There will be times in your life when you cross a rubicon--one of those points where you recognize that life will never be the same afterwards. For me, last night was one of those nights.
Allow me to set the scene a little bit. One of my first posts on Fegonomics detailed my experience with my company's Red Sox season tickets last year--an experience that pretty much bored to tears. Fast forward 365 days: we got a black man doing his thing in the White House, Big Papi has lost at least 25 pounds of muscle, It Was All a Dream exhibits significantly more alcoholic tendencies, and I still hate baseball...well kinda.
I got tickets for the Red Sox/White Sox clash thinking that the White Sox fans were going to look like this. At the very least, I was excited by the prospect of double fisting $8 bood lights and alienating all the old-timers sitting around me and Dream. After a few assaults on the beer stand, and some freebie soft serve, I was starting to really get into the game. Something about the way Tim Wakefield was pulling some okey-doke shit with his knuckleballs really resonated with me. Around the sixth inning, the the score knotted at 1's, I started proclaiming that Wally Ortiz was going to hit a walkoff.
Anyone (read: the one person) who reads this blog realizes that my beisbol knowledge is limited. Patricia Heaton limited. Limited to the point that I think Henry Rowengartner is still the Cubs' middle reliever. So while I recognized that chaman Ortiz had definitely dropped a lot of bulk after getting off the 'roids, I failed to take into account the deletorious effects getting weaned off the cream and the clear would have on his performance. I mean, the fact that I can bench his batting average is not a very good sign. But statistics? Where we're going, we don't need no stinking statistics.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Last Naked Warrior suspended one week for role in bench clearing brawl
Actually, I'm just going to Cape Cod for the week, and changing apartments when I get back.
Anyway, I should have plenty of time during the next week to dream up a brand new set of Over/Unders, so check back with me next Monday.
In the meantime, if you're really jonesing for some Warrior in your life, check my other blog, Sports Toast. Okay, shameless plug over.
See you in a week.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Freaks v. 5
This guy's dropping late, so we'll just cut straight to your freaks...
That line indicates biostatisticians' projection of the progression of the 100m world record time. Bolt's record hadn't been projected until the turn of the next century. Pre-Bolt, researchers calculated the "Ultimate Record" (i.e. the fastest humanly possible time) for the 100m as 9.44 seconds. Given the drastic revisions of the record books in the past 2 years, it is clear that Usain is forcing us to reevaluate what the limits of human speed are.
In a similar vein, Usain Bolt's success goes completely counter to all previous concepts of the prototypical sprinter. In the past, it was believed that shorter was better for sprinters. Generally, there is a inverse relationship between the muscle speed and size. Small guys like rodents and Nate Robinson have lots of fast twitch fibers that enable them to accelerate quickly at the expense of long distance top speed.
Bolt, on the other hand, blends the fast twitch capabilities of a mighty mouse with the biomechinical efficiencies that come with his 6'4" frame. This is the very definition of a freak--someone who can have his cake and eat it, too; defying commonly held conventions of biology to be purely built for speed.
Perhaps I'm a little jaded, or perhaps I've just learned how to be a more discerning customer, but I can't get all the way behind Bolt. In the past decade, we've come to realize that if something seems too good to be true, and records don't seem real...they're usually not. That being said, I hope beyond all hope that Bolt is clean. He is first team all-Kevin Garnett because he shows us that anything is possiibbllllleeeee(also because he rill rill dark)--a beacon of light in the increasingly dark and sinister world of sports. Not the hero we deserve, but the hero we need.
Meta Freak
Usain Bolt
Usain Bolt
People like Usain Bolt make this column easy to write. Not only did he easily win the 100m and 200m World championships, but he utterly eviscerated world records that he himself had previously set. Bolt's destruction of the 100m world record was the largest improvement in the mark in history. To help you conceptualize how crazy a feat this was, here's a chart that I merced from some other website (with some value added of my own):
That line indicates biostatisticians' projection of the progression of the 100m world record time. Bolt's record hadn't been projected until the turn of the next century. Pre-Bolt, researchers calculated the "Ultimate Record" (i.e. the fastest humanly possible time) for the 100m as 9.44 seconds. Given the drastic revisions of the record books in the past 2 years, it is clear that Usain is forcing us to reevaluate what the limits of human speed are.
In a similar vein, Usain Bolt's success goes completely counter to all previous concepts of the prototypical sprinter. In the past, it was believed that shorter was better for sprinters. Generally, there is a inverse relationship between the muscle speed and size. Small guys like rodents and Nate Robinson have lots of fast twitch fibers that enable them to accelerate quickly at the expense of long distance top speed.
Bolt, on the other hand, blends the fast twitch capabilities of a mighty mouse with the biomechinical efficiencies that come with his 6'4" frame. This is the very definition of a freak--someone who can have his cake and eat it, too; defying commonly held conventions of biology to be purely built for speed.
Perhaps I'm a little jaded, or perhaps I've just learned how to be a more discerning customer, but I can't get all the way behind Bolt. In the past decade, we've come to realize that if something seems too good to be true, and records don't seem real...they're usually not. That being said, I hope beyond all hope that Bolt is clean. He is first team all-Kevin Garnett because he shows us that anything is possiibbllllleeeee(also because he rill rill dark)--a beacon of light in the increasingly dark and sinister world of sports. Not the hero we deserve, but the hero we need.
Foodie Freak
Casey Thompson
I realize that Dream and Earnest are perhaps the only ones who will appreciate this pick, but allow me to explain myself. Top Chef returned with a vengeance this week, ram jamming viewers with 3 straight hours of new content, between the Top Chef: Vegas premiere and the finale of Top Chef: Masters. As of this writing the finale hasn't aired, but I think the smart money is on Hubert Keller to take home the gold in Masters, though Rick (Brother of Meta Fego (NSFW, Basically Porn), Skip) Bayless could surprise with by cooking within his comfort zone.
Oh, you guys still don't give a shit? Aight, aight. All this Top Chef talk is really just a front to showcase cha girl Casey Thompson. Not only is Casey head and shoulders(that's a dude!) above the competition as the hottest woman ever on Top Chef, but she was a final episode meltdown away from being the first woman to win the competition. Admittedly, this is pure speculation, but she looks like she could inhale my lightswitch, as well.
With her obvious physical and culinary gifts, some Heather Brooke level skill with the skin flute might vault her up to the #1 ranked prospect in the land. Can you imagine an HB 8.5 like her taking all of your 1.5 inch tower of power while you're scarfing down duck sous vide? I'm getting wet just thinking about it. One more for the road....
I realize that Dream and Earnest are perhaps the only ones who will appreciate this pick, but allow me to explain myself. Top Chef returned with a vengeance this week, ram jamming viewers with 3 straight hours of new content, between the Top Chef: Vegas premiere and the finale of Top Chef: Masters. As of this writing the finale hasn't aired, but I think the smart money is on Hubert Keller to take home the gold in Masters, though Rick (Brother of Meta Fego (NSFW, Basically Porn), Skip) Bayless could surprise with by cooking within his comfort zone.
Oh, you guys still don't give a shit? Aight, aight. All this Top Chef talk is really just a front to showcase cha girl Casey Thompson. Not only is Casey head and shoulders(that's a dude!) above the competition as the hottest woman ever on Top Chef, but she was a final episode meltdown away from being the first woman to win the competition. Admittedly, this is pure speculation, but she looks like she could inhale my lightswitch, as well.
With her obvious physical and culinary gifts, some Heather Brooke level skill with the skin flute might vault her up to the #1 ranked prospect in the land. Can you imagine an HB 8.5 like her taking all of your 1.5 inch tower of power while you're scarfing down duck sous vide? I'm getting wet just thinking about it. One more for the road....
Classic Freak
George Best
George Best
I'm sure LNW will approve.
Alright, so Best has been dead for 5 years, so there's not a ton of justification for this choice. If you really want to know, I was trying to watch one of my favorite youtube mixtapes, the George Best "Ordinary World" clip, when I realized that the audio had been replaced with "My Immortal" by Evanescence due to copyright concerns. Stuff like that pisses me off, so I stuck it to the man and employed my D- iMovie skills to remake the video with the original audio. What we have here is a fitting tribute (that I basically plagiarized) to the man for whom they used to say, "Maradona good; Pele better; George Best."
