Cornhuskers, Lend Me Your Ears

True story: years ago, my friends and I would sit around, get drunk, and look for things to pass the time. One of the games we came up with was a surprisingly fun memory game. Each of us grabbed a piece of paper and pen and agreed upon a category. Each category was to be simple and plentiful. For instance, NFL, NBA, or MLB teams, Simpsons characters, European countries, etc. The aim, with nothing but paper and pen, was to recall and write down as many of the category we could think of off the top of our heads. On the surface, this seems like an incredibly easy game. Let's say you consider yourself an NBA junkie and someone asks you, "Quick, can you write down the names of all 30 teams on a piece of paper?" You'd probably laugh and start scribbling away at the easy request. Except after 25 or 28 teams, you're going to get stuck for a minute or two. You'll hate yourself for it, but inevitably, when asked to recall a large number of items, even items you're very familiar with, you're bound to suffer a brain freeze and maybe not be able to recall one or two items all together.

The category I remember best was "The 50 States." With a category like this, the game becomes much more than a game. Your pride, education, and reputation are on the line. There are no excuses for a born and bred American to not be able to recall all 50 states. I began scribbling. I was somewhere in the 40s when I began to hit a wall. I couldn't remember anything. I calmed down and started to envision the US map in my head. I knocked off a few more states. The time came when I thought my list was complete. I counted 49 states. For the life of me, I could not think of the state I was missing. I sat there for what seemed like ten minutes, trying to recall the missing state.

I obviously was very upset and gave up. I scoured down my friends' lists. The state I could not remember was Nebraska.

While this story mostly just serves as an illustration of my ignorance, I tell it because I want everyone to know how little I once thought (and still think) of the city of Lincoln, state of Nebraska, and Cornhusker football program. They literally did not exist to me and exist now only to serve as a stepping stone for Wisconsin's national title hopes. Now it's true that Nebraska's football program has historically been much more successful than Wisconsin's football program. To that I say, "Which team's hasn't?" It's also true that corn, and the name "Cornhuskers" specifically is easy to make fun of. "Cornhusking" could replace "Masturbating" in our everyday language and no one would notice the difference. To paraphrase Socrates, "Anticipate what your opponent will use against you and begin to attack the shit out of their point before they bring it up." So I cannot expect to rag on corn without cheese being thrown in my face, and quite frankly; corn, mixed with cheese, chili powder, and a little bit of pepper is delicious.

The inspiration for Nebraska's current outfit is the once-beautiful, now "in his early thirties and selling something" Eric Crouch. Already experienced in the intricacies of salesmanship, Crouch sold his hopes and dreams to the Nebraska faithful at the turn of the millennium. His efforts culminated in the 2001 Heisman trophy and a Rose Bowl loss to Miami. Drafted in the third round by St. Louis, the Rams aimed to convert Crouch to wide receiver. To which Crouch responded by pounding his fist on the table and shouting, "I'm a quarterback, goddammit!" His NFL days promptly ended after suffering a leg injury and he was last seen playing 4th-string quarterback* for the CFL's Toronto Argonauts.

*The assumption being, a 4th-string quarterback holds two clipboards.

On-again-off-again* "quarterback" Taylor Martinez is Nebraska's present-day Eric Crouch. First, let's clear up a few things: Taylor Martinez is not a girl. And despite his last name, "doesn't look like one of them Mexicans," according to Lincoln residents. One assumes he watched Crouch play growing up and realized quarterbacking the Nebraska football team did not require any quarterback-specific skills. Martinez is one of the best athletes in college football, has an identical number of carries, rushing yards, and touchdowns as his running back Rex Burkhead, and his unable to complete a pass over 10 yards. His 50.6 completion percentage is vintage Crouch.

*The term is used to describe a literal switch that can be used to turn Martinez's brain on and off.

Martinez garnered headlines last season when ESPN cameras caught his coach, Bo Pelini, laying into him during the first half of a Texas A&M away game. Staring into the maroon colored sea, Martinez thought of the prime Texas ribs he'd be digging into that night. He said nothing. Pelini was hot over a phone call Martinez apparently made to his father in the locker room. Martinez was injured and taken into the X-Ray facility. After being cleared to play, Martinez headed over to the locker room, retrieved his cell phone, and made a call to his father to tell him he was alright. Pelini caught wind of the incident and confronted his quarterback. According to team rules, cell phones are banned from the locker room. Pelini was also upset because his only chance of winning was dicking around in the locker room when he could have been playing. He suspended Martinez for the next game. Martinez's dad caught wind of the suspension, informed Pelini his son was transferring, and suggested his son wear a boot at practice to make it appear as if he couldn't play because of injury. Martinez left the switch off and put the boot on his uninjured foot. Martinez's father felt it would be harder to find a transfer school if other teams found out his son missed a game to suspension. News of Martinez's imminent transfer hit the papers and everything went to hell, including Pelini himself during the offseason for what he called, "a pleasant little vacation."

Here is the video of the incident:



Pelini's outburst is misunderstood to this day and more accurately went down like this:

Pelini: Were you fucking talking on your cell phone. [posed as a question but not meant to be one.]

Martinez: ...

Pelini: You were talking to my daughter. My goddamn daughter. Weren't you. ['']

Martinez: ...

Pelini: She's nine fucking years old. NINE!

