Rich Kotite Banged Your Mom

... What ... Happened ... ?

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 03:02:00 +0000

That shit hurt me just watching. I haven't seen a raping like that since "American History X." Joe Gibbs' underwear is going to have small blood stains in them from the ripping of the anal walls. Jason Campbell is going to wake up to nightmares of Mike Vrabel fucking his grandmother and forcing her to fumble.

I honestly thought that, with this mega-matchup with the Colts next week, we could slip into New England, blitz Tom Brady, stuff their injured run game and squeek out a 20-17 win. 50 points? Did they punt once with their starters in? Even their freaking backup QB who never played in college scored on us ! Thank God Chris Cooley scored, because a shut-out like that can destroy the pysche of a team quicker than Bill Belichek shat on Al Saunders' face.

Jesus is Joe Gibbs' homeboy, though, and gives us the hopeless Jets at home next week. One AFC East team pisses in our mouth at home, now we get to fart in anothers in our house. Roger Goodell is just.

No One Had A Problem With This ?!?

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Fri, 26 Oct 2007 23:31:00 +0000

I understand this guy was a fan favorite in Boston. I understand he was minutes away from playing in Japan before Theo Epstein and the Red Sox organization gave him a chance. I understand he was a big part in ending an 86-year championship drought for the Fenway faithful.

But ... the guy plays for a different team. Not only that, a division rival. And, as a resident of the city of Baltimore, I have to tell you ... This city couldn't care less.

Now lets switch some things around. Lets say another Boston divisional foe, like ... New York, had their former Red Sox player and '04 World Series winner - John Damon - do a promo spot, throw out the first pitch and read the lineup card on national television, as Millar did. Damon would have to be traded. His jersey would be burnt in the streets to warm up a bum's nutsack. And not that any Yankee would leave for Boston, but imagine a Red Sox player doing that in New York? They would have to put the guy in witness protection, and some t-shirt vendor in Boston would come up with some mildly witty pun and slap it on a shirt for $ 20.

This situation isn't getting the attention it deserves. First off, in an interview on ESPN Radio 1300 in Baltimore, I heard that MLB made them ask the Orioles for permission, and granted it. The Mets laughed when they asked for Pedro, but Peter Angelos, the Orioles border-line retarded owner, had no problem with this; and didn't even make the guy wear an Orioles hat or something! Now there's little respect in this city for the management of that team, and most, if not all, fans are waiting for Cal Ripken Jr. to get enough money to buy the team, but the fact that they would let a player do that is unbelievable to me.

And does Millar have any shame? The Red Sox didn't want him anymore. They offered him no contract or even arbitration and the chance of a contract in 2006, and so he became a platoon player for a bad team. And yet, he jumps at the chance to go back and root them on? What a fucking clown. Cowboy the fuck up and outta this city. If you don't think I'm going to throw a DVD of "Fever Pitch" at your double-chinned, hair-dying ass come next spring, you're in for quite the surprise.

Joe Torre is a Fucking Guido

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Fri, 19 Oct 2007 16:35:00 +0000

You see this picture? That's all this fucking goomba did for the past six to ten seasons; sat on his ass while his meatballs digested, watching the best lineup in the game coast into the post-season, and then get beaten by better managed teams.

I gaurantee you at times, half the players thought he was just taking a nap. Those pinstripes look like pajamas on him, and it makes sense, since the motherfucking idiot slept more than inspired.

Greatest manager ever? ... Not even close. Not even close to greatest Yankee manager ever. Not even close to greatest manager named "Joe." Not even close to greatest Italian manager. Not even close to greatest manager who used 9/11 and Rudy Guiliani to sell a shitty book I got for Christmas one year ...

He had a losing record as a manger before he took over an amazingly up-and-coming / veteran Yankee team, and he'll have a losing record if he tries to show up the Yankees by signing somewhere else. Hello, TBS. Hello, Peter Gammon's wingman. Hello, yin to Steve Phillips' yang on "Sportscenter." This guy has more money in the bank for doing nothing than anyone, with Donald Trump and Carrot Top right behind him.

