Over the weekend Ohioans from all over the state descended on Cedar Point to enjoy the rides and take part in the celebration of Brady Quinn Day. For one special young lady the day provided an opportunity to stand by gasping for air while the love of her life walked past her. Fortunately the Sandusky Register was there to capture her reaction to such a thrilling close encounter.

You watch him on television every day? Seriously? On what channel? Has Quinn spent his off-season hosting The Goddess Hour on Lifetime? And really, what kind of 17 year-old obsesses over a middling professional athlete just because she happens to find him attractive?

/remembers infatuation with Anna Kournikova
//shuts up

Sandusky Register via Deadspin

When we last left record-setting piece of saltwater douchetaffy Peter King, he was celebrating 20 years of bitching about airport auto flushes, droning on and on about a college baseball game you don’t care about, and comparing the unparalleled experience of traveling through Italy to the inside of a Peet’s. No doubt hanging out in Panera is JUST like holding court in a Parisian boulangerie.

But this week, we have an MMQB column that is filled to the brim with pure douchosity. It’s a mammoth douching, as if a meteor made of vinegar crashed into the Black Sea. Let’s splash right in…

Four weeks from Fourth of July weekend, I’m whistling a patriotic tune this morning…

And why not? NO ONE MAKES ESPRESSO LIKE OUR CHAIN STORES. Suck it, other countries.

…and alerting our men and women overseas you’re about to have some interesting visitors.

The Whiteleys!

There’s more today — including my thoughts on Brett Favre (who is going to have his own network, website and galaxy before his career’s over).

He’s gonna have his own website? That’s crazy talk. Only true media titans have their own website.

I’ve got Rodney Harrison as unplugged as he can get…

He’ll be choking you accapella.

…the motivation of NFL Players Association executive director DeMaurice Smith, the eye-rolling in New Orleans over Jeremy Shockey and an update on your favorite college southpaw, Austin Wood, the Texas reliever who threw 13 shutout innings last week.

No, he’s not my favorite college southpaw. I don’t have a favorite college southpaw. For that is not football-related, you see. Now, I know he’s your hero, Peter. But then again, you change heroes about six times a day. “Roger Cantrell is my hero. What an amazing gesture, to let me cut in the line at Potbelly like that. I owe you big time, Raj.”

We’ll start by waving the flag.

“I give up on providing you with useful information!”

Later this month, three Super Bowl-winning coaches from this decade — Tom Coughlin (Giants), Bill Cowher (Steelers) and Jon Gruden (Bucs) — will join one AFC Championship coach, Tennessee’s Jeff Fisher, and the AFC Championship runnerup last year, Baltimore’s John Harbaugh, in traveling to the Persian Gulf to visit our troops.

Coughlin and Cowher? So our troops will get yelled at and spat on? Sounds like just another day in Fallujah. HEY-O!!!!

You can bet Coughlin, at some base in Iraq or Afghanistan, will tell a room full of soldiers the story of David Tyree, the last receiver on the roster, who caught four passes in the first 18 games of the 2007 season, and then, because of injuries, stepped up to catch four in the Super Bowl upset of New England. Including the helmet catch, of course.

It’s a shocking, incredible story, especially when you’ve been deeply familiar with it for over a year.

My advice to the five coaches: Get ready to sign 750 autographs a day, minimum, and pose for 300 pictures a day, minimum.

That’s what I had to do. MARINES LOVE THE KING.

Get ready to fall into an exhausted sleep every night and never get more than five hours of it, because there will always be more people to see and bases to visit. In the Persian Gulf, you’ll be like the Beatles were in New York in 1964 … without the shrieking girls.

And so now you know. Peter King was, indeed, the fifth Beatle.

John, Paul. George, Ringo, and Kingo. Actually, given his ass, he made it five and half Beatles.

His most notable contribution to the group was writing the song “Help!” while stuck in traffic on I-95. Some other fun facts about his tenure: “Eleanor Rigby” was actually titled “Eleanor Bowers,” Sgt. Pepper was originally titled “Sgt. Nutmeg,” and if you play the White Album backwards, you can hear King bitching out Sir George Martin about letting the Kit Kats in the studio get too melty. He quit the band, though, over a “no coffee flavored-water” provision he demanded in the group’s tour rider, and demanding the group sound more like “that Coldplay band”.