Martinez: ...

Pelini: I know you weren't talking about Wizards of Fucking Waverly Place.

Martinez: ...

Pelini: If you fucking call my daughter ever again, under any circumstances, but especially on the fucking field during a game again it'll be the last fucking thing you ever do. Now get your fucking ass out here mother fucker.

Martinez: [under his breath and after Pelini is a safe distance away] Little bitch.

This is the relationship Nebraska is working with here. These are the two people whose civility determines whether or not they win football games. Martinez left the switch off all offseason and forgot his father decided for him to transfer. He's still in Lincoln, still the starter, and a beloved playmaker until Nebraska loses their first game. Now for the mascots.

Well, it appears to be in the shape of a Big Boy. Well, in many ways the Big Boy never left, sir. He's always offered the same high-quality meals at competitive prices. This photo also serves as a visual representation of the Cornhuskers' passing game.

Mmmm Hmmm. Narm narm narm. Which one of you fine ladies gets off on being tied up and strapped onto the end of my tractor? Really, Lil' Red? This is your hero?

Bold Prediction Number One: Taylor Martinez accomplishes the opposite of the Chicago Bears' offense last week: 278 rushing yards and 13 passing yards.

Bold Prediction Number Two: Both teams combine for over 80 points, and 65 of them will not be scored by Wisconsin.

Final Score: Wisconsin 45 - 40 Nebraska. Neither team can stop the other. Bielema and Pelini's postgame handshake is gif worthy. The 30,000 Nebraska fans that are supposedly making the trip to Madison turn out to be closer to 15,000. Most of those 15,000 get lost on the way back to their irrelevant state because they don't know how to read a map and/or cannot afford a GPS.

No Cussing In The House

Blogs With Balls is a New York-based sports blogger convention, now four years running. Those fortunate enough to attend put on their one good shirt and pair of pants, comb their hair for the first time in months, and Google search "How to tie Windsor tie." Or maybe that's just what I would do -- assuming I had the money and status worthy of attending. I think it's more about the money, as anyone can buy a ticket. Anyway, BWB presents various awards at their convention as if to say, "We're not here to celebrate mainstream print media, but we are here to celebrate mainstream electronic media!"

Joe Posnanski, the best sports writer alive, took home the award for Best Writer in something called the "Untitled Sports Media Award Project." I don't know what this means, and evidently, neither does he. It has Best Writer attached to it so we can assume the award was given to the right person. What struck me was an excerpt from Posnanski's acceptance speech, read for him because he was unable to attend:


I never expected to win this award because I generally don't swear, and I suspected that swearing would be a requirement for being named the best sportswriter on the Internet. I don't swear because I'm terrible at it, by the way. Every time I swear, I intend to sound like a character in a David Mamet play, but I end up sounding like Willis from the Jeffersons. At some point you have to know your place in the world. And my place is making outdated references to 1970s sitcoms and to not swear while doing it.


Posnanski's quip is reminiscent of the quick, but legendary beef between Will Smith and Eminem. Will Smith accepted his 1998 VMA award for "Best Male Video," the one called "Just the Two of Us," featuring his oldest son. He said something like this:

  


WOOOO. This is amazing, look at this little moon man. MOON MAN! A special thanks to my son, Trey, who appeared in the video. No, not Jaden, the son you guy's have heard of. This is 1998, remember? Jaden's only a couple of months old, and my daughter, the one who whips her hair -- she isn't even born yet! In 13 years Trey isn't going to be into the show business thing, so we won't acknowledge him anymore. Big Willie Style, ya heard the album! But f'real, this video was really important for me to do with my son. And what I'm most proud of is I can make music, clean music that I can play in front of him. Today's hip-hop music is filled with guns, drugs, and cussing. I've made a career out of everything opposite of that and still stand before you with this award. Thank you. WOOOO.


In attendance, slumped in his chair and high on a combination of amphetamines and X pills, Eminem takes in Will Smith's speech. He interprets it as a shot at him and his Aftermath record label mates specifically. He responds at the 1:40 mark of "The Real Slim Shady:"  




Was Posnanski taking a subtle shot at bloggers less adept at expressing themselves? Did Will Smith have Eminem specifically in mind? We'll never know on either account. What I do know is Posnanski managed to turn his statement around and play a joke on himself, as well as inadvertently cause this blogger to revisit a hip-hop song and "beef" just as outdated as The Jeffersons.

Posnanski, you're a fucking genius.

The Obligatory "Catching Hell" Reaction

Catching Hell, ESPN's latest in their 30 for 30 series, debuted Tuesday. It's easy to see why ESPN would choose to lead off the new 30 for 30 season with a documentary about Steve Bartman. The baseball playoffs are just around the corner and the Bartman play is one of, if not the most well-known MLB playoff moment of the last decade. It's also just a flat-out unique and compelling story, revealing the worst and saddest aspects of sports fandom and even society at large.

I'm not going to delve into any kind of review of this film because it isn't necessary. Catching Hell reveals very little new information that baseball fans don't already know. If you watched the Cubs-Marlins series or are a fan of either team, I wouldn't consider this film required viewing. If you are unfamiliar with the Bartman incident, then it's worth a watch for the story.

