Tuesday, December 30, 2008

News Flash: Chemistry Trumps Payroll

Clap your hands if you do not belong on the sidelines.

Shockingly, the Dallas Cowboys fell short once again, despite all of their recognizable names. And just like last year, the only guy who is oblivious to the reasons why just happens to run the team.

Jerry Jones, meet the Steinbrenners.

These guys really are something. The Higher-Ups all around them are winning titles by drafting well, trading well, and removing cancerous players from the locker room. Oblivious to this fact, Jones and the Steinbrenners spend so magnificently that it can only lead us to believe they're under the impression that throwing more cash around than the other guy leads to championships. That would be similar to me facing a brick wall, quickly contemplating how to navigate it, then deciding that bashing my head against it continuously is the best course of action. As I concuss myself, those behind me would simply walk around it.

Figure it out, idiots!

Hi, I'm Jerry Jones! I think it's a can't-miss winning formula to sign Pacman Jones and Tank Johnson and throw them on a team together! Pacman is a decent human being! What's that? You say he's responsible for the paralysis of a man in Las Vegas? Before that, he grabbed a stripper by the hair and slammed her head against the floor? ALLEGEDLY! What about Michael Vick? He hates dogs! That is far worse, my friend! And as for Tank, hey, the man likes guns! I like boating! A man can't help his hobbies! Sign them up! Eat my ass, P.T. Barnum!

pacman jones Pictures, Images and Photos

What? The Pacman signing backfired? I am SHOCKED!

My favorite part about this 2008 Dallas Cowboys circus is the fact that Jones didn't stop with Pacman. When Tony Romo went down with a boo boo on his pinkie, Jerral decided that his team needed another selfish, overhyped WR whose only professional experience had been in Detroit. Sounds like a winner! Hello, Roy Williams. Goodbye, four draft picks, including next year's 1st and 3rd rounders.

This is how Jones wants it. He thinks he has the know-how that's necessary to win titles, and the last decade of futility in Dallas should serve as proof. The early 90s dynasty that we remember was built by Jimmy Johnson. And there's a lesson in there somewhere that Jones has yet to discover: To win championships, you need a great coach. You don't need an owner that is convinced of his status as ringmaster. You need Jimmy Johnson and Bill Parcells. You don't need Barry Switzer or Wade Phillips.

Sadly, Jones will keep hiring yes-men like Switzer and Phillips because they allow him to act as he pleases. Phillips will wave happily to Jones as he intrudes on his sideline. He'll gladly grant him some locker room time before the game, after the game, or even at half. Where Johnson told Jones to get his ass off of his territory, Phillips will ask his owner if he needs a drink. So on and on the cycle will go. The Cowboys will stay America's Team because of their famous names and the drama that unfolds because of them. America loves its drama. And Jones will be left scratching his head as year after year goes by without another title. But hey, at least ticket prices will be higher than ever before!

Friday, December 5, 2008

Am I Supposed To Fold This Hand?

I mean, come on. A better mathematician than I needs to take a look at this and tell me what my odds to win this hand after the flop are. I know that they're better than 99%. Here's the scenario: It's early in a 10 person double-up tourney. What this means is that when it gets down to 5 people, the game ends and everyone doubles their buy in. It's a perfect format for me. Conservative play is key early on, and try to only risk all my chips if I have a monster in this initial setting. And my 4-3 offsuit was a monster.

I was in the freaking big blind. There's no way I even play this hand from any other position, even the small blind. It's way too weak. And then this flop comes, and I suddenly have the nut straight with very little possibility for a flush. Money. And then the button(who was slow-rolling his Aces like a Nemo, keeps raising on top of me. What would you do? In retrospect, I guess I should have folded! And I noticed that the river card is obscured by the mountain of chips that he pulled in. Don't worry, it's an Ace. He paired the board on the turn to keep himself alive and then rivered his rocket. MAN, do I love poker!

