I don’t know. I think you got the wrong guy. Are you sure? Maybe there’s another Trent Green at this resort. I mean, if I wasn’t wearing this name tag I wouldn’t even know my name was Trent. I thought I was a Raymond. Maybe there was a misunderstanding.

I was just here enjoying the day with… what’s your name? Brenda! And…what’s your name? Alicia! And you show up out of nowhere saying you want me to quarterback your football team? Who does that?

Why do people keep saying I’m a football player? I don’t remember doing that. Just the other day, Troy Aikman stopped by to tell me he knows how I feel. What does that mean? I’m not gay.

Anyway, it was very kind of you to offer but I wouldn’t know where to begin. Stop by the concierge. Hopefully they can clear things up for you. And here, try a shrimp puff, they’re outstanding.

Say.

What team did you say you’re with again?

The Rams?

Rams.

Hmmmmmm.

Rrrrraaaaammmmsss.

Nope. Drawing a blank. Take care, friend!

[Detroit, modern day the future!]

A horrid hellscape where traces of life are rarely apparent beyond the odd skittering insect. The air is choked by fluttering debris and the smell of offal. A solitary figure, faintly visible in the distance, hove into view.
(more…)

Bruce Arians: All right, Bruce. Think for a moment. Dick LeBeau always gets the credit for being the genius coordinator on this team. They all want to blame you for the playoff loss to Jacksonville. But here’s where you’re gonna show ‘em. You’re gonna put their doubts to rest, their minds at ease, their pants at knee level. By gum, you’re gonna dazzle ‘em!

Arians: Okay Ben. We had a pretty good first drive, but this is what I’m thinking for the rest of the game.

Ben Roethlisberger: GLUG GLUG GLUG

Arians: I’m gonna need you to stop drinking for a moment and pay attention, Ben.

Roethlisberger: HOKAY

Arians: They’re bringing the house on every single down. Rather than counteract that with some runs or screen passes or quick slants, I say we play directly into their hands. It’s just daring enough to work. What do you think?

Roethlisberger: YOU’RE THE COACH, COACH

Arians: Yes. Yes I am, aren’t I?

Arians: All right, guys. Our QB is taking a lot of heat. So I’m gonna need you to run a bunch of fly patterns that take forever to develop.

Hines Ward: All you sule, Alien? That sound rike exact long thing to do.

Arians: Look, dammit, don’t question me. I’m the coach. THE coach.

Nate Washington: Eh, I’ll drop it no matter what you call.

Arians: That’s what I like to hear, Nate. Way to be a team player.

Hines: It youl funelar…

Arians: Phew. Okay. Good. Okay. I think we’re gonna be aaaallllllll right.
(more…)

The Matron Saint was looking good for our Monday night game, but were the two combatants?
(more…)

Motherfuckers never ready to listen to Joey Porter until reality come hit they ass in the mouf. By then, they mouf all busted up by reality and I ain’t want nothing to do with they ass. FIX YO’ MOUF!

What’d I say? “We gonna get our first win of the season real easy over the Moose and his old ass defense!” That’s what I said! Y’all was laaaaaughin’. Had yoselves a good ol’ laugh at Joey’s expense. Like Bernie Mac was still alive and shit. WELL BERNIE MAC DEAD MUTHAFUCKAS! I KILLED HIS ASS DEAD! FUCK WHAT YA HEARD!

What happened?! We won, didn’t we? Yeah, I predict wins before every game, but the difference is this one came true! FIX YO’ MOUF!

That means people are ready to listen to Joey Porter again. That means I’m ready to issue a few more proclamations.

Ahem.

Presidential debates start this Friday. That means vice presidential debates start soon after. They ain’t nothing but backup presidents. Throw the kitchen sink at they ass. Shit, Joey Porter could be politickin’. Make Joey Porter secretary of punching folk at the poker table. I’d be the best one yet.

No 2: Quit with the fucking “I am P.C.” ads. Ain’t that many muthafuckas are politically correct. I walk down the street and hear racial DISRESPECT everyday. And fuck Pharrell being in that commercial. We talk shit about whitey all the time.

No. 3: Can’t no one convince me a white boy could get that fine-ass black woman Kerry Washington like in Lakeview Terrace. Pfft. Hollywood don’t know dick. That’s why I’mma run it someday.

