Hump Day Homily, 1/30/2008

Scores of readers ("scores" has been loosely defined--ed.) asked me why I didn't deliver a homily last week. For one, I was observing the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday. For another, I'm lazy. Third, I was trying to figure out how to better configure my MySpace profile. (Click here to see it.) And lastly, I forgot my UG password. But I'm back in the saddle to do the Hump Day Dance (all apologies to the Digital Underground).

Cheney and Pelosi look, um, thrilled?

For all you political junkies out there, I transcribed the State of the Union address so I could provide some deep analysis. Here goes:

Quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack heh quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack ain't that right Bud quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack heh.

Quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack nook-yah-ler quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack hot daughters quack quack quack quack quack quack quack duh.

I know, I know: Quite lame of me to duck the issues. But let's clarify one thing: the Bush girls are seriously underrated.

If I had Michael Scott's Photoshop skills, I'd take Laura's place as the meat in this Bush girl sandwich.

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I mentioned the death of Brad Renfro in my last homily. Since then, Heath Ledger died. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a glossy mag or a web page talking about the tragic death of a gifted actor. I swear that Pop Candy blogger (whom I apparently have a love/hate relationship with, because I read her site almost daily, yet find myself scowling the entire time) was his best friend, the way she posted everything she could find about the loss of Ledger. Terry Gilliam is trying to figure out how to complete the film he was making with Ledger, and the entertainment media are writing nonsense stories wondering aloud whether the next Batman movie should be shelved due to Ledger's death (fuck no!).

The dude going tits-up at 28 is tragic (one year too late to join the Joplin-Morrison-Cobain-Hendrix club), but I found myself thinking: was he really this master thespian that everyone is making him out to be? Do I not understand because I'm not a teenage girl, a gay man, or Australian?

Here's the scorecard as I see it:

10 Things I Hate About You: He was one of the numerous things I hated about this movie.

The Patriot: I like my Braveheart without the pants (um, OK, I don't think that came out as I meant it...).

A Knight's Tale: Um, didn't see it. And won't.

Monster's Ball: I hardly remember him in this movie. Seems like he just grunted a lot before offing himself. (Um, does a movie from 2001 need a spoiler alert? I didn't think so either. He kills himself.) Horribly overrated flick. You know a movie is no good if it features Halle Berry having crazy sex and I still sold my DVD on eBay for magic beans.

The Four Feathers, The Order, The Brothers Grimm: See A Knight's Tale.

Ned Kelly: One I haven't seen that looks passable. But I had no recollection of this film when I went through his filmography.

Lords of Dogtown: Is there a reason to see this instead of Dogtown and Z-Boys?

Brokeback Mountain: Unintelligible. Gyllenhall and Michelle Williams (and the beautiful scenery and score) were the stars of this film.

I'm Not There and The Dark Knight: Want to see the former, can't wait to see the latter. I'm sure he'll be good given the material.

Aside from the last two, I'm not sure there's a movie on this list that I'd want to watch ahead of Renfro's Bully or Ghost World. If someone can explain the praise as something other than respecting the dead, please drop me a comment. Or e-mail me at yousuckballs@uncoachable.com.

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It's been pretty depressing here in the Midwest: dealing with bullshit winter weather (with an occasional cocktease of a 56-degree day thrown in there just to fuck with us); feeling attention-deprived now that the Iowa Caucuses have come and gone; and coping with the Packers' loss in the NFC title game. It's during these dark times that we ask ourselves: why do we live here?

If there is any sort of silver lining to the Giants' victory, it is this: the team proved that its version of chemotherapy can restore health. When you kill off the cancer that was Tiki Barber and Jeremy Shockey, good things can happen.

Two jagoffs celebrating mediocrity.

I will never be confused with an Ellie Manning fan, but I sometimes found myself making the same hangdog face that Ellie made on a failed third down whenever I saw those punk bitches Barber and Shockey show up their QB. Barber usually did it with a microphone, so it's fitting he's having to eat his words about Manning not being much of a leader while forcing smiles alongside Meredith Vieira.

Even better is Shockey's situation. He's still on the team, but the Giants never seemed like a cohesive unit until the very instant that Shockey was injured. In steps a rookie tight end with a cool name (Kevin Boss), who not only filled Shockey's shoes but also kept his mouth shut.

