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Monday Morning Bullets

Yet another sports weekend has come, gone, and receded into distant memory.  From the BCS to the Pros to the ring, last weekend was action packed.  Let’s roll.

  • Florida and Tim Tebow rolled on the ‘Bama Tide, riding the wave all the way into the BCS Championship.  Question.  Is Tim Tebow back in the top 2-3 in Heisman consideration?
  • Sam Bradford, with his slightly mongoloid looks, and the Sooners treated the Mizzou Tigers like hunters intent on migrating the Tigers from the endangered species list to the extinct list.
  • In a battle of the Sooners and the Gators who wins?  This will not be a defensive game reminiscient of the USC-Texas game a few years back.  Bet the over and look for the Gators to outlast the Sooners.
  • All other bowls were announced and in the effort of not boring you to death please allow Ye Olde FlyMaster break down the rotating door of corporate sponsors.
    • Chik-Fil-A still sponsors a bowl.  The chicken business is still good.
    • Bell Helicopter sponsors the Armed Forces bowl.  What the hell is Bell Helicopter?
      Bell Helicopter Bowl?

      Bell Helicopter Bowl?

    • Roady’s now sponsors the Humanitarian Bowl.  What the hell is Roady’s?  Is it like Carrow’s or Applebees or is it a myspace for guitar techs, sound guys, and cocaine dealers?
    • Gaylord Hotels sponsors the Music City Bowl.  FlyMaster is all about social equality and justice, but staying at a Gaylord Hotel could be dicey.  Word on the street is the halftime show is an “extravaganza of fabulous proportions.”  Good luck Nashville.
    • Eagle Bank sponsors a Bowl.  Wait, didn’t all banks fail?  Why is a small bank sponsoring a Bowl game?  Sponsor my mortgage fool!
  • Can we drop all this non-BCS school controversy.  Boise State can moan louder than James Caan in Misery (post hobbling), but the fact of the matter is Utah had a great season and earned the ability to get boat-raced by Alabama in the annual “Small School Gets Owned by a Disgruntled Powerhouse Bowl.”  Shut up and schedule some big boy football schools during the season and then maybe we’ll entertain your little brother complex.
  • The Plaxidental shooting shook the Giants this weekend.  The Eagles came to play and ran the division leaders easily.  The Giants won’t be shaken for long, but they looked pedestrian against Donovan McNabb and Brian Westbrook.
  • Hold the presses…the Arizona Cardinals won their division and will host their first playoff game since 1947.  1947?  Here are some 1947 fun facts.
    • Truman was President and the buck stopped there.
    • People were sexing it up at an all-time high.  Hence the baby boom.
    • Gas was free and houses could be bought with a bail of hay and three domesticated animals.
    • The internet was the lining on the inside of a pair of burlap swimtrunks.
    • Zoot suits and pressing one’s hair was considered cool.
    • Television was the work of the devil.

  • Back to the Cardinals.  Looking at all potential NFC playoff teams, the Cardinals could do quite well because there’s only one cold weather team in the race, the Giants.  That levels the playing field for the desert birds.  Look for the Cardinals to swoop into the NFC Championship game.  Did the FlyMaster really just say that?

  • The world is crumbling.The Cowboys snatched defeat from the clutches of victory as Tony Romo gave the Steelers a go ahead TD late in the fourth.  With that said, the Cowboys are still clinging on to the last playoff spot.