And I did the math. I'll win this hand after the flop roughly 99.5% of the time. 1 hand in 200, with this flop, will see 4-3 offsuit go down. Hooray. Since I am a combination of perplexed and pissed, I need to vent some more. Here are some people that have gotten on my nerves recently.

Chad Johnson: A better sports statistician than I needs to compare his numbers before and after he started the whole "OCHO CINCO" thing. My guess is that the nickname is cursed. We really need to get rid of it. Like, now. ESPN is not helping. Anchors refer to him as Chad Ocho Cinco now. I'm sure you've heard it; It's a near-daily occurrance. Did I miss something? Did he legally change his name? His name is Chad Johnson, not Chad Ocho Cinco. Fix your teleprompters, you east coast Ron Burgundys.

If we really want to get technical, "OCHO CINCO" is gramatically incorrect. Chad Johnson calls himself eighty-five. Right? He brilliantly subs this number in place of the thoroughly inefficient first-person singular pronoun we currently have in place. Here's the Spanish translation.

ochenta y cinco

ocho cinco

Ocho Cinco is really on to something. The English language could use a tune-up. Our pronouns need a complete overhaul to finally launch into the 21st century. I think it's a great idea.

For example, I've always been partial to the nickname "Assmaster." I'll use this word in place of the word "I." That seems much more efficient and straightforward. We can also replace the word "our" with "Gossip Girl" and the word "it" with "Bibbidy Bobbidy Boo." Here's how that previous paragraph would look with this new format.

Ocho Cinco is really on to something. The English language could use a tune-up. Gossip Girl pronouns need a complete overhaul to finally launch into the 21st century. Assmaster thinks Bibbidy Bobbidy Boo is a great idea.

Up yours, Ocho Cinco.

Brian Urlacher: If you feel like shedding a block or generating some lateral speed, call me before the play happens so I can record it and put it on YouTube.

All of North America, Except for Mexico: Ok, let's get off our high horses. Who here has honestly never uttered a comment like the one Sean Avery let loose in Calgary? I know I have. I don't understand this need for our athletes to be PC. They're not role models, folks! They cheat on spouses, snort coke, and smoke crack. Josh Howard is personally keeping Colombia afloat. And now Sean Avery might get booted from the NHL because he said "sloppy seconds?" Are we serious, North America? Are we serious? Give me a big, fat break and super size it with a Mr. Pibb.

Rick Reilly: I really used to enjoy his columns. I also used to enjoy Garfield comic strips and Excitebike. Ever since he joined ESPN, his persona has ballooned to an intolerable, Emmit Smith-esque level. During the home run derby, as Josh Hamilton was creating the last great memory in Yankee Stadium, Reilly was sitting up in left field yapping nonstop and lessening the moment. "HEY! DID YOU GUYS KNOW HAMILTON DID DRUGS? HE WAS KICKED OUT OF BASEBALL! WOW, I SURE HOPE HE'S NOT ON STEROIDS! THAT MIGHT RUIN THIS PERFORMANCE OF HIS!" I'm pretty sure that John Kruk looked over at Reilly at one point and wanted to eat him. Finally, one of Reilly's most recent columns filled the nation in on how exactly Michael Vick went bankrupt. Thanks for shedding light on this issue, Rick. The former QB probably hasn't gone through enough embarrassment and shame at this point. Let's twist the knife a little more. Jackass.

Bill Walton Haters: One of my Walton-hater friends recently informed me that he suddenly found the former center likeable. I've been preaching this for years. Bill Simmons had Walton on his podcast a while back. He said "How you doing, Bill?" and Walton proceeded to talk nonstop for an hour. I'm not kidding. I don't think he stopped to breathe. It was awesome.

And for the record, the conversation that caused my friend to hop the Walton fence occurred during ESPN's halftime show. Shaquille O'Neal was drolling on in his impossible-to-understand monotone, after which Walton said "That guy talks more than Obama." Jalen Rose, sitting immediately to Walton's right, flipped out. Fantastic television.

Oprah: Can you please stop?

Miley Cyrus: Can you please stop?

Nickelback: Wow. Please stop.

This concludes my venting session. I feel much better now.