The meaning of the Brett Favre surgery — per an ESPN report last night claiming he had his damaged right biceps tendon repaired recently by detaching it — is simple: The man wants to play football for the Vikings, and they Vikings have obviously given him enough of an indication that if he’s healthy and ready to throw full-throttle by early July that they’ll be interested in signing him. My guess is Favre had the surgery 10 to 12 days ago.

But that’s just a gut feeling. Could be right. Could be wildly wrong. Probably wildly wrong. Might have been a hernia surgery performed on a small beaver. If Brett had his own galaxy, it wouldn’t be so hard to obtain this information.

Sirius NFL “Opening Drive” host Bob Papa and I had the newest NFL retiree on the air Friday, and if you know Rodney Harrison, you know holds were not barred.

Nor chokes, nor testicle grabs, nor tongue bites…

On how some critics see him being imported to be Mr. Rip Job:

Wait a moment. Are you suggesting there are people out there bitching that Rodney Harrison might be critical of players on air? Is this a rampant problem among NFL analysts? I would like to meet the critic that said that. Was it Earl Dittman of Wireless Magazine?

”I’m not about that. I played for a long time. I know the other side, the players’ families, their moms, their kids, their wives. I’m not there to be critical of players as my sole purpose.”

Phew! That’s a relief. We’d hate to see that happen!

On whether he belongs in the Hall of Fame:

Oh, I bet he says no.

“Yes, I think I belong in the Pro Football Hall of Fame.”

Whoa! He totally had a much higher opinion of himself than I anticipated!

On his reputation as a dirty player: “This is football in the National Football League.”

Yep. He’s ready to be an analyst for NBC all right.

“Football now is turning into a soft, pansy sport. This is not volleyball! This is not tennis!”

You mean that yellow line I see on the screen isn’t a net? Well, now I have to rethink the whole goddamn sport.

If you were Harrison, wouldn’t you be a little bitter about a system that kept you out of Pro Bowls when you clearly deserved to be in them?

No. Fuck that guy.

Hope Seattle is not waiting for Ryan Rowland-Smith to solve the holes in its starting rotation.

They need Austin Wood!

Here is his pitching line for Triple-A Tacoma Friday night in the Rainiers’ Pacific Coast League 21-5 loss to Reno:

Because one game is all the sample size you need to know if a baseball player is good or not. We call this “Morgan’s Law.”

Baseball Stat of the Week II

Cruel game. Game of redemption.

Lofty game.

Really cruel game. That was baseball for Daniel Schlereth, the son of Super Bowl guard and ESPN football analyst Mark Schlereth, in the past week.

He failed? How marvelous.

Double-ouch, from the Tweet of SI baseball writer Jon Heyman: “Daniel Schlereth should not be pitching in the big leagues now, much less in a big spot.”

If son is as tough as father, he’ll survive.

BUT ONLY IF HE PAYS ME BACK FOR THE MEAL I BOUGHT HIM AT CAPITAL GRILLE, DAMMIT. THAT WAS DONNIE BANKS’ QUESADILLA AND YOU SCHLERETHS KNOW IT!

The Philadelphia Eagles will make the instant-news world we live in very happy this summer. They’re installing a Blogging Trailer adjacent to the training camp practice fields at Lehigh University in Bethlehem, Pa., for use during and immediately after practice for bloggers covering camp and for beat guys filing to instant-news blogs.

I’m very big on the whole immediacy of coverage, but I hope this summer, as I make my rounds, I see that there’s still something left for the daily papers — some more in-depth stuff.

“You guys! Save some of that news for the papers! C’mon, guys! If the Boston Globe fails because it’s never had a solid business model, that’s on your conscience!”

Enjoyable/Aggravating Travel Note of the Week

Ooh boy.

/pops Xanax

Okay, I’m ready.

On Wednesday, I had a 6:03 a.m. flight from Providence to Detroit; Northwest to Detroit cheaper from Providence than Boston, or at least it was for this flight. I left Boston at 4:05 a.m. for the 53-mile drive to the airport in Providence.

