Final Thoughts From A Favre Fan
- Thanks
I’ll admit right from the beginning that the FlyMaster is a bonafide Brett Favre fan. It’s not his stats, both the good and the bad, or his exciting and often nerve-racking plays. For me, Favre played football the way everyone should play games. He went all out all the time and was always having fun. Let’s face it, sports are games and games are meant to be fun. Bottom line. Nobody puts their 6 year old son in sports in the hopes of him becoming a Hall of Famer. And for those of you who do that, shame on you. No, we put our kids in sports so they can learn some values and also so we see them having fun. Pure unadulterated fun. As we age many of us lose that inner-child and we then stop playing games. Brett Favre never let go of that inner-child and played the game like a 6 year old at the highest level.
Favre, unlike so many other major sports icons, possesses an everyman quality. His wrangler commercials are believable. His battle against painkiller addiction and his dogged determination to always go to work made him more like us than any other icon from this era. It’s imagineable to see Favre getting an offseason job just to work for work’s sake. It’s plausible to walk into an Hattiesburg bar and see Brett at the end of the bar holding court over a pitcher. Can the same be said of Tom Brady? What about Tiger Woods? No way, those guys aren’t like us. They’re openly better, and that’s okay. Favre is the uber normal man. This week we’ve seen some pretty low stories with A-Rod and Phelps, but quietly the “boy-man” Favre left the sports spotlight and I highly doubt there is anybody who can step into his role.
FlyMaster Signing Off…For Now!
Tiger Balm on the Rocket’s Sack

Fire Down Below
Roger Clemens’ legacy sports more tarnish than a Rodin sculpture left out in the Paris weather for 150 years, but the latest revelations from Tom Verducci and Joe Torre’s book “The Yankee Years” are just way too much information. For years Clemens’ workout regimen was put on the pantheon of athletic asceticism alongside Jerry Rice and Walter Payton. “The Yankee Years” may have just revealed how weird a guy Roger Clemens is and odd effects steroids can contribute to deranging an already slightly deranged mind. In the book, Clemens pregame ritual on pitch days was revealed. Steve Donahue, Yankees trainer, claimed that on pitch days Clemens would start by taking a whirlpool bath in scalding hot water. Donahue said that Clemens would emerge “looking like a lobster.” Okay, that’s not too weird. Slightly masochistic, yes, but not altogether weird. Clemens would then have Donahue take the hottest liniment and rub it into his testicles. You read it right. Rub it into his testicles. Donahue continued to say that Clemens would “snort like a bull” and that was the sign he was ready to pitch. Weird.
Clemens’ fall from grace doesn’t need anymore coverage, and getting liniment rubbed into his nuts may just be par for the course. Instead, let’s think about poor Steve Donahue. How many kids dream about wearing the famed pinstripes when they grow up? How many of those kids actually realize that dream? Steve Donahue realized the dream, donned the pinstripes, and once he made the big leagues he ends up rubbing Tiger Balm on the Rocket’s testes. At that price, you can keep the pinstripes. He might as well be in prison and Clemens was his “big brother.”
Imagine going home at night, washing your hands for 2 hours only to have your wife or girlfriend say “how was work…what did you do today?”
“Oh, same ol’ same ol’. I did some therapy on Giambi’s mustache, did rehab work with Hideki, and then rubbed some liniment on Clemens’ genitalia.”
“Isn’t that a little gay?”
“Yeah, a little bit, but he’s the Rocket.”
“Did you touch his rocket?”
“No, baby that’s just gross…strictly the nuts.”
That conversation can’t ever go well. Sorry, Steve Donahue did you not ever see that Beverly Hills 90210 episode where they teach about “No Means No”? Rub your own testes. That should be a rule across society. Rub your own testes.
FlyMaster Signing Off…For Now!
Mark McGwire’s Brother is a Rat