As for the Yankees that are going to leave since he did ... Fuck yourself. More than half of your saves, Mo, are because of that payroll. All of your RBI, Hip Hip Jorge, are because of the lineup that was bought around you. And A-Rod ... You're like the captain of the football team who is dating the head cheerleader with the big titties, but cheats on her right before prom with some Fall Out Boy loving art class ho: None of your supposed friends (New York) like you, and the nerds/art scene that is your only other option (Boston) hate you for who you were the past few years ... So you sit alone (in Anaheim) at the dance, hoping no one knows you once you start at Future Realtor Community College (the Hall of Fame.) Nice knowing you, asshole, now get the fuck off my team.

Blow this team up. Shoot Roger Clemens out of a circus cannon into whatever body of water is closest to Houston. Strap Kei Igawa to a nuke and finish the job Harry Truman tried to in Japan. Get Bobby Abreu the hell outta the Bronx.

I want a rotation of Wang, Hughes, Kennedy, Igawa and Humberto Sanchez. I want JB Cox setting up for Joba Chamberlain; who will enter games to the theme from "Star Wars" or possibly "Hungry Like the Wolf" by Duran Duran (for no reason in particular). Matsui, Damon and Cabrera left to right in the outfield. Mike Lowell or Scott Brosius at 3B, Jeter at SS, Cano at 2B and Giambi - who needs to get a freakin' Bally's Total Fitness gym membership this off-season - at 1B. Sign Adam Dunn to DH and spot-play at 1B.

DO NOT SIGN TORII HUNTER OR ANDRUW JONES TO THE BIGGEST CONTRACTS ON THE PLANET!

Let Carl Pavano pitch in Korea. Let Andy Pettite manage a car-dealership in Piscataway. Keep Don Mattingly as bench coach, Ron Guidry as pitching coach and bring in Joe Girardi to manage. Sign Brian Cashman to an extension; a long one.

That is all I demand. See all you other teams in October next season; we're going undefeated, bitches.

The Book of Joba: Entry # 1

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Thu, 06 Sep 2007 19:24:00 +0000

Hi! Me Joba.

I throw ball for Yankees. I throwed ball for long time. My arm strong. Ball fast. Joba good at ball throwing. Yankees give Joba job throwing ball for dollars.

Yankees feed Joba corn. I big from corn. Joba like Yankees. Joba like corn. Big, big Joba from Yankee corn. Pants no fit from lotta corn. Yankees give new pants! Big pants! Joba like big pants.

Joba sorry to Youkless. Ball slippery from corn butter juice. Sorry Youkless. Sorry Red Socks. Sorry Yankees. Joba sit on bench for slippery ball. Mean Bud man yell at Joba. "You stupid Joba!" Joba cry from Mean Bud man. Call him smelly. Mean Bud man say "Two games, Joba!" Joba eat corn for two games. It was fun.

Bye, from Joba. Bye!

Roger Goodell would've hated LT ...

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Sun, 12 Aug 2007 05:49:00 +0000

So the new NFL boss said no to "Pac-Man" Jones wanting to jones as a pro wrestler for TNA ... I guess it makes sense. But does no one remember when Lawrence Taylor - in need of some cash for a big coke score or something - actually main-evented Wrestlemania 11 versus Bam Bam Bigelow? I remember!

And he won, too! Half the ring was surrounded by serious NFL talent (including the incomparable Reggie White, Carl Banks and others) , the other by serious WWF talent (including the incomparable Tatanka, Ted DiBiase and others).

God I miss my childhood.

I'm actually really confused as to why Goodell and the Titans are having such a problem with this situation, though. AJ Pierzynski won a belt from TNA for something, and his manager Ozzie Guillen hit some guy with a chair at training camp ... Kevin Green, the great Steelers and Panthers linebacker, was a guest-referee for a match and "sacked" somebody. How did David Stern not shit himself when Dennis Rodman and Karl Malone fought in WCW? Brian Urlacher, Johnny Damon and David Eckstein all did little guest-spots with TNA over the past few years, and were met with little more than giggles from their teammates for their involvement in something so ridiculous.

Lest we forget, one of the greatest boxers of all-time, "Iron" Mike Tyson, was involved with the WWF a few years ago, sucker-punching Shawn Michaels and helping "Stone Cold" Steve Austin get the win. Former WWE Champion Brock Lesnar almost made the Minnesota Vikings roster a few years ago. Former WCW and WWE Champion Bill Goldberg was an Atlanta Falcon for a few seasons. Former WWE Champion The Rock was a highly-recruited U of Miami defensive tackle (before Warren Sapp came in and pushed him out of the way).