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Not Welcome
Unless you’ve been living in Siberia these past few days then you know Brett Favre has done it again. He’s making his second come back to the NFL to play for the Minnesota Vikings, the arch rivals of the Green Bay Packers. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen a darling of American sports return for a second time. Michael Jordan, the epicenter of sport for two decades, made a comeback in the 01-02 season with the Washington Wizards after drafting then thought to be promising rookie Kwame Brown. Jordan had been out of the league for three years, and after leading the NBA in scoring every single year he’d played a full season and winning just about every championship and MVP in the 90’s, he failed to even sniff the playoffs with the Wiz. Jordan dinged what had been an immaculate resume, one that even included him sitting out a season and a half on a gambling probation while claiming he was following his late father’s dreams to play baseball, but one tiny scratch on a fleet of Maseratis generally goes unnoticed. Favre’s return violates the Spoonie Luv Principal of Shame found here. It’s basic premise is, you can fool us once and we’ll forgive you, (if you’re playing for a team in another conference) but if you wrong us twice, then we have reason to despise you (especially when you join your former team’s enemy). With all the hype and news coverage Favre has been gleaning since his stated return you may be reluctant to believe that his return is destined to fail, but it is. This isn’t some radical game theory, it’s fact. Makes you want to say HE DID WHAT!
In 1997 I experienced a heavy tectonic shift in my world view of sports. The year seemed to be marked by much preening, as I saw the Pats make the Super Bowl, Tiger emerge as a great charismatic golf presence, and the Rockets put together a championship run on the backs of three veterans in the twilight of their careers. These accomplishments carried very ephemeral hopes as the Rockets were dismembered by Drexler’s lazy D on this shot by Stockton, Tiger was dissected and scrutinized by his peers, and the Pats lost to a well-coiffed hurler and a special teamer. I knew that the Rockets were finished and that Tiger would bounce back from such indignities (and I would love him), but what really weighed on me was the difference between the vanilla Stonehenge of Drew Bledsoe and the brazened heroics of QB1 Brett Favre. Flag footballers across the country began modeling their offenses after the kid, attempting to squeeze throws into impossible places, airing it out on first down, and making nothings into scrambling push pass somethings. His style was new wave and spontaneous, a bastion of fresh air from the horse faces and playoff losers. What people refused to know, was that Brett Lorenzo Favre lived every moment of his life with that same gun-ho passion and it quickly caught up to him. In a Sports Illustrated article by Peter King, right before his super bowl year, Favre revealed how he almost lost his life to a seizure as a result of his addiction to pain killers. The article goes on to detail that he was literally taking fistfuls of vicodin and that his wife Deanna came close to leaving with their bastard child who was conceived seven years before they were married. Of course Favre persevered and went on to win two more MVP awards.
So Dream, what does this have to do with his inability to produce this year? Basically, everything. Brett Favre is stuck in the year 1997, but with a twist. He not only believes that he can produce at the same level on the field, but thinks he warrants the respect of a guy who’s played in 270 straight games. Vicodin for breakfast, lunch, and dinner baby! The contradiction here is that these two beliefs can’t mutually exist. Brett, you can’t have your respected peers calling you a legend without accepting that you do this a lot. Don’t call me a hater because I wanted Favre’s career to end in a spectacle of glory with him riding off into the sunset as the iconic figure he would have been in Wisconsin, Mississippi, and all over the country. Instead Favre has made himself a pariah, the embodiment of everything selfish in sports. He refuses to go through training camp but claims he still has a laser rocket arm. He strings the Vikings along until the 25th hour, and then only after they name Helicpoter Rosenfels the starter does he decide to return, probably because in his country heart he knows that he’s “better”. Then there are the Packers fans, Oden and Sleazer alike. What are they left to think of this man who once owned a dresser full of keys to the city? I commented earlier that the only parallel I can think of would be if Jeter at the age of 42 announced his retirement then came back to play out a one year deal with the Braves, announced his retirement again then felt he could be the missing piece of a championship contending Red Sox team. Although the New Yorkers would probably forget him quicker than A-Rod lets him slip it in his anoose, he is still the modern day face of the franchise. What this really means for Favre, is that instead of remembering him for his triumphs in the face of adversity and death we’ll forever associate him and his sniffles with the other weeping prima donnas of this era.
The icon you could have been...
Aside from the Karmic implications of this comeback, Favre has to wrestle with one very big elephant in the room, is he still any good? Some superficial fans may come running with pitchforks screaming, “Dream he made the pro bowl last year he must be awesome!” To which I’d laugh and retort, the pro bowl is the least important glamor game in all of sports. No one cares for a game that comes after the entirety of the season and has a voting system that closes multiple weeks before the season is over. Some NFL big wigs think that playing the game the week before the super bowl is going to make a difference. This just restricts the game even more, penalizing those players who have reached the real pinnacle of the sport, the championship game. Let’s take a look at Favre’s numbers before and after his bye week last year (week 5).
Click to Increase Size
It appears that the Jets success was not a function of Brett’s. In his first four games Favre appeared to be the ’97 gunslinger we always loved, throwing for an average of 3 touchdowns and only 1 interception. His team was only 2-2 during this stretch with losses to the Pats and Chargers. It should be noted that the numbers are a little deceptive because Favre threw for 6 tds and 1 int against the super bowl runner up Cardinals in week 4. The games after the bye week tell a different story. The Jets allowed 9 less points per game and experienced a 5 game winning streak which included a dismantling of the unbeaten Titans. But what about Brett? In the final 12 games Favre struggled to not turn the ball over, averaging a pick and a half a game while throwing for less than one touchdown per. His QB rating (a slightly flawed metric) fell 30 points, well below his career average. As a Patriots fan I can assure you that he completely sucked in the season finale against Miami when he could have locked up a playoff birth for the Pats with a win. It must also be noted that the Jets had a tremendously weak schedule last year and that their losses after the bye came to the Raiders, Broncos, 49ers, Seahawks, and Dolphins. Yes that’s right, only 1 of those 5 losses was at the hands of a playoff team. The Vikings will be playing the Lions twice this year but also have games at Pittsburgh, GB, Carolina, Chicago, Arizona, and home games with the Giants and Ravens. That schedule isn’t so Stay Puft. My advice to Favre is to reconsider this comeback and do what most MLBers should and come clean. Admit that you made a mistake in judgment and that you are content staying in the backwoods hunting elk and fly fishing. Go fight breast cancer with your wife and take the millions the Vikings are willing to give you to start more research centers. If that doesn’t work then take pride in being the Wranglers man and follow in the footsteps of the bionic man who is going to obliterate all your records.
In 1997 I experienced a heavy tectonic shift in my world view of sports. The year seemed to be marked by much preening, as I saw the Pats make the Super Bowl, Tiger emerge as a great charismatic golf presence, and the Rockets put together a championship run on the backs of three veterans in the twilight of their careers. These accomplishments carried very ephemeral hopes as the Rockets were dismembered by Drexler’s lazy D on this shot by Stockton, Tiger was dissected and scrutinized by his peers, and the Pats lost to a well-coiffed hurler and a special teamer. I knew that the Rockets were finished and that Tiger would bounce back from such indignities (and I would love him), but what really weighed on me was the difference between the vanilla Stonehenge of Drew Bledsoe and the brazened heroics of QB1 Brett Favre. Flag footballers across the country began modeling their offenses after the kid, attempting to squeeze throws into impossible places, airing it out on first down, and making nothings into scrambling push pass somethings. His style was new wave and spontaneous, a bastion of fresh air from the horse faces and playoff losers. What people refused to know, was that Brett Lorenzo Favre lived every moment of his life with that same gun-ho passion and it quickly caught up to him. In a Sports Illustrated article by Peter King, right before his super bowl year, Favre revealed how he almost lost his life to a seizure as a result of his addiction to pain killers. The article goes on to detail that he was literally taking fistfuls of vicodin and that his wife Deanna came close to leaving with their bastard child who was conceived seven years before they were married. Of course Favre persevered and went on to win two more MVP awards.
