Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Time to Shit in Bill Simmons' Wheaties Again

Linked




I love "I Told You So's" against New England and those "Boston Blowhards." Now let's check in with our daily shitting bowl Bill Simmons:

GLENDALE, Ariz. (Monday, 3 a.m. MT) -- Now it all makes sense.

You bleed for your team, you follow them through thick and thin, you monitor every free-agent signing, you immerse yourself in draft day, you purchase the jerseys and caps, you plan your Sundays around the games ... and there's a little rainbow waiting at the end. You can't see it, but you know it's there. It's there. It has to be there. So you believe.

Spoken like a true New England douchebag fan who frequents the Church of Stupid by using a bunch of bullshit religious symbolism - "believe" "have faith" - these are not components of sports. These are excuses used by mindfucked idiots to talk about their own difficulties in convincing themselves of anything in sports.

Of course, there's one catch: You might never get there. Every fan's worst fear. All that energy over the years just getting displaced, no release, no satisfaction, nothing. Season after season, no championship ... and then you die. I mean, isn't that what this is all about? Isn't that the nagging fear? That those little moral victories over the years won't make up for the lack of a big payoff at the end -- that one moment when everything comes together, when your team keeps winning, when you keep getting the breaks and you just can't lose.

Is Simmons talking about sports, or his own inability to achieve sexual climax the last time he fucked a fat chick?

And if none of this makes sense, well ... it does to me. I just watched somebody else's team win the Super Bowl. Giants 17, Patriots 14.

Since Bill is also a Red Sox fan, and I'm short on time re: Google Images...

WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

If you're wondering why this column feels familiar, it's because I pulled the previous three-and-a-half paragraphs from my postgame column after the Patriots stunned the Rams in Super Bowl XXXVI. This time around, we were the Rams. We were rooting for the unlikable double-digit favorites with an unstoppable offense. We were the arrogant fans who dismissed the chances of the other team. We had the Super Bowl postgame party looming that had been a hot ticket all week. Then the game started, and everything went right to hell. We looked flat from the first minute. Our underdog opponent gained confidence, punched us in the mouth a few times, kept punching and punching, caught a few breaks, threw a few more punches, ran out of gas near the end, looked to be done ... and out of nowhere, rallied for a miracle drive to steal the championship. We stood there slack-jawed while the other fans celebrated; we were unable to breathe and wondered what the heck just happened. And then we hustled out of the stadium like we were fleeing a crime scene.


WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

The symmetry was incredible. It was staggering. It was epic. During the two weeks leading up to the game, I heard and read different media members make the case there were potential similarities between Super Bowl XXXVI and Super Bowl XLII, never believing the comparison had merit because the 2008 Giants were so different than the 2002 Patriots. The Giants had a deep threat. They had a monster defensive line. They had a semi-experienced quarterback and a good running game. Unlike in 2002, some people were giving this underdog a chance. I just didn't see it.

But standing there in Section 129 and surrounded by delirious Giants fans who were hugging and screaming and crying and acting like stranded castaways who just noticed a rescue boat? I saw it.


WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

Truth be told, I started seeing it during the halftime show, immediately after the Patriots headed into the locker room with a deceiving 7-3 lead. Their lack of energy was alarming and almost inexplicable -- not just during the first half, but when they were warming up beforehand and getting "fired up" during the pregame introductions. (Remember that bizarre NFL Films clip before Super Bowl XXXVI, when a psyched-up Brady momentarily freaked out in the tunnel, jumped toward Drew Bledsoe, grabbed Bledsoe's helmet with both hands and started head-butting him and screaming like a lunatic? Those days were long gone.) There were red flags everywhere. New England's offensive line was getting overwhelmed by New York's front four. An uncharacteristically sloppy Brady had me telling everyone within earshot, "You know, I really think his ankle is bothering him," at least 73 times in 90 minutes. Even worse, the game had no discernible flow because of New York's 10-minute opening drive, followed by an endless slew of commercial breaks so Fox could catch up.

I'm too lazy to copy and paste that photo and crying sound again, so I'll just point this out: "An uncharacteristically sloppy Brady had me telling everyone within earshot, 'You know, I really think his ankle is bothering him,' at least 73 times in 90 minutes." = Typical New England fan. We HEARD you the FIRST time. Shut the fuck up!