Drive? Why didn’t you walk, Mr. Fancy Feet?

Not being all that familiar with the drive, I did what anyone would do — followed the signs on the highway for T.F. Green Airport, figuring it would be the shortest route.

Are you insane? What moron drives to an unfamiliar destination blindly assuming the highway signs will magically offer him the best route?

From I-95 north of Providence, I got on I-295 south.

“Well now, they-ahs yar farst fackin’ mistake.”

/every bossy New England direction giver ever

And drove. And drove… and got back onto I-95 south of Providence for the final couple of miles to the airport. I couldn’t believe it — 65 miles. Seemed way too long. Got to the airport at 5:18, and if you’ve flown from Providence, you know it has the longest rush-hour security lines on the East Coast.

I made the flight, but I went on Mapquest later in the day and looked at the route.

So for you kids out there reading, make sure you follow Peter’s advice of obtaining directions to your chosen destination AFTER you’ve driven there. It’s always the best way to do it.

Mapquest would have had me go straight down I-95 all the way.

Then it would have included the 50 feet you drove on the exit ramp as a separate direction item, completely fucking with your head.

So I’m an idiot for not looking at a map before I left home.

Sure are!

I just figured if a sign on an interstate highway tells me to take I-295 to get to the airport, it wouldn’t be taking me 12 miles out of my way to get there.

Again, are you fucking insane? You’re relying in highway signs to provide you with an efficient route? Who does this? Highway signs are about as useful as your column.

Let’s say I’m not the only idiot out here who trusts the highway signs north of Providence.

No. You are.

There have to be a few people every day who actually read the signs and heed on the Interstate Highway System.

No. There aren’t.

Let’s say there are 200 a day who do what the United States Department of Transportation is telling them — get off this road, take the freeway circling the town, and drive 14 miles further to get to your destination.

“Let’s just invent an arbitrary statistical model that means nothing, so that I can justify my own idiocy.”

Wouldn’t the federal government, trying to get us to drive less and emit fewer pollutants into the air, be interested in knowing that scores of cars in Rhode Island are driving more miles than they need to? Let’s say it’s 200; it might be 50, it might be 500.

IT’S ONE.

But if 200 cars follow the route the highway planners tell them to follow, then cars are driving 2,400 more miles per day than they have to.

At 5 in the morning, that’s a pretty aggravating travel note.

HOLY SHIT. You goddamn jellydick. BUY A FUCKING ATLAS. This is why maps and Google Maps and MapQuest exist: so that you can plan the best, fastest route, instead of blindly going wherever the fuck the signs point and then demanding the entire fucking highway infrastructure of a state be rejiggered because you were too lazy to consult a website for three seconds.

Tweet of the Week

Droppinadeuce, with “Peyton Manning” the author, has a grand total of seven followers and discusses bodily functions mostly.

And the Lakers it would inexplicably seem. I’ll give Droppinadeuce points for the screen handle, though.

Last week, Manning sent me this e-mail…

Was it Manning, or was it Droppinadeuce??!! He could have gotten to YOU!

“Peter, wondering if you could do me a favor. This twitter, facebook, myspace is a problem for guys like me, Eli [Manning], (see about Ben R. and Cutler). Eli and I do not have a twitter or facebook or myspace account or page. Yet there are imposters out there acting like us. The people at twitter and facebook can’t stop it. Our representatives contact them, and they may take it down for a day, but then it pops back up. If you could put something in your MMQB that these pages for me and Eli are not real, it would be a big help…

Because if there’s anyone out there who actually believes Peyton Manning has a Twitter feed called Droppinadeuce, it’s a Peter King fan.

”The more people that know that these are phonies, the better for me, Eli, and whoever. It’s just unbelievable that someone could do this and the people at twitter and facebook can allow it. Who knows what these people are posting on the pages is the scary thing.”

Oooh, so scary! They could post stuff about poop! Or worse, plans to poison the world’s reservoirs! AND PEYTON MANNING WOULD GET THE BLAME! In the wrong hands, these clearly phony Twitter feeds could spell our doom.

”Anything you can do to bring light to it would be great. Thanks, PM.”

Consider light brought.

