Beavis and Butt-head Do the 21st Century

The year is 1994 and like most six-year-olds, I climb out of bed at a late hour. It feels late to me, maybe 9:00 or 9:30. I know which days to get out of bed and which days to stay put. My parents would just shoo me back upstairs and tell me to go to bed, but they're out tonight. My 16-year-old sister is "babysitting," which consists of waiting a couple of hours until my brother and I fall asleep, make sure we're tucked in, and then do whatever she wants. She babysat us frequently, about once a month.

These are the days I wait for. I know to get out of bed and quietly tip-toe down the edge of the stairs. Five steps down and I can peer over the stair railing and watch the TV. A cartoon is on, it doesn't matter which one, I like all cartoons. Had my parents been downstairs, I would have watched for a minute and quietly went back up the stairs, hoping they wouldn't hear me. With my sister it's different -- she caves easier. I slowly continue my trek down the stairs and rub my eyes for effect. "Could you not sleep?" she asks me, and I say "No, I couldn't." This is usually all it takes. She allows me to sit next to her and watch TV until I fall back asleep. Just like that, my first viewing of Beavis and Butt-head. My parents would never have allowed me to stay up, I thought, let alone watch a show like this.

I never understood the appeal of Beavis and Butt-head, partially because I was too young to know what half the jokes meant. Another part of me found them annoying. I couldn't stand the constant laughing and grunting and snickering. I heard enough of those sounds in school. When I watched TV I wanted to get away from them and experience something new. As I got older, Beavis and Butt-head began to grow on me, but mostly for artificial reasons. It was labelled a "cool" show and I wanted to be a "cool" kid. So I watched with my friends and laughed at the jokes I didn't understand and laughed at the jokes I didn't find funny. Then I turned ten, approaching the age when this show would have resonated with me, but Beavis and Butt-head was cancelled in November of 1997. I missed the boat by a couple of years.

Through my teen years, I became acquainted with the show through reruns of various episodes and the movie. Creator Mike Judge was now working on King of the Hill, a show I adored. Seventeen years removed from my initial thrilling and blurry-eyed experience, Beavis and Butt-head is back on MTV. It premiered yesterday, sporting the same formula that made is successful. Beavis and Butt-head was always a character-driven show, allowing our two anti-heroes to make magic out of events we'd usually find too unbelievable or mundane to be funny. Yesterday, the boys goaded a homeless man, who they believed to be a zombie, into biting them. In their minds, this would give them the suave, female seduction powers seen in Twilight. They riddled away in a hospital bed with Hepatitis A, B, C, and just about every other known virus. Later, Beavis found an onion in his chili dog. He closely inspected the onion, causing his eyes to water. This conveniently occurs during an episode of The Bachelor. For the rest of the episode, Butt-head makes it a point to let everyone know Beavis cried during The Bachelor, which Beavis vehemently denies. It sounds stupid, and it is, but the formula continues to work.

Beavis and Butt-head built its reputation on the legitimately hilarious music video sequences. Beavis and Butt-head confine themselves to the couch, and watch and comment on the popular music videos of the day. The show again lucks out because this is an easy blueprint to replicate -- they simply replace Alice in Chains and the "Safety Dance" with LMFAO and the cast of Jersey Shore. The show will undoubtedly find a new niche audience and even pull back some of the 20 and 30-somethings, but will it still resonate with teenagers like it once did?

We're in an age of Twitter, Facebook, and personalized blogs. Kids have platforms now that were not available to them in 1993 when this show initially aired. If people want to share their opinions, it's pretty easy in 2011. Whether or not others are listening is besides the point. Blogs and social networks have at least created the illusion that everyone's thoughts are important. Why else would someone twitpic what they had for lunch, or post on their wall about how so-and-so fucked them over? Gone are the days of sitting on the couch and complaints falling on deaf ears. Teenagers take to the Internet to voice their opinions and frustrations of everyday life. The fact that these words show up and are stored in cyberspace give them more meaning than a soundbite, unrecorded and forgotten.

Beavis and Butt-head aired from 1993-1997, before social networks and widespread blogging. The Internet was just starting to find its way into households. Most of us were probably too preoccupied with trying to figure out what the Internet was to even fathom where it was going. The generation of teenagers who were watching Beavis and Butt-head could relate to lounging around and making fun of the absurdity of the world around them. Criticisms of things as simple as music videos sometimes turned into critiques of politics and human behavior. It must have been comforting to see two cartoon kids on the TV, albeit immature and over-the-top, mimicking the thoughts and behaviors of real-life teenagers. Imagine having only the newspapers and talking heads as opinion-makers. Nowadays, we can get our information from a variety of sources we consider reasonable. In 1993, Beavis and Butt-head were relatable when most news outlets were not talking about the things teenagers wanted to talk about.

If the first episode is any indication, Beavis and Butt-head will be just as funny as it was the first go around. However, I doubt present day teenage life will allow for it to reach the iconic status it did under the previous generation. I suppose that wasn't the point of bringing it back anyway. Instead of a show representative of teenage life, it will likely fall into the quickly discussed and discarded bin that so many subjects do in today's fast-paced information cycle. I, for one, am happy to at least be awake and old enough to understand what's going on this time.   

