Go into hiding, GoodFella

I'm watching Monday Night Foozball, or at least I WAS watching until the scoreboard read 31-0. Holy shit. Matt called me at the 17-0 point, and it was through divine intervention that I wasn't getting any bars on the cell phone. It would have been nothing more than two 30-something guys yelling profanities at each other in agreement on one thing: the Pack still stinks.

Yesterday I was watching GoodFellas, and one image carried over to tonight's game. Favre returning to play for the Pack this year might end up a lot like Henry Hill coming home to sleep in his own bed (instead of with Janice Rossi, which would represent retirement in Favre's parallel world) only to have his wife straddle him with a gun pointed at his head. It won't kill him but it will drive him crazy. Can't you see FOUR coming back to the sideline after another jailbreak blitz or circus-style turnover and yelling, "I have to come home .... TO THIS?!?!"


I hope Woodson becomes a little more interested in a couple of weeks; T.J. "Who'sYourMomma" made him look silly on more than one play. I hope the O-Line learns to block. Carson Palmer couldn't have picked a better game to return to action--it's not like the D-Line was going to hit him.

Still, at this point, the Packers are tied for first. And The Keeper kicks off its 13th season of fantasy football greatness in about 10 days. So not all is lost ... just this stupid preseason game.

Best show's best moment

As if "Rescue Me" didn't already dominate, the opening scene of this week's episode might have been the best four minutes that show has ever produced. Tricky's "Hell is Round the Corner" was the perfect substitute for dialogue and created suffocating tension as the Gavins dealt with tragedy anew.

It's nice to see outstanding television without having to pay the extra $10-$12/month to get HBO.

The Top 19: Tecmo Super Bowl players

Since the latest version of the "Madden" football video game came out yesterday, I thought it would be proper to talk about ... Tecmo.

Even though "Madden" evolved into a great game, it's hard to top the big-time battles, the controllers broken by rageful spikes, the eight-play playbook of Tecmo Super Bowl. Some "Hall of Fame" moments happened while that game was jammed in various Nintendos, whether at my house, the Beast's house, or the dorm rooms of Rider Hall at UNI. (Who goes to class, right?)

Certain teams could be carried by one great player; as you'll see below, the Saints had a counter-punch for every punch you landed against them. Some players ruled the field due to their incredible "rushing power"; others were undone by poor ball control (Lorenzo White, for example). It is no fun to have poor ball control, as I found out in P.E. when I forgot my gym clothes at home ...

So here they are:

The Top 19 Tecmo Super Bowl players

Great players like Dan Marino, Jim Kelly (aka "QB Bills"), Michael Irvin, they don't shine in the Tecmo system. The passing game's success relies on the defense not "calling" the play; few quarterbacks or receivers can make a difference on their own. Those of you who played the game remember the important positions: running back, the upper outside linebacker, a safety, and the upper cornerback. Of course, you can't have a team without a kicker, and this one earned his stripes ...

Fifteen phenomena, in no particular order:

The upper cornerbacks (Rod Woodson, Steelers; Deion Sanders, Falcons; Gill Byrd, Chargers): Call a running play, and let these guys cover the entire field against the pass. I don't have any specific Woodson stories, but Sanders turned the tide for me in the Rider Hall championship (I was down 17-7 when Sanders picked off Montana and I took it to the house ... more on the amazing comeback later) and my brother used Gill Byrd to shut down Warren-Fucking-Moon and my Houston Oilers en route to one of the many Tecmo titles in our house. I guided Moon to five completed passes--two to my guys, three to Byrd. Yikes.

Ronnie Lott, S, 49ers: He was almost as devastating on Tecmo as he was in real life. He was as fast as the corners and was in better position to stop the run. Plus, he's Ronnie Lott, you can't leave a guy who amputated a finger just to keep playing ...

The upper outside linebackers (Tim Harris, Packers; Derrick Thomas, Chiefs; Lawrence Taylor, Giants): These guys were beneficial because they completely eliminated the viability of the play-action bootleg and they snuffed out most running plays at the top of the screen. Plus, they were in the perfect position to block field goals and extra points. Of course, the fact that Tim Harris is probably the best off of the three today says something about the fate of this position.

