Packers vs Bears (or Sooze vs Tuffy)

December 31st, 2006 by Tuffy

Previously posted on a defunct site; moved here for posterity. Much love to sooze from Babes Love Baseball for making the last day at the old place so much fun.

Welcome to Forced Rivalry Week! Your hosts are Sooze and Tuffy. Sooze has commandeered a bar in rural flyover country while Tuffy is masking last night’s hangover with more booze in the Tuffy Bunker (now with 100% more Tuffy!). 

We will be providing highlights often through the game through the alcohol-tinged prism of a Packers and a Bears fan. We pick up during pre-game pointing and giggling:

Sooze: Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Tuffy: what’s that? i can’t hear you over the sweet sound of freedom from kids, school, and the cruel expectations of playoff football.
Sooze: No shit!
Sooze: I feel like a new woman.
Sooze: It’s too bad this game is meaningless to everyone but Bears fan. Well… even Bears fans.
Tuffy: the word around town is that we’re all pissed this landed smack in the middle of new year’s day plans.
Sooze: Haha, no kidding.
Tuffy: didn’t affect mine; the time change hasn’t prevented me from mixing a new drink every hour in my new MAGIC BULLET! (as seen on tv) and chasing it with a beer.
Sooze: Oh. my. god. You have a magic bullet.
Tuffy: my kidneys may try to swipe a german motorbike and escape.
Tuffy: my parents bought it for me.
Sooze: That is so awesome.
Tuffy: a new year, a new AS SEEN ON TV product.
Sooze: I’ve spent many a night, staring longingly at that infomercial
Tuffy: dear brett: i’m on day SHUT THE SHIT UP. love, tuffy.
Sooze: brett’s last game ver blahblahhgfkghdfgxvcmugujknj,l
Tuffy: shouldn’t he be telling us what step he’s on?
Sooze: I think they’ll just continue to do this every year until he retires. He’ll probably play til 2010 - but they’ll move the GB game to the evening slot no matter what
Tuffy: well…you know….
Tuffy: i hate/love/lustily accept the responsibility to say this…
Tuffy: but the packers don’t *have* to sign him.

Excerpted is a discussion of the best quarterback name in the league today. Sooze votes for Cleo Lemon; Tuffy is a huge fan of Boonie Stutz.

Sooze: Listen here, fucker. I did not give you written permission to broadcast my Yahoo! lol’s and smileys for all to see. Shit. I’ve spilled on my keyboard. See what you’ve done? My z button is now a shift button. Let the Favre fellatio commence.

Tuffy: Hooray impending car wreck! I don’t have a strong sense of how long the Bears will keep their starters on the field, though previous games imply the fourth quarter may be a good time to get good and schnockered. (Moreso.) However, you’d better believe the Pack will play their starters until the last whistle. Favre will be a strong focus of our coverage and NBC’s, sure. I’ve heard the hue and cry that whining about Favre’s media treatment is trite. I respect that point of view strongly and can feel the worn groove along the edges of this argument.

However, we’ve shouted at the mountaintop for years now and not heard more than our own echoes. It’s a pleasant little lie that we can have both the cool efficiency that creates championships and the warm loving band of brothers that stick next to each other forever. Perpetuating the lie is the media’s burden; crushing it is ours.

In other words, spit out the dick, John. We’ll keep telling you until you spit and rinse.

Sooze: My #4 jersey still smells like Lambeau.
Tuffy: Yeah. The stench of brats and beer are two things I look for in a woman.
Sooze: Oh my good lord, Bears D. Tank! Don’t hurt him!
Tuffy: Tank needs to take out his frustrations with the law on Favre about now.
Sooze: Oooooooooooooh shit!!! Favre nails Double D up the middle for a touchdown. That’s fuckin hot.

Tuffy: The Bears defense has been terribly vulnerable to mediocre offenses the last few weeks. There are still a few injuries, but I wonder what game film has exposed about the Bears defense and how a good offense can exploit it.

Also, I suspect it now matters that the Bears have an offense.

Your jersey smells like tarred lungs and leathery vagina? Fantastic! (Also, what’s with the Edgar Bergen bit? If I wanted your hand up my ass, I’d pay the $20 you quoted me pre-game.)

Sooze: Ruvell Martin got the skillz to pay the billz, ya’ll.

False alarm.

I’m just gonna pretend this game is important. Like it’s Favre’s last game or something.

Tuffy: Hey, look! Favre threw it 61 mph! That’s as fast as…uhm…actually, I have no comparison for it, but it sure looks impressive in a flashy graphic with a pretty gradient. slurp.

The Bears played nickel on first down because of their intense unspoken fear of Favre, not because the Packers playcalling is more transparent than a white shirt on a co-ed during spring break. Good call, John.

Imagine what Ruvell Martin could have done if the pass had led him instead of circling the airport, waiting for clearance to land.

A photo montage of Favre accompanied by Led Zeppelin…where did I see that…oh, right! We just saw a video of John Madden’s MySpace page as a bumper.

Sooze: Argdsgdrtyhnvg! Bartender!!!

I’ll let you cover that one, Tuffy.

Tuffy: Ruvell Martin, why did you do that? Why did you embarrass the Favre? The Favre is not pleased with your actions. You must complete the cross for your Favre. Do not let the Favre be intercepted with your weakness. Kneel before Favre!

Nate! aaaah! Master of the universe! He’ll save every one of us! He’s just a man, but he can never fail; no one but the pure in heart can intercept the Favre pass. ooooh. oooooooooh.

gack. Back to you, Sooze.

Sooze: Oh no! Watch out Sexy Rexy! Awwwww shit, it’s Nick Collins with the pick and the TD.

P.S. Suck my metaphorical balls, Rayner. It’s a fucking extra point. Get used to it.

Packers 13, Bears DA BIG FAT ZERO

Sooze: John Madden, in all of his infinite wisdom claims that turnovers should never happen in professional football. Rexy fumbles. Pickett recovers.

For the love of all that is cheesey, Rayner. It is your J-O-B to kick the football through the goal posts.

Tuffy: How can Rayner get used to kicking extra points, Sooze? The Packers only average 18 ppg.

