Mister Faded Glory | misterfadedglory.com

Yesterday the Cubs shipped mediocre and possibly brain-dead shortstop Ronny Cedeno to the Mariners for former maligned Mets reliever Aaron Heilman. (note: it’s possible he was actually much-maligned.)

Is this a good deal? Hmmm. Let’s check here for an opinion.

Nope, it’s a great deal. The Cubs continue their purge of fanboys’ former favorite failed prospects in lieu of live arms who may be able to contribute. Over/under on number of fan posts at BCB opining for the return of Ronny Cedeno and Felix Pie? Seven billion. Morons.

In between a disgustipating sinus infection, a week’s worth of sun and siesta in Puerto Vallarta, a week crammed with work-related seminar action and a friend’s surprise birthday party, MFG has been missing in action for quite some time. What the fuck happened to January?

Speaking of which, why does anyone ask ‘What did you do on your vacation?’ only to recoil when you claim, ‘nothing.’ Isn’t that the point of a vacation?. Oh, whatever. Notably, I made friends with a giraffe.

His completely unoriginal name is Jeffrey.

Also, in case you’re concerned, a smartmouth bird nearly bit my hand off at a petting zoo. He’s right here.

I don’t know his name, but the bastard is still at large. At least my hand is miraculously intact.

Oh, what, you really don’t care? So people must ask about vacations simply as a rhetorical device, right? (Laughs uproariously at ridiculous pun.)  But, really, how could anyone possibly care? I mean, with all the stuff that’s happened while I was away? Quickly, onto the hopelessly catty commentary:

Tony Dungy, gone. Everyone saw it coming, everyone is a tad melancholy, and just like the vanilla Dungy, commentary dissipated with nary a blink of an eye. Colts fans will miss him. As long as the new guy focuses on the O- and D-Line, we’ll be happy.

Herm Edwards, gone. The NFL is a peculiar league. Its postseason disappears in the blink of an eye, and the ubiquitous league is irrelevant for most diehard fans who have no playoff team to follow. As such, the heaviest commentary, reporting, speculation, and web hits surround dismissals of coaches. I guess that’s OK, it’s just fairly weird. And Herm Edwards sucked. And we love Joe Poz, but his Pollyanna act is ridiculous. Herm will live.

JD and Elliot, back together. Who didn’t see this coming? Also, Scrubs is in a weird, season-fattening loop owing to last year’s writer’s strike and ABC’s desire to fill airtime. Each hour of Scrubs features one viable episode and one ridiculous episode (Tonight’s features the Muppets, of all things.) Normally I’d pick apart JD and Elliot’s relationship further, but it’s also perhaps a sign the show is well past its prime that I’m simply ambivalent. But the tongue-in-cheek references to early episodes? Nice touch for us sex buddies. (trumpets) I mean, us diehards.

Oh, almost forgot, Jon Gruden, also gone. Speaking of the peculiar NFL, it’s almost as though coaches’ accountability is rendered moot with increasing pompousness, bombasticity (?) and sneering. Until this happened, let alone to the NFL’s hardest working coach, to hear each of his sycophantic reporters tell it (he gets up at 3 a.m.!).

Slumdog Millionaire was surprisingly good. In a year filled with flawed pictures, I wouldn’t be disappointed if Slumdog earned best picture. It’s not as good as last year’s power-pack of No Country For Old Men or There Will Be Blood, nor as good as, ahem, The Dark Knight. But its sly tale wrapped in the coalescence of chance, fate, offhand knowledge and destiny is an enjoyable ride. You’ll never guess who doesn’t like it.

Yes, I’m a 31-year-old white guy toiling on facebook. And I’m sorry that many of my status updates later show up as blog items. I can’t help it if you’re bored, there’s only so much wisdom bounding around my cranium. Apologies for the inconvenience. (Yes, I still hate fucking Twitter.) But MFG’s upcoming multimillion-dollar project will be the creation of hatebook, a facebook knock-off filled enemies instead of casual acquaintances you used to pretend to ignore. How genius is that? This serves as notice of intent, copyright lawyers.

As a pet owner, we enjoyed Bill Simmons’ recent column. Bill obviously is angling for some future ESPN radio spot by podcasting every day for umpteen hours. So who’s going to break it to him that his voice is way too grating for a massive audience? Occasionally, between phoned-in columns, he pens a column that reminds you why you started reading him in the first place. As a pet owner, this ode to the late Dooze made it, shall we say, a bit dusty in here.

