Originally, I was going to pen just one newsletter to remind you that I still exist before I slipped off in to beautiful obscurity for another 3 to 6 months. But let’s see if we can keep this thing rolling. I say this because I’ve decided sports is what I got and I’ve got a lot to say about them. And frankly, my NASCAR beanie babies are tired of listening to me. Honestly, to me, life is about finding something you care about. And I’ll be the first to tell you there are a lot of things I just don’t care about. Need someone to play guitar around a campfire? I’m not your guy. Need to know what exactly a camshaft is used for? Look elsewhere. Hoping to talk politics or the stock market? I’m not even sure why I was talking to you in the first place. Need someone to build it? Give Ray Kinsella a call. Need someone to steal it? Try Wesley Snipes’ Willie Mays Hayes character (we here at TPS like to imagine the Omar Epps casting never happened). Need someone to hit a homerun against the Seattle Mariners and send your ball club to the World Series? Well, I can tell you the red head from Little Big League is definitely not your guy. But hey, you need someone to make obscure sports movie references? Shoot me a line. Looking for someone to rattle off the 2005 Minnesota Vikings depth chart? I have email. I care about sports. Not politics. Not economics. And certainly not foreign affairs, unless Alexander Ovechkin is somehow involved. So in honor of not caring, let’s bang out another haphazard sports newsletter that reads like a 5th graders recap of Pardon the Interruption.

What would Chris Berman say…

Today’s What Would Chris Berman Say involves Baltimore Orioles outfielder and lead-off man Felix Pie. That’s right, his last name is Pie. What Would Chris Berman Say if our friend Felix cranked out a homerun:

• Felix way better than cake because he’s Pie
• Felix Pie a la Mode
• Felix 3.1415 Pie
• Felix Kept His Pie On the Ball
• Please Pass the Felix Pie Around the Bases
• He’s. My. Felix Pie
• Byyyye, byyyye, Mister Felix Pie

Hey, I never said Boomer was funny, much less an impersonation of him. That’s on you.

CONVERSATION OF THE WEEK…

This week’s COW (silent ‘t’) features newly appointed Washington Redskins coach and his personnel manager. During the offseason, Shanahan has added aging veterans Donovan McNabb, Larry Johnson and Willie Parker to a roster already featuring Clinton Portis and Santana Moss.

Mike Shanahan: Here, this is the roster I want the Redskins to compete with.

Personnel Manager: Uhhh, this looks like you just wrote “2010 Washington Redskins Roster” on a piece of tape and covered up “2005 Pro Bowl Depth Chart”

Mike Shanahan: JUST DO IT!

Personnel Manager: Yea, look, I just pulled the tape off.

Mike Shanahan: You’re fired.

Personnel Manager: Can you really fire yourself? [
Bom, bom, bommmmm ]

Mike Shanahan, Personnel Manager: My God, we were the same person the whole time.

Twist ending!

Here’s what ya do…

Frankly, today’s athletes need help. They’ve clearly lost the ability to make sound decisions. That’s where I come in. It seems to me that these athletes could use a little assistance from a mid-twenties engineer in Wisconsin who knows a thing or two about making safe decisions because, well, he’s an engineer living in Wisconsin. As a result, I’m introducing a new segment to the newsletter this week, aptly titled “Here’s what ya do…” Join me as I provide thoughtful guidance to the misled athletes of our generation.

Our first Here’s what ya do… goes out to the New York Jets’ recently acquired cornerback Antonio Cromartie. Cromartie, who, according to an ESPN report, “has fathered seven children by six women in five states” seems to be struggling to grasp the concept of… well, conception. Wow, a tough one right off the bat, let’s see if we can help him out. Antonio, here’s what ya do… YOU STOP HAVING UNPROTECTED SEX WITH RANDOM WOMEN. Seriously, even Travis Henry is like, “Damn Antonio, slow down brother, you’re only 26 years old. The thing doesn’t fall off when you turn 30, man. Trust me, I would know.”

To new Minnesota Twins closer Jon Rauch who is going for the NBA look, covering his entire body in tattoos. Jon, here’s what ya do… YOU DON’T KILL ME IN A DARK ALLEY. MY GOD YOU ARE A SCARY MAN. Seriously, neck tattoos? On a 6′11″ guy? Who can throw a baseball over 90mph? Where did the Twins find this guy? Committing various felonies?

To the Pittsburgh Steelers’ oft-troubled quarterback Ben Roethlisberger who escaped criminal charges for a second time in as many years after using a Georgia nightclub bathroom for anything but peeing, well, in a toilet at least. Ben Roethlisberger, here’s what ya do… YOU STOP DOING STUPID THINGS. ESPECIALLY NO MORE SEX IN NIGHTCLUB BATHROOMS WITH RANDOM WOMEN. GOD, DID YOU NOT READ MY FIRST HERE’S WHAT YA DO?!?!?! Oh gosh, I think I’m getting a little worked up here. Let’s tame these down a bit.

To frustrated Washington Redskins quarterback Jason Campbell who is seemingly without a job now that the ‘Skins have secured Donovan McNabb. Jason Campbell, here’s what ya do… you don’t do anything stupid like go to the Buffalo Bills. Trust me, I’ve been to Buffalo before and if a sheltered white kid from the Midwest tells you a place is boring, he probably knows what he’s talking about.

Uh oh, recently traded wide receiver Santonio Holmes appears to be in trouble with the league again. Holmes will be suspended for the opening four games of the season after violating the league’s substance abuse policy. Santonio has had drug related issues in the past, getting busted for marijuana possession back in 2008. Maybe it’s just me, but the fix seems pretty reasonable here. Mr. Holmes, here’s what ya do… YOU QUIT ABUSING DRUGS YOU FREAKIN’ MORON@!!! I CAN NOT BELIEVE HOW STUPID YOU ARE! I SWEAR, YOU FELL OUT OF THE STUPID TREE EXCEPT MISSED EVERY SINGLE BRANCH ON THE WAY DOWN CAUSE YOU’RE AN IDIOT AND DIDN’T WANT TO SLOW YOURSELF DOWN!

Hello, loyal Headtrip readers who at no point of my two month absence questioned the status of this site.  I’ll take that as you collectively saying, “We want more! And now!”  I’d like to tell you during my hiatus I was off exploring new lands and teaching African students the English language, but you know me too well, so I’ll let you fill in your own gaps.  Now, please, don’t get your hopes up too high.  I’m not back on a permanent basis, yet, but I felt I was due for an update.  To steal a line from the Sports Guy (hey, there’s no plagiarism laws on the internet) You may want to print this one out.

Can someone please tell me what the hell happened?  As a friend of mine would say, is this some sort of sick joke?  The sports world is currently upside down.  Left is right.  Up is down.  Black is white.  The Milwaukee Bucks are winning games.  Tiger Woods is golfing and sleeping with his wife.  It just doesn’t make sense.  It’s almost as if some sort of curse or jinx has been placed on all athletic competition.  But what… or better yet, who could have the power to cast such a spell?  Surely, a guilty culprit would have a lot of money and power.  They’d also probably have to strongly influence sports.  And they’d probably somehow involve, say, the two biggest stars of any one sport without directly involving them.  Hmmmm… don’t these stipulations sound a little familiar?  Well, it’s probably because I just described the Nike commercials featuring the Kobe Bryant and LeBron James puppets that ran last basketball season.  Please, let me tell you how two felt covered dolls are bringing about the sports apocalypse.