Peter King: Bringer Of Light.

I think the reason Ralph Wilson chose Chris Berman to introduce him for induction to the Pro Football Hall of Fame is simple: He likes Berman a lot…

Well, fuck him in the high-waisted pants, then.

…and Wilson’s not close to people in the league. He’s mostly a loner in league circles. That’s neither a criticism of Wilson nor his peers.

There’s not a single owner he’s tight with. The only owner he speaks with on any regular basis is Al Davis; they speak about once a month, and not very often about football.

Mostly, they discuss embalming fluids.

In the days when the Bills were the lowest team in the league, Berman always boosted the team.

And isn’t that what any good anchor does: single out one team for special treatment?

You can judge whether a TV host should be rooting for a team…

I will. It’s a glaring conflict of interest and completely inappropriate. And it’s why I hope Berman dies in a boating accident. In fact, he’ll be subject to a separate rant later in the week.

…but regardless, Wilson, Marv Levy, Bill Polian and Jim Kelly loved him for it. The Berman pick didn’t surprise me in the least.

Again, this is bullshit.

One assistant (coach) who is not allowed to speak with the media on the record told me he was in the office twice past 7 p.m. (during OTA time) last week. To me, in the first week of June, it’s way over the top. I’ve heard Cleveland coaches are in the office much later than that, regularly.

That’s because, if Mangini stay in the office past 8, the team pays for his lo mein.

I think I’d like to take this space to wish Jason LaCanfora, ex of the Washington Post, good luck in his new gig as information man for NFL Network. The network got a good man. LaCanfora’s a worker bee with a good presence.

Plus he talks about the Red Sox all the fucking time, and I adore that in an NFL reporter.

Now, competing against who he’ll have to compete with as a first-year TV guy … that’s going to be rough, and rough might be an understatement.

In Sunday pre-game land, Jason’s going head-to-head with Chris Mortensen and Adam Schefter, who I assume will be on the Sunday morning show (and the rest of the Clayton/Werder/Paolantonio/Nichols team), and then there’s scoopman Jay Glazer at FOX, who drops a bomb every week. And I haven’t even mentioned Charlie Casserly and his enlightened spot on CBS.

“Those guys are all WAY better than the shithead info man NBC uses!”

I think Matt Millen might be getting cold feet about the Thursday night NFL Network gig.

Well, we’d hate for him to overextend himself.

I think, not to over-write TV, one of my pet peeves over the last couple of years has been how the football and media world is obsessed about how many people NBC uses on its Sunday night “Football Night in America” show.

I think you’re wrong. I don’t see how putting Droppinadeuce on the set enhances the show at all.

Obviously, I’ve been a part of the team for the past three years, so I’m the least partial person to comment here.

But let me comment on it!

(We) Varied between five and seven for the 75-minute show. But when it was seven, I’d bet numbers five through seven — me, Tiki Barber, Jerome Bettis — took a total of six or seven of the 75 minutes.

So why fucking have them? Don’t you see that’s why people find it asinine to have so many analysts? You have three anchors when you only need one. You have four or five analysts when you only need zero. That’s why people hate it.

Did we have more bodies on the set? Not more than FOX, if you count Caliendo and (Jillian) Reynolds…

I don’t. Of course, you are about as useful to NBC’s telecast as those two are to FOX’s.

…and assuming Schefter joins the ESPN set, ESPN will have the same number. If NBC was overloaded, why aren’t those shows overloaded, too?

THEY FUCKING ARE.

I think if I were a boss in the media — TV, website, radio — I’d look long and hard at giving Bill Kuharich a job for the fall.

Okay. Smart fellow, you claim?

Regarding JaMarcus Russell, he said: “You can’t live up to the billing of being the number one pick in the draft…”

Um, yes you can.

”…But I see him growing. Very physical, very strong arm, and his accuracy is improving. I see him learning to manage the game better. I don’t know if he’ll ever be in the Dan Marino category, but he’ll be a good, functioning NFL quarterback.”

I think if I were a boss in the media — TV, website, radio — I’d look long and hard at never hiring Bill Kuharich for anything ever. Not even for a position in wardrobe.