KSK’s Peter King. Nothing in the universe is funnier than Drew’s weekly excoriation of Peter King’s ridiculous MMQB. Nothing at all. I know not why I even try blogging, let alone why I craft a predictable first-draft list column reminiscent of the bubbly King. I’ll shut up.

The Cubs now have a new owner. You try and figure out if the Cubs were better off with the incompetent Chicago Tribune, psychopathic Sam Zell, or the mysteriously devious Tom Rickets pulling the strings. We just hope they can survive the Kevin Gregg era. AND WHAT THE HELL WAS CARLOS MARMOL DOING PITCHING IN THE D.R. OVER THE OFFSEASON? Last year his arm almost fell off at midseason, and he’s coming off two years of overwork. How could the Cubs permit this? You’d think the Cubs didn’t know what they were doing. Shocking, I know.

Finally, the uninspiring Super Bowl is upon us, as we mentioned, on the heels of an uninspiring college bowl season. Both postseasons turned out so forgettable they inspired some normally rational Football Outsiders, and some normally rational college football writers to postulate whether the regular season in the NFL is rendered meaningless either by parity or a third “surprise team” to make the title game in the last three seasons.

These types of comments are totally self-interested, offered out of fear the writer may not know more than his audience: If the Super Bowl doesn’t represent the two best teams in PFP, clearly it doesn’t reflect the best quality teams overall. Call me crazy, but the NFL’s season doesn’t exist to rubber-stamp FO’s publications. In fact, it’s completely ludicrous when college football fanatics – or any writers, fans, talking heads, for that matter – whine that “the best team doesn’t always win” in other sports.

Because, yes, of course they fucking do.

In the NCAA, they win six games in a row. In baseball, teams survive a double-elimination tournament, or three rounds of elimination baseball. In the NFL, even the Indianapolis Colts, and New York Giants earn the right to be champions by winning four games in a row. I’m sorry, but in any of those leagues, if you make it through the denoted gauntlet, you deserve to win; and to be called the best.

It’s paramount arrogance that a web site assumes its stats, logic or analysis superior to the results on the field. That may not be a direct statement, but it’s the implication, it’s perpetually unfounded, and it indicates myopia at best and ignorance at worst.

No one watches sports hoping for an endorsement of anyone’s preseason web prognostications, no matter how complete and data-driven the predictions may be. We watch in suspense, hoping and waiting to find out who can emerge from the pack. And that’s who the best is. Period.

That said, Mister Faded Glory has called Pittsburgh the best team all year. So we expect them to win. See, complete hypocrisy, mixed tenses, hopelessly long posts, catty diatribes, unnecessary fucking cursing; you’re glad I’m back. Admit it.

You probably tuned in tonight for some witty update about the Florida-Oklahoma game. Or about legions of K-State fans cheering for Oklahoma in some pathetic attempt to convey relevance. Or maybe even a subtle dig at Fox, trotting out the insufferable Thom Brenneman and some intern to call the game. C’mon, Fox! It’s the National Championship.

Or perhaps for further commentary on the exodus of Jason Marquis. Or a wrap on last night’s Syracuse win over DePaul. Or preview of Cuse-Rutgers. Or simple wondering how they drew the absolute easiest Big East teams to start the year.

Perhaps a review of Tuesday’s double-edged return of Scrubs? (A solid ‘meh.’ But the intern who likes chubs was funny.)

Maybe even a gloat, for I have stared into the belly of some weird sinus infection-cold plaguing the Midwest and recalling The Stand, and I am about to win. (/coughs.)

Perhaps you’ve chosen MFG for some commiseration – no doubt you’ve glanced at Slate‘s ultra-pretentious movie club to learn (shocking) that the snotty fanzine approves of absolute dreck you wouldn’t see in a million years, and is just now (upon further review!) panning The Dark Knight.  Oh, Slate. How much smarter than us are ye?

(Ahem. The Dark Knight is by far the year’s best film. Not the plodding Ben Button. Not the unintentionally comedic Gran Torino. Not the insufferable Man on Wire. Not even Definitely Maybe. In the  last month you’ve no doubt noticed critics racing to outdo each other in their ten-best lists. It’s The Dark Knight. It’s not close.)