So Dream, what does this have to do with his inability to produce this year? Basically, everything. Brett Favre is stuck in the year 1997, but with a twist. He not only believes that he can produce at the same level on the field, but thinks he warrants the respect of a guy who’s played in 270 straight games. Vicodin for breakfast, lunch, and dinner baby! The contradiction here is that these two beliefs can’t mutually exist. Brett, you can’t have your respected peers calling you a legend without accepting that you do this a lot. Don’t call me a hater because I wanted Favre’s career to end in a spectacle of glory with him riding off into the sunset as the iconic figure he would have been in Wisconsin, Mississippi, and all over the country. Instead Favre has made himself a pariah, the embodiment of everything selfish in sports. He refuses to go through training camp but claims he still has a laser rocket arm. He strings the Vikings along until the 25th hour, and then only after they name Helicpoter Rosenfels the starter does he decide to return, probably because in his country heart he knows that he’s “better”. Then there are the Packers fans, Oden and Sleazer alike. What are they left to think of this man who once owned a dresser full of keys to the city? I commented earlier that the only parallel I can think of would be if Jeter at the age of 42 announced his retirement then came back to play out a one year deal with the Braves, announced his retirement again then felt he could be the missing piece of a championship contending Red Sox team. Although the New Yorkers would probably forget him quicker than A-Rod lets him slip it in his anoose, he is still the modern day face of the franchise. What this really means for Favre, is that instead of remembering him for his triumphs in the face of adversity and death we’ll forever associate him and his sniffles with the other weeping prima donnas of this era.
The icon you could have been...
Click to Increase SizeIt appears that the Jets success was not a function of Brett’s. In his first four games Favre appeared to be the ’97 gunslinger we always loved, throwing for an average of 3 touchdowns and only 1 interception. His team was only 2-2 during this stretch with losses to the Pats and Chargers. It should be noted that the numbers are a little deceptive because Favre threw for 6 tds and 1 int against the super bowl runner up Cardinals in week 4. The games after the bye week tell a different story. The Jets allowed 9 less points per game and experienced a 5 game winning streak which included a dismantling of the unbeaten Titans. But what about Brett? In the final 12 games Favre struggled to not turn the ball over, averaging a pick and a half a game while throwing for less than one touchdown per. His QB rating (a slightly flawed metric) fell 30 points, well below his career average. As a Patriots fan I can assure you that he completely sucked in the season finale against Miami when he could have locked up a playoff birth for the Pats with a win. It must also be noted that the Jets had a tremendously weak schedule last year and that their losses after the bye came to the Raiders, Broncos, 49ers, Seahawks, and Dolphins. Yes that’s right, only 1 of those 5 losses was at the hands of a playoff team. The Vikings will be playing the Lions twice this year but also have games at Pittsburgh, GB, Carolina, Chicago, Arizona, and home games with the Giants and Ravens. That schedule isn’t so Stay Puft. My advice to Favre is to reconsider this comeback and do what most MLBers should and come clean. Admit that you made a mistake in judgment and that you are content staying in the backwoods hunting elk and fly fishing. Go fight breast cancer with your wife and take the millions the Vikings are willing to give you to start more research centers. If that doesn’t work then take pride in being the Wranglers man and follow in the footsteps of the bionic man who is going to obliterate all your records.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Over/Under, Volume VIII
Somewhere, lost in the unforgiving deserts of the American southwest, two men sit alone at the end of a forgotten bar. They are gaunt men, withered by the hardships of frontier life, acquainted with a sadness that few will ever know. Their eyes are cast down, and in the afternoon sun, their shadows stretch across the saloon. For a long time, they are silent, unaware that a rider is hurtling towards them over the boiling sand.
Rancher Bill: What time you figure, Tim?
(Cowboy Tim squints out the window)
Cowboy Tim: Three, I reckon, or quarter-past.
(Rancher Bill nods. Cowboy Tim takes a sip of whiskey)
Rancher Bill: How long you been livin' here, Tim?
(Cowboy Tim scratches himself and spits on the floor)
Cowboy Tim: Nigh on sixteen years since I come down from Montana.
(Rancher Bill nods)
Rancher Bill: I been ranchin' the same plot a dirt 46 years now.
(Cowboy Tim whistles, impressed)
Cowboy Tim: Damn near a lifetime in these parts, Bill.
Rancher Bill: Damn near. (Rancher Bill takes a swig of beer) I seen 'em come and go, yessir, but none quite like this.
Cowboy Tim: You mean that, Bill?
Rancher Bill: Ain't the type of thing a man jokes about. She's seen plenty a bad, this town, and even worse--but she died the day that naked fella left.
(Both men finish their drinks)
Cowboy Tim: You know, B--
(Suddenly, a man staggers into the saloon, collapsing on the floor)
The Rider: (gasping) Water...
(Both men approach The Rider)
Rancher Bill: How long you been out in that heat, son?
(The Rider clutches his throat)
Cowboy Tim: (to the bartender) Walt, get the man a drink!
Rancher Bill: Only a damn fool rides in this heat. That sun'll leave you for the vultures an' make no mistake.
(The Rider reaches into his jacket and pulls out a sheaf of papers)
The Rider: He--(gasp)--he said--"Better late than never."
(Rancher Bill takes the papers)
Rancher Bill: "Better late than"--you sweet sonuvabitch! Tim, Walt, Clancy! It's word from the Naked Warrior!
Cowboy Tim: A new shipment of Over/Unders??!
Walt: We're back, boys!
Rancher Bill: (to The Rider) God bless you, son. You saved us. This town'll never forget you, that's a promise.
(The Rider smiles weakly and, as Rancher Bill cradles him, closes his eyes for the last time)
All: A toast to our savior, the Naked Warrior, wherever he may roam!
(End scene)
Disclaimer: No orphans were harmed in this production of Over/Under. Just one rider and his faithful horse.
- 2.5 - peak sales rank of Brett Favre's #4 Vikings jersey. While the NFL doesn't release actual figures on jersey sales, they do release a Top 25 for bestsellers, which functions as a decent barometer of player popularity. At the moment, Jay Cutler's #6 Bears jersey is at the top of the list, but with the return of two former chart-toppers in the last week, Cutler's reign may be short-lived. This is made more likely because the two players in question--Brett Favre and Michael Vick--both signed with new teams, a surefire way to boost your jersey sales. Here's the issue, though: while Favre was the NFL's most popular player for years, inspiring unprecedented displays of jersey-loyalty, many football fans are tired of his act. While the jersey will undoubtedly sell well amongst Vikings fans--I actually don't understand why any Vikes fan would rather have Favre's jersey than AP's--it's unclear whether Minnesota alone will be able to vault him back to the top spot. For additional consideration: Who will sell more jerseys this season, Favre or Vick? Will they both reach the top spot? Will one but not the other? OVER/UNDER?
- 500 - rushing yards for Michael Vick this season. Vick really deserves his own Over/Under, and given what I've been hearing from the talking heads on ESPN, this one makes the most sense. In 2006, before being incarcerated, Vick had the greatest running season ever by a quarterback. This is, in some ways, a dubious distinction, since he had a mediocre season overall. Either way, Vick became the first QB to rush for 1,000 yards in a season, setting the NFL mark at 1,039. He only fumbled 9 times--down from 11 and 16 the previous two years--and lost just three. Now, Vick probably isn't going to be running the way he once did, as his 4.3 speed has likely deteriorated some. However, he'll still be the league's fastest QB the second he steps on the field, and if the Eagles are smart, they'll take full advantage. The poindexters on ESPN keep saying that to succeed in Philly he'll need to become a pocket passer--BULLSHIT. They've got a much better pocket passer in Donovan McNabb. Hell, they've got two, if you count A.J. Feeley. They need Vick to come in and be a big, bad seX Factor, Ron Mexico style. Will Andy Reid call enough design runs for Vick to crack 500 yards? Keep in mind he will miss anywhere from 3 to 6 weeks due to suspension. OVER/UNDER?
- 24 - number of snaps Tom Brady takes in tomorrow's Patriots game. Thankfully, Mrs. Naked Warrior has a real job, the kind that comes with health insurance, bonuses, and a slew of fringe benefits. As a result, I'll be in attendance tomorrow when the Pats play the Bengals, presumably watching the action from a plush suite somewhere. In the words of the nice guy, Aw, noice. Aw, sick, sick. Here's the thing: I've never been to an NFL game, and while this is preseason, it's the closest I figure to get for awhile. Given that, I'd like to see the stars get some reps, so I can approximate the experience of a regular season game. However, I'm marginally a Pats fan, and every time Mr. Handsome walks onto a preseason field, all of New England holds its breath. So how many plays can I expect to see from Gisele's better half? OVER/UNDER?