The unbelievable QBs and WRs (Warren Moon, Oilers; Joe Montana, 49ers; Jerry Rice, 49ers; Andre Rison, Falcons): These guys got the benefit of the doubt 99 times out of 100. I remember playing this guy on my floor my freshman year who always took the Oilers and just threw it deep to any of the WRs and they would come down with it. Weak. It was similar to using the nose tackle and just diving at the QBs immediately after the snap--honorable players don't do that stuff. (Side note: this Oilers guy did not participate when nine of us each took a team and played that full season--something about studying. Nerd.) Montana got the same treatment, and Rice and Rison were known to use a vertical leap of about 84" to snag high passes that surely seemed destined for incompletion or interception. Weak, but worth mentioning.

Great, but not elite, RBs (Thurman Thomas, Bills; Marion Butts, Chargers): My brother was the first person to max out the rushing yardage total (something like 4,191, can't remember) during the Gill Byrd season. And Thurman was the man on a dominant offense. Useless fact about Thurman: We used to call this guy "Texas Toast." He wasn't from Texas (I don't think), and he played in New York, but if you hang around a restaurateur, particularly one who reminds you of the homeliest Bee Gee, you'll identify initials with weird things.

Kick returner extraordinaire (Gil Fenerty, Saints): My brother was way better at Tecmo than me; he would have destroyed the fools on Rider Hall in 1992. Anyway, my bro made Tecmo history in a season game with the Saints. I think I was the Falcons, and I was lighting up the scoreboard with the Red Gun offense. But Jeremy ran not one but TWO kicks back against me with Fenerty, including one late in the fourth quarter to ice the victory. Beast was there; he hadn't been that excited since the time he rented "Over The Top" from the Fruechte boys at Video Connection.

Cult Hero Kicker (Greg Davis, Falcons): I won our Rider Hall Tecmo season thanks to Davis. After the Deion touchdown, I held my opponent and forced a punt. There wasn't much time left, but I managed to get the ball to the SanFran 30. I had time for one more play (something like 20 seconds, but in Tecmo time that's nothing), so I went for the game-tying FG. Out trots Davis. The snap, the rush comes ... blocked.

The ball bounces around, flirting with the sideline, college dudes cheering at the top of their lungs all the while, hoping the guy who went 15-1 in the regular season would bite the dust. Unfazed, I maneuver the player under my control, who happens to be the kicker, toward the ball. And miraculously, he scoops it up.

And equally surprising, he's in "Excellent" condition! And he's gone. Touchdown. Falcons win the whole thing (we all took NFC teams, so the NFC title game was our Super Bowl), 21-17. Greg Davis is forever enshrined in the Video Game Hall of Fame. My GPA that semester: 2.17. Those forecasts of academic probation were WAY off.

OK, let's get to the Final Four:

Christian Okoye, RB, Chiefs: Playing Tecmo with the NES Max controller was hilarious, especially if you used Okoye. Holding down the turbo button as you ran the ball with Okoye meant the defenders pretty much instantly flew in the air. On one particular occasion, one of my Rider Hall boys used Okoye to return a punt. He caught it at his own 10, held down the turbo button, and just ran straight ahead. Touchdown, 90 yards. No one even got the opportunity to lock up with Okoye and wrestle, it was just pure pinball action. That alone is Final Four worthy.

Barry Sanders, RB, Lions: Too fast. Was the perfect player to use the stop-and-go move with, as it would force defenders to downshift to low gear while Sanders would resume top speed almost immediately.

Bo Jackson, RB, Raiders: He was like Okoye, only faster. One of my friends from Rider Hall once rushed for 1,000 yards in a game with Jackson. Of course, this same friend, Jim Wahrer, also beat one of the upperclassmen on the floor without running an offensive play. As soon as he got the ball, he would punt, then hold the other guy on downs, force a punt, punt himself, and so on. Eventually, he forced a fumble on one of his punts, and ran it in for a TD. Game over.

Randall Cunningham (aka "QB Eagles"): While Bo was incredible, you could call one of his running plays every time, which aided the run defenses on other run plays. Randall had the run/pass option that was virtually unstoppable. Plus, Tecmo severely overrated Fred Barnett and Calvin Williams, meaning that Keith Jackson wasn't the only receiving option. Nothing was better than dropping back to pass, juking four would-be sackers, then bait your opponent toward the line only to float a TD to Barnett. That's Tecmo Bowl, man.