What if Roger Goodell is keeping Jones from his true calling? What if Jones' destiny is to fly off the top rope and hit Sting with "The Rainmaker?" What if the Titans front office is actually planning some kind of pay-per-view with all their old players who wrestle now (Frank Wychek and Kyle Van Der Bosch have both wrestled professionally ...)?

Let the guy wrestle. I really just want to see him power-bomb Marvin Harrison in his first game back. Plus, he's going to fill out a pair of tights really nicely ...

Baseball's New Unbreakable Record ?

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Fri, 10 Aug 2007 17:35:00 +0000

When Hank Aaron broke Babe Ruth's record, baseball fans thought they were seeing an unbreakable record be broken. Aaron piled on a few dozen more home runs to the total, to set a benchmark that would untouchable for the rest of baseball history. That mark has fallen ... So what now is the most unbreakable record in baseball?

Is it Joltin' Joe's 56 game hitting streak? I seriously doubt it. While only a few have come close, a few have come close. Pete Rose. Paul Molitor. Chase Utley and Jimmy Rollins gave it a run not too long ago ... 56 games is a massive streak, but all it takes is two hot months to get there. You want an unbreakable baseball record? Talk to Old Hoss.

Old Ross Radbourn won 59 games in 1884. 59 games. We give guys the Cy Young Award for winning 20 ... This guy won more games than pitchers these days start in a season. It is a truly untouchable record.

The Ridiculous Prediction of the Week !

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Thu, 26 Jul 2007 06:07:00 +0000

This Week's Ridiculous Prediction :

Barry Bonds WILL NOT Break Hank Aaron's Home Run Record ... Ever!

The Ridiculous Situation :

Barry Lamar Bonds will, in front of Commissioner Bud Selig, injure himself severely enough to cause him to miss roughly half the remainder of the season.

For fear of being booed as a visitor in a ball park, Bonds will intentionally not hit any home runs on the road.

However, at home, Bonds will get no pitching. He'll be intentionally walked one out of every three at-bats, and in the other two, will receive roughly one hittable pitch. (The Giants will still lose, despite his on-base percentage swelling.) After the season, Bonds will be indicted on Federal charges and go to prison, for a long, long time. He will end this season, and his career, short of Hammerin' Hank's record.

Defending the Defenseless!

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Fri, 20 Jul 2007 20:55:00 +0000

ESPN, you should be ashamed of yourselves. FOX Sports, you, too. Yahoo!. Deadspin. PETA. United States of America. Planet Earth ... You should all be ashamed of yourselves. For what? For picking on these God-fearing, handsome, charitable, honorable men. These are role models, and yet, to steal a huge ESPN cliche, you "throw them under the bus?" ( I still don't know what the hell that means ... Was there a time when people did that to teammates? If they had a bad game, you threw them under a bus?)

Chris Benoit. Adam "Pac-Man" Jones. Michael Vick. NBA referee Tim Donaghy. Barry Lamar Bonds. Jason Giambi. Chris Henry. Tank Johnson.

You may be asking yourself, Richie K., you can't seriously be thinking these guys don't deserve the fines, the jail-time, the public ridicule? Right? Damn right I am.

I'll break it down case by case for you.

CHRIS BENOIT - OK, the guy was a 'roid-machine. But he was a loving father, a wonderful husband and a phenomenal wrester. (Those multiple German suplexes were as exciting a move as the sport has seen ...) But he had a bad day. You've never had a bad day? Everyone has had bad days! Chris Benoit had one bad day, and you people crucify him for it. He was on the cover of People magazine, for Vince McMahon's sake! OK, he killed his wife, his kid and himself. OK, his body was so full of illegal substances there's a good chance a bunch of crackheads dug up his body and tried to smoke him. Whatever, man. I've had bad days, you've had bad days, Jesus has had bad days ... They happen. Who are we to pass judgement on the severity of those bad days? Just chalk them up to experience and move on ...

