And then there were four. If you went to your local bookie after taking my picks for the NFL Divisional Playoffs to bet the farm and wish to contact me about it, my name Peggy. You have problem?
But let's face it, my prognosticating methods are a bit unconventional (see: demented). I picked Seattle for one reason only. Because if they won it would totally blow your mind. Okay, two reasons: Chicago QB Jay Cutler is a head case and has a perpetual smug expression that makes you want to hit him in the face with a pie (Made with Ex-Lax and broken glass).
I picked Baltimore because I have a thing against rooting for rapists.
But Bill, what about Ray Lewis and that obstruction of justice thing with a murder investig...
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-let's not muddy the waters any more than we have to, m'kay?
I thought the Pats were hot and the Jets were hot air. Looks like somebody replaced coach Belichick's videos of the Jets private practices with Hard Knocks. Serves Tom Brady right. Now he can watch the Super Bowl like the rest of us. At home. His 22,000 square foot home on a 103-inch plasma screen TV resting his feet on a stack of cash. I'll bet his supermodel wife makes him get his own beer. Ha! Sucker. Get a haircut, hippy!
Back with a hybrid of the Binge and the Grind (think shampoo and conditioner or Alien vs. Predator dumbed down) for your reading and listening pain pleasure. Flip and Bill meet at the studios, shake hands, turn on the mic and go. It's raw, it's unrehearsed and it's awful...
Awful good! Sorry, I was choking on my own spit. I meant awful good.
Let's peruse the menu for today's specials. Think of us as your sports power lunch. Quick, cheap and by the time you get back to work you're gassy and ready for a nap.
The 2010 college football season is over (pause for tearful hanky blow) and your Auburn Tigers are the new National Champions over the Oregon Ducks in one of the most exciting sphincter-puckered-to-the-very-end games in BCS history. Bitch, moan or smugly offer up your own unsolicited playoff formula if you want. But you must admit the two best teams somehow seem to wind up playing each other in the end, no matter how many bizarre if's and but's you hypothesize on the way there. When all is said and done, one inescapable conclusion remains. The Oregon uniforms looked absolutely f***ing ridiculous. Seriously, those fluorescent leg-warmers looked like a Flashdance and Tron car crash.
It's an SEC thing. People still cock their head like a dog hearing a high-pitched fart when they hear me rooting for Auburn, the boil on Gator Nation's ass since Pat Dye left. Two words: Conference pride. The better they look, the better we all look. The worse they look, the more red meat is exposed for the starving SEC-bashing bigots to chew on all of us. We're a family. Families fight. And while it's fun to inflict wedgies, noogies and swirlies on our siblings all year long, once the punks down the street shove our brother, we band together and unite. Five titles in a row, bitches. That's a tough case to argue. But you can try. You're adorable when you're angry.
Cam guilty after the fact. Auburn QB Cam Newton was cleared by the NCAA to play, claiming that there was no evidence directly linking the shenanigans of the father (Cecil) to the son. As cynical as it sounds, it is not impossible to believe that a parent can keep a secret from a child, particularly in this case where plausible deniability is a huge plus (think Jack Bauer keeping the president out of the loop while he badasses his way through the city. Man, I miss that show). But something happened after the game that compromised that theory. During the post-game hoopla, Cam was seen on the field hugging his Pop. Far be it from me to begrudge a family celebration. But for the story to hold water, this kid should be furious at his father for embarrassment and betrayal or at the very least both of them should be aware of the fact that it may be in poor taste at best to let him on the 50 yard-line for a public embrace. Cam may not be an accessory, but he appeared in that moment, complicit. Bottom line is this: If your spouse clears you of hooking up with an ex, it may not be the smartest move to be seen drinking champagne out of her shoe on New Year's Eve.
Falcons fans listen up. We were the only ones who weren't completely dumbstruck by the Seahawks' upset of the Saints. Why? Same criticism of the Bucs. Wussy schedule. New Orleans enjoyed a similar stroll-in-the-park spanking of Cleveland, Cincinnati, Carolina (twice) and the JV NFC West on their way to the playoffs against a team and a home stadium that had had just about enough abuse all week long. An upset? Of course. But Seattle wasn't just going to sit back with their decaf cappuccinos and suck on it. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
So sit back, minimize the porn and solitaire, put aside the TPS reports and enjoy. What else are you gonna do, go out and play? It's freezing out there.
the podcast here.