Tune 'em out, Tony

I wasn't going to say a whole lot about Tony Kornheiser's "Monday Night Football" debut, partly because it was a preseason game but primarily because it was his first time in the booth. When I'm deciding whether or not to follow a TV show, I usually give it more than one episode before I bail. I even lasted two episodes of "Windfall" this summer before saying "No dice, Chino."

But then Washington Post style editor Paul Farhi delivered a negative critique of his colleague's work (including the useful barb, "Tony, get a tan"), which was followed by Kornheiser referring to Farhi as a "two-bit weasel slug" in his column the next day.

Before I go any further, let me say I'm a Tony guy. Not just because I'm bald, cynical, and loud about sports stuff, it's because...OK, it's because I'm bald, cynical, and loud about sports stuff. There could be worse reasons.

So I want to tell Tony not to worry about this Farhi guy (shown at right). He sounds like the kind of guy who would reply to the question "Who's playing tonight?" with something like "The Giants of New York versus the Browns of Cleveland," if not "I do not care to know the opposing squads in this exhibition of barbarism, sir."

And after Farhi criticized Tony's skin tone in his review of a broadcasting gig, I found myself curious as to how Mr. Farhi fares under the lights. My first impression after doing a Google images search? If you simulated what JonBenet's suspected killer (shown at right) would look like in about 10 years, that's what you get with Mr. Farhi. No tan can fix that, either.

But I would tell Tony that within the negative review reside some nuggets of truth. First off, take off the gloves when dealing with that chump who mispronounces his name just so it rhymes with an individual award in college football. You had some decent exchanges with him, particularly the Newhart zinger. That's what we want, more sly wit, more debate, more Theismann getting served.

(One Joe Theismann fact that I just learned today, from Wikipedia: Theismann returned punts for the Redskins while he waited for his shot to be their starting QB. That's actually quite impressive. But in the booth? Still an ass.)

Second, don't filter yourself. Farhi did cite one PR-ish quote from you, regarding next week's contest between the Saints and the Cowboys: "Reggie Bush is the kind of player people will pay money to see!" That's the kind of drivel that had Wilbon said it on PTI, you would have raked him over the coals. Granted, it was said within the constraints of live TV, with the pressure of millions of viewers; I've made something like seven revisions to this piece, for an audience that numbers in the tens. But you're able to do your thing on PTI without swearing or fouling up too bad, so go all out. After all, Stat Boy isn't hovering over your shoulder on this show.

But wouldn't that be a lot of fun if the booth consisted of Tony Reali on play-by-play along with Wilbon and Kornheiser as color commentary? Reali has handled play-by-play before--covering Fordham University, which shows he can handle the tedium of the most lopsided of games--and Wilbon and Kornheiser could just do their PTI thing after each play. Their "Five Good Minutes" interviews would be a vast improvement over the typical in-booth interview, and they could do "Food Chain" segments (my suggestion: hottest sideline reporters).

So Tony, what I'm trying to say is this: don't save your energy for rebuttal columns. Bring the "two-bit weasel slug" comments to the two-bit weasel slug sitting in the booth with you and Mike Tirico. Even Farhi would appreciate that.

Fantasy Claw shines in preseason

Yep, just a month ago I traded for Clinton Portis in The Keeper. Just shoot me now.

The score that counts

I'm sure many of you have heard about the latest uproar in the world of pee-wee sports: in the final inning of a Little League championship game, with two outs and the tying run on third, the trailing team's best hitter was intentionally walked, bringing to the plate a kid who survived cancer.

This was not a repeat of the Shaya story you've all probably received from an e-mail forwarder. Nope, this time, the boy at the plate in the big situation strikes out, leaving the tying run at third, the big bopper at first, and the parents PISSED OFF at the tactics of the opposing coaches. (Were the winning team's parents just as pissed? Probably not, although they should have been.)

My first reaction was this: who put together this batting order? If this kid wasn't the greatest of hitters--his own dad refers to him as the weakest person, so I'm not going out of bounds here--why was he the "protection" for the clean-up hitter? That's like having the pitcher hit right behind Albert Pujols.

But my second, more serious reaction actually was a question: if that was my kid, how would I react in this situation, and how SHOULD I react? I hope to God I never have to test my own theory...

My wife and some of my friends might not believe this when they consider how passionately I follow sports, and especially how worked up I get when my favorite teams or fantasy squads fare poorly, but I'd like to think I wouldn't be too upset.