Beat Your Brother's Ass!
Mark McGwire did steroids. We know this. This isn’t a big deal anymore. Silence is admission of guilt, and when was the last time you heard Mark McGwire speak? That’s right, it was when he pleaded the fifth like a Chappelle’s show skit. Well, in a story that’s about as tired and used up as a hooker at a 1994 house party at Michael Irvin’s house, Mark McGwire’s younger brother Jay is making headlines (more like footnotes) with a proposed book that details brother Mark’s steroid use. Big whoopty-do. It should be noted that Jay and Mark are estranged and Jay claims that he introduced Mark to ‘roids after Mark saw Jay win a bodybuilding contest. Jay’s looking for a payday and that’s where the FlyMaster’s ire gets raised.
Assaults on filial piety, the sanctity of the family, and sibling bonds are the lowest of the low. Rats are dealt with pretty severely in prison, and thus they should be karmically retributed against with the utmost impunity when they betray their family. All families bicker, fight, become estranged, burn each other’s houses, beat each other’s puppies, but that all stays in the family. That’s rule number one. Jay McGwire broke the golden rules of being a family member and in his meager attempts to capitalize on his brother’s demons only make him a demon of higher caliber. What’s next, Jay? Are you going to rat out your other brother Dan, one of the worst NFL QB busts in the last 30 years, for being a hideously bad gunslinger who was a product of the San Diego State offense of the late 1980s? You jerk!
Please allow the FlyMaster to make an open statement to the FlySister. FlySister, if you ever rat me out on all the ridiculously dumb, dimwitted, nefarious stuff the FlyMaster is responsible for the FlyMaster will find you. Find you he will. However, if you choose to write some memoir of FlyMaster’s foibles please ask for more than $100K, although I doubt you’d receive more than $4 bucks, a six pack of Pabst, and some gummy bears. But, on the real side, the FlySister understands this agreement as an unsaid code of siblings. That’s what makes Jay McGwire even more of a douchetard. He didn’t even realize the idiocy and ignorance of his actions. Remember people, nothing is more important than maintaining belief in your family members even if they’re a walking petri dish of HGH, horse testosterone, and cow urine. Back acne and rages aside, he’s still your brother.
FlyMaster Signing Off…For Now!
What the Hell is That? Volume 2

Steroids for Kids? Damn!
A father’s love knows no bounds. Fathers dedicate themselves to providing their kids with the best opportunities to succeed, protect them from and prepare them for the awaiting world, and of course, give their kids steroids as motivation to become better athletes. Meet Mr. Todd Gerleman, an Iowa resident who expressed his love for his 14 year old son by injecting the boy with steroids and supplying him with a cocktail of pills. Do you smell “Father of the Year” yet? Well, let the story unfold. Gerleman’s dedication to his son’s competitive excellence only became apparent after his son assaulted his mother in what police described as a “steroid rage.” Mom obviously wasn’t on the same page as the Gerleman boys. By the way, Gerleman is pronounced “girlie man.” Back to our story of father-son bonding. Gerleman said he was giving his son steroids as a means to motivate him in sports. Damn, that is some out of the box thinking. “Here son, the road to success begins with me shooting some unnatural shit into your butt.” Play like a champion today.
First of all, look at this fool’s mugshot. Is that the face of a motivational speaker? Why are most cats busted for steroid dealing overweight? I guess the NWA warning of not “getting high on your own supply” resonates with the ‘roid dealers of the world. Secondly, his son is a high school wrestler (already a suspiciously homoerotic subculture) and this guy is basically using his son as a guinea pig. This defines perversion. Ok, before we condemn the man let’s listen to the case…let’s give the Gerleman some props. He’s definitely thinking outside of the box. In a time when the sports world has rallied against steroids and performance enhancers, Gerleman stood strong in his convictions. A rogue salmon swimming down stream while the rest of the pack swam upstream to spawn. It takes true belief in one’s progeny’s capabilities to want to inject them with steroids thereby increasing the size of his frontal lobe while simulataneously shrinking his nuts to the size of sunflower seeds. Acne on the back? That’s comes with the glory of being Iowa State Wrestling champ. Gerleman is the sports equivalent of those backwoods militia men who ride around on ATVs while spewing the “Freedom Or Death” rhetoric through their missing front teeth. Gerleman is in a league of his own, and I don’t encourage you to join this league.
In my attempts to improve my son’s performance in his 6 and under soccer league I’ve too use methods that may be deemed unorthodox, unethical, unusual, maniacal, and laced with evil. I can’t afford steroids, and my disdain of synthetic drugs prevent me from concocting any cocktails, but the FlyMaster has his methods. Method one is called “pull my chariot with your teeth.” This involves me sitting in a red wagon while he chomps down on a twine tether and pulls me up the driveway. This is great for leg strength, determination, neck stability, and is an adjunct way of flossing. Don’t mind the bloody gums. They get used to that. Method two is called “get a job muthaf**ker.” You got to pay to play, and having mundane jobs teaches kids the value of getting to play games. Plain and simple. Each day after school I drop him off at the life insurance agency and he gets busy trying to slang policies. He’s not bad for a six year old, but I’d never buy from him or tell him he’s doing well. Got to keep their mental state slightly fragile. Method three is called “play with the big boys son.” This involves putting him on the field with his dad’s crew of roughneck soccer players. Now the FlyMaster plays with a crew of Irish miscreants, salty Mexicans, angered Englishmen, two Argentinian jerks, and some old-school pipe smoking brothas. We put the FlySon in goal and practice taking penalty shots at him. Trick is, we blind fold him. That develops the chi and sensory perception. All of these methods have combined to completely screw up my son’s head and sense of self, but hey that’s what Gerleman was doing also, so I’m not alone.
FlyMaster Signing Off…For Now!
Rickey Henderson – Hall of Fame Linguist