It's been a about month since Flip and I wasted an hour or so of your time enjoying the sounds of our own voices gabbing about sports and junk. To kick off the new year, however, we decided that it might be kind of fun to do, wait for it, the same damn thing. So, let's check the whine list and see just what we think we know we're talking about this time around. Sure, some of the stories are a few weeks old. But it's our unedited, unrehearsed and ill-prepared opinions that are fresh out of the oven. Mmm, you can almost smell the brain fart.
The NFL regular season is over, the Bucs were one win away from embarrassing themselves in the playoffs (Thanks, Detroit!) and the post-season picture is set. We break down the remaining 12 teams (12 teams, right?) with our usual dizzying intellect and deductive reasoning to name the two contenders in the Super Bowl and actually go balls out and pick a winner. Book your tickets to Vegas, baby. I smell early retirement (Warning: Picks are for recreational purposes only. Flip and Bill are not responsible for lost life savings or college funds, destroyed marriages, or nose-dives off the Skyway Bridge).
All of college football is in the books minus one game (cough, take Auburn and the points, cough). Between the two of us, we managed to watch every single bowl game from the Poinsettia to the Rose. Also? We're dating Erin Andrews, Ben Roethlisberger won the Bart Starr Award and about 45 minutes in to the show, monkeys fly right out of Flips butt. Seriously, it was like the Wizard of Oz in there. His poor butt. Insurance won't cover that, either. Where was I? Oh, we share our much anticipated thoughts on the bowls we actually did see, why Urban Meyer left and whether or not we need a playoff system in college (spoiler alert: hell to the yes).
the podcast here.
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Back by popular demand (What? Yes, were gone for like three weeks. Glad you noticed. Jerk). Flip Satchel and Bill Freitas once again take to the cyber-waves to give you some stripped down, raw-ass, FCC can't touch us sports news and comment guaranteed to make you dive for the volme control when you realize you just heard an F-bomb and the boss has the office door open. Let's see what's on tap for the best Tampa Bay weekly podcasting sports program in Creative Loafing online named The Grind to date. Hey, make realistic goals and you achieve them. Like this morning I made a promise to myself to put on pants before noon. Success!
We dive helmet-to-helmet into what's left of college football 2010 and discuss the pain and irrefutable hind-sight of Gator Nation (new quarterback, new defensive coordinator, new defense, questionable offensive coordinator, and a doctor that insists Urban should take it easy. What could go wrong?), the jubilant schadenfreude experienced from the Boise State loss (Nevada? Really? Plus, you're giving your kicker death threats? We would expect better from a backward delusional pack of hicks with a hyper-inflated sense of self), the final Miami meltdown (Last year Bowden, this year Shannon, lose to USF in this state and you lose your job. Urban Meyer wipes sweat from his forehead in relief...or should we call a doctor), Auburn's chances of SEC supremacy and beyond (you bet your hot laptop), and much, much more (and by that we mean we can't remember).
Bucs host the Falcons for yet another test of legitimacy in front of hundreds for an NFC South rematch. Will this be yet another Buccaneer loss to a team with a winning record? Judging by the fact that our secondary has more holes in it than Sonny Corleone, let's just say they'll be cleaning up dirty bird-shit off the endzone for days.
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You're over-caffeinated yet tired. Your back hurts, your eyelids are heavy and the boss was scheduled to blow out early but is still hanging around telling painfully unfunny jokes in another futile attempt to be one of the guys. All you can do is laugh uncomfortably until you fake a frantic phone call, side-step to the fax machine for an imaginary receipt, or grab your gut mumbling something about a bad chimichanga and haul-ass. So as not to interrupt the Friday flow, I'll keep it shallow, random and quick.
Gators host Cocks for the right to be pummeled in Atlanta. South Carolina heads to the Swamp for an unexpected winner-take-all showdown to represent the East for the SEC Championship game. One word. Lattimore. If Florida doesn't find a way to stop that man-child, Gator Nation will be hearing his name in their bourbon-fueled nightmares. Nobody thought Saturday would be one of the biggest games of the year for either team. What's more amazing? I managed to get through this paragraph without making a single cock joke.