Welcome Aboard Theo

You have so much to look forward to.

"THEO. WOO. BERNSTEIN. WOO. THEO. WOO."

".........."

"First, you gotta sign Pujols and then move him back to third. HELLO, he was good there. Then sign Prince, and BOOM. And get DeRosa back here. Why the HELL did we let him go?! CLASS ACT and GRITTY as all hell. And what's it gonna take to get CAMPANA in the lineup everyday? HELLO! And get rid of those bums SORIANO and MARMOL. And tell Zambrano to give back some of that ACE money! Kick him to CURB for all I care. Play on playa. GO CUBS GO. GO CUBS GO. Hey Chicago, whadaya say?

".........."

"Hey there."

".........."

"I tell ya, there's nothing like a day at the ballpark. Good, wholesome entertainment. I love just rounding up the family in the ol' Honda Odyssey and taking a trip to the greatest city in the world. Keep the doors locked, boys! Sure, I payed 25 dollars for parking, but it's nothing to me. In fact, I'm going to pay upwards of 300 hundred dollars today! Who cares? You can't put a price on fun. But is there something you can do about the language around here? Now I'm not trying to impede on anyone's good time, but, pardon my French, some of these guys can be real jerk-offs. I have two young boys here with me, ya know what I'm sayin'?

".........."

"Attaboy, Steiney. We're getting better everyday. I can feel it."

".........."

"I will remain visible."

".........."

*Blows gently in the wind.*

".........."

"Well, shit son."

".........."

"I bet you thought I was going to say 'Here's looking at you, kid.' Well, I'm not. And we're clearly not at the end of the movie yet, anyway."

"Yes, my grandfather co-wrote Casablanca. I love deep dish pizza, Oprah, and Jim Belushi. Whoops, it's not called the Sears Tower anymore. I don't put ketchup on my hot dogs. I don't believe in curses. Ron Santo was a wonderful, wonderful man who deserves to be in the Hall of Fame. Let's play two! Cheeseburger Cheeseburger Cheeseburger. I hope I never have to see any of you again." 

Nick Toon (No Nickelodeon)

Perusing Twitter a few weeks ago, I came across Wisconsin Senior wideout Nick Toon's Twitter handle -- @TOOOOOOOOOOON -- a tip of the cap to the fans who bellow his name after every catch. It's not the funniest or most clever, but it's my new favorite Twitter handle. My first thought was to count the number of "O"s because why not? I was pleased to count 11 "O"s. Solid. Eleven is an arbitrary, clunky number. Ten is nice and clean. The 11 tells me Toon typed a "T," placed his right index finger on the "O" key and held it there for a few seconds, and followed up with an "N." Had he been concerned with aesthetics or practicality, he would have made it an even ten. I immediately thought of situations in which his Twitter handle may be problematic:

UW-MADISON STUDENT: I'll hit you on Twitter about this Agricultural Journalism project. What's your handle?

TOON: It's TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON.

UW-MADISON STUDENT: Uhh, how many "O"s is that?

TOON: Jesus, I have no idea. Just type my name in the search box and my account should pop up on the right side.

UW-MADISON: So you want me to type your name into Twitter? Is this some kind of lame attempt to show me how many people are talking about you?

TOON: I have over five thousand followers.

And so on.

I've often wondered if athletes seriously consider why the crowd chants their name. They're fan favorites or good players, those seem like the obvious answers. Sometimes familiarity with a player -- he's played most or all of his career for the same team, or even tradition -- we chant his name because we've always done it, play a part. During pregame introductions in the 1990s, roars of LUUUUUUUUUUUUUC would fill the United Center when Luc Longley was introduced. Nowadays, Luc has been replaced with LUUUUUUUUUUUU for Luol Deng. For Bulls fans, tradition meets appreciation in the form of pregame introductions. Each time Packers fullback John Kuhn touches the ball, Lambeau is engulfed in KUUUUUUUUUUUUHN chants. Kuhn is a short and stout white guy who does all the dirty work. His primary role is that of lead blocker, but he will occasionally be asked to pick up short yardage or catch a checkdown out of the backfield and take on a linebacker head on. Kuhn's look and style of play appeal to the blue-collar sensibilities of the Green Bay fans. He could be and probably is the guy sitting next to you at Joe's Texas Barbecue, wolfing down the hefty pulled pork sandwich.

TOOOOOOOOOOON is a combination of all of these elements. Former walk-on Luke Swan preceded Toon at Wisconsin and became a fan favorite. Camp Randall shouted LUUUUUUUUUUUUUKE after every catch and held their right arms at 90 degree angles, rotating their hand to resemble a swan's head. Aided by his father's impressive NFL and UW resume, Toon endeared himself to the crowd with his athleticism and knack for making the spectacular catch. Now a Senior, Toon has developed into the consistent Number One receiver the team envisioned him as two years ago. Chants of his name are as much an appreciation for his development as a player as they are an adherence to tradition and nepotism.