But nope, MFG will be going dark for nearly two weeks. We wish this was because of noble work pursuits, but in fact, it’s time for a vacation. Along with the suntanned Ms. Faded Glory, we’re heading to beautiful Puerto Vallarta for a week of R-and-R. Since corporate America makes you pay for playing, I’ll be snowed under with phony work upon our return.  So hold my calls. Talk to you then.

Speaking of our other favorite dominant regular-season team that flamed out in the postseason …

By now all this offseason Cubs stuff is totally old news. The North Siders parted ways with Kerry Wood, sadly dealt Mark DeRosa, smartly dealt Jason Marquis, and bizarrely signed Milton Bradley – which would have been a fantastic idea back in 2005, the last time we brought it up. Sorry! But it Boggles the mind why the Operation didn’t reach out to Milton sooner.

OK, I apologize. For real, come back. (Is this a rerun?)

I don’t mean to be skeptical, because I’m happy the Cubs have chosen to address the holes within their lineup (Fukudome) by signing Bradley, and have admitted their mistake in jettisoning the awful Marquis.

Though I don’t claim to believe fully in the intangibles, chemistry, or cohesion of sports teams’ constructions – too often it’s simply sportswriters pointing out the traits of players they get along with – but Mark DeRosa and Kerry Wood seemed to be absolute professionals. Each carried himself with aplomb, proved gracious to fans, engaged vigorously with the media, actually produced solid numbers (Better than I ever expected in DeRo‘s case), loved playing in Chicago, and enjoyed and understood the specific pressures and burdens Cubs baseball includes.

It’s tough to see them go, and while I can see the logic in both moves – not necessarily agreeing with it – it still makes me a bit queasy to watch two “glue guys” walk out the door. I don’t usually fret about the Tribune’s, Sam Zell‘s, or any owner’s pocketbooks – but it stands to reason the Cubs could have kept DeRosa if they hadn’t stupidly overpaid for Marquis two years ago in the first place.  The Cubs had Sean Marshall back then, too.

Back to football. Let’s say two coaches weren’t necessarily on the market, but were necessarily included in the discussions of contemporary coaches’ success. Based on each’s career marks, whois most successful?

COACH A: 15 seasons, 149-90-1; .623 winning percentage, average finish 1.7, playoff record 12-9, one Super Bowl championship.

COACH B: 13 seasons, 139-69, .668 winning percentage, average divisional finish 1.8, playoff record 9-10, one Super Bowl championship.

Nearly identical, right? Both outstanding coaches, presumably whom fans could count on for regular division titles and playoff appearances. One wins a few more playoff games – which could fully be attributable to luck – and one wins a few more regular season games. Negligible, right?

Well, coach A is Bill Cowher. Yes, Bill Cowher is a great coach, out of work for two seasons, and now arguably the hottest coaching commodity in the NFL. Will some team land him? Sure – and they’ll pay at all costs.

Coach B is Tony Dungy. And, perhaps, Dungy has coached his last game as Colts head coach or any head coach for at least the forseeable future. This week, after the Colts’ postseason plummet, Dungy has been called a choker or pretender or worse, rather than praised for his repeated success.

In our comparison we left out Cowher’s additional AFC title, focusing mainly on regular season wins (the bulk of NFL fans’ attention) and Super Bowls (the ultimate goal.). Each delivered one ultimate prize – the jewel in crowns crammed with sustainable success.

Certainly in some aspects the Super Bowl is attributable for luck, because to some extent all playoffs are a crapshoot. Certainly in other aspects Super Bowl titles are borne out of motivational and tactical genius we can’t measure. But both coaches’ resumes are strikingly similar. We’re really ready to launch Cowher into rarified air just because of one additional AFC title? Why not then study each and every game, ranking caliber of opponents? Some sort of luck barometer?

Regardless, both are outstanding, professional, successful coaches who players routinely laud and sanctify – each a master motivator and grounded fully in realism. But in the overreactive, conventional-wisdom world of the NFL, today Cowher is some team’s savior while Dungy is the paper tiger.

Remarkable. Because Dungy wins with more regularity, the higher winning percentage and extra victories actually prove him the inferior coach. How in the world could that possibly make sense?