Panthers at Bucs will once again fall in a forest and nobody outside Raymond James Stadium will hear it. For the 5th straight time, the game will be blacked out. The Panthers will be starting rookie quarterback Jimmy Clausen and will be without running-terrors Jonathan Stewart and DeAngelo Williams. Introducing, Mike Goodson. A 2009 4th round running back out of Texas A&M so hot, the St. Pete Times misspelled his name. Not to worry, Mikey. They'll get it right after you pop your NFL 100 yard cherry on Sunday. I can hear it now.
"They're not booing, ladies and gentlemen. They're just chanting, 'Ruuuuud.' Huh? Oh. Never mind. They are booing."
-Fox commentator you won't hear
After you throw up from the doggie images, here's a bonus "debate" I had with Flip about Cam Newton and the subject of paying college athletes that just deteriorated into an argument. I sincerely apologize for the profanity and my incoherent blabbering that will no doubt be looked back as early signs of dementia.
the podcast here.
I can promise you this, folks. You can't get this kind of coverage in terrestrial radio. And that may be a good thing. Flip and Bill get hip deep in the mud that is the week in sports (or slow news day lifts the toilet seat and goes snorkeling). Let's take a peek. Hold your nose.
It's Halloween and the BCS looks scary. The number one spot is a spooky bed of snakes covered with red ants and the ghost of a horny Marge Schott. No wonder teams don't stay there long. We discuss the upsets, the matchups and the team about as frightening as a mini-pack of Milk Duds; Boise State. Boo!
Jerramy Stevens was busted and booted with enough wacky-tobacky to share with the Miami Heat. Makes you wonder. Just how dumb are these guys? Seriously. For millions of dollars, what wouldn't you give up? Flip shares personal anecdotes with assorted losers he's worked with for an in-depth investigation into the bong-water soaked mind of your average pothead. You'll be surprised at just how stupid is as stupid does. How these globs of meat find the front door every morning is nothing short of a miracle.
Really? Dude. Watch some porn, find a sock, jog in place with baggy shorts, grind a pillow, do something. Show you care. Get that member three strokes away from ruining your Wranglers and say, "I'm Brett Favre, bitch! Giddy-up!"
I mean if you're gonna risk it all, get primal, grab a couple of beers and jump off the plane down the emergency escape chute, for God's sake.
PLUS! Our stream of conscious thought travels from the Florida/Georgia weekend all the way to loofahs. How we got booted off the radio, we'll never know. At least we can say the F-word. Which Flip does. A lot. So join us if only to hear what it would sound like if Scarface grew up in Arkansas.
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Another hangover, another disappointing, frustrating, hair-pulling, WTF Rays loss. That's it, folks. Season's over. After the final out, with the crinkled area on the bridge of my nose indicating a befuddled cracker-mind, there was nothing left to do but finish the beer, tip the waitress handsomely for an academy-award winning performance of pretending to like me, then listen to the lame-ass postgame excuses on the way home for some semblance of perspective. For Flip, there was the big picture of a division championship and an overall successful season. For me? Not so much. To mop up our collective puddle of pride and jerk us back into a series tie that was all but done for, only to prolong the inevitable just made it cruel and unusual. After Game 2 it was as if we were strapped to the electric chair; our peace made with God and our final good-byes all wrapped up in a bow. Flip the switch, Rangers. We're ready. Then the phone rings. It's Governor Maddon, the warden tells us. You've been pardoned. A feeling of indescribable elation and relief sweeps over our body followed by an admission that, in actuality, we didn't want it to end. But just as the prison guards were about to unstrap us, instead they just tightened it, laughed in our face and said, "You really didn't think we were going to let you go, did you?"
End of The Sopranos.
Fridays, typically awesome, don't quite have the same pep this time around. Flip is full of piss and vinegar, Bill has an epic Ferg's hangover and the Rays went from playoff party-crashers in 2008 simply to uninvited guests double-dipping at the loser buffet. Over at the bar, the Texas Rangers are whispering to the Yankees asking how they got past security, the Phillies are rolling their eyes while canoodling with a giggling cocktail waitress, and the Rays, suddenly noticing the stares, awkwardly check to see if their fly is open. Embarrassing. Purge with us, won't you? Here's a peep.