As nice as it is to talk of tradition and performance, we cannot ignore the obvious. There are many great players, iconic players, all-time great players who have never heard their name chanted in a stadium. This isn't because they are overlooked or their home fans are shitty. They simply do not have names as aurally pleasing or compatible with a sustained chant. Peyton Manning, Brian Urlacher, James Harrison, Adrian Peterson -- great players, but names that need to be broken down to multiple syllables in order to chant. They just wouldn't sound as good.

Not to take anything away from the Nick Toons of the world, but he clearly is the beneficiary of a perfect name. The special sign of appreciation Camp Randall shows to him is as arbitrary as the number of "O"s in his Twitter handle. The fans mostly scream his name because the close back rounded vowel sound in "Toon" is nice to listen to for 5-10 seconds at a time. And this is why @TOOOOOOOOOOON is my new favorite Twitter handle. It caused me to contemplate an otherwise glossed-over subtlety of fan behavior, and I now know what a close back rounded vowel sound is. 

Neither of these pieces of information are useful in any way.  

Eternal Heartbreak

Click To Enlarge

File this one away with the pictures of your ex-girlfriends. Call on this image when you're trying to remember why you ate a whole box of Oreos, big bag of Doritos, and carton of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream all on consecutive days. You've gained 15 pounds and no one will ever love you. You're a fat slob and you like it that way because now you know who your real friends are. Want to scare the little trick-or-treaters this Halloween in your quaint Wisconsin suburb? Go to Kinkos, blow up this image and tape it to the door. Underneath it, tape a handwritten note saying, "This is what you have to look forward to, future Madison students. Eternal heartbreak. Signed, Satan."

Enlarge this image, press you eye to the computer screen and try to focus on the football. If you're 50 or older you don't see a football game, more like a really difficult Rubik's cube. If you're between the ages of 26 and 49, you can make out some green, lots of green, and some red, and some white. If you're 25 or under and have 20/10  vision or better, you can probably spot a tiny brown turd that barely crosses the goal line. At some point, every sport has been dubbed "a game of inches." Sometimes this cliche is the only way to make sense of what happened. Like today, where an inch or less just cost Wisconsin a long-shot chance at a National Championship.

I wrote a few days ago that I didn't believe Wisconsin would play for a National Championship -- too many factors beyond they're control, and they wouldn't go undefeated. My reasoning for both opinions went: they're Wisconsin, good things aren't allowed to happen to them. If things worked out how they were supposed to, the winner of LSU-Alabama would play the winner of Oklahoma-Oklahoma State for the National Title and an undefeated Wisconsin team goes to the Rose Bowl. As it stands now, Wisconsin can power sweep right through their five remaining games and find themselves in the B1G Championship game with a Rose Bowl birth at stake. A hypothetical one-loss Wisconsin team in the Rose Bowl would be easier to stomach than an undefeated Wisconsin team screwed out of a shot at the big game. I'll refrain from saying the Michigan State loss was beneficial, but it did push the Badgers down an inevitable path.

The last three weeks or so, I've taken great pains to watch the Top-5 teams and root against them. I'm not this kind of fan. I find it much more satisfactory to root for teams rather than against them. This is fun for about a quarter before the Top-5s start to pull away. They will never lose. Wisconsin will never catch a break. Wisconsin loses to Michigan State and I turn to the Oklahoma-Texas Tech game. Texas Tech is up 31-7 early in the second half. Oklahoma has won 39 straight games at home, they'll find a way to come back. Like clockwork, Oklahoma rips off 17 straight points to put themselves within seven. But Tech somehow holds strong, and scores 10 points on their next two possessions. Three minutes and one touchdown later, Oklahoma has a chance to cut the lead to one score. Their kicker booms a 28-yard field go off the upright, killing their chance of a comeback. He missed by inches.

I know what I just witnessed. One of the key dominoes just fell. Oklahoma lost. Now if they can defeat Oklahoma State on December 3rd, the door is wide open for Wisconsin to sneak into the National Title game against the SEC champ. Then I remember Wisconsin lost an hour ago. I polish off the rest of the Oreos.

For The Next Eight Hours...

[Setting: Airplane flight to London. Chicago Bears players take their seats and settle in. CHRIS HARRIS watches Big Momma's House 2 and engages his Twitter followers in lengthy discussions involving but not limited to institutional racism, ancient Chinese farming techniques, and lemon meringue pie. TIM JENNINGS holds in his hand a Just Wright movie poster. He has photoshopped his face on to Common's body. DEVIN HESTER watches a YouTube compilation of his record-setting TD returns. MATT FORTE quietly listens to his iPod, while LANCE BRIGGS begs him to share one of the buds. JULIUS PEPPERS has had enough of this shit and just wants to hit someone. ROBBIE GOULD and ADAM PODLESH take turns reading chapters of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. BRIAN URLACHER reaches into his carry-on bag and pulls out a container of Edge Advanced shaving cream and a cheap razor. He asks a stewardess where he can find a damn mirror around here. JAY CUTLER reclines his seat and still manages to slump over. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world right now.


JAY CUTLER: I'm so excited for this trip, guys. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world right now.

CHRIS HARRIS: Me too! I've never been to Europe before.

DEVIN HESTER: Europe? I thought we were going to London.