The only portion of the film I did find particularly interesting was the account of one of the security guards working Game 6. She describes the process the security team underwent to try and escort Bartman from the stadium. This process included hiding him in Wrigley Field, changing his appearance, smuggling him outside of the stadium, and eventually ushering him into her apartment because he was recognized on the streets. This was a man who reached out for a foul ball being treated like a member of the Witness Protection Program. It's surreal to think this happened during a baseball game.

Catching Hell tries to be more than a Steve Bartman documentary. Director Alex Gibney attempts to draw comparisons to Bartman and Bill Buckner and make a larger point about scapegoating in sports. Bill Buckner of course, let Mookie Wilson's infamous ground ball squirm through his legs in the bottom of the tenth in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. Despite enjoying a very productive 22-year career, Buckner is almost exclusively remembered for his gaff that cost Boston the championship. Towards the end of the film, Buckner is shown throwing out the first pitch of the 2008 Red Sox season. The Red Sox were coming off their second World Series championship in the last four years. Buckner finally found it within himself to throw out the first pitch after the 2007 title, a request he refused in 2005.

Gibney suggests that winning heals all wounds. He says the Boston fans have forgiven Buckner and now welcome him with open arms. He says when the Cubs win the World Series, Cubs fans will do the same for Bartman. I have a real problem with this statement. Bill Buckner was a player. He dazzled fans with his bat for over two decades. For the one "wrong" Buckner supposedly did the fans, he provided them with plenty of great baseball memories. Steve Bartman is a fan. Reaching out to grab that foul ball is all he'll ever be known for to Cubs fans. Imagine the ridiculousness of inviting Bartman to throw out a first pitch. What could the crowd cheer for? We acted like assholes, but all is forgiven (applause). You've been a loyal, paying customer to the Cubs organization (roaring applause). Bartman would decline any invitation, like he's been doing the last eight years anyway.

Catching Hell sells a fairy tale ending. Steve Bartman is never going to get that kind of closure. What's been done to him cannot be undone. This is why I fell like this documentary wasn't really about the flimsy nature of scapegoating, as I think was the intention. This documentary speaks to the ugliness of spur-of-the-moment mob mentality. Cubs fans didn't need a sympathetic film to make them regret how Bartman was treated. Almost everyone, from the message board tough guys, to the beer-throwing, asshole-chanting fans in attendance that night will tell you they were frustrated and acted out of character. That was eight years ago and they've moved on. Let this serve as a reminder that acting in accordance with an angry, drunken mob didn't and never has turned out well. One man bore the brunt of it and we're trying to determine if Cubs fans will ever forgive him? The real question should be: will Steve Bartman ever be able to forgive his fellow Cubs fans? I see no reason why he should.

An Exercise In Futility

The baseball playoffs are upon us and for Cubs fans that means staring at the corner of the ceiling for a good 45 minutes, spit forming at the sides of our mouths as we contemplate killing the spider that's been there since April. The difference this year is we have a Steve Bartman documentary that presumably is going to teach us about the nature of scapegoating in American sports culture. This is very important stuff that we need to know, especially in this day and age. Utmost importance, friends.

October is a month dominated by Pumpkin Spice Lattes and changing leaf colors. Somewhere in there (Tuesday-Thursday) people find time to discuss the baseball playoffs. This is fine, but what about the consistently bad teams who can't be bothered with trifling matters such as winning? Their contributions should not be forgotten. That is why I have created the Idleons. The Idleons are the exact opposite of the Playoffs. The worst three teams in each division earn an Idleon spot, in addition to one Wild Card. The Wild Card is the team with the worst record who did not finish at the bottom of their division. Seeding and Wild Card tie-breakers are determined by W-L record within the division -- the team with the worse record receives the higher seed or Wild Card spot. It's all the same as the Playoffs, with bad records instead of good ones, and no play-in tiebreakers.

Microsoft Word is acting up -- punishment for trying to encroach on MLB's stronghold on the coveted Tuesday through Thursday work day slot. Therefore, I do not have a handy illustration of the Idleon seeding. Don't worry, if seeding is important to you, it's easy enough to set up yourself. Instead, I present the number of times each team has made the Idleons in the last ten years.

Who would you guess is the most successful Idleon team of the last ten years?  

?

If you said the Royals, then congratulations, you are correct. The Royals have qualified for the Idleons an amazing nine times in the last ten years. This is arguably more impressive than anything Playoff-related in the last ten years. We need to start paying attention to the Idleons, for no other reason than to remind ourselves Kansas City is an American city with two professional sports teams. Wear that crown proudly Sluggerrr and enjoy your harem of Kansas City's finest. Whatever extracurricular activities you plan on getting into tonight, just remember: Under no circumstances should you take the crown off.

The list of Idleon appearances in the last ten years are as follows:*

Kansas City - 9
Baltimore - 6
Pittsburgh - 6
Seattle - 6
Tampa Bay - 6
Washington - 6
Arizona - 4
Chicago Cubs - 4
Detroit - 4
San Diego - 4
Cleveland - 3
Milwaukee - 3
NY Mets - 3
Texas - 3
Cincinnati - 2
Colorado - 2
Florida - 2
Atlanta - 1
Houston - 1
LA Dodgers - 1
Minnesota - 1
Oakland - 1
San Francisco - 1
Toronto - 1

*2011 results are as of September 26th. Number of appearances may be affected based on what happens in the last two games of the season.