- 200 - career MLB wins for Stephen Strasburg. As I predicted last week, Strasburg became the newest National late Monday night, signing a record $15.1M contract that some say is valued closer to $19M. That kind of coin will place some awfully big expectations on Strassy, and with good reason. He's being paid like an All-Star without actually being one. Now, as I've said before, he has incredible talent. At the MLB level, though, the results do the talking. Now, I'm aware that wins are a terrible metric for evaluating a pitcher, especially one destined to begin his career in Washington. Still, they give us a very basic idea of his effectiveness, as well as longevity. There's nothing historic about a 3.50 ERA over three seasons, but 200 wins is basically the threshold for Hall of Fame consideration. Only luminaries like Sandy Koufax and Addie Joss get inducted without getting there. This question is similar to the one I posed about Bryce Harper weeks ago, but different in that--while Strasburg is considerably older and requires less projection--pitchers tend to flame out at a much higher rate than hitters. Will Strasburg have the sustained success necessary to win 200 games? Or will he flame out like Mark Prior, who was the proto-Strasburg eight years ago? OVER/UNDER?
- 75 - percentage chance that James Bond is HIV-positive. This question is inspired by an old SNL sketch with Sean Connery that, unfortunately, seems to be missing from the web. In the sketch, Bond is informed by a doctor that he has contracted every STD known to man, and a few that they didn't know existed. He spends the rest of the sketch calling up old Bond girls and awkwardly explaining to them the diseases they might have. It's pretty funny, mostly because Connery pulls it off so well. It got me thinking, though: what are the chances that Bond has HIV/AIDs? Probably pretty high, right? I mean, he's slept with dozens and dozens of women from all over the world, many in circumstances that probably don't allow for contraceptives. Furthermore, I can't imagine a guy as smooth as Bond fumbling around in his wallet for a condom while Christmas Jones or Octopussy wait around, can you? Working in Bond's favor, however, is the fact that AIDs didn't really become prevalent until the '80s and '90s, by which time he had already done some of his best work. Also, Bond girls tend to be a high class group, which also seems to lessen the likelihood. OVER/UNDER?
My apologies go out to the good people of Keibab, AZ. I never meant to hurt you. I will return some day.
Monday, August 17, 2009
If only you could major in "Shaqology"
So I'm back to school with Trapper Keeper and Starter jacket in hand, which means that I'll probably be MIA for a while until I get acclimated to the Gauntlet. Rest assured I'll be reading United Fegos of Bennetton continuously, but to give you a flavor of what I'll be experiencing in the upcoming weeks, I'll leave you guys with a Bill Nye the Jorts Guy educational moment:
Friday, August 14, 2009
Drafting Chicks
One of today's hottest new trends for sports sites is hosting a fantasy football league. There are countless hours of marketing, interface usability, and mock drafting that escort these project leagues. While I'm not advocating that we here at Fegonomics pioneer our own prototype lair of fantasy football power, I would like to help you associate your draft day picks with something more salacious than sitcom. All weathered draft room veterans know that every pick usually doesn't pan out, but before you go waste away and whisper cry to "screaming infidelities" over a misstep take a second to acclimate yourself to a world where wasted potential segues to wet dreams. Here's a list of draftable fantasy RBs and their vixen analogs. Drafting and chix, that's what Fegonomics does!
The Hotrod - Adrian Peterson/Megan Fox
Similarities: If there's one thing that sets these two apart it's that they both have one hell of a chassis. Fegonomics has a well documented affair with these Lamborghinis, as we've seen Makhtar ogle over the AP mixtape and many a prebuscent Fegonomist "find himself" to Miss Fox. Beyond their preternatural bodies and athletic ability I can't say that either one of these two has much more to offer, but in the scope of life aren't those the only things that matter anyway?
Draft Day Diagnosis: Every year there is one no brainer, AP is it. Don't draft Shawn Alexander.
Built for Speed - MJD/Michael Turner/Vida Guerra
Similarities: In the Hip Hop Bible, the inked up prophet Ja Rule 4:12 said it best, "It must be the ass..." While Ezekiel Rule's career has dissipated faster than a Tiger Woods' whoopi cushion, this one doctrine still holds true for athletes and starlets alike. This Cerberus of lower body flesh is exhibit A, B, and C of what is right with the world. Ok so those were all big booty pics of Vida, are the other two here? Then fuck em!
Draft Day Diagnosis: I've seen yaboy MJD ranked as high as first in some mock drafts. The first rule of fight club might be don't talk about fight club, but the first rule of Fegonomics is DO NOT draft Maurice Jones Drew first in your fantasy draft, though I do like him as a top five commodity. The Burner is a little more of a roll of the dice considering he crossed that 350 carry threshold that one Falcon never recovered from. I ain't sayin Turner won't be a valuable fantasy back this year, but you won't see me doing the dirty bird if he's gotta be my stud (please watch that video to the end and tell me that isn't the perfect sim of what will happen at my And1 wedding).
Next Generation - Steve Slaton/Kristen Bell
Similarities: Kristen Bell is best known for her work as teen super sleuth Veronica Mars and Slaton possesses the speed of a lava bug that could survive the de-oxygenated atmosphere of the big Red Planet. Makhtar has been plugging and tugging to Ms. Bell all week and while I'm always down with a girl in glasses, he may be fluffing her past the realms of my comfort. Note: She is not the last we'll see of Forgetting Sarah Marshall in this post.
Draft Day Diagnosis: While he doesn't possess prototypical size, he is a blur outside of the tackles and between the 20s. Biggest perk is that he doesn't have a real back up, unless you're still enamored by Cha Man. Definitely not a stalwart like say a Adimchinobe Echemandu behind him. Expect this former Mountaineer to go buck wild when Stump the Schuab returns in Week 4.
Mr. and Mrs. Brightside - LT/Jessica Al
ba
Similarities: Both spent multiple years at the top of their respective professions (NFL and Maxim, FHM, and Ask Men's top lists) and both saw precipitous fall offs this pas year caused by unfortunate hanger-ons (toe injury and baby). I bite my tongue when I say this, but it's very likely that we may never see either of these two return to the pinnacle, and that they are both destined to a life as a shell of their formerselves. But anything is possssssssibleeeeee, as the end of this list suggests.
Draft Day Diagnosis: Just last year LT was making cool commercials and was a no brainer to break Emmitt's all-time rushing record and I thought he'd be toasting DBs until he was at least 35. 2008 proved to be a song sung to a different tune as LDT struggled to eclipse 1,000 yards and only had two 100 yard games. I still believe he has significant value because San Diego's offense has so many weapons, and if he somehow falls to the second round in your draft take him and exercise your right to say this to the other draftees.
Precocious Posse - Reggie Bush/Jennifer Love Hewitt
Similarities: As a culture we are enamored by those who achieve greatness at a young age and we impress our hopes and dreams on the forebrow of many a child prodigy. J-Lo Hewitt was raised a child actor, finding early success in projects like Party of Five and the teen thriller I Know What you Did Last Summer. Bush also touched God at a young age celebrating yard after yard of success, evident in his super famous high school mixtape. What the average patron might not know is that these two share an insatiable desire for C-list celebrities. Bush had been keeping up with Kim Kardashian for the past two years before recent news of their break up, but J-Lo H is the real Asimov of pop culture ineptitude. Her triumphs include LFO's Rich Cronin (who's actually cool), TRL's Carson Daly, and current squeeze Jaime Kennedy. It's like she's trying to date Seth Green's beta bot character from her film Can't Hardly Wait. Pitiful.
Draft Day Diagnosis: If your league still counts return yards then Reggeggie can still be the asset. If not I don't see him taking any goal line carries away from Pierre "I'm Actually Black" Thomas. While Brees will probably sling it for around 5K again, don't expect Bush to be netting more than 1,200 total yards, unless he stays healthy.
Business Time - Fred Taylor/Heidi Klum
Similarities: Both have had to reinvent their careers as they've experienced a decline in their skill sets, but Klum is still the first suggestion when Googling Heidi (Freddy ain't even on the list). It doesn't take an artist's eyes to see how far they've both fallen while still remaining effective. This was the first picture I ever get a permaboner to and Fred is currently the league's active leading rusher. What really flummoxes me here is how well a guy who sings about roses has done. Blame it on the Po ah ah ah ah ah ck Marks! One more for the road, JESUS.
Draft Day Diagnosis: He will make a big play at some point in the season that will facilitate the Patriots winning a game, but he has almost zero fantasy value as do most of the Pats running backs. Unless you want to be serenaded by a room full of dodes singing Kiss From a Rose, stear clear of Fragile Freddy.
The Sleeper - Donald Brown/Mila Kunis
Similarities: Here are two fairly uknowns that could see huge returns by the end of 2009. They come from small systems (UConn and That 70's Show) but have been catapulted forward by admission into showcase systems. One Fegonomics follower, Butters Sinick, has come out as saying Forgetting Sarah Marshall is one of his favorite movies ever. While this claim is absolutely incredulous, it does show a development of Kunis' character from oft targeted Punk'dee.