I just hope the next time Shockey starts running his mouth at Ellie (probably Week 1 of the 2008 season), the QB can show Shockey his Super Bowl XLII ring* and say, "At least I earned this, bitch." And then turn to the camera and yell, "GMA owns Today! And Football Night in America sucks, too!"

(*--assuming Tom Brady, Randy Moss, Wes Welker, the offensive line, the defensive line, Asante Samuel, Adalius Thomas, Kevin Faulk, and Coach Hoodie don't show up to Super Bowl XLII)

Fired up for Championship Sunday

From UG correspondent Jason:

Hey Chris,

Friends of mine were battling over REAL PACKER fans and FAKE PACKER fans. Anyway, to prove his point, my friend Joe from Montello spent his lunch break like this yesterday, and said that's how he is going to watch the game on Sunday. Thought you guys would get a kick out of it.

This guy rules. Go Pack!

This is NOT the Rev. Ug

I was shown this video clip, and then asked if this was our friend the Rev. Ug. I can confidently say no. You'll never hear the Rev apologize for talking about boobs.

Hump Day Homily, 1/16/2008

Once you all genuflect, we can begin.

OK, sorry to keep you hanging...

One of my fellow clergymen, the Rev. Al Sharpton, is calling for the head of Kelly Tilghman (right), the Golf Channel play-by-play woman who recently made an unfortunate choice of words when describing the only way for young golfers to defeat Tiger Woods.

Ms. Tilghman said something about how these young players would need to "lynch him in a back alley" in order to compete with Mr. Woods.

Tilghman is taking a two-week break from what I must assume is the grueling profession of golf play-by-play coverage. Al was hoping for a permanent vacation, and I'm not talking about that awesome 1987 Aerosmith album here.

For the record, Tiger isn't all that upset about it. Also, her remark doesn't drip of ill will nor does it come off as mean-spirited. She didn't call Tiger a ho, nor did she describe him as "nappy-headed."

But so what?!

You see, my man TRASh (The Rev. Al Sharpton to the unwise) has opened my eyes to deep-seated racism. If I understand TRASh's teachings correctly, these haters (as opposed to hatas) have been hiding in plain sight for years!

I now call the following offenders to stand tall before the man, for names found to be offensive by those looking to be offended by just about anything that breathes:

David Lynch, director of such "acclaimed" films as The Elephant Man, Blue Velvet, Wild at Heart, and Mulholland Dr.


Evanna Lynch, that pixie in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix


George Lynch, revered axe man from the hard-rock outfit Dokken


George Lynch, two-bit basketball player


Jessica Lynch, the military miss who was but a pawn in the U.S. war machine's propaganda factory


John Lynch, hard-hitting safety for the Tampa Bay Bucs and Denver Broncos


Marshawn Lynch, star rookie running back for the Buffalo Bills


Merrill Lynch, which provides capital markets services, investment banking and advisory services, wealth management, asset management, insurance, banking, and related products and services worldwide.


And last but not least, Da Lench Mob, a bunch of apparent self-loathing rappers who try to disguise their true motives by misspelling the offensive word, hoping it will slip past unsuspecting consumers and glazed-eyed copy editors.

The world will be a much better place once these people accept the consequences of such inflammatory surnames and band handles. They must each apologize to the Rev. Al Sharpton in person (and Tiger Woods, if time permits), and then petition the court to change their names to something less antagonizing — perhaps to something such as Coltrane. And if they won't play ball? Round 'em up and put them in camps — a sound solution to eradicate prejudice.

Makes sense, right? TRASh?

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And now, it's time for another priceless pep talk FOR Peyton Manning.

I hear you're bummed about losing in the playoffs again. Hey, don't get down on yourself. Losing at home to the second-string Chargers, that could happen to anybody. Plus, you're destined to be seen throughout the playoffs! That's right! Little bro Eli can probably get you tickets to watch him get his ass handed to him in Green Bay. Even if he can't come through, I hear the Cowboys have a bunch of extra tickets that their owner bought for them!

And in between moments of greatness orchestrated by Brett Favre and Tom Brady on Feb. 3, there you'll be, up on the screen, pitching plasma TVs and credit cards and any other fucking thing that offers you a dollar. Anyway, I look forward to seeing you in the stands with the family watching Eli get worked. All I ask is that you and Cooper wear different shirts, so I can tell you apart.

This has been another priceless pep talk by the Rev. Ug. Hopefully you still feel shitty, just not as bad as before.