The Yankees, Red Sox, White Sox, Angels, Cardinals, and Phillies have not qualified for the Idleons in the last ten years. So, you know, fuck 'em.

Roy Williams' Beautiful (In)Consistency

Roy Williams is much maligned in Chicago because he dropped some preseason receptions and replaced Johnny Knox's pretty hazel eyes in the starting lineup. The Knox situation is obviously indefensible, but Williams' occasional stone hands should come as no surprise. From the University of Texas, to Detroit, to Dallas, the book has been out on Williams. He's going to make some spectacular catches that remind you of how bright his future his. Then he's going to drop some routine passes that remind you he's a ninth-year wide receiver and far too old to be spoken of in terms of potential.

Roy Williams made his name in the NFL by being one of its most remarkably inconsistent players. No one can make the routine catches difficult and the difficult catches routine quite like him. He is one of the poster boys for what the NFL's detractors call a culture of showmanship over substance. He celebrates every first down catch by extending his long right arm and pointing -- no different than the referee's first down signal. Almost every receiver has indicated their own first down at least once in their career but no receiver remains as steadfastly loyal to the gesture as Williams. Williams' first down signal is the one consistency in an otherwise capricious career.

When it comes to Roy Williams, erratic is what we know. So why should his first down celebrations be any different? Rather than replicating the same boring hand signal, Williams should be trying to find new and creative ways to celebrate first downs. Here are a few suggestions.

    

NAME: Unemployment Line, Credit Card Declined

GAME TO UNVEIL: Week 5, @Detroit

DESCRIPTION: Historically, there are two appropriate ways to act at an unemployment line. The first is to jam your hands into your coat pockets and look straight ahead. Avoid all eye contact. Hum along to Ben Selvin's "Happy Days Are Here Again." The second is to cross your arms across your chest and look pissed off. Think of all the dumb fucks who still have jobs. The first person who asks for anything as much as the time is getting their head smashed into the concrete wall. Roy Williams doesn't have pockets so he has to settle for the second historically appropriate way to act.

RESULT: The state of Michigan, suffering from the third highest unemployment rate in the US knows the look all too well. They remember Williams was able to escape their dreadful 0-16 team five weeks into the season. Feelings of bitterness begin to fest within Lions fans. They contemplate burning tires late into the morning before realizing their team is 4-1 after defeating the Bears on Monday night. Things are looking up.

 

NAME: I Just Rhymed Kodak With Kodak, Pay Me

GAME TO UNVEIL: Week 9, @Philadelphia

DESCRIPTION: Cuban-American rapper Pitbull, despite making a career off of danceable songs, never learned how to dance himself. To cover up his deficiencies, he snaps his fingers and sways from left to right. One suspects young Pitbull picked up these moves from his father who was influenced by the sudden influx of rhythm-retarded Americans vacationing in Havana before the Castro regime. Dr. Pepper was impressed with how well Pitbull hid his inability to cut a rug and scooped him up to promote their equally coy product. Williams adopts the two-snap, left, right, left first down celebration to a chorus of Philly boos.

RESULT: Philly fans do not pick up on the the thinly veiled reference to Mike Vick and the pitbulls he murdered years ago. Had they known they would have become especially offended because Vick gives them the best chance to win a Super Bowl. Philadelphia reporters explain to Vick the connection between Williams' first down celebration and the actions that landed him in prison for almost two years. Vick says all the right things. The NFL Live crew devotes an entire half-hour segment to Vick's new found sincerity.

 

NAME: People Were Doing This Before The 1968 Olympics

GAME TO UNVEIL: Week 12, @Oakland

DESCRIPTION: Oakland is a city with a longstanding history of racial division and police brutality. From the city's ashes spawned the Black Panthers, a movement that would both terrify and inspire millions of Americans. In order to pay tribute to what Roy Williams believed was a world-class organization (particularly the free breakfast programs), he celebrates a first down by standing still and raising his right fist. Williams' timing couldn't be worse as the Bears are draped in their two-minute offense with no timeouts. His celebration costs the team a shot at a 48-year Robbie Gould field goal.

RESULT: Williams is accused of reverse racism by the Chicago media. Oakland fans misinterpret the gesture as questioning their manhood. They challenge Williams to a fight -- right there in the visitor's tunnel. The fans become confused and soon direct their misplaced rage at each other. A brawl ensues and results in the arrest of three grown-men painted head to toe in silver. Roy Williams v. O.co Coliseum is still pending.

Aaron Rodgers: The Giver

I've been thinking long and hard about the upcoming Packers game and have come to one conclusion: Aaron Rodgers did the Bears and their fans a favor. Huh? You're probably thinking. The Bears had the chance to knock the Packers out of the sixth seed by defeating them in Week 17. They instead showcased some vanilla play-calling (even by their standards) and allowed Green Bay to escape with a narrow 10-3 win. You know how the story ends. If anything we did them a favor, last year.

Maybe but we're discussing the now. Let's start with the inevitable. The Packers are going to win on Sunday. They're going to win convincingly, probably by 20+ points. Go ahead and throw out the "but it's always a close game when the Pack come to town" argument. Keep kidding yourself. Chicago's O-Line couldn't pick up a blitz if it was buried comfortably in a litter box. Green Bay likes to blitz, sometimes in odd situations, and is really good at disguising them. As was the case in New Orleans, the Matt Forte checkdown will be the only open receiver Cutler sees all day.