Draft Day Diagnosis: Brown benefits greatly from Joseph Saddai Another Day's reluctance to remain healthy. If Donald can come out of the backfield and catch passes he could become a nice check down option for Mr. Manning especially with Marvelous Marvin out the door. If you can snag him in the 5th round or later, ride him as a flex to the ship.
They're Baaaaack - Michael Vick/Britney Spears
Similarities: I don't even know where to start with these two miscreants. Spears once lauded as the teenie bopper savior, fell further than any celebrity we've even seen since MJ. She married a fego back up dancer who subsequently filmed her getting all coked up and doped up and then divorced her to pursue his hip-hop career. She was caught literally flapping in the wind (NSFW) in a limo with Paris Hilton and then purged herself of all evilness by going G.I. Jane up in hurr. This just seems ohso long ago. Vick's path isn't much different. In January of 2005 he signed a 10 year $130 million contract with $37 million guaranteed! Since then he's served two years in jail after being convicted of heading an underground dog fighting operation, filed for bankruptcy, and worked as a construction worker for $10/hr. The great thing about America is that we're a land of second chances, and these two are living proof of that "tabla rasa" system. Britney has come back to produce such hits as Womanizer, Circus, and If You Seek Amy (get it!) and actually looks pretty hot and lucid now. As of today, Vick was granted a second life by his boy Donovan McNabb who apparently vouched vehemently for the Crime Dog amongst the Iggles coaching staff. With the help of Tony Dungy as a mentor, Vick signed a 2 year deal worth upwards of $7 million. This is a man who was eating sloppy joe's everyday for the last 24 months. What kind of playing shape is he even in? I guess once a freak always a freak.
Draft Day Diagnosis: Vick will most definitely be riding the pine for my team especially if he is granted eligibility at 3 different positions. He has the responsibility of upholding my team's namesake, Simple Vick, and even if he doesn't sniff the field you know it's good karma to play altruist in these kind of situations. Don't be surprised if a heavy-handed Andy Reid loses it on McNabb like he did in the Eagles/Ravens game last year and inserts Vick in for a quarter or two. If there's one player the Wildcat was made for, it's our boy Simple Vick.
The Hotrod - Adrian Peterson/Megan Fox
Similarities: If there's one thing that sets these two apart it's that they both have one hell of a chassis. Fegonomics has a well documented affair with these Lamborghinis, as we've seen Makhtar ogle over the AP mixtape and many a prebuscent Fegonomist "find himself" to Miss Fox. Beyond their preternatural bodies and athletic ability I can't say that either one of these two has much more to offer, but in the scope of life aren't those the only things that matter anyway?
Draft Day Diagnosis: Every year there is one no brainer, AP is it. Don't draft Shawn Alexander.
Built for Speed - MJD/Michael Turner/Vida Guerra
Similarities: In the Hip Hop Bible, the inked up prophet Ja Rule 4:12 said it best, "It must be the ass..." While Ezekiel Rule's career has dissipated faster than a Tiger Woods' whoopi cushion, this one doctrine still holds true for athletes and starlets alike. This Cerberus of lower body flesh is exhibit A, B, and C of what is right with the world. Ok so those were all big booty pics of Vida, are the other two here? Then fuck em!
Draft Day Diagnosis: I've seen yaboy MJD ranked as high as first in some mock drafts. The first rule of fight club might be don't talk about fight club, but the first rule of Fegonomics is DO NOT draft Maurice Jones Drew first in your fantasy draft, though I do like him as a top five commodity. The Burner is a little more of a roll of the dice considering he crossed that 350 carry threshold that one Falcon never recovered from. I ain't sayin Turner won't be a valuable fantasy back this year, but you won't see me doing the dirty bird if he's gotta be my stud (please watch that video to the end and tell me that isn't the perfect sim of what will happen at my And1 wedding).
Next Generation - Steve Slaton/Kristen Bell
Similarities: Kristen Bell is best known for her work as teen super sleuth Veronica Mars and Slaton possesses the speed of a lava bug that could survive the de-oxygenated atmosphere of the big Red Planet. Makhtar has been plugging and tugging to Ms. Bell all week and while I'm always down with a girl in glasses, he may be fluffing her past the realms of my comfort. Note: She is not the last we'll see of Forgetting Sarah Marshall in this post.
Draft Day Diagnosis: While he doesn't possess prototypical size, he is a blur outside of the tackles and between the 20s. Biggest perk is that he doesn't have a real back up, unless you're still enamored by Cha Man. Definitely not a stalwart like say a Adimchinobe Echemandu behind him. Expect this former Mountaineer to go buck wild when Stump the Schuab returns in Week 4.
Mr. and Mrs. Brightside - LT/Jessica Al
baSimilarities: Both spent multiple years at the top of their respective professions (NFL and Maxim, FHM, and Ask Men's top lists) and both saw precipitous fall offs this pas year caused by unfortunate hanger-ons (toe injury and baby). I bite my tongue when I say this, but it's very likely that we may never see either of these two return to the pinnacle, and that they are both destined to a life as a shell of their formerselves. But anything is possssssssibleeeeee, as the end of this list suggests.
Draft Day Diagnosis: Just last year LT was making cool commercials and was a no brainer to break Emmitt's all-time rushing record and I thought he'd be toasting DBs until he was at least 35. 2008 proved to be a song sung to a different tune as LDT struggled to eclipse 1,000 yards and only had two 100 yard games. I still believe he has significant value because San Diego's offense has so many weapons, and if he somehow falls to the second round in your draft take him and exercise your right to say this to the other draftees.
Precocious Posse - Reggie Bush/Jennifer Love Hewitt
Similarities: As a culture we are enamored by those who achieve greatness at a young age and we impress our hopes and dreams on the forebrow of many a child prodigy. J-Lo Hewitt was raised a child actor, finding early success in projects like Party of Five and the teen thriller I Know What you Did Last Summer. Bush also touched God at a young age celebrating yard after yard of success, evident in his super famous high school mixtape. What the average patron might not know is that these two share an insatiable desire for C-list celebrities. Bush had been keeping up with Kim Kardashian for the past two years before recent news of their break up, but J-Lo H is the real Asimov of pop culture ineptitude. Her triumphs include LFO's Rich Cronin (who's actually cool), TRL's Carson Daly, and current squeeze Jaime Kennedy. It's like she's trying to date Seth Green's beta bot character from her film Can't Hardly Wait. Pitiful.
Draft Day Diagnosis: If your league still counts return yards then Reggeggie can still be the asset. If not I don't see him taking any goal line carries away from Pierre "I'm Actually Black" Thomas. While Brees will probably sling it for around 5K again, don't expect Bush to be netting more than 1,200 total yards, unless he stays healthy.
Business Time - Fred Taylor/Heidi Klum
Similarities: Both have had to reinvent their careers as they've experienced a decline in their skill sets, but Klum is still the first suggestion when Googling Heidi (Freddy ain't even on the list). It doesn't take an artist's eyes to see how far they've both fallen while still remaining effective. This was the first picture I ever get a permaboner to and Fred is currently the league's active leading rusher. What really flummoxes me here is how well a guy who sings about roses has done. Blame it on the Po ah ah ah ah ah ck Marks! One more for the road, JESUS.
Draft Day Diagnosis: He will make a big play at some point in the season that will facilitate the Patriots winning a game, but he has almost zero fantasy value as do most of the Pats running backs. Unless you want to be serenaded by a room full of dodes singing Kiss From a Rose, stear clear of Fragile Freddy.
The Sleeper - Donald Brown/Mila Kunis
Similarities: Here are two fairly uknowns that could see huge returns by the end of 2009. They come from small systems (UConn and That 70's Show) but have been catapulted forward by admission into showcase systems. One Fegonomics follower, Butters Sinick, has come out as saying Forgetting Sarah Marshall is one of his favorite movies ever. While this claim is absolutely incredulous, it does show a development of Kunis' character from oft targeted Punk'dee.
Draft Day Diagnosis: Brown benefits greatly from Joseph Saddai Another Day's reluctance to remain healthy. If Donald can come out of the backfield and catch passes he could become a nice check down option for Mr. Manning especially with Marvelous Marvin out the door. If you can snag him in the 5th round or later, ride him as a flex to the ship.