Who were these guys? Where was the team I watched for the past few months? Why aren't we attacking these guys? Why did we stick with our January cold-weather offense when we're playing indoors?

And right as I was wondering about all this stuff, Tom Petty started playing "Free Fallin'.


"Oh the irony, Bill. You never cease to amaze with your overuse of symbolism that doesn't exist in sports. You do realize Tom and the Heartbreakers would have also played this song if the Patriots were leading at the half. OH WAIT. They were. Once again, a New England fan with a lead, creaming his pants and pissing on his ankles because he is an insecure fuck born and bred in one of the most depressing regions in this country. If Simmons wanted BETTER symbologyism, perhaps he should have mentioned that Petty played "Running Down a Dream" - as in the Giants as a big ol' hit and run driver chasing some pedestrians:





I'm going to skip around because there is a long delay of more of the same - bitching about the way the Patriots played, trying to create symbolism where it doesn't exist, and trying to compare this Super Bowl to 2002 as if he is writing an English paper for a class called Masturbatory Lit.

With that said, I never thought the Patriots would lose. I thought they'd be tested, I thought the game would be great ... but lose??? You could point out 10 different instances when the Pats blew a chance to make a monster play or put the game away, and you could point out all the different times the Giants caught a break or had a ball bounce their way, but really, everything you need to know about Super Bowl XLII happened on the Miracle Play To Be Named Later -- you know, the third down on the do-or-die drive when Eli Manning ripped himself away from the entire Patriots defensive line (THEY HAD HIS JERSEY!!!!!!) and threw a pass that hung in the air forever like one of those sports movie passes, and even though David Tyree and Rodney Harrison had an equal chance of getting it, Tyree jumped a little bit higher, hauled in the football, trapped it against his helmet and somehow held on while Harrison was doing everything but performing a figure-four leg lock on him.

More selfish New England douchebaggery, and it ties right into that incredibly irritating "believe" mindset they ladle out at soup kitchens up there for the emotionally starving. "I never thought we'd ACTUALLY lose!" Eli Manning and David Tyree made that play because they wanted it more - because their O-line wanted it more than the Patriots' pass rush. Because this is the quarterback Eli Manning had in him all these years, hidden away, behind the facade of the sometimes stupid and spiteful New York media's understanding of his abilities. And Harrison is a lot of things, but he was never a good jumper. The Giants knew this and picked the pieces apart of the so-called "invincible Patriots." PS - surveys show that 65% of non-Giant non-Patriot fans wanted the Giants to win, so for once, America got a champion it wanted. In a tight game, not a blowout. And this was before all that crap about cheating. America hates the Patriots because America hates the Red Sox and all Boston sports. We hate arrogant blowhards in this country. Pat your own back and someone will shoot you in your back. That's always been the rule of the street in this country. Humility is a positive trait, and one that does not go overlooked.

Seriously, what else do you need to know about this game beyond that play and the 30-second loop of Brady getting pounded by various defensive linemen?

How about the plays that actually resulted in the game's scoring?

The Giants played well enough to win, they were tougher, they were luckier and they wanted it just a little bit more.

"They were luckier." Even after all this, we're back to WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Now we live in a world that Tom Coughlin outcoached Bill Belichick in a Super Bowl...

How could ANYONE outcoach Belichick? He's a GENIUS! Newsflash: Geniuses don't get caught with their dicks in the microwave like Belichick did when Mangini busted him for cheating. Geniuses also don't run their star players out there game after game with second half leads of 30 points or more trying to run up the score. It's bad business and a risk of injury. And geniuses don't pass up 49 yard field goals in the first half of a Super Bowl to "go for it" and get stopped.

...that Eli Manning outplayed Tom Brady in a Super Bowl, that a Belichick-era Patriots team lost a Super Bowl because they weren't tough enough, that the Ewing Theory has been replaced by the Tiki Theory.

Please take a breath. Tom Brady isn't the all invincible quarterback you think he is, and don't even think about blaming his injury. Once again this just goes to prove that he is nothing without that offensive line. The rest of this babble is as incoherent as Belichick's dumbshit decision to walk off the field with :02 left on the clock. Just like New England, Belichick neither knows how to win or lose with class. In a way, he's a perfect metaphor New England, which probably explains why the region swings from his nuts 8 months a year.