Aaron Rodgers' career numbers against the Bears: 133-194 (69%), 1396 passing yards, 7 TD, 4 INT, 4-2 overall record. Good numbers, especially completion percentage, but not as good as one might expect. Credit the Bears defense for keeping Rodgers relatively human during their six match-ups, but this Sunday feels like the time for a big breakout. I may be wrong, but I doubt it.

So how exactly has Aaron Rodgers done us a favor? He shaved his horseshoe mustache, that's how. Anyone who has followed the Packers recently knows there was always an air of mystery surrounding Rodgers. He inexplicably fell to the bottom of the first round where the Packers snagged him 24th in the 2005 Draft. "He wears oversized clothes," the Green Bay locals gossiped when they saw wander the town. Under the "tutelage" of Brett Favre, no one was sure what exactly Rodgers did. Did he study the playbook? Could he even talk? Rodgers blended in in the way you would expect Brett Favre's back-up to -- he was there, but no one would even notice if he wasn't.

While riding the bench, Rodgers sported shoulder-length hair. He experimented with full beards, goatees, regular old mustaches, and three-day stubble. His willingness to change can be attributed to a lack of identity. He was still trying to find himself. Then again, the entertainment options open to Rodgers in Green Bay were slim. Either play around with his face hair or take up World of Warcraft. He chose the former before settling in on the wholesome Midwestern look after being named the starter. Rodgers is from California.

Watch this:

Rodgers' stat line Sunday : 34-38, 396 yards, 4 TD, 0 INT, 145.2 QB Rating

Class act. Humble. Born Leader. I can't help but respect him. I wish he was on our team.

  

Rodgers' stat line Sunday : 34-38, 396 yards, 4 TD, 0 INT, 145.2 QB Rating

What a fucking douche bag.

The mustache, or lack thereof, is absolutely essential here. Properly-groomed Aaron Rodgers looks like your typical 9-to-5 Subway-sandwich-for-lunch businessman. Respectable. Excellent worker, deserves a promotion but struggles to get noticed because half his floor wears the same red tie. Mustachioed Aaron Rodgers looks like the northern Wisconsin everyman. Send him into the woods with nothing but a Cold Steel 6' Outdoorsman hunting knife and a 18-rack of Miller High Life and he'll come back with dinner and/or a new kitchen ornament. Properly-groomed Aaron Rodgers is the picture of conformity -- the downtown Chicago businessman. Mustachioed Aaron Rodgers embraces being different and shoves his difference in your face. Us Chicagoans laugh at the northern Wisconsin types who claim to be proud of where they're from. God forbid their star quarterback, the best player in the NFL, were to beat us year after year, AND choose to look like one of them in the process. It would be too much to bear.  

While taking in Sunday's game, remember: it could be worse. Mustachioed Rodgers could be be handing out championship belts and blowing the imaginary smoke emanating from his finger gun. "Isn't that the guy from Deadwood?" is a question your wife won't have to ask. Your three-year-old can stop crying because Jay Cutler is doing that thing again where he twitches his right arm and your son thinks Rodgers shot him and Cutler's arm is about to fall off. "It won't hurt if he watches an old episode of The Rifleman with me," you so foolishly thought two weeks ago. Enjoy the game, expect the beatdown, and at least be thankful Aaron Rodgers could find a razor in that god-awful shit stain of a city known as Green Bay.*

*I've never been to Green Bay.

The One-Man Cover Band, Tips Not Included

Matt Forte carried the literal and figurative load on Sunday. He caught 53 percent of Chicago's completed passes, ran for 80 percent of their carries, and accounted for a staggering 67 percent of the Bears' total offense. Forte also cooked pancakes in the morning, delivered personalized wake-up calls to his 52 teammates and drove the team bus to the Superdome. He was planning on returning kicks, but Devin Hester is so damn stubborn (and conscious of the record-book). 

There's nothing left for Forte but to get paid. NFL football is a business, as we're told, and one of the most brutal. For every 30-million dollar guaranteed contract there are hundreds of over-performing players working for, let's suspend basic human judgement and call them "pennies." The risk of career ending injury is higher than any other major American sport by a wide margin. Contracts are not guaranteed and the average running back lasts 2.57 years in the league. Management wants the best value (i.e. cheap labor) and players want long-term security. 

Watching Forte on Sunday, I couldn't help but feel like he was being run into the ground. It was not Martz's intention to run 70 percent of the offense through one player, it just happened to work out that way. Each carry, each reception, and especially each hit takes its toll. Thousands of potential running backs are waiting in the wings. The sad reality of an NFL player, especially a running back, is that the second he earns a starting job, his team is scouring the scene for his potential replacement -- better sooner than later. Forte shoulders the offensive load, and a whole lot more than that.

In order to bring a little light to his contract situation, Forte had a talk with Bulls back-up power forward Taj Gibson -- another young player whose production and compensation don't match. Joakim Noah makes a special guest appearance.    

"Sup, Taj?"

"Uh, do I know you?"

"It's me, Matt. Matt Forte. Chicago Bears running back."

"I see you went ahead and shaved your head there."

"Yeah. You like it?"