If there’s a better song playing on the planet right now than “Breathe” by U2, I’d like to hear it.

You can. Simply by walking into any department store elevator.

Jimmy Johnson has been and always will be an open book. But Dan Le Batard wrote such an insightful piece about him in the Miami Herald Sunday that I’m now thinking, Do I really know the man?

Better check your voice mails.

Congratulations, “North By Northwest,” one of my three favorite movies of all time. You’re 50 this summer.

So we’ve had Peter use his column to send personal messages to unknown friends, entire networks, and Sibling Rivalry. And now, here he is, talking to a film. It’s a movie, Peter. It’s can’t fucking read.

A few of you, through e-mail and by Tweet, have asked me to move up my Father’s Day book review column from next Monday to sometime this week.

Ricklawson69 can’t wait another day longer!

Coffeenerdness: Had the closest-to-espresso coffee ice cream I’ve ever tasted the other night at Picco on Tremont Street in Boston’s South End. I’ll be back early and often for that one.

Good to know. Be sure to follow the highway signs to get there!

I’m thinking about a Monday Morning Quarterback/Twitter-follower gathering somewhere on the road in America during training camp this summer. The question is where. Albany? Bethlehem? Latrobe? Berea/Canton? Bourbonnais? Green Bay? River Falls? Terre Haute? Mankato? Denver?

Readership of KSK: I know we ask much of you, what with the sexy mailbags and all. And I know it’s our job, and our job alone, here to keep YOU entertained while you’re here. But I ask one simple favor. Wherever this event takes place, GO. Bring a camera. I will send you a list of questions to annoy Peter with if you need it. But, please, GO. I’ll MapQuest directions to it for you personally. You’ll be a hero. An icon. You might even get your own website one day.

Herschel Walker said the other day on our radio gig that he’s making his MMA fighting debut in November. “I told them I don’t want to fight a bum. I want to fight a contender,” he said.

That’s not fair to his opponent! It would be one against five!

Friday night, Fenway Park, fog and mist rolling over the right-field stands, top of the Prudential Center cut off, 56 degrees according to the Weather Channel, and I can see my breath. June 5 in New England. You’ve got to love it, I guess.

Serves you right for leaving the bucolic paradise that is Montclair, you fat bastard.

Now that the Colts–among others–have expressed interest in adding advertisements to their practice jerseys, it’s only a matter of time before game day jerseys get the same treatment in the NFL. The only real question is whether teams would feature one primary sponsor like we (okay, just me) have seen in European soccer or if players will get to adorn themselves with all of their own sponsors’ logos. Peyton Manning is banking on the latter.

Gisele, Bridget. I wanted both of you to be here tonight because I think we need to clear the air. Bridget, when Gisele said that our son was 100% hers, she certainly didn’t mean it in any sort of possessive way. She just wants to love and help care for John as if he were her own. And Gisele, I think we have to be sensitive to Bridget’s feelings as a hard-working mom. I know this isn’t the easiest of situations, but I think we can turn it into something really beneficial if we’re just open and honest with one another.

I’d like us to all bury the hatchet, and put our personal arguments aside for the sake of John. Gisele and Bridget, I’d like you two to kiss and make up.

Yes. Get closer. Don’t be shy.

Yes, that’s it.

Wow.

Bridget, could you maybe let your hair down? I know you have your hair up in a ponytail after going on your run wearing nothing more than a sports bra and a pair of tight black spandex boy shorts. But if you could just let it fall, and cascade down around your shoulders… yes, just like that. Now kiss and make up again.

Oh yeah, I mean REALLY make up. Make up far more than is necessary. God, that’s amazing. Not so deep with the tongue, Gisele! This isn’t a race. This is an important family bonding moment for us. I want us to savor it. I want us to wallow in it. Just sort of open your mouths and let them hover. Tease each other with your tongues. Oh, yes. That rules. Gisele, arch your back more, like you did in that Ipex ad. I mean, really stick your tits out. Oof. Incredible.

Now Gisele, let’s take Bridget’s sports bra off. SLOWLY! Again, no need to rush here. We want to be gentle with each other, and sensitive to each other’s needs. For example, I know Gisele likes having the top of her asscrack tickled. Bridget, could you…?