MATT FORTE: [slaps hat off of Hester's head] You deserve one of those everyday for the rest of your life.

LANCE BRIGGS: [Laughs uncontrollably] Good one, Matt. Good one. We -- uh, you got him.

ADAM PODLESH: I don't know about you guys, but I'm really looking forward to seeing the Churchill War Rooms. I'm a bit of a history buff, and that Winston Churchill, oh boy, could he rally the troops.

BRIAN URLACHER: [pointing at PODLESH] Who the fuck is this guy?

ROBBIE GOULD: That's Adam Podlesh, captain. He's our punter. We use him quite often.

BRIAN URLACHER: What happened to the old, bald guy? Brett. I liked him.

ROBBIE GOULD: Brad Maynard. His name was BRAD. You played with him for the last ten years. Jesus.

BRIAN URLACHER: [looking at PODLESH] This dome aint' gonna shave itself, rook.

TIM JENNINGS: [still staring at photoshopped picture of himself and Queen Latifah] Do you guys ever feel like all your hopes and dreams are just out of reach? Like, you just picked off a pass right, and you're running for the end zone, and it keeps getting farther and farther away. You keep running and you're getting nowhere. That's how I feel. I just want to be loved.

JAY CUTLER: Enough with the soft shit. I have some of the finest English trim lined up for us as soon as we step off this plane. You know what they call them across the pond? Birds, that's what they call them. Although I'm not sure if it's as derogatory of a term as whore. Bird sounds kind of nice when you think about it.

DEVIN HESTER: What's the Londish word for "whore?" Miss me with this talk of birds.

JULIUS PEPPERS: [slaps Hester across the face] Listen fuck boy, I better not see you running backwards once in this game. I know some real English goons who've snatched semi-famous rapper's chains and lit garbage cans on fire. They damn sure will have no qualms disposing of you.

JAY CUTLER: We're getting away from the real issue here, which is what to do with all these whores. By my count, I have 16 of them and they're not the best-looking. They're English 10s, which is like an American 5. What I'm saying is, my women, like my interceptions, come in threes. So there's 13 between the 9 of you. Cock slap, sword fight, pussy pinch, whatever you gotta do to get your fill.

LANCE BRIGGS: It's OK, me and Matt can share one, can't we, Matt?

MATT FORTE: [glares at BRIGGS and says nothing]

CHRIS HARRIS: I'm happily married, thank you. But I'd be more than happy to argue about the artistic merits of the Wellington Arch.

ADAM PODLESH: Ooooh, now we're cooking.

MATT FORTE: You guys bore me, I'm going to get up, nut punch the pilot, and fly this plane. I do everything else around here.

LANCE BRIGGS: You sure do. I sympathize with your contract situation. I sympathize with my contract situation. It would be nice to get some respect in the form of money around here. I guess, like Tim, we just want to be loved.

MATT FORTE: Keep my name out your mouth, mother fucker. There is no we. We is not a thing. Our situations are not the same.

BRIAN URLACHER: I went to bat for you dumb ass, Briggs. I offered to take a pay cut years ago. All I hear about is how many Pro Bowls you've made.

LANCE BRIGGS: I've made 6 Pro Bowls.

DEVIN HESTER: Hey tho, ain't London that place where they talkin' funny? [Laughs] Cheerio, and shit.

TIM JENNINGS: [punches Hester in the mouth] Everyday I find myself thinking about sliding between those tree trunk thighs, slowly messaging my Queen's temples as she hums "Poetry Man."

ROBBIE GOULD: I SO love her rendition!

JAY CUTLER: [Laughing] Our boy Jennings over here has his tip tingling over a big pork chop dike.

TIM JENNINGS: What did you call her?

ROBBIE GOULD: A lesbian, Tim. She's fond of women.

[TIM JENNINGS jets towards the bathroom, sobbing uncontrollably.]


JAY CUTLER: Hey, wait, don't feel bad. It's happened to all of us. I slept with a beautiful Taiwanese boy at Vandy three times before I realized he was a she. Fuck it. I regret nothing.

ADAM PODLESH: Did you guys know... [pauses] that "Big Ben" as most people think, is not actually the clock tower, but the bell within the clock tower.

JULIUS PEPPERS: I would love to visit.

[Everyone stops and stares at Peppers]


JULIUS PEPPERS: What!? I happen to be a clock connoisseur. My grandfather ignited a passion in me which I didn't know I had. I carry his Swiss pocket watch with me to this day.

DEVIN HESTER: Hold up, Ben Russeyberger has a London clock named after him?

[Urlacher grabs Hester by the head and repeatedly smashes it against the window. Hester falls over, bleeding and unconscious]

BRIAN URLACHER: [While administering the beating] I hear they're ten years behind the American trends in England. This tribal tat should have 'em dropping panties in the club, just like it did for Paris Hilton.

[The players fall asleep for the remaining four hours. Devin Hester may or may not be dead. They awake to a landed plane]


TIM JENNINGS: [Opens door to find thousands of screaming Bears fans in England] They love us! They really love us!

MATT FORTE: I'm hope they're not expecting too much, like a win, for instance.