"Hmm, how do I...We look kind of alike, bro."

"I know! I modeled my new look after you. Your dunk over D. Wade in the Playoffs -- Nothing short of inspirational."

"This was kind of my thing."

"Did somebody say THING?!?!"

"Wait...Ya'll some twins. Hehehe."

"Leave him alone, Joakim. He's going through a really rough time right now. The Bears front office won't renegotiate his contract. He's only making 600 grand this year."

"600?!?! Get the fuck outta here. Should I tell him what Booz made last year?"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO."

"Even Scal made over a mil. I have to tell him that."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO. THAT'S EVEN WORSE."

"Man, between the guaranteed contracts, lack of serious head trauma, and the ability to walk after our career is over, we make out pretty good."

"What are you guys saying over there?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I like the new look, by the way."

"Alright, well I gotta run. Martz is designing 1200 new plays for Green Bay and I'm the number one option in all of them." 

A Quick Thought On Fantasy Football

I completed my fantasy football draft today; had the 2nd overall pick and selected Arian Foster. My team is OK, a lot of question marks. I relied a little too heavily on injury-prone players and guys who broke out last year. I also had a subconscious fascination with the 49ers. Three of my fifteen players are 49ers. I suspect that can't be a good thing. 

We usually discuss fantasy football as I did in the previous six sentences, and then relate everything back to the point system. Is this a good match-up for my running back? Which of these three receivers is most likely to break out? Will quarterback so-and- so's injury be a good or bad thing for the run game? We tend to forget about the human element, you know, the people who play fantasy sports.

Many people have tried to pinpoint the reason why 27 million Americans play fantasy football. The same answers always seem to creep up: fantasy football creates interest in NFL games many fans would otherwise have no interest in, the spirit of competition, the chance to feel like a GM. These are all good reasons, and there are many more. I'm interested in the groups of friends who create their own league and get together every year to draft.

My modest 10-team draft was conducted at 2:00 PM Wednesday afternoon. This time all but assures a mixture of college kids and low-lives, with the occasional office worker furiously maximizing and minimizing his page. Our league was chosen at random. None of us knew each other. I arrived in the Live Draft about fifteen minutes before start time. One guy, the sixth overall pick, typed "Hey" into the conversation bar. Another guy, the first overall pick, expressed excitement over the chance to finally draft Adrian Peterson. I suppose I could have added my two cents, but I didn't. After all, I didn't know these people and was not particularly interested in forging a relationship with them.

I thought of the groups of friends, sometimes living in different parts of the country, who agree upon a location every year (VEGAS, BABY, VEGAS) to hold their fantasy football draft. Sure, the draft is important, but it's easy to see the real reason for these fantasy football leagues. They provide a yearly opportunity for a group of old friends to get together and catch up. Life eventually gets the better of us. We have to grow up, move around, maybe get married and have kids. Through all of this, fantasy football, of all things, can keep people together. To me, this trumps however many points Arian Foster is going to score this week.

At the heart of it, fantasy football is a silly game. All of us who have even an ounce of perspective know this. If you play with friends and family, feel fortunate that you have friends and family who are willing to play. Getting together in a Vegas casino or even your neighbor's house is a beautiful thing. You don't want to be drafting at two in the afternoon on a Wednesday with a bunch of strangers. You really don't.

Why Don't You Like Me?

Maybe I'm wrong, but it seems that the younger generation, which I still consider myself to be a part of, has an unhealthy obsession with being hated. Perhaps this this just a poor reflection of the people I associate with and am trying to distance myself from, but I can't go on Facebook or sometimes even Twitter without someone mentioning their "haters." Whether these haters are perceived or real, I'm going with perceived 99 percent of the time, is besides the point. I blame rap music. (Just kidding).

For one to be hated, at least in the context of this younger generation, is usually the result of having achieved success in life. The "haters" are jealous of success and turn to bitterness and hatred of others as a way to mask their own problems. This is by no means a new concept, just one I feel is being flipped around and used as a badge of honor nowadays. I don't think 1950s businessmen gauged their success by the amount of negativity surrounding them, but I also wasn't alive in the 1950s.

The so-called normal people's (by that I mean not rich or famous) claims of being hated usually fall on deaf ears. Let's use my life as an example. I spend hours of my day reading books and Internet articles. I hand-write an unfinished novel in my former high school and college notebooks. When I'm not writing in those notebooks, I stare at the computer screen and think of sports-related things to write on this blog. I own one pair of jeans and about 8-10 T-Shirts. I have a medium-sized record collection, half of which was inherited. No one in their right mind would waste their time being jealous of me.

However, being hated is something the sports fan knows all too well. Miami football. Duke basketball. Yankees baseball. Cowboys football. Big-Three Heat basketball. Ask fans of these teams how kindly they're received. Chances are fans of these teams probably start to enjoy the hate after a while. Save for the still-in-the-process-of-trying-to-win-it-all-Heat, all of these teams have had tremendous success in the past. There are certainly other factors that contribute to the hatred of them and their fan base, but it all starts with success. No one cares about a perennial loser.