I will see visions in my sleep.

First, Dwayne Bowe dropping the Chargers’ onside kick during San Diego’s furious rally to beat the Chiefs. One had a sense the Chargers’ rotten luck, or bad karma – last-second losses to the Broncos, Panthers, Steelers and Colts – finally was turning, and lo and behold, the Chargers rallied to beat the Chiefs.

Secondly, Anthony Gonzalez dropping a sure first down on 2nd-and-6 with 2:35 left, after the Colts’ battered O-Line sucked it up and emerged from the shadow of their own goalpost with a solid Addai run.

Third, the very next play – the Colts with an empty backfield, shotgun set, and the Chargers easily sending blitz and getting to Manning. Say what you will about the run game – Addai and Rhodes were outstanding in blitz pickup all night; not having one in the backfield, max-protecting to ice the game was a crucial mistake.

Fourth, the ridiculous phantom holding call on third-and-8, Darren Sproles stopped short of the sticks, but to no matter. On replays, NBC’s Al Michaels and John Madden were careful all night not to decry or lambaste bad calls, and they furrowed their brows here. This call – moreso than the last blitz of flags – ruined the game.

And Darren Sproles. It doesn’t bother me that he had a great game – he’s been a solid 3rd-down back for years, and was very good at K-State. It bothers me that he beats the Colts like rented mules.

And finally, I’ll see Mike Fucking Scifres dropping punts inside the 1-yard-line like tossing beanbags. Sick.

I’m really struggling with this loss. I hate the Chargers, hate that the Colts apparently are labeled chokers by the media, hate the entire NFL world right now. I’m very proud of this team. It was flawed. Losses always sting. I guess we’ll have to leave it at that.

I’ve never been this infuriated by the result of an NFL game.

I take nothing away from the Chargers. Their luck has been on the upswing now for about five weeks. Probably even deservedly so. They also have a bizarre grasp on the Colts’ number – akin to the weird hold Mike Shanahan had on Bill Belichick up until about 2007. For whatever reason, their third-down back turns into fucking Barry Sanders against the Colts, and the Colts are perpetually flummoxed by the Chargers defense. I have no understanding – we can beat the Ravens 34-3, but it looks like the Chargers send 15 guys at us.

The fatal flaw of the Colts is exposed best by San Diego. The Colts’ offensive line is patchwork and they cannot run the ball. At all. Addai and Rhodes and a strong ground game keyed the Super Bowl run of two years ago. Right now, that’s totally gone. Third and 2, fourth and one, and neither Joe Addai nor Dom Rhodes can pick it up. Not their fault, the Chargers always knew what was coming. The Colts’ offense couldn’t pick up first downs, couldn’t stay on the field, and always was pinned deep by Mike Scifres, who apparently is the greatest punter to ever set foot on Earth.

Regardless, the Colts defense played fine. They forced a couple crucial turnovers, and they basically did what they wanted. The problem was the offense, and on the last 3rd and 2, which would have iced the game – either Manning or Tom Moore called an empty backfield at the 6-yard-line. Awful. Just awful. And Anthony Gonzalez – this was not your finest hour.

But that’s fine. It’s a hard-fought game, an even battle by two teams who probably were fairly even. I can’t complain, I’m still extremely proud of the Colts’ year.

STILL – the defensive holding and facemask penalties on the final drive were beyond ridiculous. The penalty discrepancy all game was infuriating – even John Madden and Al Michaels hinted at the incompetence of Ron Winter’s crew. I hate hate HATE that those two calls decided the game. The defensive holding was called nearly a minute after the play – and was inconsequential. The facemask penalty occurred while Session was being tackled – so it’s not as though it couldn’t have been accompanied by a holding on San Diego. Oh, I fucking forgot - they weren’t flagged for holding all night. These two penalties, damning as they are – they pale in comparison to the ridiculous flag for defensive holding on a Darren Sproles run in third-and-short. Ludicrous. Absurd. Awful beyond all belief.

And I never bitch about penalties. But here I am. A great game, even a honorable game to lose (Although losing to the corpse of Norv Turner and insufferable dickhead Philip Rivers never feels honorable).

It’s infuriating – but the Colts had their chances. Third and 2 with two minutes left. Before this year, the Colts always always picked that up.