JAY CUTLER: All I know is, we're gonna give 'em a good show. None of this faggity shit they call football over here. Let's go, men. TRIM, on three.

Just The Thought Of It

"What should I write about?"

"You should write about why you've been so mean to me lately," she said.

It's true. I have been mean to my girlfriend lately. Just yesterday, I snapped at her for some unknown reason. I was sitting at the computer, searching for a song on 97.1 The Drive's website. I was scrolling through their playlist, trying to find the song that had been playing on the radio ten minutes ago during our drive home. I skipped from song to song and was having terrible luck. Suddenly, I turned around and there she was -- standing over me, looking down. My girlfriend appeared to -- No -- she wanted to hurt me. But why?

"What the hell are you doing?" I snapped.

Blank stare. Thought bubble: I happen to be standing behind you at the moment. Is there a problem? Would you like me to step six inches to the left or right. Would that make you feel more comfortable?


"Why are you looking right over me like that?"

As is the custom when I'm acting stupid, she simply turned around and left the room. I sat there wondering  why her standing behind me triggered such an emotional response. My heart was beating fast, and the edge of my forehead began to sweat a little. Some time later I apologized for being an idiot and asked her what I should write about. I ask this from time to time in order to stave off the ideas, or more aptly put, the half-formed ideas swirling around my head. Rather than try to grab one and run with it, I find it easier to have someone else narrow my search, and provide direction. Kind of the columnist's equivalent of writing a column in response to someone else's column.

"You should write about why you've been so mean to me lately," she said.

And that's how we got here.

Naturally, I've been thinking about college football a lot, more specifically, the log jam of undefeated teams atop the rankings and their National Title implications. Here they are: Kansas State and Houston (LOL), Stanford and Clemson (bless them, but they are going to need many, many things beyond their control to break in their favor), and LSU, Alabama, Oklahoma, Oklahoma State, Boise State, and Wisconsin. The last six teams are who I'm most concerned with.

Two weeks from Saturday, LSU and Alabama will battle for the privilege of representing the greatest thing to happen to college football since college football itself. A month later, Oklahoma will visit Oklahoma State and engage in what will be the last time the state of Oklahoma will exist until next September. Boise and Wisconsin will continue to hack away at their Grade D meat schedules. There's really only three ways this can end:

1) Winner of LSU-Alabama meets winner of Oklahoma-Oklahoma State in the National Championship. If you have no rooting interest in any of the above teams, this is what you want.
2) Three of the above teams end up losing a game, Wisconsin goes undefeated, cuts in front of undefeated Boise in the National Title line, and everyone tries to figure out what just happened. It'll be a cold day...
3) All four teams lose, Wisconsin and Boise run the table and meet in the lowest rated BCS Championship game ever. We're going streaking.

I've resigned myself to the fact the first scenario is going to happen. So the question, for me, becomes: Does Wisconsin lose a game at some point and eliminate themselves from contention, or is there one of those strange situations we've seen twice in the last ten years, where three automatic qualifiers go undefeated and the computers determine which two are most deserving? The latter would suit Boise. They've went undefeated four times this decade and passed over in favor of automatic qualifiers. The difference is the last two years, they've been ranked highly in the preseason poll, giving them more clout within the BCS formula. Still, it's going to happen again. Boise will go undefeated and finish the year 3rd or 4th in the BCS.

But what about Wisconsin? My team. I refuse to believe the BCS Gods? would be so cruel as to let them go undefeated and still finish 3rd. They don't deserve that. Wisconsin is doing what they always do: scheduling a Charmin-soft non-conference schedule and taking advantage of a down B1G. This year they just happened to fall into a really good quarterback. So my karmic-influenced logic goes: If undefeated, Wisconsin will be in the BCS Title game. The BCS Title game will not feature Wisconsin. Therefore, Wisconsin will not go undefeated. I realize this is not a valid argument, but it's been five years since I took that one Logic class, and I think you get my point.    

* * * 

I've been having a reoccurring nightmare. I'm living out of a tent in Fresno, California. My possessions consist of a scratched-up lighter with no lighter fluid, a red (possibly Fresno State) XXL sweater, and a deflated "Happy Birthday" balloon. I keep to myself mostly, afraid of the crack, the crackheads, and people in general. I try to fall asleep but never can, the people can be quite loud when they want to be, which is always. I'm lying on my stomach trying to fall asleep, when I here a knock on the tent. This is a dream, so the knock on the tent sounds like a knock on the door. 

"Go away," I yell. "There's nothing for you here."

My response elicits even more powerful knocks. I turn around to yell again and I see this man, overlooking me.

I jump back, but I'm trapped in a tent. He says nothing and sticks out his giant right arm in my direction. He seems to be suggesting I should grab his hand and follow him, so I do. We exit the tent into a colorful land of rainbows and waterfalls. This man is now stark naked, wearing only his helmet. A large emperor's chair appears and he sits down. A 32' non-HD TV appears along with a VHS player. The man stands back up, pops in a video, picks me up and places me gently on his lap. The video begins and the man explains to me that this naughty little girl has ran away from home and is seeking refuge, but mostly a warm bubble bath.  Luckily, the butcher, who lives alone and sports a handle-bar mustache has offered to help. He runs the bath water.

The man continues to pet my head and fast-forwards to last year's Wisconsin-Michigan State game. There's Keshawn Martin returning a punt 74 yards for a touchdown. There's John Clay, stoned at the line of scrimmage, and Scott Tolzien throwing another incompletion. There's Kirk Cousins completing the 4th and 1 TD pass to BJ Cunningham to ice the game. I look down dejected as this man continues to pet my head. Things become a bit hazy after this. Then I wake up.

"You should write about why you've been so mean to me lately," she said.

Well, there's the answer. The unsuspected sight of my towering girlfriend transported me back to my nightmare encounter with Sparty. The Michigan State game is this weekend and the circumstances are similar to last year's. Wisconsin taking advantage of a mediocre schedule, Michigan State at home coming off an emotional win. If Wisconsin is destined to lose a game this year, this will be the game. Just the thought of it makes me uncomfortable, and apologetic for my mood swings.   

Things Easier Than Keeping Calvin Johnson Out of the End Zone

Via Fantasy Tradar

Calvin Johnson used to be the NFL's most sympathetic figure. Exiled to the NFL's barren wasteland and subjected to passes from the likes of Jon Kitna and Dan Orlovsky, Johnson seemed to be a super hero in need of saving. Except he never asked to be saved and sure as hell didn't want our sympathy. In an environment that drove fellow talented wideouts Roy Williams and Charles Rogers mad -- or maybe they just weren't cut out for it from the beginning -- Johnson remained even-keeled and stayed the course. Maybe he knew his 10 offensive teammates would eventually turn in their dunce caps for officially licensed Detroit Lions helmets. Or maybe he figured there was a quarterback out there somewhere who wouldn't underthrow him 15 yards (Kitna) or overthrow him 15 yards (Orlovsky). Johnson knew from the beginning he could catch anything in the vicinity, it was just a matter of finding a quarterback who didn't define "vicinity" as one fifth of the football field.

Through the first four weeks of the 2011 season, Matthew Stafford is healthy and their defense is finally respectable enough to allow the Lions to open up the playbook on offense. Aided by these factors and a pretty weak schedule (it had to be said), the Lions are looking like a team primed for the Playoffs. Calvin Johnson is the most compelling story of the 2011 Lions season, but in a way not usually seen. Statistically, he's having a breakout season, even though his other four seasons were pretty impressive as well. The big difference this year is Johnson seems to be getting his numbers in accordance with the offense, not despite it. The talent has finally caught up around him, and his patience has payed off. Johnson has turned the popular narrative of perseverance upside down -- the belief in an organization against all odds versus the belief in self.  

Johnson has caught two touchdown passes in each of the Lions first four games. It's difficult to envision a situation in which the Bears are unable to stop him from grabbing two more. I present 25 things easier than keeping Calvin Johnson out of the end zone.

***  

Using chopsticks for the first time.

Watching a Fighting Illini game in its entirety and thinking, "I don't care what anyone says, this team deserves to be 6-0."

Spotting Theo Epstein in a Chicago Starbucks.

Doing a quick Google Image search of "Theo Epstein Wife," noticing Epstein's accomplice is not his wife, but you just wanted to out him as the next Cubs GM, not as an adulterer.

Getting high, eating one of everything from the Wendy's dollar menu, claiming your head is not attached to your body, and falling asleep within the hour.

Coming to a thorough understanding of Ghostface Killah's album, "Supreme Clientele."

Getting the icing on the Toaster Strudel to look like it does in the commercial.

Failing to find someone who, in the middle of mid-70s temperature bliss exclaims, "I just LOVE Fall."

Refraining from the "At least we don't live in Detroit" defense mechanism after the Bears lose tonight.

Respecting the hell out of Aaron Rodgers.

Executing a standing back flip in full pads after missing the first three games of the season due to a calf injury.

Watching Gone With the Wind in one sitting.

Enjoying Gone With the Wind.

Passing out drunk on your dorm room floor at 4 in the morning on Sunday and waking up in time to shower, shave, and eat breakfast before your 8 AM Monday class.

Pretending you couldn't stand The Backstreet Boys' Millenium album when it came out.

Answering your child's question with, "Because," because you don't know the answer to your child's question.

Praising Joe Buck for the way he seamlessly juggles NFL and MLB broadcasts year after year.

Convincing yourself your cleavage-bearing waitress is really into you and not just trying to get a better tip.

Reading Joe Posnanski and thinking, "I have what it takes to be a sports writer."

Engaging in a perfectly normal conversation with your boss.

Enjoying the three hours you just spent with your wife at IKEA -- on football Sunday.

Secretly rooting against your favorite team's players in favor of your fantasy team because "Your real team's season is over anyway."

Resisting the urge to buy 30 dartboards, print out pictures of each of the 30 NBA team owners, and tape a different owner's picture to each dartboard.

Resisting the urge to combine Coke and Pop Rocks. If such a beautiful combination is deadly, you don't want to be alive.

Discovering the true source of Calvin Johnson's powers. HINT: Check underneath the skull cap.

The Romo Years

Many people have theorized as to why we watch sports. Not just our favorite teams, but all teams, all the time. What possesses people to watch portions of every NFL game on Sunday? Or the NCAA tournament in its entirety, featuring teams and players they've never heard of. So many games, most of which we won't remember even a couple months after they happen. The popular answer to this question seems to be: to see the unexpected. It never ceases to amaze how many new things can happen in a sporting event that has been played millions of times -- take the last day of baseball season, for example. As sports fan, we want to see moments like that, moments that will probably only happen once in our lifetime. In order to see these type of moments, we sit through hours of uneventful games to make sure we don't miss anything.

But these moments don't always have to be of the spectacular ilk. It's not talked about enough, but I think a lot of people watch sports to see failure too. Not just the rival team or a particular player, but teams or players who seem to be prone to failing. This is why I think Tony Romo is good and necessary for sports. He's a polarizing player that shouldn't be polarizing. He's a hated athlete that, unless you're a Dallas Cowboys fan, shouldn't really be hated. He's judged either too fairly or too harshly and is the sole reason for a Cowboys' win or loss. He tight-ropes the line between good and bad better than any current athlete in professional American sports. It's fun to watch Tony Romo because he's going to give us those coveted spectacular moments, and also because it shuffles us one game, or even one quarter closer to one of his ultimate meltdowns.

Romo seems to be a good guy. He's never in trouble off the field, he's never ran into the stands and punched someone, and he's never insinuated that sports fans were jealous and miserable people. From what I gather, Tony Romo is hated because he's talked about often. Someone so prone to failing, I think, in the minds of many sports fans, doesn't deserve the time of day. Then there's the other side, who feel Romo is unfairly targeted for his team's failures. It's true that quarterbacks tend to receive the brunt of the blame regardless, but these people look for reasons to bash Romo. For instance, a three interception day could be interpreted as trying to make something out of nothing (an exceptional will to win), rather than fucking up and blowing his team the game. Both sides have an argument, of course.

Tony Romo played one of his quintessential games against the Lions last week. He moved the Cowboys offense down the field at will, connecting with Dez Bryant for Dallas' two touchdowns in the first half, and a third to Jason Witten three minutes into the second half. The Cowboys were up 27-3 and it looked to be a route. It looked to be a route, but those who have watched Tony Romo know better. He promptly threw a Pick-6 on the very next drive. But this Pick-6 was almost too good to be true. The defender was linebacker Bobby Carpenter, current Lion, former Cowboy, and a groomsman in Romo's wedding. Something like this could only happen to Tony Romo and serves to further the mythology surrounding his collapses. Romo throws another Pick-6 on the very next possession and you know where this is going. The Lions are back in the game, score a couple touchdowns of their own, Romo throws another pick at the end of the game and the Cowboys lose. Romo's final line: 34-47, 331 yds, 3 TD, 3 INT, 86.4 QB Rating -- all of his good work in the first half negated.

Performances like this are why Romo can navigate his way through any realm and remain compelling. He can be whatever you want him to be. Use the "Nickname Test" to further this point. Some nicknames could only work for certain players, think Dennis "The Worm" Rodman or William "Refrigerator" Perry. There is nothing distinct about Tony Romo. He's exceptionally good and bad. Here are six random things I just thought of:

Officer Krupke
Hydrogenated Fish Oil
Love Potion No. 9
Stay Gold, Ponyboy
The River Kwai
Anschluss

All six of these could conceivably be nicknames for Tony Romo. Think of six nicknames of your own and they will work just as well. Isn't this what Romo is all about? He cannot be packaged and sold to the masses in the form of a cute, all-encompassing moniker. Pepsi Max used Romo as their spokesperson and failed because they tried to capitalize on his tendency to make mistakes. The commercial was meant to be absurd and came off as plausible:  



In an age where labels are slapped on players seemingly from Day One, Romo defies all categorization. This is what makes him such a compelling sports figure. Dissecting Tom Brady's dominance eventually becomes boring, as does cracking on the futility of the 1990s Clipper teams. Romo keeps us on our toes, with him, there will always be something to talk about and something to see. Fittingly, none of us know what he is yet -- we just know his teams are going to lose when it matters.

A Letter To Russell Wilson

Dear Russell Mr. Wilson,

I don't usually do this. On an imagined level, I too know what it's like to be famous and great at what I do. The last thing I want is for a stranger to pen a long letter telling me what I already know: My life is infinitely better than theirs. Despite this, I feel compelled to ruminate on the effect you've had on me, and undoubtedly, thousands of your peers. Like I said, I don't do this sort of thing. I don't elevate athletes to hero-worship status, but I would bow in your presence. I really would.