This time last year, it was all but a foregone conclusion that Kobe and LeBron would square off in the 2009 NBA Finals.  It was what the fans wanted. It was what the league needed.  Hell, it was what ABC would have killed for.  Literally, they would have disappeared someone for that matchup.   Going in to the playoffs, we all knew nothing was stopping LeBron on his warpath to the NBA crown.  Nothing.  It was his time.  He had taken his licks the year before and was primed for his first ring.  Ignoring decades of sports curses, the Nike marketing department decided to run those ill-fated puppet commercials.  Collectively, basketball fans gasped.  We acted like the commercials weren’t real.  Nike wouldn’t jinx something this big.  Right?  Right?! Then it happened.  Dwight Howard and the Orlando Magic shocked the Cavaliers in the Eastern Conference Finals.  Could a nicer person have ruined what would been the most watched NBA Finals ever?  Unless a William H. Macy made for TV character joins the NBA, I don’t think so.  Of course, we know the rest.  Kobe went on to demolish the Magic, proving he didn’t need Shaq.  We all hated the outcome, but understood.  Kobe had worked harder than anyone else in the NBA.  In a way, he deserved the ring.  But to rob us of a showdown with LeBron?  That was downright mean.  Kobe side note: As much as I want to hate Kobe Bryant, I just can’t.   There’s something about the guy that makes us all turn into some white, naïve, Colorado hotel patron.  What?  Just me?

Flash forward a few months to the 2009 MLB League Championship Series, showcasing teams from New York, Los Angeles, Philadelphia and Los Angeles again.  Typical for baseball’s postseason, all remaining participants were big market teams with $100 million plus payrolls.  We’d seen it before and weren’t too shocked.  We knew the Tampa Bay Rays and Colorado Rockies of yesteryears were flukes.  Big market ALWAYS wins in baseball.  However, being generally optimistic, baseball fans everywhere pined for an old school Dodgers-Yankees final.  East Coast-West Coast.  Tupac-Biggie.  Bloods-Crips.  NCIS-NCIS: Los Angeles.  But then, something funny happened again.  Playing spoiler, the Philadelphia Phillies changed destiny and robbed sports fans of a Fall Classic for the ages.  Of course, showing that a $210 million payroll still means something, the Yankees went on to win the World Series while simultaneously chalking another tally in the “a Sports God might not exist” Category.   Fine, we said.  It was their time, the Yankees were due.  But the curse had to stop there, right?  Wrong.

Next came the NBA Slam Dunk contest.  Often thought of as the best part of NBA Weekend, this once celebrated spectacle was so bad that I’ll spend as much time talking about it as Gerald Wallace spent practicing dunks.

Not to be outdone, the Winter Olympics was anything but superb.  Unless you count figure skating, which I don’t, there were few feel good stories.  The results were predictable.  Germans won luge events, Norwegians won any event with the word ‘skiing’ in it and the United States won anything invented by the X-Games or Mountain Dew.  Capping the Olympics, Sidney Crosby, hockey’s least likeable player this side of Todd Bertuzzi, lead his heavily favored veteran Canadian team over the upstart United States squad, all but guaranteeing NHL players not participating in the next Olympics.  Gee, thanks Sidney, don’t you have an accusatory interview to give?

Just when all hope seemed lost, a feisty mid-major school captured America’s hearts as they fought their way to the NCCA Men’s Basketball Championship game.  They had no business being there.  It was the movie Hoosiers come to life.  They had America on their side.  They had all the momentum.  The game was 6 miles from their campus.  The crowd was so pro-Butler they could have burned a Duke flag in the stands and hung a Blue Devil from the rafters and gotten away with it.  Everything was set up for the greatest underdog story in NCCA tournament history to unfold.  And just like that, Hayward’s shot rimmed out at the buzzer.  No storybook ending.  No closure.  No satisfaction.  Just another Duke championship.  What?  This isn’t how it was suppose to work.  The Cobra Kai doesn’t win!

I honestly don’t know what to think anymore. Either it’s been a terrible two years for the good guys or the Nike puppets unleashed an unstoppable 2012 sports apocalypse.  For those of you who know me, you know my stance on conspiracy theories and impending apocalypses Or is it apocalypsi? Can you even have multiple apocalypses? Either way, start stocking up on canned beans and bottled water, this thing is about to go down.  We are on the brink of a sports apocalypse and not even an aging John Cusack can save us.  Inquiring minds want to know, what does JaCaptain see in his Sports Crystal Ball for the years to come?  Please, let me indulge:

Summer 2010: To kick the summer off right, soccer’s two top ranked teams, Spain and Brazil, will meet in the World Cup finals.  After realizing how much money they’ve made kicking around a silly looking basketball while dating super models and sporting faux-hawks, the players will walk off the field, settling with a 0-0 tie. Faux-hawk note: I’m convinced if you’re in shape, tan and have a faux-hawk, there’s a 97.3% chance you’re a professional soccer player.  Add 2 more percentage points if you have diamond earrings.

June – August 2010: After completing an impressive regular season and steamrolling the rest of the Eastern Conference, LeBron’s Cavaliers will lose in the Eastern Conference Finals to the Atlanta Hawks who will get swept by the Lakers in the finals.  Sick of the Cavaliers’ failures and living in a city whose average citizen could best be described as “husky,” LeBron bolts for the New York Knicks and signs a 12 year, $300 million contract to join Dwayne Wade and Chris Bosh in the Big Apple, creating a physics-defying, unstoppable force.

Summer 2010: Sidney Crosby and the Penguins win another Stanley Cup, while Sidney complains about not receiving his own trophy.

August – October 2010: Falling out of the playoff race, the Minnesota Twins panic and trade Joe Mauer to the New York Yankees for a handful of pitching prospects and two Coney Island hot dogs, or as the Twins marketing department describes them: the baseball players formerly known as Jorge Posada and Chan Ho Park.  After dominating the AL East like it was a tanning booth frequented by a Jersey Shore cast member, the Yankees and their $215 million payroll will capture yet another World Series championship.

February 2011: After mixed reviews and declining viewership, the NBA feels All-Star Saturday is due for an overhaul.  As a result, the Sprite Slam Dunk Contest becomes the Nestea Aggressive Layup Drill featuring NBA mid-level stars David Lee, Kevin Love, Tyler Hansborough and Nate Robinson.  Mostly because of his small stature, Nate Robinson wins after completing a layup off a standard outlet pass from Danilo Gallinari. The crowd politely claps.

Fall 2011: NFL Players Union and Owners can’t reach an agreement. An NFL Lockout ensues.  Vince McMahon revives the XFL.  All hope appears lost.

October 2011: The Yankees win another World Series.  Hope is officially lost, appearing on milk cartons and telephone poles around the country.

January 1, 2012: Newspaper article snippet: Proving one young writers lofty 2010 prediction, the recreational activity known as ‘organized sports’ passed away late last night.  ‘Sports,’ as they were referred to by friends, lost their heroic battle with imminent doom brought about by the now infamous Nike puppet commercials.  Said long time sports fan Henry Abbott of Minnesota, “Every once in a while you’d see a 12 seed beat a 5 seed or a small market team win a playoff series, but ol’ Sports just wasn’t the same after the Yankees won their third World Series in three years.  We all pretty much knew their time on Earth was short after that.” Sports was survived by leisure activities, NASCAR and John Madden.

Hopefully this article reverses the damage done. But just in case, enjoy sports while they last because the end may be near.  Thanks, Nike.