They're Baaaaack - Michael Vick/Britney Spears
Similarities: I don't even know where to start with these two miscreants. Spears once lauded as the teenie bopper savior, fell further than any celebrity we've even seen since MJ. She married a fego back up dancer who subsequently filmed her getting all coked up and doped up and then divorced her to pursue his hip-hop career. She was caught literally flapping in the wind (NSFW) in a limo with Paris Hilton and then purged herself of all evilness by going G.I. Jane up in hurr. This just seems ohso long ago. Vick's path isn't much different. In January of 2005 he signed a 10 year $130 million contract with $37 million guaranteed! Since then he's served two years in jail after being convicted of heading an underground dog fighting operation, filed for bankruptcy, and worked as a construction worker for $10/hr. The great thing about America is that we're a land of second chances, and these two are living proof of that "tabla rasa" system. Britney has come back to produce such hits as Womanizer, Circus, and If You Seek Amy (get it!) and actually looks pretty hot and lucid now. As of today, Vick was granted a second life by his boy Donovan McNabb who apparently vouched vehemently for the Crime Dog amongst the Iggles coaching staff. With the help of Tony Dungy as a mentor, Vick signed a 2 year deal worth upwards of $7 million. This is a man who was eating sloppy joe's everyday for the last 24 months. What kind of playing shape is he even in? I guess once a freak always a freak.
Draft Day Diagnosis: Vick will most definitely be riding the pine for my team especially if he is granted eligibility at 3 different positions. He has the responsibility of upholding my team's namesake, Simple Vick, and even if he doesn't sniff the field you know it's good karma to play altruist in these kind of situations. Don't be surprised if a heavy-handed Andy Reid loses it on McNabb like he did in the Eagles/Ravens game last year and inserts Vick in for a quarter or two. If there's one player the Wildcat was made for, it's our boy Simple Vick.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Broken records, broken hearts
http://deadspin.com/5336974/an-assist-for-nick-van-exel-how-an-nba-scorekeeper-cooked-the-books
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/090811&sportCat=mlb
I wish I knew how to quit you, Griffey.
First, I’d like to start off with something known in the biz as an “attention grabber.” Though irrelevant to the rest of the post, it’s something that readers should enjoy.
Since I have been called out to write a front page post (please note that I have made comments on other writers’ entries), I'm feeling a bit of pressure. I need to stick with a safe subject, and yes, that subject will be Ken Griffey, Jr. It does feel a bit like when you’re at a party and somebody says “oh my God, so-and-so does the BEST impression of Bill Walton. So-and-so, do it!” Well now you can either do it (looking like a full-blown fego) or you can say something like “I can’t do it on command” and disappoint everybody. Great. Anyway, this isn’t that bad.
I was only three when the Kid broke onto the scene. I’m a righty, but I still took time in my backyard to perfect his lefty stance, his swing, his hop step and his strut (I have since switched to perfecting this). Why else did half the kids at school start wearing their hats backwards? The only reason there wasn't a "Like Griffey" campaign was because "Like Mike" rolled off the tongue better.
When Junior left Seattle in 2000, he was well on his way to challenging all kinds of records, not that he cared. Griffey was all about having a flair for the dramatic. Sure, he had made 10 straight All-Star appearances, won 10 straight Gold Gloves, won seven Silver Sluggers, won three home run derbys, and added an MVP. All before turning 31. Are you serious? Above this, though:
1. His rookie year in '89, 13 of his 16 home runs were to tie the game or give the M's the lead (he would've won the ROY had he not broken his finger in July).
2. Home runs in eight straight games (absolute SHOT).
5. Um, at the bottom of the greatest moment in Mariner history.
How about just this year? The guy's hitting .226, but he homered in his first game, had a base hit in his first home at bat (homered the next game), hit a pinch-hit game-tying home run, homered on his bobblehead night (before the game when asked if he was going to do something special, he answered "yeah, probably") and had the pinch-hit walk off single on Wednesday. Okay, okay, too many highlights. I'm just sayin', if the Mariners find a way to sneak into the playoffs (5.5 games out currently), look out.
Outside of baseball, Junior's got unbelievably sweet kicks, a Wheaties box, a candy bar, two of the greatest video games ever (for SNES and N64), a JAM, and, as Ernest mentioned, some stellar cameos. Last Naked pointed out in a previous post that Griffey's Mariner commercials were some of the greatest (though my favorite still features Booney).
Lastly, to quickly cover a couple questions that have been brought up: first, Griffey never juiced. Second, yes, he is going to get 100% of the votes when he is eligible for the Hall of Fame. I'm trying to picture the person that wouldn't vote for him and I can't do it. But then again, I'm a bit biased. Being a clean player during the era of enhancement will certainly help.
Would he have been the best player of all time had he never left Seattle? Something tells me he would have. But that's okay. The sign in center field said it best when the he returned to Seattle with the Reds in 2007: "I wish I knew how to quit you, Griffey."
Since I led with something unrelated, I'll make it bookends. Thanks to a friend of the blog for the link. The video below features the studio recording for Buzz Bullets phenom Masahiro Matsuno's Callahan highlight tape. Enjoy.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Freaks v. 4
Dearest Reader:
Fegonomics is going through a slight facelift, so please pardon our dust. Despite whatever hiccups you may encounter, just know that under the hood, the Fegos you've grown to know and love are still here. We're still going to reference the same shitty TV shows, we're still going to blatantly cop Bill Simmons' style, and we're sure as hell still going to circle jerk over this Adrian Peterson video (My Favorite Mix of All Time):
Stay big guys. Enjoy the freaks.
Herbert Freak
Lane Kiffin
Truth be told, I'm not exactly sure what we're looking at. I see All-Neptune Safety Eric Berry draping a chain around himself like some horrendous Princess Leia Cosplay star (Ok, sorry about that picture, here's a good one to soothe the pain, thought it's NSFW). The rest of the guys are staring blankly at the camera with their pants unbuttoned, pretty much oblivious to the fact that they look like Jeff Garthia's love children. And what does the license plate "DBLE T'S" supposed to mean anyway? Tirk Tiggler (Rill Rill NSFW)? It's fucking funny, but nothing about this video makes sense, really.
However, when put against Bruno Kiffin's larger body of work, the coach's sexual deviancy becomes clear. This is the same guy who decided to get recruits excited for UT by having them strip off their shirts while he watched in the wings, kneading his diack like it was Pizza Days dough on NQR night. This is the same guy who got a 13 year old to commit to his school (who conveniently happens to be Eric Berry's kid brother), and will presumably groom him as his resident cabana boy.
Listen, I know that cLANE Aiken has gone through a difficult stretch. It must be extremely humbling to get canned by Cryptkeeper Al Davis, a guy so senile he thinks Pudge Heffelfinger is still in the league. Moreover, ever since he's gotten hired at Tennessee, he's gotten ram jammed with NCAA violations left and right. Clearly, LANcE (Bass) is in over his head in any position of authority, but that is no excuse for him to project his sexual proclivities onto his unsuspecting players in the form of thinly-veiled incentives. A spyda does what a spyda do, but just keep the kids out of it, mayne.
Cognitive Freak
This Poindexter
Fegonomics is going through a slight facelift, so please pardon our dust. Despite whatever hiccups you may encounter, just know that under the hood, the Fegos you've grown to know and love are still here. We're still going to reference the same shitty TV shows, we're still going to blatantly cop Bill Simmons' style, and we're sure as hell still going to circle jerk over this Adrian Peterson video (My Favorite Mix of All Time):
Stay big guys. Enjoy the freaks.
Herbert Freak
Lane Kiffin
You may be asking yourself, "What the fuck is a Herbert." The culturally elite among us know that Herbert is also more colloquially referred to as the dirty old man from Family Guy. What does this have to do with Lane Kiffin? Well, apparently Nathan Lane Kiffin decided to dangle the proverbial carrot in front of his team during the off-season, promising that those who kept in shape would get a special reward. No, it wasn't a one-on-one Tummy-Sticks session with the good old ball coach (Kinda NSFW), or a mass team circle jerk over the Candace Parker/Shelden Williams Sextape--no, no, it was something far more homoerotic. Their reward was this, the right to pose for a "Men of Tennessee Football" Poster:
Truth be told, I'm not exactly sure what we're looking at. I see All-Neptune Safety Eric Berry draping a chain around himself like some horrendous Princess Leia Cosplay star (Ok, sorry about that picture, here's a good one to soothe the pain, thought it's NSFW). The rest of the guys are staring blankly at the camera with their pants unbuttoned, pretty much oblivious to the fact that they look like Jeff Garthia's love children. And what does the license plate "DBLE T'S" supposed to mean anyway? Tirk Tiggler (Rill Rill NSFW)? It's fucking funny, but nothing about this video makes sense, really.
