Growing up as the son of a welder and a maid in White Plains I never dreamed of the possibility of making my living as a professional athlete. In fact, I was more interested in becoming a musician like my cousin Thelonious for many of my younger years. Fortunately for me I soon gravitated towards football, a game that has provided me with nearly endless opportunities.

After we won our first Super Bowl I was able to open the Art Monk Football Camp where some 14,000 children have learned the craft of the game we all love so much. Spending so many years working with the camp provided experiences as rewarding as any on-field accomplishments, but the three Super Bowls were pretty great too.

Speaking of the Super Bowls, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank all of my teammates and coaches over the years. Each and every one of you are apart of this honor, and I surely wouldn’t be here without your support. I’d also like to thank the Cooke family for drafting me into the tremendous Washington Redskins organization as well as Coach Joe Gibbs who taught me more about how to be an upstanding Christian man than anyone outside of my father.

Of course I can’t conclude without thanking the members of the media who have supported my induction for so many years. There is something incredibly humbling about having thousands of tireless fans passionately campaigning on your behalf. Today I share this honor with all of you, and thank you for your support.

With all that being said, I’d like to address one more group before I go sit back down to listen to my friend and teammate Darrell Green.

To Peter King, Cliff Christl, Paul Zimmerman, and any of my other current and former detractors, consider yourselves humbly invited to…
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