And I’ll always take the Colts’ Braves-like success run. But that doesn’t make this easy. Hopefully next year, with a fully healthy Manning, a full-fledged offensive line, a healthy Bob Sanders, a healthy Marlin Jackson, and a healthy Gary Brackett (Freddy Keiaho, not your finest hour, either), maybe, just maybe, the Colts will be back. However, Marvin Harrison will be gone. Tony Dungy will be gone. We fans hope the Colts are more whole – not just older. Guess we’ll just have to see. I’m growing awfully tired of these one-and-dones, even though it’s tough to complain juxtaposed with a recent Super Bowl title.

And yes, I’m aware of the irony of my favorite team making Darren Sproles a world-beater each and every time they play, while I inhabit K-State territory. So don’t bother pointing that out.

I’d start off our Colts pregame post by pumping my fist and claiming that ‘mercy is for the weak, the enemy deserves no mercy,’ or something like that, but the truth is I’m terrified.

I know almost all the analysis and teams’ statistics favor the Colts – at least by an eyelash. But this annoying Chargers club is built to beat Indianapolis almost exclusively. From ultradouchebag quarterback Philip Rivers, to pesky scatback Darren Sproles, to blitzy linebacker Shaun Phillips to super-Manning spy Antonio Cromartie, the Chargers often have the Horsies’ number.

Hopefully that all changes tonight. I’ve written before that this Colts season has been immensely satisfying; my favorite club surviving and overcoming injuries, malaise, bad luck, adversity and obstacles of all kinds to somehow finish 12-4 – the seventh year in a row Indianapolis finished with 12 wins. Granted, cynics and critics will point to lofty regular-season records and only one Super Bowl title and claim the Colts perpetually choke in the clutch, comparing the Colts to baseball’s Atlanta Braves – a 14-time consecutive division winner with only one World Series title.

But you know what? I’ll take that. The regular-season excellence is unique, and deserves our pride. The playoffs are the icing, the chance to build on sustained success. As a Cubs fan, I’ll take the Braves’ overall track record every time, no questions asked. The truth is, we Colts fans are lucky to follow this team.

So tonight, when the Horsies go into San Diego, the mouth of the beast, and face their rival, they absolutely could own this game. As hot as San Diego is, Indianapolis has won 9 in a row. As hot as Philip Rivers is, he faced a Bob Sanders-less defense last time. As much as the track records suggest a shootout, who really knows?

All you can do is get there, and trust your ability to keep executing. And yes, as nutty as I am, waffling over Wild-Card weekend, I totally do. Here’s to the Colts, to the playoffs, and to a win. Vengeance, hopefully sweet, indeed.

EDITOR’S NOTE: I posted this game preview (Such as it was) before reading Kravitz’ IndyStar column from yesterday, and he also compared the Colts to the Braves, way before I did. I’ll still echo the comparison, and still consider the comparison a compliment, not a detriment. See above.

For all our posturing about a college football playoff (most recently here), sure, we still effusively enjoyed our almost-mater Iowa Hawkeyes‘ easy victory over South Carolina in the Outback Bowl. Awesome Blossoms for everyone!

The unranked and unnoticed Hawkeyes gelled toward the close of the season, upsetting Penn State in Kinnick and also throttling Minnesota. Four blemishes on their record could easily have gone the other way, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see Iowa finish in the top 15. However, when the dust settles on another underwhelming bowl season, pundits will gleefully chortle, making fun of the supposedly-woebegone Big Ten, which finished (maybe) with only one bowl victor (Iowa) among seven qualifiers. As Hawkeye fans, we take a small measure of pride in that.

Which is annoying.

The conference supremacy race always is a major point of contention among psychopathic college football fans – a nationalistic argument which cannot be won, yet possessing more fervor than most Civil Wars. It’s wholly understandable – contenders for the title within a flawed system want their conference’s strength to cement their case; while followers of middle-of-the-road teams want a small success benchmark to cling to in the midst of repeated team failures. This explains the bevy of Nebraska fans who root for Kansas basketball, or combination K-State/Kansas fans, or overall Big 12 fans.