I would not be the slightest bit surprised to find out the league (aka NBC) insisted that the Bears choose to wear their road jerseys because Brett is a white hat cowboy and the Bears need to be the navy blue hat bad guy.

Sooze: That’s an interesting idea. We should write a made-for-tv drama. Man. You got me there about Rayner, Tuffman. I’m sure he has better things to do than crap like, “practicing” in his free-time. Kickers get all the babes.

Oh. My. God. REXY! Look at that pick.

Al, forget the consensus around the country on whether or not Favre’s coming back. Madden says he is. And if Madden says it’s so, then it must be so.

Tuffy: On the other hand, every Chicago schoolchild can tell you why Sexy Rexy continues to swallow his tongue: he follows his target with the red-hot intensity of a first crush, leaving no doubt whom he plans to ask to the big dance. Every safety and cornerback cannot wait to cockblock him.

Second Quarter Update

Sooze: brb i need some more peanuts
Tuffy: and water
Tuffy: get water
Sooze: fuck that shit!
Tuffy: there’s another half still
Tuffy: then you can sprint to the finish
Sooze: oih yeah ok. blah
Sooze: there’s like… at least 420 peanut shells under my stool right now
tuffy: 420. nice code…echelon.
Sooze: haha i’m such a slueth
Sooze: how do you spell that
Tuffy: sleuth.
Sooze: thanks
(long pause)
Sooze: sleuth isn’t even the right word
Tuffy: cryptographer
Tuffy: go get peanuts.
Sooze: will do
Sooze: i have to pee too.

Sooze: Jesus, Rexy. What the hell. I know you’re all over this one, Tuffy.

Tuffy: I have to believe Rex Grossman is costing himself a playoff start with each weak fling and panicked toss. He’s been uniformly awful. Every part of his game has been subpar. He’s not showing improvement in any key area.

Also? Brett Favre is not Cy Young, Al. Jesus H. Christ on a stick. That’s simply ridiculous. You might as well compare him to Ghandi and iron ore.

Sooze: Yeah, wrong sport, retard.

The Packers just put together their best half of the season. In a game that doesn’t matter. In a game. That could possibly be. The legendary Brett Favre’s. Last Game. Ever. Packers 23, Bears 0.

Tuffy: Halftime notes: I get a little choked up every time I see Cowher look into that camera and say, “That was a special moment.” That must really be a great show; I look forward to seeing the show on NFL Network next never.

Tuffy: We should strongly consider combining the new Grease reality show with the Law for the Prevention of Progeny with Hereditary Diseases.

Sooze: Or just plant a bomb in the American Idol studio.

Tuffy: Again, I love the trick plays during exhibition-style games; it forces the opposition to waste 10-15 minutes of meeting time on a play your favorite team will probably never use. It forces misallocation of resources. Love it.

Tuffy: Brett Favre face morphing with an adult contemporary soundtrack, sandy beige background, and cursive script? That’s Al’s Facebook page.

Sooze: That last Favre musical montage was painfully gay.

Third Quarter Update

Tuffy:wow, the bears look awful. who greased th…OMG
Tuffy: it’s a tie-in!
Sooze: haha it totally is
Tuffy: the packers are olivia newton-john
Tuffy: and the bears are travolta
Sooze: they so are
Tuffy: at least this proves favre is a pussy.
Tuffy: BAM
Sooze: and john madden is Betty Rizzo
Tuffy: hmm
Sooze: or not
Tuffy: pink.
Tuffy: pink is rizzo.
Sooze: cause rizzo never wanted to hump olivia newton john
Sooze: er sandy
Tuffy: you’re not reading the best grease slash.
Sooze: apparently not
Sooze: Well, Rexy is Frenchy, then.

Tuffy: Last word, huh? Well, then: did you know Brett Favre once invented Steve Allen? True story. He was a conceit developed by Jayne Meadows and Brett Favre when Brett had to leave the comedy team to go invent the forward pass.

Sooze: Did you know that I once ditched Brian Urlacher at Leg Room, solely because he played for the Bears?

Tuffy: Worked out better for your contraceptive health, considering his later conquests.

OH FUCK ME. Al Michaels tells a cute story about growing up in Brooklyn and meeting Sid Luckman and John Madden shoves Al out of the booth to rhetorically ask, “Isn’t Brett Favre as cool as Sid Luckman? No one is better, really. Also, Favre would beat Luckman at every game ever invented, including Super Game Inventing.”

John Madden: Brett Favre throws a 100 m.p.h. fastball!

Jesus: I give. You win. You’re bigger than the Beatles.

Tuffy: I’m glad we could pull the officials away from their YMCA flag football game in time for the contest this evening.

Wait…those are their uniforms? Seriously?

Tuffy: Bears quarterbacks have thrown one interception for each luxury box now. Thanks!

Also, I’ve noticed both NBC and ESPN have fallback plans for blowouts, keeping an interesting analyst (Collingsworth and Wilbon) on hand to create better conversation. This has worked out well for both networks; it just makes me wonder why both announcing teams need this kind of help in the first place.

Tuffy: And now we try to determine who cries more: Favre or Madden. I’ll take the under on both; they’ll wait till they get back to the hotel room.

Post Game Wrap

Sooze: Brett Favre made me cry tonight, but not as hard as Madden’s post game eulogy.

Tuffy: Good night, all! Go get drunk in private and despair. It *is* New Year’s Eve, after all.

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Dolphins - Colts

December 31st, 2006 by Tuffy

Previously posted on a defunct site; moved here for posterity

Indianapolis. Scene of a game without meaning or import. My Snidey Sense tells me this will be a 400 yd passing performance for Manning, but I’d much rather see both teams treat this as an exhibition game if I were a fan of either. As a fan of Ben Affleck-level lucky scoring, first team to 100 wins.

First Quarter:
MIA 3 IND 7

Perception becomes reality: Phil Simms claims the Colts are trying for more first downs this year and not so many high-risk plays because…uhm, I think he said it was important because scoring is important. I’d hate for my car to die at his initial observation and be forced to walk through the verbal shitstorm to the gas station in Obvious, NY, where his final point lies.