Yes, it was a total chicken-shit move. It's way too early in these kids' lives to be so tactical--we're talking about a 10-and-under league. You really need to intentionally walk a 10-year-old? And here's a memo: if you're afraid of parental scourge, the LAST thing you should be doing is coaching Little League, dummy.

But here's what I hope would keep me from taking an Easton upside the manager's melon: hey, my kid is beating cancer. Just seeing him in the on-deck circle while the catcher stuck out his arm to begin the intentional walk would be an amazing victory of another kind.

If I'm Mario Oaks, father of the cancer survivor, Romney Oaks, I know the score that matters, and it sure as hell isn't the one that tallies runs in a Little League game.

There is nothing that can be done on a ball diamond that can match the greatness that comes from surviving this disease--"you can't win 'em all" is all too applicable with cancer. Cancer didn't signal for four balls for little Romney Oaks; no, cancer brought some serious heat, and Romney stared it down and reached base safely. It's a long way from first to home in this game, but he's on...and he's looking to swipe second.

After enduring that, the fact that my kid strikes out to end a Little League championship game means he's alive, putting on that uniform, digging into the dirt around home plate, and taking his swings. I think that's all any father really wants.

Dodgeball for Democrats

Imagine you’re playing dodgeball, a team sport where a unified goal—hit members of the other team in the face or the groin—must be achieved for success.

OK, imagine one of your teammates gets drilled in the nuts because everyone else on your team was more concerned about protecting the person perceived to be a better leader. The person who was hit with the ball should accept his fate, pull for his teammates, and yell nice things like, “Now hit their guys in the seeds!” That’s how dodgeball is played, or at least how I remember it.

Now imagine if your eliminated teammate chose not to be the rah-rah type, but rather, decided to stand on the sideline and throw stray dodgeballs in the direction of his teammates. This would be distracting to the spectators trying to focus on the players who are still in the game, not to mention the fact that he might end up eliminating his team’s de-facto captain through his actions. All the while, this sidelined player refuses to accept that he wasn’t chosen team captain, and furthermore, refuses to accept that he’s no longer in the game. And although his antics will likely prove detrimental to your team, ironically he still wears his jersey with your team’s name across the chest.

This wouldn’t sit well with your team or your team’s fans for a couple of reasons. One, the fans determine the team captain in the same manner that All-Star rosters are selected—they vote. So even though they might have worn one guy’s jersey for years, when they decide somebody else needs to lead your team, they expect the old guard to take a seat on the bench and not trip your new captain.

Second, your team hasn’t won the majority of the dodgeball tournaments very often, but this season, you might have a shot at finishing with a winning record, which would mean you would be LEAGUE CHAMPION and could pretty much control the league until the next season. (Never mind that the league commissioner disagrees with your team on every aspect of the game.)

So you’d want your team to win one of the tournaments it had successfully captured the season before, right?

Well, apparently some approach dodgeball a little differently in Connecticut.

Keeper Files: Vol. 13, No. 1

(Editor's note: Words appearing as links will take you to the U.G. Glossary.)

Yes, our fantasy football league is entering year 13 of existence. Amazingly, we’ve managed to stay friends this long, given all the funky trades and endless shit-talk. One of our league members even threw a guy down a flight of stairs that must have numbered 25 steps, all because of some taunts during a Raiders game. But the tossee was not a league member (it was Helmet), so really it’s difficult to call any sort of foul.

Three of the four current U.G. members are in this league (Sam is the odd man out), and Matt and I have a combined four titles in the past seven years. Lee (the fan of tossing guys down stairs) has six titles himself, leaving one title each for Dave, the guy who is too often mistaken for one of the Brothers Gibb, and Corey, who is no longer in the league, probably because he’s scared.

Our league is a keeper format (hence the league’s name, “The Keeper”), and one wrinkle that’s been in from the beginning is the practice of redshirting players. Each year, we can protect a certain number of guys from being thrown into the draft. Redshirted players can be kept without counting against the number of protected slots, but you can’t play redshirted players.

We used to redshirt two players at midseason, but in 2003, I was so far ahead of everyone but one guy, some owners redshirted some studs:

• Peyton Manning and LaDainian Tomlinson (by Beck, which explains why he’s the current two-time defending champ)
• Shaun Alexander and Marvin Harrison
• Michael Vick and Terrell Owens
• Chad Johnson and Corey Dillon
• Tiki Barber

So since then, we’ve switched to two redshirts at the beginning of the year. Usually means rookies, or a second-string guy who is just waiting for the geezer in front of him to blow a knee or come down with Clarkinson’s disease so he can take the job next year.