Part Cobb, Part Satre
The 2009 MLB Hall of Fame class will be announced later today and one thing is for certain; Mr. Rickey Henderson’s name will be announced. Thank the heavens. The numbers don’t lie. First in all-time runs. First in all-time steals. First in leadoff homers. First in third person references. Before Rickey, the word “I” was the most common word used by athletes. Now the time has come to salute Rickey.
Without Rickey’s groundbreaking reconstruction of the English language by means of shunning the first person where would the sports world be? Bo Jackson would have just been a stuttering bull from the Deep South had Rickey not paved the way. Manny Being Manny? Rickey Being Rickey is the only “being” that matters. Put all of the on-the-field excellence Rickey exuded aside and ponder how it really feels when someone you’re speaking to refers to themself in the third person. It’s quite odd, and furthermore, it’s a little intimidating. When a person answers a question in the third person it completely removes the question asker from the conversation. Thus, it is no longer a conversation, but instead a monologue of the most disassociated sense. Example: “How’ve you been?” “FlyMaster’s been working on his type speed and FlyMaster’s font choices are improving.” See, that just sounds cool, yet removed.
Rickey’s gifts to our cultural lexicon do not end with his mastery of the third. No, he also made the non sequitor, the double entendre, malapropisms, and syllogistic arguments forms of art. From standing in his New York condo and saying he could see the “Entire State Building,” to telling the A’s “if you want to pay me like Mike Gallego, I’ll play like Mike Gallego,” Rickey channeled the best of Ty Cobb and Jean-Paul Satre. A philospher capable of creating poignancy from simplicity. Who can’t appreciate a man who would stand in front of the mirror, nude and repeating “Rickey’s the best” for several minutes with the asceticism of St. Augustine before games. That, my friends is a higher calling. Rickey’s philosophical genius bears itself in his reaction to becoming Nolan Ryan’s 5,000th strikeout victim. After fanning Rickey said “Ryan just blew it by me, but it’s an honor….Rickey will have another paragraph in the baseball books….Rickey already is in there three or four times.” Genius, plain and simple.
Here’s to the greatest leadoff player in history, the first left fielder to be inducted since Yaz, the man who could not recognize John Olerud after playing with him on two teams, and the “symbol of great base stealing.” All hail Rickey. Rickey hail Rickey. FlyMaster can’t wait for the Hall of Fame speech.
FlyMaster Signing Off…For Now!
Just Don’t Let Me See You Shoot No Dogs

Don't Mess With Drew
9 year old Bakersfield, Ca. native Drew Heredia already owns the FlyMaster’s 2009 Athlete of the Year Award. It’s over, so tell Mike Phelps, Lebron, Tiger Woods to look forward to 2010. Drew Heredia was strutting down the street last week when he, a little lady friend, and their pet dog were assaulted by a pit bull. The pit bull first attacked the little dog, then it attacked Drew’s friend. Drew Heredia don’t play that junk. Promptly, Drew jumped on the pit bull’s back and proceeded to choke the dog out using the Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu he’d been studying. That’s what I’m sayin’! That kid wins the award hands down.
First of all, pit bulls catch an overall bad rap, but every once in a while a rogue pit makes the news after mauling some kids or old folks. That’s usually because they’re owned by methed-out, trashy fools who treat animals like beasts. Enter Drew Heredia. He sent a message to pit bull nation loud and clear. “Pit bulls can fade Jiu Jitsu.” Drew, you’re a bad man. Not only did Drew teach the dog a lesson, he didn’t even have to kill it. That’s martial arts on the highest level. Bruce Lee and Miyamoto Musashi are smiling down on Sensei Heredia today for his display of control and valor. I’m thinking of moving to Bakersfield to take lessons from this kid. Be my guide, Drew. Lead me from the squalor of selfishness into the lightness of being that is. After learning how to choke out pits, I’m going to focus on other animals. Bears, marmosets, camels, manatees…no rogue animal will be safe once Sensei Drew finishes with me. Life has purpose once again.
FlyMaster Signing Off…For Now!
What The Hell Is That? Volume 1