On the other hand, What I Love About Week 17’s Meaningless Games continues: an Indy offensive lineman lines up at tight end and waddles in for a touchdown. That’s the kind of exhibition game work I like to see. Mess with next week’s opponent a bit and keep other players off the field and away from injury.

An earlier Miami field goal finishes the explanation of the first quarter of play.

Halftime:
MIA 6 IND 17

A number of impressive long drives from both teams peter out a bit short each time. Do coaches feel good about these kinds of drives, knowing that it’s just one or two more successful steps to consistent scoring? Do they worry that a lack of clutchness pervades their team’s very soul?

Peyton Manning sprints 15 yards for the touchdown, moving for all the world like Michael Vick’s great-great-grandfather. (You know, dead.) It was inspiring for couch potatoes everywhere. Keep it up, 6′5″.

Cleo Lemon throws his first lemon with a few seconds left, leaving Indianapolis time for a last moment field goal. When I come back, I want to be a field goal kicker in a dome.

An earlier Miami field goal finishes the explanation of the second quarter of play as well.

I don’t get the impression anyone is phoning it on, but how does one tell from a small television image? It’s something I’d like to assume less and definitely ask announcers and talk radio to assume less.

Mea culpa: I hadn’t realized a Ravens loss coupled with an Indy win gives the Colts a bye week. I’d like to see Indianapolis play in the RCA Dome in the playoffs, so I now have a rooting cause that doesn’t have anything to do with the plethora of puns for Cleo Lemon.

Third quarter:
MIA 12 IND 20

Hey, a Miami field goal!

Cleo Lemon has been limited by Saban to situations where he can’t fuck up and, for the most part, he has not fucked up. He has also not done anything singularly impressive.

More long drives; more coitus interruptus. This time, the Colts kick a field goal. It makes for a languid game with the occasional interruption from a loved one to move the car or provide sexual release. If I hadn’t already consumed enough sugar to cause a 4 year old’s head to explode as if it had been scanned, I would be napping now.

Hey, how did Bob Whitfield’s agent get him that Honda Pilot commercial? He plays a great troll.

It’s 9-7 Baltimore in the third; my rooting interest in Indy grows. I despise the clawing, grabbing, and grappling Baltimore style. It plays poorly on television and makes for ugly close games. It’s great for less talented teams, but it makes for uninteresting football.

Hey, a Miami field goal!

OH SWEET JESUS ABOVE AND BELOW PLEASE STOP SHOWING ME DAVID SPADE SHIMMYING IN A SILVER HIPSTER SHIRT OH GOD IT BURNS WHEN I POUR THE BLEACH IN BUT IT CLEANSES THE EYES

Fourth quarter:
MIA 22 IND 27

Baltimore goes up 16-7 in the fourth on J.P. Losman’s massive vagina.

Cialis lets me get a boner for 36 hours, just in case a lot of small children gather around my Boomer crotch just as I was about to mount Grandma? Thanks, science! Do you have a pill for the bulimia I’m developing?

Hey, a…seriously, does Nick Saban have Mare on his fantasy team…Miami field goal!

Manning to Harrison. Really, it doesn’t sound like much to the uninitiated, but it’s still great to watch. I hope there’s a few more years in those receding hairlines.

19-7 BAL with 4 minutes left. Someone please call Tony Dungy and let him know this is the last drive for Manning this calendar year.

But no…even with that game and playoff positioning final, Miami’s touchdown after a turnover (congrats, Cleo) causes the slimy competitive juices to boil up in Tony Dungy and Manning presses on to protect the lead. There’s a slim chance a playoff game might be hosted in Indy some day because of this, but I’m not convinced this is the proper risk-reward calculation.

Cleo Lemon sputters and apparently isn’t ready quite yet to lead that final drive. Again, he was not awful, but he did not show the ability to provide a game-changing play all game. Best of luck to him; we need more colorful names and players each Sunday.

Neither team hurts themselves this afternoon. Miami gets valuable data for the offseason and a better draft pick; Indianapolis gets slightly better playoff position, another home playoff date to pad the coffers, and no major injuries for the playoff run. Group hugs!

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Week 17 - Early Games

December 31st, 2006 by Tuffy

Previously posted on a defunct site; moved here for posterity

CBS has already broken out the Sooze-approved NFL Films Favre miked-up bits. “Hey, I thought you hit harder than that, Viking defensive end! I am teh tough-z0rz.” My gag reflex will relax with booze. That’s how I worked my way through college.

PIT-CIN: Pittsburgh did the ol’ kickoff huddle-up on reception, gathering on the 10 to hide who had the ball. This worked brilliantly if you’re a retiring coach that doesn’t give a shit if it gets you pinned at the 14.

DET-DAL: Kitna’s first pass is intercepted by Roy Williams for a touchdown. (I look forward to hot Roy Williams-on-Roy Williams action today.) A bad-touch penalty brings it back; it’s a questionable call. I’m a huge proponent of erring to this side of caution, but I hope the NFL takes a sliver of their huge profits and invests in finding the best equipment and training techniques to make these types of calls irrelevant in 10-15 years.

PIT-CIN: Cincinnati is called for 12 men on the field. Playoff focus!

DET-DAL: Jason Hanson nails another field goal and can we talk for a moment about the quietly solid Jason Hanson? He’s missed six extra point attempts in 15 years. He is better than 80% for his career on field goals with impressive deep range. His kickoffs are always deep. Admittedly, he works in a dome 60-70% of the time, but he’s just done the job forever. I enjoy the flashy play as much as the other man in jail for public indecency, but it’s also rather cool to see the yeoman’s effort succeed over time. (Also, Jason Hanson looks like he prepared my taxes last year.)

DET-DAL: Jon Kitna has thrown more passes in a single season than any other Lions passer. Ever. He’s taken every snap for the Lions this year. Every. What’s the Lions’ record? Really? Two wins? That’s shocking. You’d think the Lions were playing from behind every game.

DET-DAL: Roy Williams drops another possible interception. The Lions cash in on their good luck with…a field goal. Wake the kids!

PIT-CIN: Bengals intercept Ben on a thrown punt. That has to be the reason he threw that pass. Either that or someone whispered in the concussed QB’s ear, “Let’s play 500. You throw first.”