  • Speaking of the Steelers…it’s time to put them on the list of all-time great defenses.  These guys are aggressive, precise, and play like a cohesive unit.  The Steelers are the favorite in the AFC.  Plus, they have Hines Ward, the toughest guy with the whitest teeth.
  • The Titans keep rolling, but they look like the most suspect one loss team ever.
  • The Jets lost again, and now there’s a three way tie for the AFC East between the Bretts, the Former Brady’s, and the Parcells.  Guaranteed…Grumpy ass Belichick and crew will win the division.
  • The Detroit Lions are 0-13.  What an accomplishment?  That’s like missing every question on an elementary school spelling test.  That’s better than being the one guy at a desperate fat chick convention and not scoring a fling.  No…it’s better than that.  It’s like showing up to the desperate fat chick convention wearing a suit made of cake and ice cream, and still not sealing the deal.  There’s no truth to the rumors that the Detroit Lions will be conducting seminars on professional excellence at Notre Dame and in Ann Arbor.
  • Does anyone want to win the AFC West? Sure the Broncos are comfortably ahead and will make the playoffs, but is any other team concerned about them?  Doubt it.
  • Give Mike Singletary the 49ers job permanently.  The niners played like a Super Bowl team and that just shows they’re taking on Singletary’s personality.
  • On to the major fight between Manny Pacquiao and Oscar De La Hoya.  Pac Man destroyed the bigger, slower De La Hoya in historic fashion.  Speed nutralized size.  Heart and intent conquered experience and legacy.  De La Hoya was done from the opening bell.  Not answering the bell for the ninth was completely unacceptable.  You’re a legend.  Man up and go out on your shield.  As a longtime Golden Boy fan, it was rough to see him turn into Gold Dust, but Manny Pacquiao can’t be denied.  Forget the fight with Hatton, bring back Floyd Gayweather Jr. so he can try and escape the Filipino Phenom.
  • Lastly, please allow the FlyMaster to pay homage to Greg Maddux, who will announce his retirement this week.  In an era of power pitchers, Maddux’s control, mastery, and grittiness made him the poster child for baseball intellectualism (otherwise an oxymoron).  With Clemens sullying his name, it can be argued that Maddux is the greatest righty in the modern era.  Farewell!

FlyMaster Signing Off…For Now!

December 8, 2008 Posted by | Boxing, College Football, Features & Opinions, General, NFL, Talkin Trash | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Commitment to Excrement

Once upon a time in a NFL galaxy far far away the colors silver and black intimidated foes and inspired fans to don ridiculous costumes.  The times were good.  A nation of alcohol and qualude fueled miscreants followed their fearless, oil-slick haired, rogue leader and his soldiers into every Sunday.  After the battles on the field concluded, the battles in the stands and in the parking lots ensued.  Jail time for disorderly conduct was an express route to the Purple Heart in Raider Nation.  Drug bust for methamphetamine…even better.  The propaganda machine was strong.  Terms like “Winningest Franchise in Sports” and “Commitment to Excellence” trumpeted from the minaret to minaret from Oakland to Los Angeles.  Three Super Bowl titles in seven years.  A rollicking band of scurilous gridiron marauders filled to the gills with steroids, syphillis, and an utter disdain for the rest of the league were always a threat to hoist the Super Bowl Trophy.  The accomplishments of Raider Nation read like a mythical list of heroic feats that would humble Hercules, bring Odysseus to his knees, and would cause even the mighty Zeus to tremble like a newborn.

Who invented democracy?  The Raiders did.

Who discovered electricity?  The Raiders did.

Who freed the slaves?  The Raiders did.

Who stormed the beaches at Normandy?  The Raiders did.

Who unlocked the mysteries of DNA and the Human Genome while simultaneously inventing the internet, the Brazilian wax, and the stylized mullet?  That’s right…The Raiders did.

We’ve all heard the stories and we’ll pass them on to the youngsters when they’re of age.  In the meantime we must confront the demons of our present with the same resilience used by the ancient Raiders in the dark times when freedom was at stake and the 1977 playoffs came down to an overtime catch by Lord Dave Casper.

On Thursday December 4, 2008 the San Diego Chargers defiled Raider Nation for the 10th consecutive time.   No respect, no vaseline, not even a peck on the cheek.  The powder blue-wearing, surfer jerk, bi-curious San Diegans grinned as the Raiders cowered on the field.  The effort on the field only reflected the turmoil in the Nation.  From the top down and from the bottom up, the Nation has fallen to its knees, its mouth sore from fellating the mascot of every other team in it’s division for the past six years.  Mind you, the Denver Broncos mascot is a horse, so you’d see why oral soreness is a problem.