Amid the landscape of college football, and especially within an imperfect postseason, these arguments are everywhere – every lout, thug, and meathead fan with access to a phone or a computer calling columnists and hosts and bloggers and scribes to whine, opine and subtly mention that each is an idiot, and their favorite team’s conference is the absolute fucking best, black-and-white, no-grey, slam-dunk. It’s almost an excruciating time to be a fan, even if your favorite team fares well while its counterparts fail (so far). It’s fallacy and folly, and features the same vigor and vitriol as most red-vs.-blue discussions.

But don’t blame the fans. For every rational follower who dismisses the conference-supremacy arguments as the talk-radio fodder they are, thousands more slavishly froth amid behemoth networks’ needling; the WWL going so far as to invent the phony Bowl Series Conference challenge (or something.) But why not? It’s just the chance for idle networks to fill airwaves, for Web sites to court massive, reactionary comments and hits, and Kirk Herbstreit to throw his favorite conference under the bus while sucking off USC.

Moreso, it’s yet another fallacious claim the networks and presidents cite when propping the current Bowl System  – the vitriolic traffic, and incessant irrational arguing supposedly signifying the strength of the system. Rabid SEC fans strangle whiny Big 10 fans at water coolers everywhere, so the much-talked-about BCS must be doing its job!

In fact, it does not. It signifies the imperfections of fanaticism, the BCS, and college football – and cements the slimy knee-jerk muckraking of college football coverage.  If they cover it, you’ll argue. They know it, you know it, and you watch and bleat and enjoy the schadenfreude and argue and stump. Wouldn’t you rather argue over a missed play or what-if resulting from a hotly contested semifinal, rather than a phony bunch of standings? Thought so.

You’re not alone, we bleat, too, lest you think MFG is a hypocrite. Did we mention, Iowa won? A gleeful Kirk Ferentz seemed so gleeful in his postgame interview, he even evoked Bob Sanders‘ name when describing Shonn Greene. And that’s very telling – Greene is off to the NFL, rightfully so, and is one of the best running backs ever to play at Iowa. (Among Ronnie Harmon, Nick Bell, Tavian Banks, and Ladell Betts, that is no small feat.) Ferentz enjoyed this year – and he should have, a team grew up before his eyes. Some will say Ferentz‘ postgame glee is because he’s going out with a win – following former Brown/Raven colleague Scott Pioli to the NFL or whatever, but that’s the territory. I’ll choose to believe it’s because of the strides this team took throughout the season. For a coach, that’s success.

And with success, rumors follow. I don’t know how Ferentz always is a phantom frontrunner for coaching jobs. Perhaps it’s his agent, perhaps his ultraprofessional demeanor, perhaps his tendency to be honest rather than bombastic or brusque with sideline reporters (He never says no). But as an Iowa fan, I’m glad to have him, as you know. Maybe this Bowl win isn’t just redemption for a season which began as a struggle – maybe it isn’t The Big Ten’s saving grace. Maybe it’s not Ferentz‘ epilogue. Maybe it’s the sign of better things to come.

And maybe, of course, it’s just another victory – one worth a little extra reflection and celebration. A bowl win. A great way to end a satisfying season, but far from a benchmark (or coda) for any coach or conference. And for us fans, it’s enough.

Go Hawks.

Perhaps I’m unaware of this whole phenomenon, but at what point did “Gift” transform from noun to verb? As in: On Tuesday, ABC is gifting me new episodes of Scrubs. But the word gift has now morphed fully within our lexicon. Amazon.com, Itunes, and more Web sites urge me to “Gift this music,” “Gift this item,” etc.

In various account maintenance portals, I’m asked if I was gifted this particular product or purchase. For fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with the word  “give?” (MFG Resolution No. 2: More profanity. Excuse me, more fucking profanity.)

Even Merriam-Webster now deigns to dignify the false verb “gift” as a transitive verb. Thank you, Merriam-Webster, for gifting this legitimacy to a transitive verb that shouldn’t exist. Sometimes the English language is so stupid I wish i just ai parle au Francais tout le temps.

Regardless (Notice I didn’t say ‘Irregardless,’ the hallmark of true morons), I was gifted several items over the holidays. This includes a new coffee pot and Season 1 of The Wire. Both were fantastic gifts for someone to gift me. I was honored to have gifted them from. (Head explodes.) Perhaps my most perplexing gift, however, arrived today – Guns N’ Roses’ Chinese Democracy.