NYJ-OAK: 7-0 Jets. The Bengals’ collective sphincter tightens a bit. (Remember, we’re too good for Bengals prison jokes here.)

PIT-CIN: A Steeler penalty invokes The Chin’s wrath writ small; a small child can revel in the simple lip-reading required to learn “fucking dumb; fucking dumb.”

DET-DAL: Another long punt return by the Lions is improved upon by a penalty of the touchy-feely variety. I need to find at least one special teams coach to explain this to me in the offseason: why the fuck is it so hard to avoid special teams penalties? Is it just perception because special teams is such a different vibe?

DET-DAL: Dallas appears to have checked out sometime just after the opening kickoff. They’re letting Jon F. Kitna work them over like Gary Crosby. A fab TD catch by Roy Williams the Bluebeard helps sell the idea that the Cowboys are thinking about how to divvy up their playoff tickets.

First quarter wrap-up:
DET 13 DAL 0
PIT 0 CIN 0
NYJ 7 OAK 0

PIT-CIN: Willie Parker gets his cup massaged a lot by announcers; I don’t remember watching any game he participated in this year without hearing about his orphan-saving or his loaf duplication method. However, Football Outsiders ranks him around 15th. Am I missing something? Is there potential here I don’t have an eye for? I’m open to explanations.

PIT-CIN: Not coincidentally, Willie Parker scores the first points of the game on a short TD run to end a very impressive 15 play, 90 yard drive. It’s this kind of head-down consistent work that the typical Pittsburgh fan identifies with. PIT 7 CIN 0.

What is the Department of Homeland Security’s action plan for a Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robot mutiny? I seriously doubt putting a pick-up truck in their way will work for long; they adapt too quickly.

DET-DAL: Marion Barber III continues to electrify fantasy football rosters (with 17 week seasons) with his 320948903284th touchdown of the season on an equal number of carries. Also, Dallas may not be fully-involved, but the CBS cameraman is in post-season form, getting his lens deep in the cleavage of each Cowboy cheerleader. DET 13 DAL 7.

PIT-CIN: The Steelers defense is beating up the Bengals’ offense, taking their lunches, and snickersnagging on them. It’s a thorough domination, one that accounts for every detail down to the place settings for the Thorough Domination Celebration Dinner.

DET-DAL: Kitna is finally punished for his impertinence, coughing up an interception that is not called back for Bad Touch. It’s the type of gunslinger throw we can look forward to tonight.

PIT-CIN: Strike what I said about snagging the snickers. The Bengals have adjusted, hitting short patterns to the sideline and underneath. They’re marching down the field with confidence.

DET-DAL: One long drive later and it appears the Cowboys don’t need to show up to succeed against the Lions. Brady Quinn should call Bloomfield Hills real estate agents now to beat the rush. DET 13 DAL 14.

PIT-CIN: Two straight false start penalties for the Bengals after starting 1st and goal; playoff focus! A field goal is the cousin-kissing conclusion to the half.

DET-DAL: Leave it to me to be an ass about this, but I think the Lions should have left the punter at home this week. It’s good practice to go for every fou….fumbled punt by Dallas gives the Lions the ball around the 35. Hey, how about this weather we’re experiencing?

OAK-NYJ: OAK 3 NYJ 10. Marvin Lewis’ supply of anti-anxiety medication must be running low.

DET-DAL: Roy Williams the Bluebeard sucks in another touchdown pass as the half ends to help ruin the Lions’ chance of getting the #1 pick. Brady Quinn demands to stay in Charlie Weis’ warm, jiggly embrace forever.

Halftime wrap-up:
DET 20 DAL 14
PIT 7 CIN 3
OAK 3 NYJ 10

DET-DAL: Week 17 mindfucks, baby! The exotic beauty known as the fleaflicker steps up to the bar and gives the Cowboys the ball inside the 10…and then Romo holds the ball on the next play for about 4 days, allowing Detroit to strip the ball and get it back, only to go three-and-out and punt the ball to the Cowboys…for a punt return touchdown. Warm slop only a pig could love. (Speaking of Redskins fans…) DET 20 DAL 21.

DET-DAL: It could be a case of Stockholm Syndrome, but the holiday scarf on the Fox robot is kinda cute. Puckish, perhaps. Who does his body armor?

PIT-CIN: It’s raining in Cincinnati. This is the only noticeable action halfway through the third quarter.

DET-DAL: Bill Parcells is challenging something, but I had the sound down; I assume he’s challenging the need to finish this game.

OAK-NYJ: 20-3 Jets. Marvin Lewis is doing whippets on the sideline.

DET-DAL: Field goal from The Taxman. I assume only the truly degenerate gambler works Week 17.

PIT-CIN: In a fit of pique caused by another decent Davenport run, the lead announcer shouts, “It doesn’t matter who runs the ball for Pittsburgh!” Insert stage direction to put finger to nose here.

PIT-CIN: Here’s why we watch Week 17 when nothing is on the line: there’s nothing like a rookie offensive lineman getting called for taunting. Bill Cowher’s chin bounced off the third row of seats and he ran back to the sideline to find someone to replace him so the screaming could begin in earnest. The offending lineman, Willie Colon, may have tried to feign death to avoid coming off the field at the end of the quarter.

DET-DAL: Detroit scores again. Jesus, Matt…when Al Davis outmaneuvers you for the #1 pick, you might consider running a rubber pipe from the car exhaust.

Third-quarter wrap-up:
DET 30 DAL 21
PIT 7 CIN 3
OAK 3 NYJ 20

PIT-CIN: 99 yard touchdown drive by the Steelers is interrupted one yard short by a Willie Parker fumble. Marvin Lewis has commandeered a oxygen mask and is demanding that you do not look at him. Never look at him!

PIT-CIN: False start, 71, Cincinnati. Playoff focus!

PIT-CIN: Chris Henry runs like the cast of Armed and Famous is chasing him. He scores on a 66 yard touchdown pass that is pretty much all him. Marvin Lewis calls Betty Ford for detox advice and to mourn the recent dead…

OAK-NYJ: …23-3 Jets.