However, when put against Bruno Kiffin's larger body of work, the coach's sexual deviancy becomes clear. This is the same guy who decided to get recruits excited for UT by having them strip off their shirts while he watched in the wings, kneading his diack like it was Pizza Days dough on NQR night. This is the same guy who got a 13 year old to commit to his school (who conveniently happens to be Eric Berry's kid brother), and will presumably groom him as his resident cabana boy.
Listen, I know that cLANE Aiken has gone through a difficult stretch. It must be extremely humbling to get canned by Cryptkeeper Al Davis, a guy so senile he thinks Pudge Heffelfinger is still in the league. Moreover, ever since he's gotten hired at Tennessee, he's gotten ram jammed with NCAA violations left and right. Clearly, LANcE (Bass) is in over his head in any position of authority, but that is no excuse for him to project his sexual proclivities onto his unsuspecting players in the form of thinly-veiled incentives. A spyda does what a spyda do, but just keep the kids out of it, mayne.
This Poindexter
Hot Clicks beat me to the punch a little bit on this one, but this kid's skills deserve a shout-out nonetheless. I only know a few idiot savants who can solve a rubix cube in under 5 minutes (mah man Huff Daddy), and a handful of dodes who can smash Guitar Hero on expert (Dream, Ernest, etc.). But both at the same time? That's some Kim Peek shit right there.
*Begin Non-Sequitur* Let me dwell on Kim Peek for a second. Not only does cha man have an encyclopaedic knowledge of pretty much anything, he also has perfect pitch, and perfect recall of any song he's ever heard. I mean jigga mean has a snake cock to boot. (Ok, I made that last part up, but would you really be that surprised if he did?). Kim Peek is the exact reason that I started writing about freaks in the first place. Truly an inspiration to us all. *End Non-Sequitur*
What really puts this task over the top is that both of these tasks are based primarily on colors. To be able to parse out the conflicting visual information that was coming into his brain is just incredible. I haven't seen multi-tasking on this level since I stopped rubbing myself while talking to you guys on Gchat. Oh you don't think it's happened to you?! Think again! You just got Smegma'ed!! Too bad he can't bench more than 15 pounds....Hit the weights, son!
*Begin Non-Sequitur* Let me dwell on Kim Peek for a second. Not only does cha man have an encyclopaedic knowledge of pretty much anything, he also has perfect pitch, and perfect recall of any song he's ever heard. I mean jigga mean has a snake cock to boot. (Ok, I made that last part up, but would you really be that surprised if he did?). Kim Peek is the exact reason that I started writing about freaks in the first place. Truly an inspiration to us all. *End Non-Sequitur*
What really puts this task over the top is that both of these tasks are based primarily on colors. To be able to parse out the conflicting visual information that was coming into his brain is just incredible. I haven't seen multi-tasking on this level since I stopped rubbing myself while talking to you guys on Gchat. Oh you don't think it's happened to you?! Think again! You just got Smegma'ed!! Too bad he can't bench more than 15 pounds....Hit the weights, son!
Indie Dreamboat Freak
Zooey Deschanel
Zooey Deschanel
You know, I'm not the biggest fan of ganja weed. Generally, getting smoked up and doped up leads to me getting all paranoid, fearing that my life is spinning out of control to the guitar solo in Freebird. That being said, I have a really big soft spot in my heart for girls who sound like they're stoned. Don't ask me why, but something about a chick toking up (Kinda NSFW) and then hitting me up for a bag of Cheetos Flamin' Hots just gets me all hot and bothered. Which is why this Zooey Deschanel clip gave me Sienna Miller-level permaboner
Say what you will about Zooey being a generally goofy person, but girl looks like she's about to break out a Taco Town grab bag of munchies. I mean, just watch at the 40 second mark, you saying she doesn't have some of that Cali-weed in her system? Jigga, Please (NSFW).
On top of this, Ms. Deschanel is the star of the summer sleeper hit, and every beta's life-affirming moment, 500 Days of Summer. Truthfully, this is just a really clever, well done movie, and I'd encourage everyone, alpha and omega alike, to check it out if they have the chance. A big reason why this movie seems so believable is that Zooey is exactly the type of girl that guys go meta-beta over. She play the quirky, indie flower child role to a T.
And if that weren't enough, she's one half of indie upstarts She & Him. My plaudits just can't come fast enough for this girl.
I'll just come out and say it. I'm hereby challenging her fiance, Ben Gibbard of Death Cab for Cutie fame, to a cock-off for Zooey's hand in marriage. You may be thinking that a cock-off is a weird challenge to make for someone who's traditionally been considered on the lightswitch spectrum. But have you listened to Transatlanticism? There's no way he's sporting more than a tootsie roll. You just got JACKED-UP!
Say what you will about Zooey being a generally goofy person, but girl looks like she's about to break out a Taco Town grab bag of munchies. I mean, just watch at the 40 second mark, you saying she doesn't have some of that Cali-weed in her system? Jigga, Please (NSFW).
On top of this, Ms. Deschanel is the star of the summer sleeper hit, and every beta's life-affirming moment, 500 Days of Summer. Truthfully, this is just a really clever, well done movie, and I'd encourage everyone, alpha and omega alike, to check it out if they have the chance. A big reason why this movie seems so believable is that Zooey is exactly the type of girl that guys go meta-beta over. She play the quirky, indie flower child role to a T.
And if that weren't enough, she's one half of indie upstarts She & Him. My plaudits just can't come fast enough for this girl.
I'll just come out and say it. I'm hereby challenging her fiance, Ben Gibbard of Death Cab for Cutie fame, to a cock-off for Zooey's hand in marriage. You may be thinking that a cock-off is a weird challenge to make for someone who's traditionally been considered on the lightswitch spectrum. But have you listened to Transatlanticism? There's no way he's sporting more than a tootsie roll. You just got JACKED-UP!
A brief and ridiculous interlude
If you're a fan of this blog--and not someone who accidentally stumbled here by googling "asian guy from saw"--then you owe it to yourself to read Earnest's post from earlier today. And, under normal circumstances, I wouldn't think of stepping on his toes by posting the same day. But that was before I read this.
Now, as a Red Sox fan, it's hard for me to read this article objectively. But let's try, shall we?
"Jeter the name that matters: If Yankees' captain ever ended up on positive test list, baseball's done"
That's the headline that Gene Wojciechowski and his editor at ESPN.com decided to go with? Clearly, Wojo is trying a little hyperbole on for size, since even Yankee die-hards have to recognize what a ridiculous claim this. Baseball, after all, survived a fixed World Series, multiple strikes, and a season-ending lockout, among other obstacles. No one player is going to undermine the sports' popularity (see: Rose, Pete), no matter how many celebrities he's dated.
But maybe Gene-o is just using the outrageous claim as a ploy to grab readers. Maybe the article itself is reasonable and carefully considered...
"If I ever see Jeter's name attached to the hip of performance enhancers, I'm done. I mean it--I'll never watch another big league game again."
Then you, sir, are a Derek Jeter fan, not a baseball fan. You should probably be writing articles for the Derek Jeter Fan Association (Knoxville Chapter) and not the front page of a major baseball website.
Look, Jeter's a great player, and there's no reason to think he's ever used steroids. Maybe I'm being unfair, but in the name of Reginald VelJohnson, what in the world makes him so special? He's not baseball's Atlas--he's just another ballplayer.
"So far the game has survived the depressing revelations. It sort of coagulates, scabs up and then heals as best as it can.
But there could come a time when the PED damage reaches a tipping point. For me, the magic number is 2.
Jeter's jersey number."
Jeez. How much knob could slob-knob slob if the knob was attached to Derek Jeter's chiseled, statuesque frame?
Now, as a Red Sox fan, it's hard for me to read this article objectively. But let's try, shall we?
"Jeter the name that matters: If Yankees' captain ever ended up on positive test list, baseball's done"
That's the headline that Gene Wojciechowski and his editor at ESPN.com decided to go with? Clearly, Wojo is trying a little hyperbole on for size, since even Yankee die-hards have to recognize what a ridiculous claim this. Baseball, after all, survived a fixed World Series, multiple strikes, and a season-ending lockout, among other obstacles. No one player is going to undermine the sports' popularity (see: Rose, Pete), no matter how many celebrities he's dated.
But maybe Gene-o is just using the outrageous claim as a ploy to grab readers. Maybe the article itself is reasonable and carefully considered...