Maddon admitted the Rangers took a vital component from the Rays' game plan. The component in question? Walks. I remember walking a lot in little league mostly because I sucked ass at the plate and was afraid of getting hit by a pitch. So, many at bats I just sat there and hoped I'd get more balls than I apparently had in my pants. I never dreamed it would be a playoff team's strategy. Um, Joe? Yeah, we have just a teensy issue with that.
One of the ugliest plays in baseball? A bad hop to the junk. But a close second would be striking out looking. And we can say without a single atom of sarcasm that it's something a paralyzed monkey on dope can do.
Note to professional athletes everywhere. When you call out the fans, you damn well better back it up. When you don't, expect a shit-storm. The clouds are forming, Longoria. There's a small-craft warning, Price. You've opened yourselves up to the always dependable and infinitely obvious argument that you cats are being paid millions of dollars to play a game and we're spending them to watch that turd of a shut-out. Get better. Fast. Everything's bigger in Texas, up to and including ass-poundings.
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It's been a fortnight since our last podcast. That's two weeks for you Florida State grads (BAM). Rays won then lost, then won again. The Bucs won then lost and lost spectacularly. Michael Vick had an orange jumpsuit two years ago and now makes more per week than you will in your whole life. Yep, lots to rap about. So let's peruse the cheat sheet for a half-assed transcript of today's cyber-ramblings. On we go.
The Bucs suck. Want something a little more cerebral? How's this? The Bucs indubitably suck an ardent amount of burro gonads. We discuss the political correctness of describing a crappy 2-0 team (example: A win is a win) before the inevitable reality check of the Steeler molestation.
Speaking of Steeler molestation, only one more week of banging erasers in detention for Big Ben before he can once again take the field and wag his metaphorical genitalia to law-abiding fans everywhere who send their kids to community college so they can afford tickets to watch him throw a football. Meanwhile, international crime-boss Michael Vick is winning over the (soulless) hearts and (vacant) minds of the Phili faithful. Back here at home, Bucs fans want to see more of that running back that punched out everybody but the cotton-candy guy because he ran a few garbage yards against the Steeler scrubs. What's wrong with this picture besides everything? We get all up in commissioner Roger Goodell's grill about his complicity of the NFL's transformation to the NBA.
Speaking of complicity, we take issue with Raheem Morris' stance on Tanard Jackson's suspension for whatever the hell he smoked, snorted, or injected. Not to mention the "legalize it" crowd with their whole tired and overused retread what's-the-big-deal-it's-just-a-little-weed argument. First off, we don't know if hippy-lettuce was what the dip shit tested positive for the go-zillionth time around in the first place. Secondly, if it's not a big deal, then it shouldn't be a big deal to quit to save your career and make millions of bucks, should it Sherlock?
Why aren't people going to the Rays games?
The premise is false. It's an all-or-nothing, close-minded, close-ended question designed to end the discussion before it begins. As soon as somebody mentions that the drive is too long, the avalanche of transplant anecdotal horseshit obliterates the poor bastard.
"Back in New York it took us 72 hours, two trains, four buses and a cab to make a Yankee game."
So f***ing what? There's people starving in Africa but if my Outback steak is cold, I'm sending it back.
My point is, the location is not the reason why people aren't going to Rays games. The location is why people aren't going to more Rays games. If it were closer, people would go more. Ta-da!
Put it this way. You have two friends. One lives next door, one lives 20 miles away. Which bud would you tend to hang with more? Oh, and your friend is on TV. Did I lose you?
Speaking of more, there's much much more unintelligible sports gab on The Grind podcrapcast.
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Congratulations Buc fans your football team is 1 and 0. The bad news, you beat the Cleveland Browns. While Fox was playing TMZ reruns your Pewter Pirates we getting their 2010 football on. The Highs and Low from the Facenda files gives you exactly what you need to know about Sunday's Buccaneer game. Enjoy!
The Grind: 1 and 0 is 1 and 0. You go Rah!