When did this country lose it’s collective balls?  When did we become such wimpy, little, girly men… or even worse, jabronis?  With more PG-13 action movies than we can physically count and the FCC willing to censor even Matlock, we’ve lost our voice.  Honestly, it’s surprising I’m allowed to write this blog while including words like titmouse and Hancock.  In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if men clad in reflective HazMat suits busted in to my apartment and torched my computer with industrial flame-throwers, Equilbium style.  Maybe some of you didn’t notice our current vulnerable state.  It’s okay.  A certain corporation wants it that way.  A corporation that has gotten away with this for far too long.  For this reason, I’m calling you out, Walt Disney.  Starting today, I’m waging war on Mickey Mouse and all his little goofy friends… especially Goofy.  You’re to blame for this mess.

Please, let me explain my hatred of one of America’s premier enterprises.  Simply put, Walt Disney is destroying our action stars.  One by one, they’re tricking our muscle-bound, dim-witted, gun-toting heroes into thinking light-hearted family movies that attempt to dish out life altering messages are good career moves.  Violence solves nothing, they say.  The most important part about parenting is just being there, they claim.   Bullshit.  Violence solves everything.  Clearly Disney has never seen the aforementioned movie, Equilbirium.  Please, explain to me how Christian Bale is suppose to take down a tyrannical government, armed with shotguns and samurai swords, if he’s going to his kid’s soccer games?  And it’d be pretty hard to save The Matrix and defeat Agent Smith if Neo spent all his time going to PTA meetings.  But maybe that’s just me.  What do I know?  I’m just a kid in his early twenties who still claims to be a college student.  It’s not like I watch movies.

We’re slowly losing our action stars to this fascist corporation and we’re all just sitting idly by while it happens.  What happened to you The Rock?  Since accepting a role in Disney’s: The Game Plan, you’ve become a shell of your former self.  Now, I turn on my television to see you donning a tutu and wings pretending to be a tooth fairy.  When you initially left the wrestling business to smash in tail-lights with a 4×4 as Johnny Knoxville stood awkwardly by, I supported you.  When you turned a non-Mortal Kombat video game in to a movie and it shockingly flopped, I stood by you.  Hell, even when you tried to revive a Mummy franchise not worth saving, I pleaded your case.  But now?  Now, you’re dead to me.  You should be smashing steel chairs over Triple H’s skull and calling people “steaming piles of monkey crap.”  Instead, you’re a cross-dressing, mythical being who places money under children’s pillows for their discarded teeth.  How you go from being on top of the sports entertainment world to six wine coolers and a mustache away from being caught in a southern California kitchen by Chris Hansen is beyond me.  Good career move.

And don’t think you’ve escaped my tirade Vin Diesel.  The Pacifier?  Babies?  Baby bottles strapped to you like grenades?  Vin Diesel should be punching hard surfaces and stiffly delivering confusing one liners, not changing diapers in a hilarious manner. (Note to readers: I have not seen, nor have plans to see the Pacifier, but let’s be honest, I’d bet my life on the inclusion of a diaper changing montage to the movie.)  Good career move.

I don’t even want to think of what is to come.  Luckily for you, I did:

-        This summer, Bruce Willis is… The Soccer Mom.

-        Ballet teacher by day, engaged parent by night, Jason Statham is… Desperate For Money… errr, I mean… The Dance Instructor.

-        Coming to theatres this fall, Sylvester Stallone is… Stay At Home Dad.

These truly are sad times.  If you’re a parent out there, do America a favor and boycott these movies.  For once, don’t think about your kids.  Think about the future of this once great nation.  Think of what we could be again.  And whatever you do, don’t let that damn mouse win.

I have an addiction.  Anthony Kiedis, I can now relate to Scar Tissue.  Nikki Sixx, you were right, the sun does set fast these days. (I’m assuming for the sake of this article, both of you read the site while touring).  Seriously, I’m an abandoned apartment filled with empty wrappers away from hitting rock bottom.  I’m cold all the time.  My increasing tolerances force me to constantly seek bigger scores.  I’m not sleeping.  I don’t feel good.  Deep breaths cause sharp upper back pains.  My will power is gone.  I’m scared and alone. Oh God, what have I become?

What could a kid in his early twenties possibly have an addiction to? Marijuana? Come on, I’m not a high school student, much less a cool one.  Cocaine? I wish I was a rockstar.  Black tar heroin? Nah, too many needles.  Horse tranquilizers? Not even close.  Human growth hormones? Who am I? Mark McGwire?  Stem cells? No…wait, what? Where did that come from?  You’re reaching now.  So, what then is the bane of my existence?  It’s simple, really.  I’m addicted to Arby’s.  I can’t stop.  I don’t want to stop.  Is that the first sign of an addiction?  Why am I sweating so much?  This can’t be normal.

I was doing fine without you Arby’s.  Sure, I wasn’t as close to Taco Bell as I was in high school and it was hard to keep a long distance relationship with Burger King, but I was calling every week and visiting every month.  McDonald’s may not have been as pretty or cool as the other fast food establishments, but their Dollar Menu was always there to console me in my darkest hours.  And then you showed up Arby’s.  Like a spurned ex-lover, you picked up right where you left off.  You just couldn’t leave me alone.  I thought I had moved on, told myself I was done with your high prices, but you sweet talked your way back into my life.  Come on inside, Mix and Match is now only $6!  Try our new $5 sub combos! I just couldn’t resist.  I was dumb, naïve and desperate.

I mean, it started harmlessly enough.

I guess I don’t have time to cook dinner before basketball.  I could stop at Arby’s. Shoot, I forgot to pack a lunch.  Well, Arby’s is basically on the way to work. Soon, it became an untamable beast.  I suppose I only bought a small Arby’s combo meal for lunch, I could go back for a large combo at dinner. That’s when things started spiraling out of control.  I’ve now gone to Arby’s four times in the last four days.  Seriously.  No, I don’t think you’re following… I’m serious.  I’d like to say I could stop at anytime, give it up cold turkey, but I don’t think I can. I’m having roast beef cravings again.  Is this what it’s like being a vampire?  Is Wesley Snipes poor and delusional enough to start hunting me? (These are the things I wonder about at night instead of sleeping.)  How does a normal man resist the urge of thinly sliced roast beef slathered with tangy Arby’s sauce?  Oh God, it’s happening again!  The cravings!  The sun… it’s going down.  There…there has to be a vaccine… some sort of antidote.  This can’t go on forever… can it?  Is there no hope for a broken man?  It must wait until tomorrow… because I’m… I’m thinking Arby’s.

As head-writer and designer for one of millions of blogs out there, I feel that it is my civic duty to help the American public succeed where the FDA has clearly failed.  Granted, I’m not exactly sure what “civic duty” actually means and the only qualification I’d have for joining the FDA is the Intro to Chemistry class I took 5 years ago, but nevertheless I’m still going to help you out anyways.  I am appointing myself, FDA web-commissioner.

My first act as acting FDA web-commissioner is to issue an immediate ban on all pure marshmallow products on the market.  I’m looking at you, Easter themed peeps.  Don’t think you can hide, Circus Peanuts.  There’s no need for you, bag of multi-colored mini marshmallows.  You are really really creepy baby peep costume.  Does any sane person really like you, Moon Pie?  For too long you’ve been consuming valuable super market shelf space.  You provide no real nutritional value.  Your taste rivals that of sugar coated Styrofoam cups (we’ve all experimented, right?).  And your elastic properties are rarely found in consumable products.  All you are is fluffed sugar.  The game’s over.  In a nation full of overweight and diabetic people, we just don’t need you anymore.