"If I ever see Jeter's name attached to the hip of performance enhancers, I'm done. I mean it--I'll never watch another big league game again."
Then you, sir, are a Derek Jeter fan, not a baseball fan. You should probably be writing articles for the Derek Jeter Fan Association (Knoxville Chapter) and not the front page of a major baseball website.
Look, Jeter's a great player, and there's no reason to think he's ever used steroids. Maybe I'm being unfair, but in the name of Reginald VelJohnson, what in the world makes him so special? He's not baseball's Atlas--he's just another ballplayer.
"So far the game has survived the depressing revelations. It sort of coagulates, scabs up and then heals as best as it can.
But there could come a time when the PED damage reaches a tipping point. For me, the magic number is 2.
Jeter's jersey number."
Jeez. How much knob could slob-knob slob if the knob was attached to Derek Jeter's chiseled, statuesque frame?
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
It's a party in my mouth, and everyone's invited!
Here we are with a fresh batch of dopplegangers, albeit delayed since the last outing for a few reasons:
1). As amusing as it is to unearth look-alikes, it takes an unexpectedly long time to scour FB in search for a "great" picture, either amongst Friends (flipping through hundreds of photos of debauchery, unruliness, or downright fucking goofiness), or Nonfriends (takes a bit of sleight of hand stalker behavior which I've perfected as an art).
2). Within Fegonomics, we try to maintain a sense of anonymity, however I've actually introduced a risky peripheral by choosing subjects that some of us (and our avid fans) may recognize. The last few have been fairly tame, but some of the ones I had slated for this one and future posts, in reconsideration, might be beyond the appropriate boundaries of this blog. I don't wanna be the jerk that catapults Fegonomics into infamy due to the future decades of defacement and slander lawsuits.
3). I've finally submitted to the Jehovah's Witness holy conversion and denounced the heathen ways of Windows to be replaced by thy savior Macintosh. While it's infinitely more streamlined and user-friendly, I'm slowly taking off the training wheels after years of Paint, and upgrading to a hatful of hotrod photo editing options. I was driving a Mazda Geo, but now I'm handling a fucking spaceship. It's so easy a caveman can do it!
Let's warm up in the bullpen a bit...
Our first Jumbo affiliate sports the dapper style and the hypnotic smile of actor Justin Bartha, made famous recently in The Hangover. The movie possesses a plotline with Matt Wieters upside, but ultimately fails to live up to the hype. It has its moments that'll make you chuckle and guffaw, but if you've caught glimpses of the trailer, then you basically can sleuth your way to figuring out "Where in the World is Justin San Diego?" Stick around for the credits though if you end up watching this movie, it won't disappoint. Neither will Tyson's nightingale harmonics. Lennnnox......
Alright, working up a sweat now. The following two were graciously submitted by Oden and Dream:
It's Shelden! In addition to Sheed, let's formally welcome Mr. Candace Parker to Boston green and white. The former Duke phenom has bounced around the league the last couple of years, but that doesn't discount his rampant Orc-like inside game and his elite ability to bowl over Earl Boykin hobbits whenever he pleases.
One has to think that Matt Groening is a pre-cog for having the creative foresight to model cartoon Junior Griffey after Shelden. This look-alike fucking cracks me up, and is probably my favorite. I went so far as to rewatch the episode. Mr. Burns ends up hiring Pros to replace the Joes on the Springfield team to ensure victory against Shelbyville. Interestingly enough, some of the other ringers include Roger Clemens, Jose Conseco, and Daryl Strawberry. At one point, Clemens destroys Homer's Wonderbat with a single pitch. Hmm, Clemens with an juiced up pitch? Griffey later drinks this tonic that enlarges his head (not to incriminate Griffey or anything, but you never know). Growth tonics? That's some eerie, yet clever foresight, Mr. Groening. Eerie indeed.
To the seventh inning stretch...
With every revered Zirui Song or Hsupinos, there is also the antithetic player that is universally hated. I'm assuming every person has their own anecdotal evidence of this person being an Ultimate Tool, so don't be shy with your campfire stories in the comments. Wait, isn't this extending beyond the appropriate boundaries, you say? Earnest, might you going way past the endzone on this one? And besides, he's a future moon astronaut! Exaaaaaactly (this one's for you Billy Mays, you and Daryl would've been BFFs).
We're going into extra innings:
THE GLOVE DOESN'T FIT!!!!! THE GLOVE DOESN'T FIT!!!!!!!!
OH it's a walk-off HOMEEEE RUNNNNNN!
Courtesy of Pureharshmonium and Mahktar. No one told me it was couples night!
UPDATE: Originally I was gonna leave you guys with a stellar video, but I'll let you guys blow your loads over it when Mahktar features him on FREAKS. It combines the two talents that I unashamedly wish I was an expert at.
1). As amusing as it is to unearth look-alikes, it takes an unexpectedly long time to scour FB in search for a "great" picture, either amongst Friends (flipping through hundreds of photos of debauchery, unruliness, or downright fucking goofiness), or Nonfriends (takes a bit of sleight of hand stalker behavior which I've perfected as an art).
2). Within Fegonomics, we try to maintain a sense of anonymity, however I've actually introduced a risky peripheral by choosing subjects that some of us (and our avid fans) may recognize. The last few have been fairly tame, but some of the ones I had slated for this one and future posts, in reconsideration, might be beyond the appropriate boundaries of this blog. I don't wanna be the jerk that catapults Fegonomics into infamy due to the future decades of defacement and slander lawsuits.
3). I've finally submitted to the Jehovah's Witness holy conversion and denounced the heathen ways of Windows to be replaced by thy savior Macintosh. While it's infinitely more streamlined and user-friendly, I'm slowly taking off the training wheels after years of Paint, and upgrading to a hatful of hotrod photo editing options. I was driving a Mazda Geo, but now I'm handling a fucking spaceship. It's so easy a caveman can do it!
Let's warm up in the bullpen a bit...
Our first Jumbo affiliate sports the dapper style and the hypnotic smile of actor Justin Bartha, made famous recently in The Hangover. The movie possesses a plotline with Matt Wieters upside, but ultimately fails to live up to the hype. It has its moments that'll make you chuckle and guffaw, but if you've caught glimpses of the trailer, then you basically can sleuth your way to figuring out "Where in the World is Justin San Diego?" Stick around for the credits though if you end up watching this movie, it won't disappoint. Neither will Tyson's nightingale harmonics. Lennnnox......Alright, working up a sweat now. The following two were graciously submitted by Oden and Dream:
It's Shelden! In addition to Sheed, let's formally welcome Mr. Candace Parker to Boston green and white. The former Duke phenom has bounced around the league the last couple of years, but that doesn't discount his rampant Orc-like inside game and his elite ability to bowl over Earl Boykin hobbits whenever he pleases.
One has to think that Matt Groening is a pre-cog for having the creative foresight to model cartoon Junior Griffey after Shelden. This look-alike fucking cracks me up, and is probably my favorite. I went so far as to rewatch the episode. Mr. Burns ends up hiring Pros to replace the Joes on the Springfield team to ensure victory against Shelbyville. Interestingly enough, some of the other ringers include Roger Clemens, Jose Conseco, and Daryl Strawberry. At one point, Clemens destroys Homer's Wonderbat with a single pitch. Hmm, Clemens with an juiced up pitch? Griffey later drinks this tonic that enlarges his head (not to incriminate Griffey or anything, but you never know). Growth tonics? That's some eerie, yet clever foresight, Mr. Groening. Eerie indeed.To the seventh inning stretch...
With every revered Zirui Song or Hsupinos, there is also the antithetic player that is universally hated. I'm assuming every person has their own anecdotal evidence of this person being an Ultimate Tool, so don't be shy with your campfire stories in the comments. Wait, isn't this extending beyond the appropriate boundaries, you say? Earnest, might you going way past the endzone on this one? And besides, he's a future moon astronaut! Exaaaaaactly (this one's for you Billy Mays, you and Daryl would've been BFFs).We're going into extra innings:
THE GLOVE DOESN'T FIT!!!!! THE GLOVE DOESN'T FIT!!!!!!!!OH it's a walk-off HOMEEEE RUNNNNNN!
Courtesy of Pureharshmonium and Mahktar. No one told me it was couples night!UPDATE: Originally I was gonna leave you guys with a stellar video, but I'll let you guys blow your loads over it when Mahktar features him on FREAKS. It combines the two talents that I unashamedly wish I was an expert at.
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