DET-DAL: Dallas scores 3 points; I assume this was done with half of a touchdown. I’m finding it hard to watch a Lions game from beginning to end, especially with…

PIT-CIN: …Willie Parker remembering to hold the ball all the way to the end zone this time. He just never makes a mistake, does he? PIT 14 CIN 10.

PIT-CIN: Carson Palmer is hurt. He’s moving his legs, but he’s not getting up. James Farrior lifted up Palmer and drove him into the ground as if he were building a fence. Anthony Wright is warming up. Marvin Lewis is mainlining electricity and listing ways to kill Pittsburgh players without being caught.

DET-DAL: At the same time, Lions offensive tackle Jonathan Scott is carted off the field, giving the thumbs-up so his mom doesn’t worry.

PIT-CIN: Palmer’s back on the field after the next play, but he’s certainly not ‘okay’, despite the shorthand used by the announcers. No one’s ‘okay’ after a play like that. He’s hanging in there…

PIT-CIN: …long enough to give those fans at the stadium without access to the Oakland game score hope (PIT 14 CIN 17)…

OAK-NYJ: …23-3 Jets (F). Marvin Lewis wants to date Courtney Love. Or a San Francisco win over Denver and Kansas City to hold their lead over Jacksonville.

JAC-KC: 35-30 Kansas City, 4 minutes left.

PIT-CIN: Pittsburgh ties it up on a field goal. Cincinnati has a chance to get in position for a field goal with less than a minute remaining…and their field goal kicker asks for his lip balm. Marvin Lewis eats the lip balm.

PIT-CIN: I hope that lip balm comes in Choke flavor. A 39 yard field goal misses wide right and we’ll have overtime…

PIT-CIN: …for about a minute and a half. Pittsburgh scores on a very long pass-and-run. Marvin Lewis is last seen with a copy of “Self-Immolation for Dummies” under his arm.

Final wrap-up:
DET 39 DAL 31
PIT 23 CIN 17 (OT)
OAK 3 NYJ 23
KC 35 JAC 30

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Week 17 - Early Games Preview

December 31st, 2006 by Tuffy

Previously posted on a defunct site; moved here for posterity

Here’s a look at games I’ll be covering early today, Playoff Eve:

In Cincinnati, The Chin will wrestle for likely his last time as a Steeler (until he’s called out of retirement by Art Rooney III in 2020). The Bengals picked up a little stomach bug that’s drained energy out of much of the team. Bad timing, this; they’re hoping for Oakland to be their shining hero, beating the Jets and opening a playoff opportunity for them. I’ll be posting updates on the Bengals’ chances throughout the contest. You may make your “Bengals rooting for Raiders” jokes in the comments; I’m personally rather excited that a Raiders game might matter this year.

In Dallas, the Cowboys rest up for the playoffs against the Lions, who are angling for Jeff Samardzija. (As a Cubs fan, I say, “Bully!”) I’ll be checking in on this game with Ghetto Picture-in-Picture (13″ TV set up for just this occasion) so I can see if Roy Williams spontaneously combusts or if Rod Marinelli’s scheduled hip surgery could give him Larry Brown-like powers over mediocrity.

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Footballers’ Wives to Fuck Up Sundays, Too

December 29th, 2006 by Tuffy

Previously posted on a defunct site; moved here for posterity

Gentlemen and fair-minded ladies, ABC has green-lighted the import of a very popular British television series. I recommend you find ways to selectively disable your television function and/or reception before this fall.

“But why?” you ask. “Why, brilliant and deceptively handsome Tuffy? I have grown fond of the soft and warm glow that television affords me, replacing the hard-earned affections of family and acquaintances with its reassuring lessons of smugness, fairness, and rough sex.”

“Also, Tuffy, it’s not like this is the first British import to pollute our shores. We survived Archie Bunker, Sanford, and that funny virgin-y guy in an office. Certainly, this is nothing our feckless American television executives can’t polish into a shiny prime-time turd.”

Oh, dear reader, how I wish I could return to feeling as you do, wrapped in the safe electric blanket of UHF, VHF, and co-ax. Nay, I come to you today as a portent of evil for our well-meaning progenitors have delivered unto these shores…a football soap opera.

TV Squad, a Web site that calls to me like the voice of God, has warned me that this is intended to be a bookend for Desperate Housewives. Now you understand the danger. See me. Feel me. Touch me. Heal me.

This is not the show to bring men and women together under one television show, divisible by none, amen. I present you with Wikipedia-scripted warnings from the British soccer-based version (sweet, sweet spoilers follow):

On the night of one of Tanya’s and Frank’s steamy rendezvous, Frank injures Tanya, who then locks herself away in the bathroom. Enter Jason, who sees what Frank has done to his wife and goes berserk. But one blow to Frank’s head causes him to remember everything. Memories from the night he went into a coma come flooding back to Frank…

…Tanya and Amber both had Conrad’s babies; Tanya swapped the babies at birth to hide that hers might have been Frank’s, but this backfired when Amber’s son (Tanya’s, really) was smothered to death by Amber’s dog.

Heed my word and find a method to convince your loved ones that your television simply will not work for at least one hour per week. Suggestions include:

* HDTV (no one understands it properly; use plenty of acronyms and alphanumeric combinations like “My 1080p conked out when the HDMI and the R2D2 went K-9″)
* Lightning storms
* Snow storms
* Confetti storms
* Religion (the perfect time to find religion is to avoid this show)
* Football is on.

This is the cruelest blow; if it’s the perfect bookend with Desperate Housewives, there is every chance this show will be the obstacle to Sunday Night Football. If this happens, may your deity have mercy on you. Failing that, bite down on the cyanide tablet attached to the bottom of this post.

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Bengals-Colts

December 18th, 2006 by Tuffy

Previously posted on a defunct site; moved here for posterity

Welcome back, my pretties. Tonight, we bask in the awe of the two best offenses the National Football League can offer (non-LT division). I’ve got my cup on; let’s score like Courtney Love’s in the room.

(By the way, it’s not a good idea to eat half a box of chocolate for dinner after a certain age. That age is 7.)

First Quarter
Colts 3 - Bengals 3

Oh, look! Instant replay! That’s the only way to slow down these offenses. Four minutes on Chad Johnson’s shoes, brought to you by instant replay. Also, the rookie referee asks for a game clock reset due to the instant replay and thanks the clock operator upon completion. That’s incredibly sweet and will probably be beaten out of him by Hochuli at the Pro Bowl.

Dallas Clark looks like a cashier at Trader Joe’s.

It took over half an hour for the first score of the game and it’s a field goal. I am deeply disappointed. I want my money back.

And the rest of the quarter is spent delivering the equalizer. Both offenses had full run of the field except the red zone, leaving me with that not-so-fresh feeling after one quarter.

Second Quarter
Colts 17 - Bengals 10

Mike Tirico starts the quarter by noting explosive games often start out slowly so please oh please don’t tune out casual viewer we’re gonna get this par-tee started soon. Please? (If I look that pathetic in the bar, it explains a lot.)

Now we’re talking. The standard “Addai sucks the best veteran dick out of any rookie in the league” story is followed by a few plays his way and a touchdown to Harrison, summed up with the standard “Harrison stopped sucking dick years ago because he’s married to Manning and married receivers don’t put out” spiel. Monday Night Football at its “ESPN sucks the best NFL dick in all of television” best.

The Bengals recover a muffed punt. Dwight Freeney thanks the Bengals by crushing Carson Palmer like a beer can on his forehead. While Rudi Johnson completes the deed and ties the score, Carson Palmer returns to the sidelines and asks that all future turnovers be ignored.

Matthew McConaughey is the celebrity guest. Certain close-ups of him in the booth must be very…disturbing in HD. I know certain attempts by him to speak extemporaneously are disturbing.

Peyton Manning just ran 12 yards for a first down. That reminds me; I need a new egg timer.

This random thought sponsored by Cingular: Peter Dinklage probably hated the holidays before Elf started paying TV royalties.

Manning gets caught trying to run again for the touchdown. The gods may be crazy, but they ain’t stupid. Don’t get cute, Peyton; you don’t have the face for it.

The Colts have years of experience on building suspense; they score on another Harrison reception with a few moments left in the half. I’ll see you on the other side of my insulin attack.

Third Quarter
Colts 31 - Bengals 13

Some kind of kicking thingie happened for the Bengals. When does the second half start?

Oh, there it goes. Apparently, Marvin Harrison is the best wife since Eleanor Roosevelt, covering her husband’s physical frailties and burning her own light into the firmament. (Also, he doesn’t suck.) My cat has spent the last two hours chasing the same mouse unsuccessfully; he could teach something to the Bengals cornerbacks assigned to #88.

Happy thought of the week brought to you by the Booze Council: The clydesdales in the Budweiser commercial are probably dead.

After Reggie Wayne burned the Bengals for a fade in the back of the end zone, a shot of Marvin Lewis confirms that someone told him about the poor clydesdales.

Texas Instruments went wrong after this. Horribly, horribly wrong. Pippi Longstocking and Dumbo want me to buy a television? Fuck you, presumptive children’s entertainment.

The third quarter ends with the Bengals driving and the feel of an explosive fourth quarter on the other side. I’ll fight through the diabetic coma to join you. Be strong for me.

Fourth Quarter
Colts 34 - Bengals 16

Nice 27-yard field goal to affirm my gut feeling about this quarter. Jackasses. I’d pitch a hissy fit if I weren’t trying to insert my own saline IV drip.

The Bengals are dropping passes and barking at each other; the Colts are inventing hip-hop. The resulting field goal does not properly punctuate the final sentence the Colts have placed on this game. Unfortunately, this safe margin makes the announcing team feel comfortable to pontificate on the Jail Bengals. It’s a year late and billions short. Just stop while Theesman is making the relatively salient points of the group.

The Colts return to being the Colts after…well, they were always the Colts. They just had a few bad weeks here and there. Let’s keep our undies unbunched; the underwear models among us appreciate your respect. The Bengals continue to be Colts Lite; they could very easily succeed where the Colts failed, which I would relish only to watch old white men squirm for Super Bowl week about the evil, evil Bengals players.

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Bears-Buccaneers

December 17th, 2006 by Tuffy

Previously posted on a defunct site; moved here for posterity

First Quarter
Bears 7 - Buccaneers 0

Tampa Bay’s film study must have been compiled by this man, for they’ve let the Bears march down the field using the run game and hitting the tight ends and running backs for short passes. Rex Grossman hasn’t really thrown the ball deep yet. They’re also kicking to Devin Hester instead of flinging the ball to the sidelines and begging for mercy.

Also, it appears someone didn’t read his self-review; the Buccaneers offense is slightly more conservative than Justice Souter at the moment. Due to the technological advances that modern sports coverage has brought us in the last 20 years, you can actually hear Gradkowski’s sphincter clench before each snap.

Thankfully, the Bears are able to slip an instant replay challenge in before the quarter ends.

Second Quarter
Bears 21 - Buccaneers 3

Rex Grossman is back to floating long passes out, hoping for a pass interference call or divine intervention. A fairly amusing special teams penalty against the Bears (hint: the boundary stripe is not a takeoff strip for the flyer) sets the Buccaneers up for business at the 26 yard line, but the Bucs offense comes alive to the tune of -1 yards. Tim Rattay starts warming up. At least Bruce will have time to update his report. (Oh, and his résumé.)

The Buccaneers kick it off to the 35 to specifically avoid Hester but don’t tackle the Bears’ special team member until the 45. They might be better off kicking it out of bounds. The Bears follow the same intricate battle plan (run, run, Desmond Clark, run) to best effect, letting Thomas Jones finish ‘er off. Jones then tosses it in the stands to a man in his late 20s wearing the execrable orange Bears shirt that has become popular in these parts. This fan’s celebration of the gift is positively magical.

Tim Rattay is in. Gradkowski didn’t turn the ball over, mostly because he averaged 8 yards per completed pass, which he did less than half the time. It’s possible that clenching sound I heard in the first quarter was Jon Gruden’s jaw.