I’ll be back to drop some more knowledge when it needs to be dropped. FIX YO’ MOUF!

By the time this goes up, I’ll already be at the Steelers bar getting boozy/yell-y. The teams that were once a mighty amalgam renew their kinda-sorta rivalry. Hey, it’s better than the two biggest other storylines of the day games: Brian Griese returns to face one of the 20 teams he’s played for! Mike Martz gets reacquainted with the last team he screwed up!

So: It’s Iron City vs. Yuengling. Pierogies against Scrapple (Sclapper?). The Roots vs., uh, Girl Talk? Whatever. Let’s do this.

BTW: Thanks guys!

Hines Ward: Today be Intelnationar Tark Rike a Pilot Day. I terr foll you hoist the mizzenmast.

Hey kickel.

Jeff Reed: [Hiccups] Wha?

Ward: Yalllllllllll. I be a pilot.

Reed: Cool, man. When’d you get your wings? What’re you flying? Gonna do some skyfucking like the Cowboys. I’m up for that.

Ward: No sterrpid kickel. I a pilot. Yallllllllllllllll.

Reed: ….

Ward: It Intelnationar Tark Rike Pilot Day.

Reed: Oh, I gotcha. That’s not how pilots talk though. It’s more like “Maker-breaker. This is Major Tom to Ground Control.”

Ward: No, not pirate. Pilot.

Reed: Yeah, that’s what I said.

Ward: No, you sterrpid kickel! You luin Hines smirre. You now must wark the prank!

Reed: All right. [Exhales] Fuck, is it already 10 a.m.? Shit, I gotta hit the bar.

When I first looked over the schedule a couple months ago, this game stuck out as being the most lackluster of the entire season. And, now that Kansas City has announced its going with Tyler Thigpen as their starter, it’s gotten even lackluster…er. Surely, one could posit a decent argument that the Rams and the Koren Robinson/Keary Colbert-led Seahawks could be just as dismal an affair this week, I’m sticking to my guns and breaking down the matchup that just might make you reassess this funny little obsession you have with breathing.

As per the usual this time of year, there is something amiss about the unforeseen occupants atop the standings. Certainly some of that is natural turnover from year to year, while others are simply enjoying a fleeting stay before their return to mediocrity. But which is which? We welcome a representative from each of the surprising 2-0 teams to make the case as to why they are here to stay. (more…)

Donovan McNabb: It’s about that time, my Benny bear. I’ve waited so long.

Ben Roethlisberger: HI DONOVAN

McNabb: Four years. Whew. Four. Long. Years. Can you believe it?

Roethlisberger: WE’RE DOING GOOD RIGHT NOW!

McNabb: I bet you are. How’ve you been holding up?

Roethlisberger: MY SHOULDER BEEN SPRAINED. OR SEPARATED. I THINK SPRAINERATED.

McNabb: Sounds like you need a rubdown.

Roethlisberger: GOT TRAINERS FOR RUBDOWN.

McNabb: How ’bout I be your trainer?

Roethlisberger: GOTTA ASK COACH

McNabb: Don’t be like that. You let coach tell you how to run your life?

Roethlisberger: SOMETIMES

McNabb: Well I think you - Oh shit, that cameraman is watching us. Play the part, man, play the part. [Raises voice with forced bass] Yeah, well, ya’ll got us last time, bitch, but that was then! I’mma throw all over the field on your lame-ass secondary! Me and Westbrook gone light shit up.

Roethlisberger: HOPE SOMEONE TAPES THE NEW ENTOURAGE FOR ME

McNabb: Yeah, well, FUCK YOU, man. We’re the only real team in this state. We gone keep it all the way live in the 215! For real!

Roethlisberger: HARF HARF HARF THAT RHYMES

McNabb: … All right, he’s gone. [Adopts tender voice] You know I love that laugh. Makes my dick wanna vomit like it’s the Super Bowl all over again. So you’re gonna call me, right? I mean it. Call me, Ben.

Call meeeeee

So I can make it juicy for ya.

C-call meeeee!

So I can get it juicy for ya

C-call meeeee!

Roethlisberger: OKAY, BUT HINES GOTTA SHOW ME HOW TO WORK THE PHONE.