I opened it and there it was, someone gifting me the actual disc. It actually exists! And it’s transfixingly crappy! I can’t decide if this person’s decision to gift me was either genius or cruel, or both!

Months ago I sampled Democracy, not astonished to find it sucked. Instead of purchasing it, however, I bought both Use Your Illusions, finally updating my catalog from the cassette version of both albums. (Using an itunes gift card someone gifted me for my birthday, no less.)

And since you didn’t ask, I’ve also distilled both Illusions into one essential Illusion. Yes, I know both Will Leitch and Drew Magary on Deadspin did this months ago, but I don’t care. I’m fully interested in ticking off their douche-y little sports blogger fraternity. Anyway, I’ve now gifted this essential tracklist to you, track order preferred by me.

1. Right Next Door to Hell (I). Why don’t you write a letter to me?
2. 14 Years (II). I tried to see the sunshine, but you bring the rain.
3. Bad Obsession (I). I call my doctor. He’s just another who says I’m sick in the head.
4. Don’t Cry (alternate) (II). No one can live in sorrow, ask all your friends.
5. Don’t Damn Me (I). ‘Cause silence isn’t golden when I’m holding it inside.
6. You Ain’t the First (I). I can’t hear you crying, your jiving’s been hell.
7. Yesterdays (II). I ain’t got time, to reminisce on novelty.
8. Pretty Tied Up (II). I know this chick, she lives down on Melrose. She ain’t satisfied without some pain.
9. Garden of Eden (I). This fire is burning and it’s out of control, it’s not a problem you can stop, it’s rock and roll.
10. Estranged (II). Old at heart, but I’m only 28, and much too young to bend or break a heart.
11. Dead Horse  (I). Sick of this life, not that you care.
12. Coma (I). No one’s gonna mess with my head no more.

You’re welcome. Happy New Year.

Yes, I’m scoffing. There’s no such thing as Bowlmania. Not anymore. Gone are the halcyon days when we had a stupid, non-revolutionary system that matched conferences up, pitting the cream of the crop against one another in various locations on New Year’s Day – the absolute best way to battle a splitting hangover, by the way (Usually resulting from 24 Bud Lights at the Airliner when you couldn’t navigate past 60 frat boys from Chicago to find the bar, instead forced to buy crappy beer from the lukewarm tub. Hey! Brad Lohaus!).

Nope, now we have the non-halcyon (I’m copyrighting that word, BTW) days of a stupid, non-revolutionary system that matches the phony best teams up – but all bowl games are now drug out until spring training, played at staggered times irrespective of the one fucking tradition in college football that ever mattered, New Year’s Day.

The said new system is supposed to preserve tradition, but has ended up destroying it. This hasn’t stopped Mensa members Mike Patrick and Todd Blackledge from espousing a cockamamie 5-plus-1 scheme to award a national champion. Apparently announcing’s dynamic duo prefers the overriding criterion of first rewarding the Capital One Bowl, and devising a workable system second. See, this is the type of dipshit analysis you can’t turn away from when only four bowls are played on New Year’s Day!

Twenty years ago, we all knew we needed a playoff, and we had this stupid system with only the saving grace of New Year’s Day. Twenty years later, we all know we need a playoff, and the supposed tradition of New Year’s Day has been matter-of-factly gutted. So stop saying tradition matters, bowl proponents, because it apparently doesn’t. Irrelevant bowls like the Cotton Bowl have even convinced themselves it’s better to commandeer a worthless Friday afternoon when everyone’s at work, rather than include their pompous game on New Year’s Day. Fantastic decision (although Texas Tech presumably loves it, because no one is seeing their crappy team once again decimated).

You know what? We were hard on the Big 12, but maybe they got it right. Maybe Tech is so fucking bad that since Texas DIDN’T beat them, that’s their indictment, resulting in banishment from any conference or national title game. Sound stupid? Sure. But these are the kind of rational arguments you get when we don’t watch a playoff. Or, more to the point, don’t even watch bowl games on New Year’s Day.

Warning: Since this post ran long (shocking), we’ll continue our bitching about college football in an upcoming post focusing on Outback Bowl champion Iowa. In fact, we’ve already violated one MFG’s New Year’s resolution: Less convoluted introductions to simple blog posts. Bah!