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Might be time to rewrite some rap lyrics, because a recent report says it's Nuttin' But a HGH Thang. Yeah, sumthin' like that. (NWA!)

While rappers such as 50 Cent and Mary J. Blige (!!!) might have jeopardized their career or good standing (or whatever) after being implicated in a steroids investigation (read the New York Times story here), they could always find work hitting home runs for a pennant contender. (If nothing else, click on the link to see Timbaland's guns. Holy Christ.) As a member of my congregation told me, this might explain all the shoot-'em-up stories we read involving these songmeisters: roid rage!

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I just read that Brad Renfro died. I'll never watch Bully or Ghost World in the same way. I'll never watch any other movie starring Brad Renfro...period. (Well, maybe Sleepers. De Niro as a man of the cloth! Amen, brother!)

Basketball Judas Left Lickliter No Chitwoods

No more than a week ago, I was convincing a buddy of mine that the 2007-2008 Hawkeye Basketball Team was at one of those pivotal points in the season where you thought the light was going to go on. They had just scared the hell out of 11th ranked Indiana in Iowa City and I thought that was it. I said to my buddy, “You know, they are really starting to get it, it’s kind of like in Hoosiers right before Jimmy Chitwood came back.” You could just feel like it was happening.

Well, to borrow from Rick Pitino, JIMMY CHITWOOD ISN’T COMING THROUGH THAT DOOR! (At least not this year.)


Our consolation prize walking through that door: Apparently Dan Bohall, who is out of detox after being found in a bathroom stall passed out in a dorm. Jimmy Chitwood he is not.

Where did it all go wrong, you ask?

March 2006, the day the Hawks lost to Northwestern State on that last-second shot, and Steve Alford (a.k.a. Basketball Judas) packed it in. Jeff Horner and Greg Brunner graduated. Adam Haluska and his hot wife were back, but that was it. They played out the 2006-2007 season, and Basketball Judas saw the cupboard was bare. He then pulled a Bobby Petrino and got the hell out of Dodge so he didn’t have to take the brunt of the mess he created, which has now turned into the current version of the 2007-2008 Iowa Hawkeyes.

So Iowa Athletic Director Gary Barta hires 2007 Coach of the Year Todd Lickliter from Butler and we embark on this season. We could have brought Red Auerbach in here and there was no chance. Nobody expected a Final Four product here, but this???? Come the fuck on. The roster is loaded with guys that should be in the Prime Time league, not the Big 10. There are at least three players (Seth Gorney, “sober” Dan Bohall, JR Angle) and possible a fourth (Kurt Looby) that wouldn’t even make the team on any of the following: Drake, UNI, and the Clowns in Ames. Jeff Peterson, Jake Kelly, and Jarryd Cole are true freshman and playing like it. Pardon Jarryd Cole from that last statement because he was dominating before a torn ACL ended his season.

Tony Freeman can play in this league. Justin Johnson can play in this league. Cyrus Tate might be the only player in U of Iowa history other than Glen “Five Fouls to Give” Worley to get worse each year. David Palmer, touted by Basketball Judas as a “prized transfer from Seton Hall,” didn’t even make the trip last night to Columbus because he was “cleaning up some academic stuff.” So there you have it, your 2008 Hawkeye Basketball Team. And they wonder why Carver-Hawkeye Arena now draws more fans for Iowa Wrestling than they do for this shit.

The good news here…it’s going to get better. The bad news…not for a couple of years. Lickliter is a good coach. I believe it. Even the Butler team he recruited and coached last year is in the Top 20 with him gone. Ask Basketball Judas if that is the case where he was last year. Already you can see the concept of Lickliter’s offense makes sense, and they play their guts out on D most nights. We just don’t have anybody who can execute the game plan.

The good thing about basketball is it only takes a player or two to turn this deal around in a hurry. Everyone thought Doc Rivers was an idiot last year. The Celtics brought in Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen, and now he looks like a genius. Unfortunately, as I said before, JIIMMY CHITWOOD IS NOT WALKING THROUGH THAT DOOR!!

Blog commenter's infinite wisdom

I was reading CNN's political blog today, and a guy known to me only as "Ron, TX" stated quite eloquently why I was so distraught by the results of the New Hampshire primary. Here's his quote:

Do you want a candidate who cries for you? Out of stress, thoughts of defeat, and even perhaps a distant idea of making America better? Or do you want a candidate who makes you cry—out of hope, joy, thoughts of a better America?