Effective immediately, I’d like to, no, I implore this nation to discard its marshmallow products.  Now, before the liberals rush to expel this propaganda from the web for fear of the marshmallow’s absorbent properties clogging landfills nation-wide, I have a removal plan for our sugary foes.  It’s really quite simple.  Ship all the leftover snacks to Taiwan so we can manufacture knock-off Tempur-Pedic pillows.  Finally, we get some value out of these things.   Instead of causing Type 2 Diabetes, Circus Peanuts could help promote proper neck alignment while sleeping.  It’s a win-win.  Unless, of course, you’re the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters.  But you were kind of screwed from the beginning.

Finally, for all you Rice Krispie Treat fanatics out there, marshmallows will still be available on a permit basis.  After filing the correct paperwork and submitting a copy of your birth certificate to local and state officials, you will be allotted your marshmallow ration for the entire year.  Please, make it count.

Like most other males in their early to mid twenties, I claim to work out far more often than I actually do.  Really, I wish I could say my lethargic personality was solely to blame, but my lack of gym time is because of something far more terrifying.  I’m talking, of course, about gym exposure.  What exactly is gym exposure?  Well, let me explain.  With New Years resolution fulfillment goals in full stride, most Americans are hitting the gym to drop those extra pounds en route to curbing our overwhelming national obesity issues.  However, resisting these lofty expectations, one problem is rearing its ugly head again.  A problem we thought went away with the inventions of the towel and undergarment.  And as a result, young men everywhere are cowering in fear, afraid to venture in to public locker rooms across the country.

Gym exposure, more commonly known by it’s street name Middle-Aged Man Crotch, has become a recent epidemic.  This ever increasing problem has plagued the fitness society for years but has seen a recent up-swing as the “baby boomers” reach their early fifties.  A time in a man’s life when buying expensive material goods and generally not caring have become prevalent activities.   A time when towels and body hair maintenance have become strictly optional.  To explain my point, picture yourself in my shoes as I provide you a day in the life of male locker room user.  At a Bally’s.  On a Tuesday.  In Wisconsin.

As a young adult using these public facilities, it is sometimes hard to imagine what waits for you on the other side of the glass door ahead.  Approaching the locker room, there is no way to prepare for the onslaught ahead.  Like an underdog boxer entering the ring, you plan to take the blows, play your best defense and hope to come out on top…  always fearing the worst. Walking into the locker room, it’s presence like no other.  As if an angry, prehistoric mammal was let out of its denim cage for the afternoon.  Sure, covering up with a small, white piece of cloth is an option.  But how would you get an accurate body weight measurement with a towel wrapped around your mid-section?  Surely the damp cloth adds fifteen to twenty pounds.  And who needs to completely dry off in the shower when you can place that towel between your legs and ride it like a naked cowboy would his bleached horse?

In the locker room, few rules seem to apply. Casually talking with friends, nude, in most locations? Inappropriate.  While in the locker room? Expected.  As if to say, “I’ve given up caring, and it appears you have too.  Let’s converse.” Spewing an anecdote about married life can’t wait for a clothed delivery.  It must be told now.

How appropriate, the seventy-eight year old creeper who can barely bend his joints, got a locker right next to yours.  Even though the room is sparingly filled, and four pieces of clothing shouldn’t take this long to put on, the man takes near record time getting dressed. Starting from the top down.  How convenient.   Like a balding, albino gorilla, he  proceeds to put lotion in places not meant for children or pregnant women to view.   You continue to stare into the dirty locker housing your workout materials and pray for God to take away your peripheral vision.  No such luck.

A slightly older man now approaches the set of lockers behind you.  Trapping you between the two old men, a bench and that wall to your right.  You see the new man glance at the naked pile of a body to your left with a familiar glint in his eye.  Oh… oh, no. He recognizes him.  Fearing entrapment, you close your locker and hop on to the bench separating the men in one motion, pushing off the worn board to get out of this hostile situation.  A sigh of relief comes over you as you lunge towards the ground, your legs cushioning the fall as your reflexes bounce you back up off the scummy tile.  Your head rises with some resistance, ready for the journey to the weights. Finally, you realize what has happened.  In all the confusion, you have leaped right into the mid-section of an oncoming naked man on his way back from the sauna.  There is no God.

Please, don’t mistake this tale as a young adult’s non-acceptance of the male body, but rather that of someone who just doesn’t want to see old dudes naked.

Dear seven people that will read this over the next four months,

I am not dead. I’ll pause a moment so you can shake your head and sigh…  Okay, done shaking?  Actually, I’ve been extremely productive these past few months and as a result have neglected the site like it was my red headed step child asking for Christmas presents.  Please, save the hostility.  I can picture most of you now, “But Adam, does watching Hulu and eating Doritos really count as productivity?” And my answer is: Of course, what a stupid question.  The second season of Paradise Hotel isn’t going to watch itself while lying in a cooler ranch flavored crumb pile.  Sorry for that visual.

Recently, Headtrip has undergone some server changes.  In the process of switching hosts, the databases which contained two years worth of posts were never backed up and ultimately lost.  But hey, who’s counting?  Well, besides me while crying myself to sleep to the thought of 24 months worth of writing lost somewhere in cyber space. What does this mean for the site? Basically, I’m starting all over again.  A fresh slate like the original Headtrip I helped start back in 2002… except with a worse social life… which I didn’t think was possible.  Really, you should probably just think of my life as those 30 second Adidas commercials, Impossible Is Nothing. Except instead of flashy shots of Ali knocking out Frazier and Kevin Garnett hitting game winning shots set to heart pumping music, it’s more like me blankly staring at a computer screen for half a minute as silence fills the background.  Same difference, right?

Over the past few months, not too much has changed for me.  I still spend my days wasting away in a carpeted box somewhere in eastern Wisconsin.  Actually, for past readers of the site, I’ve since moved on from the Windowless Factory in Wisconsin to bigger and better places.  Now I spend my days in a Mostly Windowless Office Connected to a Factory in Wisconsin. Clearly, a huge promotion.  By the end of this decade I plan to be working in a Somewhat Windowed Office in Wisconsin.  Hey, a boy can dream, can’t he?  I got a joke for you. What’s the difference between an office cubicle and a padded mental institution room with a computer? The answer… the Hello Kitty calendar I’m allowed to hang up on casual Friday.  Let’s  just say that if little 8 year old Adam could see me now… he’d probably take a baseball bat to my head.  Actually, he’d probably chop me in the knee and THEN hit me in the head once I fell down.  I’m a lot taller now.

In an effort to expel my creative and, um, other frustrations, I’ve taken to writing again.  What can I say?  It’s easier than working out.  Plus, I’m lazy. Honestly, I have no idea what I will write about this time.  I figure, I haven’t known what to say for 23 years, so I’m about due for some sort of thought process.

With the clean slate I’ve been given, I’ve attempted to conjure up some unique and fresh ways to re-launch the site.  Initially, I figured I’d say my kid was stranded in a weather balloon that flew away from me and use all the free publicity to plug the site.  However, I soon realized that the act of sexual intercourse was involved in the pro-creation process and that only  “meteorologists” can own weather balloons.  Darn the man and his rules keeping me down! Plus, the Heene’s screwed things up for the rest of us, so now I’d just look like a copycat.  Story of my life.

Ultimately, I settled on writing an unnecessarily long first post that really provided no substantial content and left most readers more confused than anything.  In fact, I think it’s working all ready.  Potato salad.  So sit back, relax, and wait four more months for me to post again.

Sincerely,

Adam

What better way to wrap up the fantasy year and newsletter year with another gimmick column! Jeez, who’s writing this weekly update? WWE writers from the mid 90’s? I swear if Doink the Clown or Flash Funk show up in this newsletter, I’m done with this product forever. With out further ado, here are the winners of the first annual JaCapties.