Hitting on one redshirt offers a huge advantage, especially to guys who finished well the previous year, as you can only keep two guys if you finish in the money. (I get to protect four this year, and I have the first pick, so that tells you something about my 2005.) If you can double up on your reds, you’re a genius whose clairvoyance rivals the visions Dave used to have while working in front of his grill.

You see, Dave once got on a hot streak as far as predictions go. Back in the ’90s, he came within a week, I believe, of predicting when Steve Young would get hurt. Never mind that he made 1,482 predictions that season—HE KINDA GOT ONE RIGHT. We never heard the end of it. This wasn’t nearly as impressive as the Door of Pain, but that’s for another time.

So my job is to analyze who did the best job with their redshirts last year. Here’s my ranking:

8. Erik (Troy Williamson and Onterrio Smith)

7. Dave (Vincent Jackson and Eric Shelton)

6. Chris (Kellen Winslow and Travis Henry)

5. Lee (Aaron Rodgers and Rod Gardner)

4. Aaron (Alex Smith and Matt Jones)

3. Matt (Marion Barber and Mike Williams)

2. Mike (Cedric Benson and J.J. Arrington)

1. Beast (Philip Rivers and Braylon Edwards)

First off, Erik redshirted two Vikings, which should result in castration. And of course, Whizzinator is out of football, so that leaves him with Williamson, who is so average that everyone refers to Koren Robinson as the best WR in Minny. Yikes.

Lot of bums until you get to Matt Jones. Then there’s Mike Williams, assuming he figures out how good he used to be and still could be.

I would have put Mike at #1 about a week ago, before Benson got hurt and gave Thomas Jones another chance at starting. But Benson could end up a horse; he’s probably the best player redshirted.

But I have to give the edge to Beast, as Philip Rivers is in a great spot and Braylon apparently is on the fast track to recovery. Now how about winning the whole thing, Beasto!

Some great redshirt moves in Keeper history:

• Carson Palmer (Beck): He stashed him away for two years and was able to reap the benefits last year. Without Palmer, Beck probably doesn’t repeat last year. (Of course, if Dave doesn’t bench RANDY MOSS in Week 17, Beck certainly doesn’t repeat last year.)
• Tony Gonzalez (Lee): Tony G gave Lee half a season during his first couple of years in the league, and then Lee would redshirt him and get by at TE en route to league titles. Tony G eventually became a guy who played all year for Lee and earned a coveted protected spot for many years. Again, Lee has six (fuckin’) titles, so he must have been doing something right. Speaking of which …
• Drew Bledsoe (Lee): In 1996, Lee was heading toward his third title in as many years. His QB duo was Favre and Bledsoe, but it looked like he would have to cut one of them at the end of the year, as he didn’t have room to keep both. Unless…he redshirts Bledsoe and plays Vinny Testaverde the rest of the way. How did Vinny do that year for the Ravens? 4,177 yards, 33 TDs, 2 more TDs rushing, and career-highs in 20+ and 40+ completions. Lee, evil genius.

Some funny redshirt moves: Aside from Whizzinator, we’ve seen…

• Jason Elam (Lee): The evil genius entered Martz-dom by cloaking a kicker in red. We hardly ever brought that up to him over the following six years.
• Bobby Hebert (Kip): Redshirts are for young, up-and-comers, not guys who decide to retire that offseason.
• Sterling Sharpe (Dave): I think he continued to redshirt Sharpe for four years after his career ended, just in case.

Of course, this brought up an interesting question. Why was Dave holding onto Sharpe, when for years Dave claimed that if he lined up against Sharpe every game in a 16-game season, Sharpe would only have 5 catches…for the SEASON.

Yes, Dave fancied himself a great defensive back; one time, plowed after consuming about 16 shots of peppermint schnapps in five minutes, he told a stripper that he “was the last great white cornerback.” You can imagine her reaction. Why the heavy alcohol consumption? After the first thimble-sized shot, Dave yelled at the bartender, “Hey, you pour shots like a bitch!” The next three shots were just a little bit bigger, like Solo-plastic-cup-to-the-brim big.

If I haven’t mentioned it yet, Dave is kinda fun to hang out with.