The once fearless, rogue leader who thumbed his nose at the mighty Pete Rozelle, who told Oakland “F You I’m going to LA,” and then told  LA “F you I’m going to Oakland,” has devolved into a living carcass encased in one-piece pantsuits, still believing his finger is on the pulse, the very lifeblood, of football’s ethos.  Subsisting on a diet of shrimp, white wine, metamucil, and anger, the great emperor has lost his way.  Sitting in the Great Hall of Raiderdom, lonesome and deranged, Emperor Davis commands his peons to do his woefully inept bidding, each move sending Raider Nation into further decline.  His peons, none of whom have the intestinal fortitude to say “enough is enough,” watch and bask in hedonistic selfishness as the modern day Nero fiddles while his Rome burns.  The time has come for a hero. 

Is there not one hero left in the Raider Nation who can muster the soldiers, inspire the people, and challenge the Overlord for his position?  Technically, no.  The emperor owns 51% of the Nation.  To hell with technicalities.  Technicalities are good for resolving Dungeons and Dragons disputes, and defining one’s sexuality.  We need a hero.  Actually we need an entire battalion of heroes armed with new soldiers, a playbook from this century, revised marketing schemes, improved customer relations, a better stadium, some sort of parking discount policy, and the promise of more than 9 wins per year.  Basically, the Nation needs everything except upgrades in color scheme and cheerleaders.

The impossible is not what we ask.  We stand at the precipice of death and life.  The tenuous crossroads where futility and senility meet prosperity and vitality.  Staying on the current path will only lead to further mockery, denigration, and increased jaw soreness.  Down the other path lies the unknown.  But, did not the Autumn Wind blow our ancestors down the path towards excellence when our dear fallen leader was young and his chi was resolute?  The answers lie within us, oh mighty Raider Nation.  Do not let us plummet into the chasm of Cincinatti Bengaldom.  Stand strong against the temptation to resign ourselves to the timeless mediocrity of the Detroit Lions, the Arizona Cardinals, the Atlanta Falcons, and the Seattle Seahawks.  No, let us rejoin our brothers from the classic age.  The Steelers, the Cowboys, and the Giants all would still welcome us at the table of champions if we could purge ourselves of the leprosy that infects our very souls.  There is light.  And in this light, the colors of silver and black warm us as our own sun warms this planet upon which we dwell.  Fear not, the Autum Wind is a Raider pillaging just for fun.  We’ll knock you ’round and upside down, and laugh when we’ve conquered and won.

FlyMaster Signing Off…For Now!

December 5, 2008 Posted by | Features & Opinions, NFL, Talkin Trash | , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Save a Gun – Pack a Knife

By now we all know Plaxico, aka Plaxident and fka Plexiglass, Burress is a complete fool.  Carrying a gun to the club and then busting a cap in yourself qualifies as one of the dumbest moves in the annals of dumb moves, but the FlyMaster can’t fault Plax for packing.  He just happened to pack the wrong weapon of choice.   What Plaxident needed wasn’t a glock or a concealed .22.  That’s for chumps.  If you want to keep it real carry a Bowie knife.

Save a Gun - Pack a Knife

Save a Gun - Pack a Knife

A knife you say?  Yes.  A knife.  A really big knife.  Guns discharge randomly and can harm anyone and everyone around.  How many random knife discharges have you ever encountered.  None.  Sure, you might not be admitted to the club with a knife strapped to your leg, but it’s a give and take world.  Any fool can hide a gun, turn it sideways, and reinact Tupac’s death, but sporting a knife means commitment, intent, and overall 19th century ruggedness.  Only a well trained posse of Shaolin Monks would dare mess with a man rocking a dagger of death.  The knife keeps it personal, and personal attention is what it’s all about.

So, all idiotic wannabe G’d up athletes take heed.  Save your bullets, get a knife (preferably 8-12 inch blade), grow a suspiciously ominous mustache, and guaranteed nobody will mess with you.  Then you can return to sipping on sizurp, making it rain, and smacking hos et al.  Got to go sharpen my bowie, my samurai sword, and my ninja stars.

FlyMaster Signing Off…For Now!

December 4, 2008 Posted by | Features & Opinions, NFL, Stupid Athletes | , , , , , , | Leave a comment