The following JaCapties were awarded off air:

LL Cool J JaCaptie for Coolest Name of the Year… errr… EVER

Captain Munnerlyn, Carolina Panthers

Billy Ray Cyrus JaCaptie for Mullet of the Year

Jared Allen, Minnesota Vikings (Have you seen this thing?)

Marty McFly Back to the Future JaCaptie for Comeback Player of the Year

Cedric Benson, Cincinnati Bengals

What’s In The Box?!? JaCaptie for Fantasy Performance that led to the most Adam Peterson Crying

Eddie Royal, Denver Broncos

Ed Hoculi JaCaptie for Most Jacked NFL Referee

Ed Hoculi (17 time winner, even though it’s the first annual JaCaptie Awards)

Howard Dean JaCaptie for Most Awkward Fist Pumping of the Year

Josh McDaniels from the Denver Broncos (who inadvertently uppercut the JaCaptie upon receiving the award)

Keyshawn Johnson JaCaptie for Most Overrated Wide Receiver

Braylon Ewards from the New York Jets via the Cleveland Browns (who dropped the JaCaptie upon receiving the award)

Pat Benatar JaCaptie for Heartbreakers of the Year

Whoever was playing the Vikings towards the end of the year.

Lloyd Christmas JaCaptie for Dumbest Move of the Year

Whoever green lit the Brad Childress contract extension.

Zach Galifianakis JaCaptie for Breakout Performance of the Year

Chris Johnson, running back for the Tennessee Titans

Anti-Dennis Miller JaCaptie for best MNF Addition

Jon Gruden

Franco Harris “The Catch” JaCaptie for Play of the Year

Adrian Peterson stiff arming and body slamming multiple Cleveland Browns en route to a touchdown.

Chernobyl JaCaptie for Biggest Meltdown of the Year

Tie. Denver Broncos after starting 6-0. Minnesota Vikings losing 3 of 4 down the stretch.

Charlie Sheen JaCaptie for Most Prostitutes Banged In a Year

Tiger Woods

Stone Cold Steve Austin vs The Rock JaCaptie for Matchup of the Year

New Orleans Saints vs New England Patriots, Monday Night Football

Imaginary Pamela Anderson JaCaptie for Biggest Fantasy Bust of the Year

Six way tie between: LaDanian Tomlinson, Brian Westbrook, Matt Forte, Jay Cutler, Eddie Royal and Greg Jennings.

Announcer: Out to present the award for the 2008 Lions JaCaptie for Worst Team of the NFL season are Daunte Culpepper and Calvin Johnson from the 2008 and 2009 Detroit Lions.

Culpepper [rotating his fists around each other violently]: Get your roll on people!

Megatron [shaking head in disbelief at Culpepper]: I can’t believe I’m spending my prime years attempting to catch passes from you and Stafford.

Culpepper [now at the podium, trying to read the teleprompter]: It ta-ta-takes a spa-spa-speh…

Megatron: Special. It takes a special…

Culpepper[covering mic]: I can’t read so good.

Megatron: I know, I’ll just adjust to your poor delivery like I have the past two years. It takes a special grouping of players to come together for a season and be the worst of 32 professional football teams. I should know, because I play with this guy over here. [looks at Culpepper who is getting his roll on again] Here are this year’s nominees for Worst NFL Team:

Detroit Lions

Cleveland Browns

St. Louis Rams

Kansas City Chiefs

Oakland Raiders

Megatron: Wow, that was quite the list of awful teams. [looks at Culpepper]

Culpepper[getting his roll on a third time]: Huh?

Megatron: I hate you.

Megatron: And the winner of this year’s 2008 Detroit Lions JaCaptie is… [opening the envelope] the St. Louis Rams! Unfortunately, no one from the Rams showed up tonight to accept the award, much like no one on the team showed up to play football this year.

Announcer: Out to present this year’s Ray Lewis Freak of Nature JaCaptie are award namesake Ray Lewis and convicted felon Michael Vick.

Ray Lewis [cradling the award as he runs to the podium]: WE MUST PROTECT THIS AWARD… AHHHHH… WE MUST PROTECT THIS AWARD!!!!

Michael Vick [staring at Lewis]: I can’t believe people think I’m the crazy one. Here are this year’s nominees:

- Adrian Peterson, the Minnesota Vikings

- Chris Johnson, the Tennesee Titans

- Jared Allen, the Minnesota Vikings

- DeSean Jackson, the Philadelphia Eagles

- Drew Brees’ right arm, the New Orleans Saints

Michael Vick: And the winner is… [opening envelope] …DeSean Jackson, Philadelphia Eagles. DeSean asked that we present the JaCaptie by throwing it 73 yards in to triple coverage to him.

Announcer: Here to present the Ryan Leaf JaCaptie for Worst Quarterback of the Year are Ryan Leaf and Tim Couch.

Ryan Leaf: As a three time winner and namesake of the Ryan Leaf JaCaptie, I know what it takes to be the worst quarterback in any given year.

Tim Couch: Underwhelming performances, coupled with copious amounts of interceptions, player dissension and a general overrated feeling are all apart of being the worst quarterback in the league. So, pretty much my entire tenure with the Browns.

Ryan Leaf: Hey, don’t forget the constant feeling that you’ll be sitting on a couch at the beginning of next season… haha… ha…

Tim Couch [staring at Leaf]: Yea, not funny. Here are the nominations for this year’s Ryan Leaf JaCaptie:

Jay Cutler, Chicago Bears.

Few would have predicted this nomination at the beginning of the year when Cutler was traded to a Bears team with high hopes for the 2009 season. Finishing games with four and five interceptions, Cutler woefully underperformed en route to a league leading 26 picks.

Jake Delhomme, Carolina Panthers

What more can be said for someone who has become a mainstay in this category. Killing any hope a promising young Panthers team had at competing this year, Delhomme completed 55.5% of his passes with 18 interceptions and only 8 touchdowns.

JaMarcus Russell, Oakland Raiders

Often looking like an autistic duck trying to play football, this nomination should come as no surprise considering JaMarcus completed a league worst 47.8% of his passes while throwing 10 interceptions and only 3 touchdowns.

Kerry Collins, from the Tennessee Titans

Collins led the Titans to an unprecedented six straight losses before a mid-year benching in favor of a guy who’s had a nervous breakdown within the last two years. Talk about Ryan Leaf-esque

Every Quarterback on the Cleveland Browns… from the Cleveland Browns

Brady Quinn, Derek Anderson, Tim Couch, it didn’t matter who was under center this year for the Browns.

Ryan Leaf: And the winner for the worst quarterback of the 2009 NFL season goes to… [opens envelope, reads it] … wow, a shocker here… Jay Cutler from the Chicago Bears!

[crowd applauds, Cutler stands up, shakes hands with Lovie Smith and a sharply dressed Matt Forte before making his way up to the podium]

Jay Cutler [looking at the JaCaptie]: Wow, all I can say is wow. When I was a little kid throwing interceptions in the backyard of my parents house, I knew I wanted to grow up some day earn and the Ryan Leaf JaCaptie. This truly is an honor. If you think just anybody can come in and be a worse quarterback than the JaMarcus Russell’s and Jake Delhomme’s of the world, then sadly, you are mistaken. Thank you!