Near the end of the half, Daryl Johnston compares Rex Grossman to a Longfellow poem:

There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good,
She was very, very good,
But when she was bad, she was horrid.

Fox throws to commercial to prevent the Earth’s axis from being altered by a football analyst reciting poetry from memory.

The Bears tack on a two-minute drill touchdown that is completed the same way the rest of the half went: short passes, runs, and Desmond Clark in the end zone. Nice spitcurl, Superman.

Third Quarter
Bears 24 - Buccaneers 10

Hey, did you know Mike Alstott is still in the league? (Does Mike Alstott realize he’s still in the league?)

Tim Rattay hits Josh Bidwell in the back of the head with a lead pass. Unfortunately, Bidwell is the punter. And 10 yards out of bounds.

Tampa Bay, here’s when you know it’s over: Olin Kreutz, the Bears center, is getting retaliation penalties and pointing at the scoreboard. The Bucs defense signs Mardy Collins for the second half.

The Tim Rattay Show finds the end zone for the first time this year on a very long drive, punctuated by me taking a nap for most of it. Alstott scored the TD to try to make me look like an ass. Don’t need the help, Mike. According to Fox, Alstott also scored the last offensive TD for the Buccaneers….three weeks ago.

Devin Hester falls from heaven, fumbling the kickoff to the Buccaneers at the 20. I’m awake now.

Fourth Quarter
Bears 31 - Buccaneers 31

Second play of the fourth quarter takes advantage of the turnover, causing my sphincter to clench a bit.

The Bears Respond. The drive is marked by multiple throws to the fullback, numerous runs by Benson (including the scoring play), and smart offensive calls by Ron Turner that limit the number of decisions Grossman has to make and how much time he needs to make them.

Fox has been putting up pictures and quotes about Lamar Hunt, but they’ve never explained who he was to younger viewers. Lost opportunity.

Tampa Bay commits its first turnover of the game (!) and you can feel free to check on your loved ones and order another pizza in preparation for the late game.

WHY WON’T YOU DIE? Joey Galloway runs a very long way on a very lucky pass. Ike Hilliard follows and it’s tied.

Overtime
Bears 34 - Buccaneers 31

Over. Fucking. Time. Tampa Bay wins the toss and will receive.

Tampa Bay swallows their own tongues almost immediately, allowing the natural order to return. The Buccaneers fumble and then a Buc player throws his helmet to the ground petulantly for a 15-yard penalty. Yet again, instant replay causes us to question all we know for another five minutes. Finally, the ruling stands.

The Bears then repeat the sensation by missing a 37-yard field goal. A proctologist with the Jaws of Life could not open my sphincter right now.

The Bears prevent the Bucs from getting outside their own 20, take the punt to mid-field, and get within field goal range on a Davis catch and a Peterson run. A 25-yard field goal then clinches the game and home field advantage during the postseason. If I had known The Tim Rattay Show was so formidable, I would have counterprogrammed better.

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Bears-Buccaneers Preview

December 17th, 2006 by Tuffy

Previously posted on a defunct site; moved here for posterity

First, I’d like to thank all of you for this kind honor. While I find the work rewarding unto itself, it’s certainly wonderful to be recognized. (And to Kissing Suzy Kolber: In. Your. FACE.)

As your newly-selected spokesperson for the planet, I want you to know I take this responsibility gravely and will do my level best to continue supporting your needs. I am here for you, little people. Now please stand and be chosen to hear the Word; it’s not necessary to genuflect constantly. Occasionally is quite sufficient.

First, I choose you, Bruce Gradkowski. You will be facing the Chicago Bears defense today. You will probably be far too busy this evening finding reasons to keep living to remember you have a status report to file when you get back in the office Monday. To assist you, I have written your status report for you before the game starts; you can file this before game time and have nothing to worry about but the game at hand.


Tampa Bay Buccaneers Football Club
One Buccaneer Place
Tampa, FL 33607

To: P. Hackett
Cc: Jo. Gruden

Quarterback Self-Review - Week 15

I. Executive Summary
My performance against the Chicago Bears in Week 15 showed both promise and improvement despite unexpected setbacks that were both impossible to predict and unavoidable. This type of steady progress reflects my hard work and personal drive to represent the Buccaneers organization proudly.

II. Project Description
i. Preparation
To prepare to face the best pass defense and overall defense in the National Football League this year, I worked with the Film Department and the Quarterbacks Coach to analyze the opposition. As you know, I have had well-documented issues differentiating between those players with the Buccaneers organization and those who compete against us. I am pleased to report I had no such issues during film study this week; I could even tell the players apart at half-speed, no longer seeing them all as blurs. I must also report that my choking sobs and panic attacks have returned, though the quality of the opposition should be considered.

Also, I participated with the first team offense again during practice. Most of the offensive line has learned my name and stopped referring to me as ‘Ground Chuck’. Anthony Davis continues to refer to me as ‘Ground Bruce’, but the others have remembered that I do not respond well to that name.

ii. Execution
The game did not go quite as planned, despite copious preparation. We discovered the Bears defense functioned adequately despite the loss of many starters. My congenital disorder that causes me to soil myself when chased by very large men did affect me again twice in the first quarter, for which I have submitted restitution forms to cover the cost of cleaning and hazardous waste removal.

Also, I continue to improve on working under full-speed game conditions. I only curled into the fetal position three times in the first half, a new personal record and a tribute to the strength and conditioning staff’s recommendation to stop working the abdominal region as much. (I believe the assistant said it best: “You can stop trying now.” It really helped me focus on the other aspects of my position.)

Despite reports to the contrary, the fumble at 6:47 in the second quarter did not occur because I squealed, flipped the ball to a defensive lineman, and yelled, “Not in the face!” None of these actions occurred; I am insulted that Fox Sports would find it amusing to overdub this scurrilous lie during the halftime score review.

It should also be noted that 31 of the 37 passes not caught by members of the Receiving Department were considered ‘drops’ by this group and should be referred to Receiving for explanation. (The other six were successfully caught by Bears defenders, showing my improvement on spirals.)

Finally, I now understand that the Victory formation should only be called when we are winning. Also, it should never be called in the third quarter on three consecutive plays. This was a simple miscommunication and not cowardice, as implied by Tony Siragusa during the television broadcast.