I'm not going to pretend like I followed your career at NC State, I didn't. ACC football is as foreign to me as emollient-based products and Perfect 10 models. I just knew you were supposed to take my beloved Badgers to new heights and I was skeptical. I doubted the impact one man could have on a group of teammates he was unfamiliar with. I doubted one man's ability to basically reinvent the quarterback position in Madison, showcasing skills we've never seen here before, and capture the imagination of an entire campus -- an entire city. Critics will you say you haven't been challenged yet. Your non-conference schedule was a step below "Cream Puff." The Nebraska game was at home, their defense leaves something to be desired, and Taylor Martinez was forced to throw the ball 22 times. I watched you smoothly step to the side, as if you couldn't be bothered by a defensive lineman's pass rush. I watched as you turned a 10 yard loss into a 15 yard gain. As you rolled out of the pocket countless times to buy a few seconds, and found the open receiver every time. I remain in awe of the way you never take a big hit. You either absorb contact as if it was a natural geologic occurrence or run out bounds. You realize a crushing blow is not worth, in the worst case scenario, your team's season, or simply an extra yard you can easily pick up on second down.

Above all else, there never seems to be a point where you are not in control. I cannot understate this enough. Nothing rattles you. Your demeanor on the playing field is the type of assurance us regular people strive for in our everyday lives.

You probably wouldn't have guessed it, Russell Mr. Wilson, but I played football once, ages ago. I was 11 years old. My brief career was shaped by a set of circumstances largely beyond my control. Before the season started, many of the player's parents were bickering. I had no idea what they were bickering about, but you know how parents get when it comes to sports and their children. This bickering resulted in a mass exodus of most of the best players our town had to offer. They went on to play in an independent Pop Warner League, while my parents, who were as clueless as myself concerning the matter, signed me up for the Park District League. Being part of the Park District team was both a blessing and a curse. The blessing being I had an opportunity to play right away and despite my lack of experience, was already one of the better players on the team. The curse, so to speak, was a very poor team. Our team was composed of a few nominally good players, inexperienced players such as myself, and a bunch of younger kids who were too fat to play within their age group. We won our first game by six points. It was our only win all year.

I was a receiver for the Park District team. Now, I know what you're thinking: Wide receiver, that's a fine position which requires speed, agility, and good hand eye coordination. You should be proud of your ability to step in and play such a demanding position right away. While I appreciate the sentiment Russell Mr. Wilson, do you have any idea how many times we threw the ball per game? Zero. An 11 year-old receiver is nothing more than a glorified offensive lineman. Except where O-Lineman can develop some sort of camaraderie that stems from battling in the trenches side-by-side, I was alone on an island. I charged at defensive backs like a bull, exerting all I had with the knowledge that we were running the ball up the gut anyway. One time, I became so frustrated that I started to make growling noises in the middle of a block. The d-back laughed at me, and mockingly exclaimed, "Ooh, I'm so scared. Gems hit me." The joke was on him however, as I bypassed his hand in the middle of the postgame handshake line.

It was also during this time I began having trouble eating. I had choked on a piece of chicken some months earlier, which resulted in the scarring of the tissue lining my throat. I experienced sharp pains in the area that felt like my throat was swelling up and closing. I became afraid to eat. A meal that would take a normal kid 15 or 20 minutes to eat took me two hours. I grinded away at my food until it had practically dissolved because I was afraid to swallow it. I thought every swallow of food would result in my death. Thanksgiving was hell. Friend's birthdays were even worse. Having to answer questions about why you're breathing so deeply and touching your throat after every swallow were embarrassing. Meals are supposed to be some of the day's most enjoyable moments, but to me they were a reminder of my inability to live a normal life.

I made numerous doctor visits. They all said I was fine, my throat was fully healed. Any thoughts of choking or swelling were purely my mind's creation. The mind is a powerful thing, as you know. I had convinced myself every bite of food was a death wish. For this, I suffered, mostly mentally, but a bit physically. I lost some weight but continued to play football. I was 70 pounds, playing with 95-pounders and dealing with the inevitable: At this rate, there was no way I could play next year against better competition and a 125 pound weight limit.

While my time on offense amounted to little more than playing dress up, I found my calling on the defensive side of the ball. I played defensive back and was able to shed blocks from receivers who would rather be catching passes. Playing defensive back was great because teams rarely threw the ball, meaning I was given plenty of room to improvise. The moment I recognized the ball wasn't going to be thrown, I could play the run. I loved playing the run. There was something about challenging backs, especially ones who outweighed me by 25 pounds, that felt exhilarating. I knew they underestimated me, Russell Mr. Wilson, that was probably it. One game I made over 20 tackles, we lost, but the outcome wasn't so important as long as I was able to hit someone.

It took a year to finally get over my fear of swallowing food. I can't imagine how ridiculous it must be for someone else to read and try to comprehend that sentence. Turns out that even after eating regularly I couldn't put on weight, still can't. High metabolism. So my desire to be a hard-hitting enforcer on the football field was doomed from the start. I didn't sign up for football the next year because of another irrational fear -- I thought my weight disadvantage would be too much to overcome. You know as well as anyone that size doesn't matter. Do you hear the announcers? They're comparing you to Drew Brees. You're pulling off something remarkable.

When I think of my year playing football, I go back to a time when I seemingly had no control of my life. I fell into deep depressions over my inability to eat and grew frustrated over being phased out of the offense. I've watched Chicago Bears quarterbacks my entire life. When I think of football, I think of chaos. I think of a game that an individual could never impose his will on. You're slowly changing my perception of football, Russell Mr. Wilson. For that, I am eternally grateful.

My sincerest regards,

- Joe