[ Even though Cutler humbled the Vikings on Monday night, he underperformed so greatly the first 14 games of the year that he was still the worst quarterback. ]

MBA WEEK SEVEN POWER RANKINGS

10. HORNET DCONS (3-6):

9. Now Go’n an’ 2-step (2-7):

8. Snow Leopards (4-5):

7. SW Michigan CAVS (4-5):

6. RubADubDub ArtestIsInMyTub (4-4-1):

5. I Hate The Cavs (5-4):

4. The Hornets (4-5):

3. Comparable to the Clippers? (6-2-1):

2. Master Chief Red Fox (6-3):

1. Team (The Lesser) Peterson (5-4):

COUCH POTATO WEEK FOURTEEN RANKINGS

Even Tiger Woods wouldn’t sleep with us Division. Okay, so maybe he would.

N/A. Save Me Jon Kitna! (1-12):

N/A. Brett Favre’s Bicep Ligament (5-8):

N/A. Lexi Luggers (6-7):

N/A. Necessary Roughness (5-8):

N/A. HMI Discriminators (8-6):

N/A. Jared Allen Gave Me SCHISM (8-6):

N/A. Lucky Charms (9-6):

N/A. Sixburgh Stillers (8-7):

Eliminationville. Population: This Guy. Division

BR’s Lake Tahoe Love Shack (9-5-1): [cut to Buskirk and Hunter sitting in Hunter's office talking]

Bus: [Hunter is going through Bus's fantasy stats from the championship. Inside we see mediocre points from Bus's players] You ever have any, uh, experience with that?

Hunter: Five plus years of fantasy football, I’ve seen some pretty awful shit.

Bus: No. I mean, have you ever had any experience with that?

Hunter: Personally? Yeah. Yeah I have.

[Hunter looks away for a moment]

Hunter: I’m sure it ain’t good.

Bus: My team lost to Tom’s as well. Mean fuckin’ loss. Used to come home hammered, looking to whale on someone’s team. So I had to provoke him, so he wouldn’t go after weaker teams. Interesting nights were when he wore his championship rings…

Bus: He used to just put Aaron Rodgers, Adrian Peterson, and Ben Roethlisberger’s names on the kitchen table and say, “Choose.”

Hunter: Well, I gotta go with Big Ben there.

Bus: I used to go with Adrian Peterson.

Hunter: Why?

Bus: Cause fuck him, that’ why.

Hunter: Tom?

Bus: Yeah.

[pause]

Bus: So what does it say? Bus has awful receivers? A weak running game? Is that why I lost?

Hunter: Didn’t know you had. Wanna talk about it?

[Bus shakes his head, stares off]

Hunter: Bus, you see this, all this shit?

[Holds up the file, and drops it on his desk]

Hunter: It’s not your fault.

Bus: [Softly, still staring off] I know…

Hunter: No you don’t. It’s not your fault.

Bus: [Serious] I know.

Hunter: No. Listen to me son. It’s not your fault.

Bus: I know that.

Hunter: It’s not your fault.

[Bus is silent, eyes closed]

Hunter: It’s not your fault.

Bus: [Bus's eyes open, misty already] Don’t fuck with me Hunter. Not you.

Hunter: It’s not your fault.

[Bus shoves Hunter back, and then, hands trembling, buries his face in his hands. Bus begins sobbing. Hunter puts his hands on Bus's shoulders, and Bus grabs him and holds him close, crying]

Bus: Oh my God! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry Hunter!

[Bus continues sobbing in Hunter's arms]

The winner… and NEW HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD…

Hudson River Cement Shoes (10-4-1):

[cut to Tom standing on top of a car in the ghetto as the rest of us stare at him bitterly and begin to walk away]

Tom: Aww, you motherfuckers. Okay. Alright. I’m putting up points on all you bitches. Huh. You think you can beat me? You motherfuckers will be playing fantasy football in Pelican Bay when I get finished with you. 23 hour lockdown. I’m the man up in this piece. You’ll never see the light of… who the fuck do you think you’re fucking with? I’m the champion, I run shit around here. You just live here. Yeah, that’s right, you better walk away. Go on and walk away… ’cause I’m gonna’ burn this motherfucker down. KING KONG AIN’T GOT SHIT ON ME. That’s right, that’s right. Shit, I don’t, fuck. I’m winning anyway, I’m winning… I’m winning any motherfucking way. I can’t lose. Yeah, you can shoot me, but you can’t kill me.

It’s been fun everyone. With the fantasy season over, I won’t be sending this out every week for a while, but from time to time I may surprise you.

Sincerely,

JaCaptain Archibald Adamilo, The Third

adpeters@mtu.edu to be added to the mailing list.

What do two frozen pizzas, a huge jug of Gatorade, a full sweat suit and Adam hung over lying on the couch all day mean?

Adam’s on his way to becoming an overweight alcoholic.

Oh, how dare you, that was mean! But seriously, it’s football Sunday and Adam doesn’t have to drive anywhere. What does that mean?

Adam needs a hobby.

All right, seriously imaginary voice of the reader, you’re starting to piss me off. What I’m trying to say is, what better reason for me to log my glutinous day than a Football Sunday Diary! That’s right, just a whole day of me lying on the couch watching television. Seriously, I’m an Unsolved Mysteries episode and a Bob Barker led Price is Right away from this being a sick day from the 3^rd grade. Let’s get it started.

11:59am - Damn you snow for robbing me of a 49ers – Eagles game right now. At least CBS is kind enough to be running Titans-Dolphins.

12:15pm – Vince Young just threw a pass that was bobbled by four or five players before a Dolphins corner finally made the interception. That ball was touched by so many hands I thought it was Paris Hilton’s mid-section. Yikes.

12:20pm - Puke. FOX is running Falcons-Jets right now as the Eagles replacement game. In all fairness to FOX, the other games they could have chosen from were St. Louis-Houston, Arizona-Detroit or Browns-Chiefs. I know terminally ill patients that are healthier than that lineup of noon games.

12:27pm - The Peyton Manning – Justin Timberlake Sony commercials have officially been inducted in to the Must Watch This Commercial Hall of Fame. Joining them as first ballot hall of famers: Coors Light Press Conference commercials and This Is Sportscenter commercials.

12:30pm - Ricky Williams just finished up his algebra class and is 14 credits away from graduating from the University of Texas at age 32… which would set a record time for Communications degree completion by a professional athlete.

12:37pm – Dolphins fullback Lousaka Polite shook some tacklers and ran six yards for a tough first down, leading to this exchange from CBS announcers:

Dan Fouts: Well, that was a rude run by Polite.

Dick Enberg: Yea, that run was hardly polite at all.

Who’s writing their stuff? Me?

12:48pm – When Pat White comes in to run the WildCat, they call it the PatCat. Greatest. Name. Ever.

1:13pm – PatCat!

1:15pm – Movie trailer break time.

1:30pm – Highlights include The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus (Christmas Day), a freaking amazing Robin Hood trailer (Russell Crowe and director of Gladiator team up again for what can only be described as Braveheart meets Gladiator) and an Iron Man 2 trailer that made me giddier than a school boy. Mickey Rourke with laser whips attached to his hands battling Robert Downey Jr? Uh, yes please!

- http://www.apple.com/trailers/sony/theimaginariumofdoctorparnassus/

- http://www.apple.com/trailers/universal/robinhood/

- http://www.apple.com/trailers/paramount/ironman/

1:51pm – Nate Washington 32 yard touchdown catch. 24-6 Titans. After the catch, Washington comes up lame clutching his ankle. This leads to Enberg exclaiming: “Apparently Washington banged up his knee on the play.” Yes, apparently his knee is 18 inches lower than most people’s.

2:16pm – After a Chris Hope interception, Enberg exclaims: “Chris Hope extends just that with the interception. The Titans hope to make it to the playoffs after that 0 – 6 start.” Stop it! Don’t make me get the rolled up newspaper, Enberg!