Amen.

I know the Reverend agrees with me. Which is scary.

Congregation, please be seated ...

It's my first Hump Day Homily as an official UG. No more filtration by the prick who "runs" this show. He finally trusted me to speak for myself, typos and all. So let's get to it.

New Hampshire voted for two people who graduated with Vinny Testaverde. Yeah, that means they're fucking old. How old? Hillary Clinton is credited with discovering fire, and John McCain was the town elder who kicked dirt on the flame just to fuck with her.

Did Meals on Wheels drive old Dems to the polls? What just happened? Where's that double digit lead, Obama? Pardon me if the Granite State doesn't send me looking for a pint at Granite City! (That's a play on words, folks. And a beaut.)

Hey John Edwards, you've got nothing better to do than to hoard 17% of the vote in a race you can't win? Understandable that you'd want to drag your dying wife around so you can split the independent vote and allow the Crying Game to win the NH primary (i mean that as in Hillary getting all emotional at a campaign stop in NH, not that she has a cock). Good decision. And Horatio Sanz? You too, step aside.

Hillary Clinton gets emotional, both in a misty-eyed and seeing-red kind of way over the past few days, she wins a primary. Roger Clemens must be taking a page out of her playbook, although I think he's facing tougher opposition than the feebs in New Hamps. His recent public appearances are writing the "roid rage" punchlines for us.

Let me say something right here: i watched wheel of fortune tonight, and i'll be damned if Pat Sajak didn't hit the $5K wedge on the final spin AGAIN. either that guy is the best right-handed game show host of the modern era, or the fix is in. But either way it makes for good television.

Goose Gossage is in the hall of fame. Put that snotcatcher next to Rollie Fingers and the Quiz, Dan Quisenberry (rest in peace). Those guys had some sweet nostril manes. And Goose was the man, too. Forget the three-out, three-run-cushion saves these softies record these days. Gossage was getting four, five, six, seven outs at a time, throwing up to 140 innings a season at times. Imagine asking somebody like Billy Wagner or Huston Street to enter a game in the seventh inning. (I was going to say Mo Rivera, but Torre probably did try to use the stick boy in the seventh on occasion...)

Time magazine asks: "Do Monkeys Pay for Sex?" Wouldn't a direct e-mail query to Britney Spears have been more effective? She doesn't read Time!

Item: A pederast chokes on a hot dog in prison. (Click here for article). Is this another misguided display of erotic asphyxiation?

If I ever found out that someone was boinking the missus, the first thing I would do is sever a cow's head and ship it to the offending party through a parcel delivery service. Hey, in the case of Jason Michael Fife, it got his wife back, and all for the low, low price of 2 yrs probation and 50 hours of service to the community.

This story had some real gems:

• Police said Fife, 31, mailed the head frozen, so as not to alert parcel carriers to the contents. One problem: The box became bloody after sitting on the victim's doorstep on a warm day.
• "My client did step over the line here, but one can certainly understand his frustration, given that the victim was carrying on an affair with my client's wife." — defense attorney Henry Hilles (which sounds like he's represented by the guy from GoodFellas and his clone)

And finally, I leave you with the artist formerly known as Daniel Michael Miller II, who is now and forever (or until the buzz wears off) known as "The" Dan Miller Experience. That's first name "The" Dan; middle name Miller; last name Experience.

''My first reaction was that this guy was going to have some problems with Homeland Security,'' said Magistrate Larry Poulos, who approved the name change.

Really, your honor?! My first reaction was "when will Dan Miller experience any pussy?"

Enough with the homily already. Have a hell of a hump day.

Iron Maiden, Flying in Style

Who knew that the band placing 24th on VH1's "100 Greatest Artists of Hard Rock" had such a sweet ride? Military planes should be decked out in similar fashion — war would be a thing of the past. Take a look at Iron Maiden's personalized jet:





You can read the story about the Eddie plane at Spinner.

Overlooked Tecmo perfection

Our New Year's resolution: to post stuff here more than once a month. To start 2008, I've asked The Rev. Ug, our good friend, mentor, and inspiration, to narrate a film produced by Uncoachable Gangsters. While the 2007 New England Patriots are bathing in the glory of an undefeated regular season, we ask that you remember the outstanding feats of the Houston Oilers during a most grueling May 1992 Tecmo Super Bowl season.