Since so many "normal people" gravitate towards sports, it seems natural that one's affiliation with a sports team is probably their only hateable offense. I've always wanted to know what this feels like. The closest I ever felt to hatred because of the team I rooted for was sophomore year of college. I went to school in Wisconsin and the Bears went to the Super Bowl. I wore my Bears hat like a scarlet letter. The Bears went on to lose the Super Bowl, so the joke was kind of on me in the end. The Cubs exist as a mere punchline. Outside of New York, the Bulls teams of the 90s were more revered than hated. 

I think this year's Wisconsin Badgers have a real chance of being the college football team everyone loves to hate. College football teams like Miami, Ohio State, and Notre Dame will always have their fair share of detractors regardless of how good they are, but hatred in sports moves in cycles. When the constants are losing, the public needs a new whipping boy. For Wisconsin, I think all the necessary elements are there for a one-year hatred period.

Take a look at Wisconsin's schedule. Now think of a sexually inappropriate joke to signify how easy something is. Their non-conference schedule includes home games against UNLV, Oregon State, and Div. 1-FCS's own South Dakota, and a game against Northern Illinois at "neutral" Soldier Field. Given the size of Wisconsin's fan base, number of alumni who live in Chicago, and the close proximity to Madison, this is basically another home game. Wisconsin doesn't face a true road contest until October 22nd in East Lansing! Add in the uncertainty surrounding Michigan State, Ohio State, and Penn State's programs, and it's very possible a home game against Nebraska, the fifth game of the season, will be Wisconsin's only roadblock to an undefeated season. Indiana, Purdue, Minnesota, and Illinois are well-dressed punching bags. People love to hate on team's with easy schedules. Especially those god-forsaken SEC supporters.          

Viewers of the Big Ten Network will remember the above commercial well. It's notable now because half of the featured coaches have since been canned, and for just how creepy Joe Paterno is. Would you entrust your child's future with this 84-year-old man? I thought this was supposed to be a promotional tool...You'll notice Bret Bielema sporting his patented Bielema voice.

"Big Dubyah. On the helmet."

"Alrighty, boys. Let's run the pigskin up the gut now. Woo-boy is it a good day for football."

Bielema grew up on a hog farm in Prophetstown, a tiny city in northwest Illinois. "I always chuckle because I came from a town of 1,800 people," Bielema once said. "But I had 2,500 pigs on my farm." If there's a better person to represent the state of Wisconsin and the Midwest as a whole, I can't think of anyone. During his time at Florida, head coach Steve Spurrier used to play with the dumb southerner stereotype. "Well, aww shucks, guys," he'd say. "I'm just slingin' the ball 'round, not worried bout scorin' no heap a points." He ran up the score on opponents and played dumb while doing so.

"We're just playing Wisconsin smash-mouth football," Bielema says. Bielema may just be the Midwest version of 90s Spurrier. Score points, a lot of them, and then rationalize it in the form of regional colloquialisms. Bielema already has the reputation of being a bit of a prick in that respect. The Badgers scored 201 points in their last three games of last year, including 83 on Indiana. They scored 70 or more in three different games. The motivation for this seemed to be because they could. People don't like when teams show up lesser opponents, and if his previous years at the helm are any indication, there will be plenty of that this year from Bielema.

Wisconsin wins the old-fashioned way. Run the ball (preferably 50 times a game), draw up a few intermediate passing routes to keep the defense honest, win the special teams battle, and play reasonably stout defense. There's nothing pretty about this kind of football unless you enjoy seeing 12 yard runs up the middle for six straight minutes. Plenty of people, including myself, love to see a good rushing attack pan out, but plenty others, especially neutrals, want to see the ball fly more than two times every drive. People hate to see boring win, and Wisconsin wins in boring fashion.

To recap: college football appears to be in need of a team to hate this year because the traditionally hated teams probably won't figure prominently in this year's national title race. Wisconsin has many of the necessary elements to make a team worth hating. They have a pathetic non-conference schedule and possibly a weak conference schedule as well. They have a coach with a reputation for running the score up, who represents the Midwest a little more strongly than anyone outside the Midwest is comfortable with. And Wisconsin does not play an exciting brand of football. Get your tomatoes ready.

There's only one thing left to say:

In Defense Of CFB's Opening Weeks

Yesterday, somewhere in between hour 9 and 10 of college football, a thought occurred to me. I began to think about all of the people I know who don't enjoy college football. They seem to have two main gripes: The quality is not good enough; understandable, I too prefer NFL football. Second gripe, this time quoted! "Once they get into conference play it's OK, but all these teams like Wisconsin schedule a bunch of non-conference cupcakes and run the score up. The first few weeks are boring because the big schools don't play anyone."

I have an issue with the second gripe. Besides the obvious fact that there are big-time first week match-ups (Oregon-LSU, anyone)?, the idea that an automatic qualifying BCS team versus a non-automatic qualifier is a grave injustice to the spirit of competition just isn't true.

Here's the thought that occurred to me: The opening weeks of the college football season are no different than the first weekend of the NCAA basketball tournament. Big versus small school match-ups, win-or-go home attitude (not literally in the case of football, but a loss ends hope of competing for the National Championship), a million games going on at once, match-ups that look competitive on paper and turn out not to be and vice versa, etc. Assuming our hypothetical viewer is equal parts college basketball and college football fan, there's no reason why he/she should be more enamored with the NCAA tournament than the college football season.