3:09pm – Fell asleep with Miami driving and down by eight. They apparently tied it up as we’re in overtime. Interception by Henne, Titans in field goal range already.

3:15pm – Miami calls timeout right before Bironas attempts a game winning field goal.

Fouts: Well, on a cold day, Miami sure is trying to freeze Bironas.

(Banging laptop against head.)

Kick is good, Titans win 27-24. Switching over to Packers-Steelers now with Joe Buck Buck and Troy Aikman calling the game. Why do I sense more awful puns in my immediate future?

3:23pm – Packers 3 and out in 32 seconds. Steelers first play, 60 yard touchdown pass. Let’s go Steelers!

3:40pm – Greg Jennings 83 yard touchdown catch. Looks like another Madden game. Hard hitting safety tackles and ridiculous touchdown passes every other possession? We’re a heavy snowfall away from this becoming an Adam Peterson Wheelhouse Game.

4:34pm – This has got to be a record for most passes dropped in a game in which Braylon Edwards didn’t start.

5:27pm – Why is the FOX robot constantly playing with props other than a football… during football games? The first 14 weeks he was swinging a baseball bat, now he’s playing an electric guitar? Is Ricky Williams selling to the FOX graphics department?

FOX Graphics Guy [bloodshot eyes, drawling his words]: Hey man, we should like totally make the robot swing a baseball bat or like an electric guitar or something! That would be dope!

FOX Marketing: Even though it’s football season, it’s hard to argue with that logic.

6:38pm – Roethlisberger 19 yard touchdown pass to Mike Wallace as time expires! (Me jumping up from the couch, spiking the TV remote to the ground) Steelers win! Steelers win!

6:39pm – Does Wal-Mart sell replacement remotes?

7:12pm – Vikings – Panthers. How will Brad Childress screw this game up?

7:24pm – Favre just slipped three different times on the torn up field while scrambling before getting sacked. I would say the Carolina grounds crew is using the same stuff as the FOX graphics department, but not even Ricky Williams would sell this grass.

7:57pm – Captain Munnerlyn!

8:26pm – Adrian Peterson [to the Carolina Panthers goal line defense]: I. AM ALL. THAT IS MAN!

9:12pm – Showing how much I’ve been following the NBA this year, just found out Greg Oden’s done for the year. In a related note, the United States government announced that it will still be collecting income taxes in 2010.

9:13pm - Captain! Playing defense!

9:14pm – Captain! Fake returning punts!

9:20pm – Just learned that Favre’s entire pre-game stretching routine is 15 seconds long. Uhhh, Brett, you’re not helping the addicted to painkillers perception here…

9:49pm –
Me [watching the Brett Favre – Brad Childress "heated conversation" go down] [vacuuming really loudly and crying]: WHY ARE MOMMY AND DADDY FIGHTING?!?

9:53pm – I wonder what Tom’s going rate for having “Brad Childress accidently fall down a flight of stairs” would run me? Note to self: Start collecting money when you go back to Minnesota for Christmas.

10:38pm – …

10:40pm – 26-7 Panthers. Final.

10:46pm – This Vikings performance made me sad. I’ve seen Milli Vanilli put up a more legit effort. I’ve seen Vince Carter try harder during the month of November than the Vikings did tonight. Hell, I’ve seen Bud Select 55 be more potent than the Vikings offense this evening. In fact, I think Jenna Jameson suc… I better not finish this thought. This is a family newsletter. I’m off to bed, where my anger may hold back the tears tonight.

11:42pm – Or not.

3:21am – Eating all that frozen pizza was a terrible decision on my part.

MBA WEEK SEVEN POWER RANKINGS

10. RubADubDub ArtestIsInMyTub (3-4-1): Note to self: Actually change your line-up for once. Noted!

9. HORNET DCONS (3-5): I

8. I Hate The Cavs (4-4): ran

7. Now Go’n an’ 2-step (2-6): out

6. The Hornets (3-5): of

5. Snow Leopards (4-4): time

4. SW Michigan CAVS (4-4): to

3. Master Chief Red Fox (5-3): do

2. Team (The Lesser) Peterson (4-4): basketball

1. Comparable to the Clippers? (6-1-1): blurbs.

COUCH POTATO WEEK FOURTEEN RANKINGS

Even Tiger Woods wouldn’t sleep with us Division. Okay, so maybe he would.

N/A. Save Me Jon Kitna! (1-12):

N/A. Brett Favre’s Bicep Ligament (5-8):

N/A. Lexi Luggers (6-7):

N/A. Necessary Roughness (5-8):

N/A. HMI Discriminators (8-6):

N/A. Jared Allen Gave Me SCHISM (8-6):

Eliminationville. Population: These Guys. Division

N/A. Lucky Charms (9-6): At least Randy Moss didn’t give up on just the Patriots.

N/A. Sixburgh Stillers (8-7): I wish I could tell you that Hunter fought the good fight, and Tom let him be. I wish I could tell you that – but fantasy football is no fairy-tale world. He never said who did it, but we all knew. Things will go on like this for awhile – fantasy football consists of routine, and then more routine. Every so often, Hunter will show up with fresh bruises. Tom will keep at him – sometimes he may be able to fight ‘em off, sometimes not. And that’s how it will go for Hunter – that will be his routine. I do believe this first year of Tom in the league will be the worst for Hunter.

• JaCaptain narrating the Couch Potato Redemption
  

By the way, I’m not sure why, but I absolutely love this Hunter-Tom rivalry. It’s like an old school wrestling feud. Makes me want to a write a wrestling themed newsletter every damned week. Hmmmm…

This bout is for… THE HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WORLD

FAVORITE: Hudson River Cement Shoes (9-4-1):
[Tom sizes Bus up]

Tom: Hey, anybody come at you yet? Anybody get to you yet?

[Bus looks at him in puzzlement]

Tom: Hey, we all need friends in here. I could be a friend to you.

[Bus walks away]

Tom: Hey… Hard to get. I like that…

UNDERDOG: BR’s Lake Tahoe Love Shack (9-4-1):
Because I couldn’t resist!

[ Cut to Mean Gene Okerlund pushing the TPS locker room door open as the cameraman follows him in. We see Buskirk with his foot on the bench, strapping up a yellow boot. Seeing Mean Gene approach him, Buskirk stands up and starts to stroke his blonde goatee as Mean Gene begins to speak… ]

Mean Gene Okerlund:
Buster, what are your thoughts on all those saying you don’t belong in the match this week? That you have no shot at the title? What do you have to say to these people?

Buskirk [grabbing the microphone, looking directly in to the camera with a menacing face]: Well you know they said it was my last ride man! Yesterday when I finished hanging and banging. When I jumped on the Harley, man. As I went thru the intersection. As I headed for the mountains, some of the nonbelievers in the league said “See ya later Buster man! This is your last ride.” Take me alive, brothers. When I felt the fury. As I ripped. As I tore this shirt. As I headed for the sunset, man. I looked down, brothers. And as the sun beamed off the golden eyes, I realized that sooner or later, you gotta live and die and you gotta face the truth. And for you Thomas, it’s time to face the truth, brother. Because when I think about what you and I have to do man. What I have to do is nothing. All I have to do is merely beat a seven foot four 550 pound giant. But Tom, you’ve gotta face the truth, brother. In it’s purest form, man. The purest truth there is man. The training, saying your prayers, eating the vitamins. And to beat me man, You’ve got to beat every little Buskirkamaniac, every little Buster in the world. Everyone that plays it straight. All the ones that don’t take any shortcuts, brother. And they usually say “If the dirty air don’t get you, the politicians will.” But in this case. It’s going to be Buskirkamania. And the reason it’s going to get you man, it’s the purest form of the truth there is. And I can’t wait to see you go down at the feet of Buskirkamania in front of 10 plus computer screens. What you gonna do Thomas, when the real truth, the 24 inch pythons and Buskirkamania runs wild on you?