The Giants deserved to win. They were better. They peaked at the right time. And watching their fans celebrate afterward, a small part of me actually felt happy for them. Envious, even. It's one thing to win a championship ... it's another to win a championship
like that. You can't possibly understand unless it happens to you.

This is arguably the only part of Simmons' article that makes sense. It feels DAMN good to end a bid at perfection and win the whole thing. And it gave the NFL its best Super Bowl in years. In past years, it's mostly been a formality...oftentimes a blowout. This year it was something different. A nation united behind the Giants in an effort to beat a hated franchise that had grown too big for its britches. And we were vindicated when they pulled through, against all odds. New Englanders will never know that feeling, and trust me, 2004 doesn't count. The Giants were the last line of defense against the Patriots in their pursuit of a record perfection that no one really wanted to see. America got its wish, and the Giants and their fans were rewarded with an incredible championship that we will remember for a lifetime.

Now Simmons goes on to list 8 memories from the Super Bowl. I will only talk about the interesting ones.

3. First entry in my notebook right after the game ended: "Eli Manning just gave me the Eli Manning Face." And he did.

Honorable mention for this, because it actually made me laugh a little. But you have to admit the old Eli Manning Face is much funnier than the Tom Brady face (helmet unstrapped, hands on hips, frowning on sideline, head slightly tilted). And I say old Eli Manning Face because the new Eli Manning Face appears near the top of this post. :P

5. Much like the Patriots, I choked heading into the weekend: Somehow, I forgot to pack my good-luck Wes Welker jersey and headed to Sunday's game without any Pats gear. Originally intent on buying a Pats hat at the game, once I saw all the jerseys in the stands and in my section, I made the executive decision to fine myself $85 dollars (the price of a white No. 81 Moss jersey at one of those merchandise booths). You can currently find that jersey sitting at the bottom of the garbage can in my hotel room. I might take it home and burn it. I haven't decided yet.

Oh no. More superstitious bullshit with religious undertones. Because Bill Simmons forgot to rub his dick three times, light a purple scented candle before leaving for the game, bring his lucky Rabbit Foot, play a pregame Simon Sez, and tap his shoulders three times before every offensive Patriots play, the Patriots lost the game. Now he is reduced to a pile of manrubble, burning things he perceives as "bad omens." It really IS funny to watch people reduce themselves to human piles of shit sometimes.

After the game, we reacted in different ways: I took the approach of "we didn't deserve to win, we sucked, we choked and I'm not getting distraught over this when the city of Boston has won five titles since 2002" (note: I didn't fully believe this but desperately tried to talk myself into it), while my father went with the approach of "I look like a doctor just gave me horrible news, and I can't speak." He was totally blindsided by what happened; in his defense, he wasn't picking up on all the bad omens during the game

So...Simmons took the douchebag New England fan's POV: "Fock the Pats!!! Wicked geyy! Focken feggits! Focken loozahs! Focken Red Sawx is where its at now, boys! Focken Celtics gonna show how shit's done in New England. Focken bums! Fock Tom Brady, focken overrated pieceashit! And whea's Welkah? Focka didn't do SHIT, Fock 'em!"

Meanwhile, daddy was just disappointed. I guess whoever said wisdom comes with age was right. And I'm sure he's not wasting time writing about bad omens. Bill: "Whea's my focken locky rabbit foot?"

8.
Finally, can you guess the last thing we heard as we were walking (OK, hustling) out of the stadium right after the final play? That's right, it was the sound of euphoric Giants fans chanting, "Eighteen and one! Eighteen and one! Eighteen and one!" Yes, it's safe to say the Boston-New York rivalry has been taken to new heights. As a tennis umpire would say, "Advantage, New York."

If this shit WAS a tennis match, the umpire would say "Deuce" upon reading Simmons' excessively verbose article. As in, "I've got to stop to take a deuce, this shit is taking forever homee!"

Eighteen and one! Eighteen and one! Eighteen and one!

I can still hear them. I will always hear them.

Oh noes teh ehcoes! Tehy're haunting me! Teh gohsts! Ahhhh!!! Tihs is waht hapenns wehn yuo don't follow teh oMeNs!!!


WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

Oh and I won't brag at all...



Well maybe just a little. So glad y'all New Englanders planned that party in advance. Mothafuckas gon' haveta press cancel on that Facebook Event shit.

18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1 18-1

No comments: