Tuesday, October 26, 2010

The Morning After Pill - Week 7

Let me start by apologizing to the readers for the actions of the blog management that prevented you from enjoying another Morning After Pill last week. Not only was I suspended for enjoying the way James Lambert, er…Harrison plays the game of football, but I was also fined. Honestly, I was thinking of retiring, but then I realized I don’t even get paid so what would be the point? Thankfully, Wes only fined me 50 feet of garden hose and a lawn sprinkler. Apparently his old lady was on him to get something more like a “city people shower” for the trailer.

But I did have time to think. One of the things I thunk on was NFL fines. Just where exactly do they go? Does Goodell need trailer upgrades too? I doubt it. Do they go to the families of Harrison’s and Merriweather’s victims? Maybe they should, but not likely. They obviously don’t go to improve officiating. Am I right, Dolphin fans? Booyeah!

NFL fines are like the traffic camera scams in your town. You didn’t realize they changed that stretch of freeway on your commute to a “school zone” just because classes go on field trips to see the hydroelectric plant nearby. So you fail to drop from 65 down to 15mph for a quarter mile, and the next thing you know, you get a bill in the mail. (I wonder if James Harrison got a letter with grainy, zoomed-in photos of the back of his jersey?). Meanwhile, the potholes get bigger, the interstate tolls get higher, and the schools get suckier. Where does the money go?

If I knew the money was going somewhere worthwhile, like designing new pink-striped breast cancer awareness jerseys for all NFL officials, I would be chanting, “Fine that hit! Fine that hit!” along with the nasally Collinsworths of the world. In fact, here are some more ideas for fine-able offenses I would like to see:

-Speaking of pink, let’s fine players who don’t wear enough of it. I mean, what’s wrong with you guys? Don’t you CARE? It’s like not wearing enough “flair” at Chotchsky’s in Office Space. For shame! Philip Rivers would have been fined Sunday. What kind of football player is he? For the record, so would Tom Brady if we didn’t all know he wore pink underwear. On a related note, did you see that game yesterday where the pink towel was momentarily confused for a challenge flag? Ha! More please.

-Players who celebrate after downing a punt inside the 5 should be fined when the following play results in a 20+ yard gain. GET A DEFENSE! My laughter at their team is not enough. Fine them!

-Of course, refs who can’t tell who landed on a fumble with 5 angles of slo-mo replay (Hello, isn’t that in your job description in the same sense that the camera guy is supposed to point his lens in that direction?). And yes, I am a Steeler fan, but sometimes I wonder if I hate the refs more than I love the Steelers. Chuckie Gruden would understand.

-That ref who was standing two centimeters from Percy Harvin Sunday night as he clearly stepped out of bounds, yet called a touchdown anyway needs a special fine. It better be higher than Harrison’s 75k.

-I’d like to see Al Michaels fined for his commentary on the NFL fines as proactive insurance against future lawsuits. Seriously? “Your honor, my client, the plaintiff, asserts that he was never told he could get hurt playing this game.” Maybe if we follow the fine money it will lead to Michaels’s hairpiece?

-I think Brett Favre nut-hugging sportscasters who incessantly quote Favre stats (especially stupid ones at Lambeau like how many times he’s used the urinals there) should be fined each time the legendary Favre throws a pick-6.

-Sports authors who convinced fantasy owners to bench Kenny Britt this weekend should be slapped with a very special fine. (Yeah, I started Anthony Armstrong over him. Who’s going to take care of my family when I put my head through the monitor?)

-Should Michael Boley get fined for an overrated hit that took out an overrated QB? Interesting logic puzzle isn’t it?


Ok, switch gears. Trivia time. The question is: “291?”

No, it’s not the pill count from Elvis Presley’s stomach contents in his autopsy report. It’s not the Tomlin-imposed speed limit on James Harrison’s future hits.

Yes! It’s the year Emperor Diocletian signed a peace treaty with the Nubian and and Axum empires!

It’s also the end of an era. That’s right, no sports commentary would be complete without a completely unrelated Brett Favre segment. Besides, I need to get my Favre word count up for this article’s Wordle (see M.A.P. Week 5).

Did anyone else see the sign near the end zone Sunday night? It read:


I was so intrigued by the nuances of this Lambeau fan art that I nearly missed the Favre implosion that was the fourth quarter. I didn’t think to DVR it, but I could swear “Pictures” was actually spelled, “Pitchers,” which, along with other evidence, makes it an obvious product of a cheesehead-level education. I found myself wondering, “Favre-hater, or desperate, obese, opportunistic fan-ho?” And what was he/she failing to spell vertically? ESPN? Nothing? Something only the “Pack will be Back” faithful would understand? Fascinating, and hilarious when seen over Favre’s shoulder during a snap count closeup.

So when Favre performed his Magnum Poopus for us on Sunday, did anyone else feel like you were watching a zombie flick? With the pale, pasty, sweaty-faced, agitated look he wore, I could have sworn he’d been bitten by the undead in the ankle an hour before, and he was trying to hide “the changing” from his teammates. I was waiting for him to spring on Shiancoe in the huddle and try to eat his brains.

Good news. It was just a double fracture. He’ll be back in two weeks with an INT for you and another for me. Set your watch by it.

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