Sports Analyst?
I‘ve done my fair share of hallucinogens. Straight up. Had conversations with Leprechaun used-car salesmen disguised as chairs. Check. Made passionate love to an unsuspecting birch tree. Check. Believed I could melt a DC-10 with the sheer power of my thoughts. Check and double check. That was the past my friends, but this morning I woke up and saw something that blew my feeble mind into a thousand Hunter S. Thompson inspired pieces. On ESPN’s First Take host Dana Jacobsen was moderating a debate between Skip Bayless and Lil’ Wayne. That’s right, Skip Bayless and Lil’ Wayne. Skip Bayless, and the endangered species he wears on his head, was locked into a serious debate about the BCS System with Lil’ Weezy. What the hell is going on here? In between debating whether or not Mack Brown did a good job coaching Texas in the Fiesta Bowl and talking about the state of the NBA, Dana Jacobsen found time to ask questions about Lil’ Wayne’s grill. To his credit, Lil’ Wayne made a good show of himself despite sounding sedated on a handful of percodan washed down with a hurricane. To their discredit, ESPN has lost the sliver of authenticity that they still maintained.
Here’s the problem. The world of cross promotion saturates us with these “mashups” that make absolutely no sense, all in the name of exposure. Being a student and fan of hip-hop for 25 years and a sports fan longer than that makes me realize that combining my likes actually makes me dislike and disassociate myself from both music and sports individually. Hearing Lil’ Wayne or Immortal Technique or Del the Funky Homosapien speak about sports is as appealing as watching paint wither off my Dodge Dart. Similarly, I wouldn’t listen to a collaboration album between Stuart Scott, Linda Cohen, and Jay-Z. Keep my favorites separated. Music over here; sports over there. It’s like putting gravy on ice cream or putting a tattoo of an eagle gripping a salmon on a beautiful pair of supple breasts. Keep that stuff separate.
If we are forced to digest these cross-cultural mashups then let’s take it to the next level. Skip and Lil’ Wayne talking sports is cool, but that’s a gateway drug. Here are a couple of mashups that would really get things popping.
- Shaq, Richard Simmons, and Oprah Winfrey doing a live television special in which they all get colonoscopies while debating the benefits of eating more kale and endives.
- Mike Vick and the Dog Whisperer debating on the best housebreaking strategies for Lhasa Apsos.
- R. Kelly and Michael Jackson espousing the virtues of home-schooling their kids while Charles Manson counters with the argument that kids need to be properly socialized in a traditional school environment.
- Plaxico Burress and Suge Knight discussing gun control with Slobodan Milosevic and Idi Amin.
- Pacman Jones and Paris Hilton doing PSA’s and being chaperones for a safe prom season.
- Jessica Simpson and Lou Holtz co-writing a book entitled “In the Pocket… Keys to the West Coast Offense.”

Endangered Species Headgear
Meanwhile, First Take continues with Skip Bayless telling Lil’ Wayne he loves his second album. Skip you are a retard of the highest caliber. That kid on “Life Goes On” just called to say you’re a mental dwarf. Actually, Dana Jacobsen just ate a dwarf and swilled its entrails in a vodka spritzer. I digress, but ESPN makes that girl wear black clothing everyday because she’s expanding faster than the universe. Seriously, you’re a sports anchor do some goddamn situps. ESPN shame on you. Lil’ Wayne, much respect for not stabbing every one of those patronizing “I know black people” anchors as they talked to you about hip-hop and grills with trepidation laced with condescension. Skip, Donald Trump called and said your hairpiece is a disgrace to the skull murkin community. I long for a nice dose of LSD because reality is a trip.
FlyMaster Signing Off…For Now!
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