III. Steps for Improvement
I will continue to focus on learning the playbook, facing the correct direction, and throwing the football to members of the Receiving Department on the fly. Also, I will look into the recommendation of many Buccaneers fans that I pursue a real estate license in the off-season; I assume this will help me locate members of the Receiving Department more easily.

I look forward to receiving your reviews and serving the Tampa Bay Buccaneers Football Club again next week.

Sincerely,
Bruce Gradkowski
Senior Quarterback Engineer - Quarterbacks Department
Tampa Bay Buccaneers Football Club

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Back…and to the left. Back…and to the left.

December 14th, 2006 by Tuffy

Previously posted on a defunct site; moved here for posterity

At roughly this point every season since 1999, I find myself with stabbing pains while I watch the fine National Football League product. My weekend NFL diet is injected with 3-5 minutes of gas about once per hour, causing my eyes to roll back and my GI tract to convulse.

What could cause me such heartburn? What pains my digestion so? First and foremost, I really need to stop throwing a can of cooked spinach, a can of artichoke hearts, and a brick of cream cheese into the microwave and calling it “spinach artichoke dip”. Instead, I should perhaps call it “Colon Clog” and stop by Safeway for the natural antidote.

Second and more topically, I have long since lost all resistance to the scourge called “instant replay” and cannot protect myself against its disruptive forces. Instant replay interrupts the narrative flow of a ball game and destroys all semblance of what we’ve come to know as momentum for a dubious cause.

While I recognize there have been multiple attempts to minimize the delays caused by instant replay, here’s what we’ve been left with:

A close call is made by one or more of 87 officials on the field, at least two of whom at any given moment is close enough to the action to have his spleen shoved into his sinus cavities by an inattentive player. After the team most aggrieved by this close call contacts his Committee on Throwing a Wimpy Red Flag on the Field of Play, that team’s head coach then flings his jaunty ascot onto the field in a manner that causes the other officials to laugh and point derisively.

(Of course, head coaches always opted for the less-conspicuous beeper until that ‘technology added to aid technology’ failed, embarrassing the head coaches. Now they throw a scrap of cloth that could have been Carrie’s prom panties. If I could poll head coaches under the influence of mythical truth serum, my first question would be thus: “Don’t you wish you could just chuck that beeper at the back of the referee’s head?”)

The referee immediately bristles, as do we all, for we know we have to sit through five minutes of unbearable boredom. He trudges over to the head coach and asks, in his best maitre d’ voice, “How may I help you, sir?” In previous instant replay incarnations, this would be where the head coach would relish his opportunity to force the referee to stand quietly while the head coach shamed the referee for 30 seconds in front of millions of eyes. Now the head coach realizes this fine fellow is the one to make the final decision and should be rewarded for his trouble with cookies and milk.

The referees then jogs 100 yards to the peep show booth set up just for him on the sideline. We used to then stare at his ass for 2-3 minutes, sprinkled with 4-5 replays of the play in question. Now we have two choices: 400 replays of the play in question until we’re sure Kevin Costner is in the truck or the quick toss to commercial that makes ad executives rub their crotches involuntarily. I consider the latter the merciful viewer death. (I’d speak up for those with game tickets here, but not even the league gives a passing shit about them.)

When mercy is not on the menu, the broadcasters spend the first six replays deciding on the outcome of the play and the other 394 in a clumsy soft-shoe, trying to stretch time. Of course, broadcasters are often as wrong as the original call, but there are two primal fears for the broadcaster: dead time and more dead time.

In their defense, there is no action to let speak for itself during the Instant Replay Slow Death; they’re trying their damnedest to prevent the network signal from losing any desire to transmit itself about halfway to the satellite and collapsing in despair into the ocean.

When the instant replay official has come to the best decision that will not lower his weekly grade from Uncle Mikey (the same criteria used to initiate the “official review” at the end of each half), he jogs back to the field so the camera can pick up this:

“The ruling on the field stands. Sorry for wasting the last five minutes of your finite existence on that bullshit. First down!”

I usually miss this part; unless it’s a game I have a strong rooting interest in, I’ve changed the channel by now. At the very least, I’m off draining the Super Dragon.

I’ve never quite understood the desire for “the ‘right’ call” and for strong accuracy in officiating. In a game that openly acknowledges “a holding call could be made on any play” and “you could call pass interference on either guy there”, it’s clear officiating cannot approach perfection any time soon.

For the love of Pete, first down measurements are taken by two overweight midgets holding orange maypoles connected by a chain that wouldn’t hold your dog in the yard. You wouldn’t let them drive you to the airport; why the hell would you trust them with your trifecta wager each Sunday?

To sum up:

I want instant replay to contract cancer from syphilis acquired during an extended stay in prison for illegal rare egg collecting. After dozens of rounds of chemotherapy and radiation treatment that sap its will to live but then rebuilds that will, brick by emotional brick, I want instant replay to hear those magical words: “in remission.”

I want instant replay to step out into the bright sunshine of the hospital front entrance and feel flooded with joy and love, as if a higher power is filling instant replay with its light and recharging instant replay’s soul.

I want this to happen to instant replay, for this is the moment I want to step behind instant replay and put a bullet through its skull.

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Bears-Rams: Game Wrap-Up

December 11th, 2006 by Tuffy

Previously posted on a defunct site; moved here for posterity

Looking back at my keen analysis of the Bears’ performance during the game, I can safely say I have no fucking idea how well they’ll play from hour to hour, much less week to week. However, the Bears can look forward to the following storylines in the morning:

Hey, how about those Bears? That Rex Grossman is pretty damned good! Told you so.

Hey, how about those Bears? Playing well against bad teams and putting off the inevitable quarterback change is just going to screw the Bears in the playoffs. Soon, I’ll be saying, “I told you so.”

You are welcome to be bored by the status quo above. Instead, remember the heart rate spikes provided by Devin Hester and the soul-separating hits by the Bears defense. For all their faults, the Bears will be awfully exciting to watch this January. See you all there.

(Except you, St. Louis. Ciao.)

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