Prediction: Buskirk “Bulks Up” and body slams Tom en route to a 127 – 119 victory. You heard it here first!

Next week: Newsletter season finale. (At least writing it every week finale.)

Sincerely,

JaCaptain Archibald Adamilo, The Third

adpeters@mtu.edu to be added to the mailing list.

Another Brick In the Wall, Part TPS

Man, the first week of the offseason hits and I got a case of writer’s block worse than Terrance Mann. (A Field of Dream’s reference which only one person reading this got… and that one person is me.) I’ve hit a wall. Writing wall. Exercise wall. Mental wall. Star player from Kentucky, John Wall. Motivational wall. Pretty much every wall. Blame it on the weather, blame it on missing the fantasy football playoffs, blame it on the al-al-al-al-al-al-cohol or blame it on Tiger Woods’ mistresses. Blame it on whatever you’d like but I blame it on being the crappiest two week period of the year. Christmas is still a week and a half out, the days are ridiculously short, everyone is coming to the realization that the football season is wrapping up, the sky is constantly a shade of gray and I spend 23 hours a day inside a log cabin with two FBI agents after Tom’s most recent e-mail threats. Some people may pick up a new hobby or start working out again this time of year. Me? I changed the newsletter’s font to Times New Roman. Hey, it’s a start, right?

NFL

Last Thursday night, the Cleveland Browns ended the defending champs playoff hopes by embarrassing the Steelers 13-6 at home. Confused at the final score, Cleveland fans started booing the Browns, before realizing it wasn’t their team that put on a shameful performance at Cleveland Browns Stadium for once.

Side note: Really? That’s the name of the stadium? Who heads up the Browns creative team… Carlos Mencia?

I started writing a joke about Randy Moss, but he gave up on it before I could finish.

MLB

In baseball news, I hate the Yankees.

NBA

Allen Iverson rejoined the Sixers last week. In the three games since his returned, the Sixers are 0-3 and have yet to come close to selling out the arena. On top of that, Iverson is battling a knee injury and the Sixers hold the league’s longest current losing streak. In other words, everything’s normal in Philadelphia!

Side note: This was written Monday, step off.

In shocking news, oft-injured forward Jonathan Bender ended his three year basketball hiatus and joined the New York Knicks. When reached for comment, every Arthroscopic knee surgeon in the New York area pumped their fist violently and screamed “Yes!”

GOLF

In golf news, Tiger Woods’ penis.

HOCKEY

In hockey news, what the fuck is hockey?

COUCH POTATO WEEK FOURTEEN RANKINGS

So bad, even Tiger Woods wouldn’t sleep with us Division

N/A. Save Me Jon Kitna! (1-12): Wait, how did I get that one in the win column again?

N/A. Brett Favre’s Bicep Ligament (5-8): held up better than this team! Uhhh, zing!

N/A. Lexi Luggers (6-7): More like Dexy’s Midnight Runner’s! Oh God damnit, why didn’t I think of that rhyme for the poem newsletter?

N/A. Necessary Roughness (5-8): Oh wow, I just got this team name. It’s funny because roughness is supposed to be unnecessary! Stupid liberals.

Eliminationville. Population: These Guys. Division

N/A. HMI Discriminators (8-6): Well, apparently my dark horse was so dark, that it got lost… and then stole a television. Oh boy, I’m sorry for that. It’s a good thing I only allow upper-middle class white kids to read this.

N/A. Jared Allen Gave Me SCHISM (8-6): Damnit Hoekstra. I ask for one thing.

JaCap: Hey Hoekstra.

Hoekstra:
Hey Adam.

JaCap: Could you beat Hunter in the playoffs?

Hoekstra: Why sure, not a problem!

JaCap: Thanks! Here’s a million dollars and a new house for your troubles!

Hoekstra: Wow, you are so generous and thoughtful.

JaCap: I know.

PLAYOFFS?!?! Division

4. Lucky Charms (9-5): I’m so glad Randy Moss is back, I missed him. I really did.

3. Sixburgh Stillers (8-6): Khaaaaaaaaannnnnnnn!!!!!

2. BR’s Lake Tahoe Love Shack (8-4-1): Bye week, which means Bus had a first round bye.

1. Hudson River Cement Shoes (8-4-1): Bye week, which is what Tom calls the week he duct tapes peoples limbs together while shoving them in the trunk of his white 1965 Cadillac Coupe Deville.

MBA WEEK SEVEN POWER RANKINGS

10. Now Go’n an’ 2-step (1-6): Hey, uhhh, shouldn’t the three of us be better than this?

10. The Hornets (2-5): Yea, what gives?

10. RubADubDub ArtestIsInMyTub (3-3-1): I blame Dahntay Jones.

7. HORNET DCONS (3-4): How in the? Three players combine for less than 16 points and you still win? Who are you, the Cleveland Browns playing the Pittsburgh Steelers?

6. SW Michigan CAVS (4-3): You’re starting two Houston Rockets… and not even the good ones… wait a sec, do the Rockets even have good players?

5. I Hate The Cavs (4-3): *cough* Tyson Chandler is in your starting lineup. *cough* *cough* Why do I feel like I’ve used that exact same joke before? Oh yea, that’s right, because Tyson Chandler is terrible.

4. Snow Leopards (4-3): Look at you, trying to prove me wrong. That’s so cute.

3. Team (The Lesser) Peterson (4-3): 147 points in four games for LeBron James? I’m not sure what’s more disheartening, the fact that I don’t have LeBron on my team or the fact I had to do long division to find out James average points per game. 36.75 for those curious. James is so good, he can make three-quarters of a shot!

2. Master Chief Red Fox (5-2): You’re team is so Gay. What? Rudy Gay is the most important player on his team.

1. Comparable to the Clippers? (5-1-1): Ohhh, look at Mr. Funny Guy changing his name.

All right folks, well that does it for me this week. See you…

Tom [sporting slicked back hair]: Hello?

JaCap: Tom? Is that you? Jesus, how the hell did you find your way in to the newsletter?

Tom: I have my ways.

JaCap: Of course.

Tom: So, what do you mean by Mr. Funny Guy?

JaCap [nervously]: Oh, I was just joking around.

Tom: You mean, let me understand this cause, ya know maybe it’s me, I’m a little fucked up maybe, but I’m funny how, I mean funny like I’m a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh, I’m here to fuckin’ amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny?

JaCap: Just… you know, how you changed your name, what?

Tom: No, no, I don’t know, you said it. How do I know? You said I’m funny. How the fuck am I funny, what the fuck is so funny about me? Tell me, tell me what’s funny!

JaCap: [long pause, starts to chuckle a little]: Get the fuck out of here, Tommy!

Tom: [everyone laughs, but seems scared]: Ya motherfucker! I almost had him, I almost had him. Ya stuttering prick ya. Frankie, was he shaking? I wonder about you sometimes, Adam. You may fold under questioning. But seriously, never call me Tommy again.

Much like last weeks “Milwaukee coincidence” I take it that it’s no coincidence Joe Pesci’s character in Goodfellas is named Tommy?

Until next week kids.

Sincerely,

JaCaptain Archibald Adamilo, The Third

adpeters@mtu.edu to be added to the mailing list.