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Highs and Lows from the Facenda Files: Bucs v Browns
Sunday Sept.12 marked a fresh start for Raheem Morris and his 2010 Tampa Bay Buccaneers. No looking back for these pewter pirates, only forward to the newly renovated Cleveland Browns who were in town for a rumble at Raymond James Stadium. It was TMZ re-runs shown throughout the Tampa Bay area when toe was put to leather. The first of what seems could be several blackouts here in the local market. It would be Jake Delhomme and the Browns that would strike the first blow this Sunday.
Cleveland - 41 yard TD pass Delhomme to Massaquoi
1st and 10 and the Browns have the ball at the Tampa Bay 41 yard line. Delhomme under center in the I formation. Its a play action pass. Looks deep over the middle, splits two Buccaneer defenders and its caught with nobody between Massaquoi and the end zone and he will walk in for the score. Touchdown Browns! So here we go folks, week one begins with a little irony, Cleveland is named after the color of doo-doo but it's the Bucs playing like shit.
The Buccaneers would answer with the leg of Connor Barth from 49 yards in the closing moments of the first quarter of play. In the Second quarter the Browns running game battered the defense of the Buccaneers eventually scoring and taking a 14-3 lead over the home team. Josh Freeman and the Buc offense eventually began to put plays together moving into Browns territory only to make a costly error.
Buccaneers - Freeman INT
2nd down 20 for the Buccaneers after the holding penalty on Kellen Winslow Jr. Freeman in the shotgun at the Browns 45 yard line. There's the snap. Cleveland is bringing the heat. Freeman throws right for the rookie Williams and its picked off. Mike Adams is going the other way. Adams is across the 30, makes a move on Winslow at the 40, and is brought down close to mid field by Mike Williams. Freeman airmailed the pass to Williams and over threw him by a good 10 yards right into the arms of the safety. This would be a great time for a veteran back-up to calm the nappy-headed QB down but ooohhhh, sorry, no veteran leadership needed here. Why have a quarterback controversy. Or a competition for that matter, it's not like it's a sport or anything. Man, I'm bitter. Still have a migraine from the Noles abortion.
Not to be out done Jake Delhomme left the door wide open for the Buccaneers who looked to be on the ropes headed to the half.
Buccaneers - Barber INT
Time running out on the Bucs here in the first half of play. Browns have the ball at the Buccaneer 39 under a minute to go. 1st and 10 Delhomme in the shotgun. Takes the snap. Looks for the quick throw not there; Stylze G. brings the heat from the outside, Delhomme throws as he's hit, and it picked of by Ronde Barber at the 35. Thank you Jake DelHomme. Anything you can do I can do better. Take that Josh Freeman. No one is between Ronde and the goal line. Ronde is across midfield at the thirty, He's slowing down. What the hell are you doing grandpa? Across the 20 to the 15. Three Browns giving chase and Ronde is in a wheel chair. Run damn it. Son of a bitch. Barber is pushed out of bounds at the 2 yard line and he needs life support. 1st and Goal Tampa Bay as Barber is hooked up to an IV filled to the brim with Metamucil.
Freeman would hook up with his rookie wide out Mike Williams for the Buccaneers first touchdown of the day and would head into the locker room down 14-10. Ran fell on Raymond James Stadium as the second half began. Rough waters slowed both offenses throughout the 3rd. As the clouds parted it was the Pewter Pirates firing their cannons through the Browns defense.
Buccaneers - Spurlock 34 YD TD
3rd and 10 for the Buccaneers at the Browns 34 yard line. Lets see if Freeman can make up for missing a sure fire touchdown to a wide open Mike Williams. Were not going to get many more chances as there is just over 6 minutes to play in the game. Freeman in the shotgun takes the snap. He's back to pass and looking deep down the right side. Going for the end zone and its caught by Michael Spurlock my favorite player. Touchdown Tampa Bay. Buccaneers take their first lead of the day. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, ya gotta love this 3 and 13 schedule! For those of you still listening because of the blackout, you are missing a helluva bottom-feeder ballgame, but at least you don't look like you dived in a lake with your clothes on. Man, it's toasty. You could broil a roast in my tighty-whities.
When the Smoke cleared it was the Buccaneers 17, Browns 14. A lead Tampa Bay wouldn't relinquish. The Buccaneer Defense shut down the Cleveland offense sealing the Victory for the young squad. Tampa Bay Buccaneers 1 and 0. Fire the Cannons.