Damn.

This is incredible. I mean, this is just such a special moment for all of us. I think we’ve made a real breakthrough here today. I want you two to think of each other as friends, even sisters. Really, really smoking hot sisters who can’t keep their hands off one another. Gisele, strip down to nothing but your denim cutoff thong.

Good golly.

I’m so proud of you both. I think we’re all showing great maturity in dealing with this situation. You know, not every family has to be a regular nuclear family these days. I think we’re part of a new trend of American childrearing. Now Gisele, if you could just slowly peel off Bridget’s boy shorts while she bends over and gently massages your churrascaria, that would be awesome.

Holy shit, that IS awesome. Okay, that’s the fuckiest hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I could watch a thousand pornos and bang a thousand chicks and I still would never get a mental image that incredible. I mean, HOLY FUCK. Honestly, I’d rather masturbate to you two than have actual sex with a lower tier of woman. This is that fucking sweet.

What a moment. Lemme get my camera. And a strap-on. Bridget, do you know how to use a strap-on? Yep, it goes around just like that, then you buckle it. Now, come behind Gisele. Yes, that’s right. Now grab her hips. Like this, almost like you’re pushing a breakfast cart around. And you just want to thrust your hips forward into her. Just bring the hips forward. Now, just keep doing it, sort of get a rhythm…

Yes.

Yes, that’s it. Just bury it to the goddamn hilt.

Good fucking God. That is so fucking hot. I’m taking my pants off. THE PANTS ARE OFF, PEOPLE.

Here’s what I’d like to do, FOR OUR FAMILY. Bridget, I’d like you to sit on my face. Now Gisele, come over here and ride me cowgirl style. Now make out while both of you straddle me. I call this the Holy Trinity.

Mmmff! Mmmmmmphfff! Frnnnff!

Oh, man.

Sweet Lord Jesus.

I am a lucky man, girls. Hang on, let me get my goat. What the…

(door flies open)

Tommy: Holy shit! It’s Gisele Bundchen and Bridget Moynihan with Tawmmy Brady! AND THEY’RE-AH ALL FACKIN’ EACH OTHAH! MY CAWK JUST BLEW APAHHHHHT!

This is the fackin’ hawttest threesome EVAH! And we, the legendary fans of Celtic Nation, made it happen! OW-UH SPART HERO THREESOMES AHHH HAWTTAH THAN YAR SPART HERO THREESOMES! NO ONE DENIES THIS!

You think Jetah would have a fackin’ threesome this hawt? He’d prawbably just head to Jersey and go fack Mariah Carey and Jordana Brewstah! THIS IS WHAT I IMAGINED THE SUPER BOWL FARTY TWO AFTAH PAHHHTY WOULD HAVE BEEN LIKE IF THAT DAHHHHKIE HAD CAWLED A FAY-UH GAME! Keep fackin’ those two, Tawm! DON’T LET ME CAWKBLAWK YAH!

(sits backwards on nearby chair, whips out tin of Kodiak)

Brady: Shit. I need to lock the door next time we spend quality family time together.

Fits perfect on you, fetushead!

Brandon Marshall seems like a nice enough guy, and he probably has plenty of friends around the league. But after yesterday he might very well be the most popular player in the league amongst his colleagues. Because fuck, who doesn’t love a guy who not only talks back to Joey Porter, but one who undresses the big moufed asshole with such extraordinary precision.

“Joey Porter is one of those guys who, when you’ve got one of those guys that talk a lot of trash and just want to talk about people or put people down, they have their own insecurities. His insecurities, I don’t know, but he’s definitely one of those guys who, you know, all those muscles are popcorn muscles, he’s soft.”

Marshall went on to describe Porter’s bones as being “filled with marzipan” while his cartilage is “nothing but pretzels.” Of course the young wideout wasn’t done yet.

We hear stories floating around the league all the time about him you know, in night clubs dancing with his shirt off like a girl…

Whoa there, Brandon. I know taking your shirt off in the club is a pretty douchetastic move, but please, try to think of the feelings of others who will hear your words. Right now Vince Young is locked in the bathroom crying his eyes out into his Hello Kitty washcloth!