However, it seems the average fan of both college sports is a bigger fan of the NCAA tournament. This I think is due to the illusion of importance. The NCAA tournament provides a nice, clean bracket of what is to happen. In college football we have no such path. As is the case in basketball, there are a number of things that can occur which alter the landscape towards football's title game. We just may not know it at the time. It's easy to understand the ramifications of the one seed losing in the second round because there's nothing to understand. They're sent packing regardless of what the other teams do. If the number one ranked team loses in Week 5, a couple losses from other teams can still land them in a BCS game. The literal extinction of a team's season, I think, is appealing to many sports fans.

We also can't understate the importance of the Bracket Tournament Challenge. People, even those who haven't watched a game all season, fill out brackets and develop a built-in interest. Same thing with the NFL, where fantasy football is bigger than the actual games for some. The various pay-ins challenges associated with college bowl games haven't caught on with the mainstream. Fear not haters of early-season college football, disregard the ink-stained bracket, camp in front of the TV this Saturday and take a page out of the way you enjoy the NCAA tournament.

There's a plethora of games to choose from, don't feel handcuffed to one. The games between two highly ranked teams will often fall short of expectations and that's OK. Pick a new game. TCU -Baylor and Auburn-Utah State were less anticipated match-ups that proved to be more entertaining than Oregon-LSU and Boise State-Georgia. If one game starts to fade, switch over to the next one. If a game is going down to the wire, abandon the game you're watching and switch over to it. Sound familiar? This is what everyone does during the first weekend of the NCAA tournament. There's gold to be had in watching college football. It just might not include a 50 dollar payday and a year's worth of respect from your know-nothing coworkers.    

Peter Crouch Photo Tribute

Yesterday brought the somber news of Peter Crouch's departure. Crouch, along with Wilson Palacios are headed to Stoke City. The news appeared imminent given Crouch's lack of goal-scoring last year and Spurs' acquisition of Emmanuel Adebayor. Crouch's departure is probably a welcome sign for many fans, but a sad moment for me personally. Crouch is actually one of the reasons I began rooting for Spurs.

I dove into the Premier League last year unaccustomed to the waters. Save for the popular teams and players, I didn't know anything. Being American, and thus free of any ties to a particular team, area, or the sport itself, I decided to choose a team at random to root for. Two factors impacted my decision making: No Manchester United, Chelsea, or Arsenal -- I didn't want to support one of the smug powerhouses that feel it's their right, not privilege, to win the title every year. Second, I wanted to recognize some of the players on the team I rooted for, meaning they had to have competed in the World Cup.

I first saw Crouch in the 2006 World Cup, and like most people, was struck by how unusual he looked. Nothing seemed to make sense about a 6'7 skin-and-bones soccer player. As I began to understand, height is particularly useful on set pieces and seeking out crosses in the box in general. This is what Crouch excelled at -- finding the ball in the air. But more than anything, Crouch appealed to my still-developing soccer sensibilities. To my untrained eye, soccer just seemed like a silly sport. A lot of kicking the ball in the air, few shots, and even fewer scoring opportunities. Guys blatantly took dives and this seemed to be an accepted part of the game. I had trouble understanding the laissez faire attitude towards when and where free kicks and throw-ins occurred, and how stoppage time boiled down to a judgement call.

Crouch embodied the silliness I came to expect from a soccer game. He was a head taller than everyone, as awkward athletically as his appearance suggested. Yet, somehow he always managed to find the goal. For all the success Crouch has had in his career, his legacy will be defined by how goofy he looked doing everything, and that's why I love him. Here is a photo tribute to the one and only Peter Crouch.

Crouch at the age of 18. All former and current teenagers can relate to that awkward stage growing up. Fortunately for us, Crouch never grew out of his.

Crouch's predictably-titled Walking Tall: My Story can be had (you won't believe this) for only 1 cent via Amazon! Confusion arose when the title, accompanied by Crouch lustily staring at the reader, caused some people to misdiagnose the autobiography as a sexcapade novel.

Here's Crouch doing what any man would do if he could touch a supermodel without being arrested. The woman is Crouch's wife Abbey Clancy, who he famously cheated on with a teenage prostitute. This is probably the only blemish on an otherwise sterling record. Crouch could have been a hero, the poster boy for an everyman, just like us, yet winning at life because of his ability to put a ball in a net. I'd like to say he messed up in that regard, but she stayed with him, so maybe he can't lose.

Crouch's robot celebration he unveiled in the preparatory matches leading up to the 2006 World Cup. He stopped doing the robot because he felt it was becoming a distraction for the national team. This is Peter Crouch's blend of awkwardness and humor in a nut shell.

Who hasn't ended up at a bar in the wee hours of the morning with only one shirt button, the middle button at that, still intact, with drinks spilled all over your lap? Here's Crouch partying with former Spurs and now current Stoke teammate Jonathan Woodgate. Crouch said Woodgate was instrumental in recruiting him to Stoke, probably so they could recreate nights like this in Staffordshire.

With marriage and parenthood comes a sense of contentment. Gone is the former partying womanizer -- at least I hope so. Crouch is here taking a stroll with wife Clancy and daughter Sophia in the stroller. Questions of infidelity, goal-scoring, and robotic dance moves are now replaced with, "Peter, what the fuck are you wearing?"

Best of luck at Stoke, Crouchy. I'll miss you.