ADAM "PAC-MAN" JONES - He loves strippers. Who doesn't? I do. Any American male should. Most men around the world, with the exception of those crazy Muslim assholes who make women wear sheets and crap from head to toe, love strippers. He throws around lots of money, and makes other men jealous. He's named after a legendary video game icon! How can you hate this guy?
OK, maybe he shot someone. Maybe he was responsible for a few riots ... Those happen all the time. How do you know it wasn't chance? And growing up in West Virginia, what the hell else is there to do but start some trouble every now and again? Don't hate the Pac-Man, hate the game. All he needs to do is find his Mrs. Pac-Man and settle down anyway ... He cut his hair. He took out a full page ad swearing to the people of Tennessee he'd change his ways. What more do you want from the guy? He literally gives money to young women in exchange for nothing more than a quick glimpse at their vagina and/or breasts. Most of them are young, single mothers. That's as charitable an act as Bono has ever done ...

NBA REFEREE TIM DONAGHY - He bet on games. Is that so terrible? Yes, he has a job where he has a great way to alter those games, but let me just point out one thing to you: Tim Donaghy is white. White men in the game of basketball are never to be questioned, simply respected, feared and occasionally asked to participate in 3-point contests. The NBA pays their referees a small price, considering you ask them to call fouls on huge men in the midst of battle. Shaq would kill this guy. Artest would snap his neck. Sprewell would choke him. Rasheed would ... do something weird. What's wrong with trying to earn a little something on the side? All the NFL's umpires and refs have day jobs. Tim Donaghy needs to feed his children Alpo so he can drive that fancy car to the stadium? I SAY NO, SIR!

BARRY BONDS - This is the easiest case there is. He denies taking steroids. Fine. But even if he did ... THEY WEREN'T ILLEGAL IN THE GAME OF BASEBALL AT THE TIME! Barry Bonds was playing by the rules. He did nothing illegal. He found an edge, and he stuck that edge into his ass. His head swelled, his balls shrank and he doubled in size from his Pirate days. His amazing moustache fell out, as did his semi-'fro. He's paid the price for his greatness. Now that steroids are finally illegal in pro baseball, he no longer takes them. So, Bud Selig, get your ass to that stadium as he claims one of the most prestigious records in pro sports. Hank Aaron, buy yourself a walker and watch as Barry Bonds breaks your record. Support your fellow African-American man as you claimed no one did as you broke the record. Your death threats weren't anything compared to the thought of this great record falling and big, fake needles pelting him as he rounds the bases ... He did nothing wrong. Lay off Barry Lamar!

MICHAEL VICK - This one is a little complicated, because I am a cat-lover, too. Dogs are just dirty, annoying things God put on this planet to fetch slippers, eat grass and entertain us with their fighting. Vick is an athlete with moves that break ankles, an arm that defies logic and a brain the third the size of most adults. His family took advantage of him! We all know his little brother is an idiot. Chances are, he has no clue who his real father is. More than likely, he's got cousins he doesn't even know about; and when you become a pro athlete, those hands stretch a little longer into your pockets, but that is the price you pay for your talent! Those things happen when you have shoes with your name on them!

Durham hookers unsafe for another year ...

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Wed, 30 May 2007 20:24:00 +0000

Can we please stop bending over backwards for these sons of bitches?

Duke lacrosse lost a nail-biting national championship Memorial Day weekend, which I thought was going to be rigged in their favor after all the heart-wrenching stories about the Blue Devils lacrosse team. That was shortly after the three ex-Duke lacrosse players had the rape charges against them dropped. And now? More good news for the over-privileged youth of America: The team has been given a fifth year of NCAA eligibility.

But ... why?

It wasn't the NCAA that suspended the season at Duke. It was the University. Eight games into the season, by the way. So they lost half a season. Keep in mind that over half the team was caught underage drinking at an off-campus house party where strippers and prostitutes were. Nevermind that they were accused of rape and sexual assault. Nevermind that they had the most expensive attorney money could buy, arguing a case against a district attorney manipulating his client so he could win the minority vote in the next election. Nevermind that these collar-popping assholes sent e-mails vividly describing skinning African-American women. Nevermind that the university forced a well-respected coach to resign to help cover-up the black eye the school had been given ...

Hey, let 'em play, right?

If this had been, say, a basketball team at a state school, and the three accused were, say, African-American and not from the most prestigious suburbs in America ... You think they'd be playing another season? You think the NCAA would even CONSIDER hearing that appeal?

This absolutely disgusts me. Here's hoping Johns Hopkins kicks their asses again next season.

Josh McRoberts: NBA Bound !

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Fri, 23 Mar 2007 05:07:00 +0000

So after two unsuccessful years at Duke, Josh McRoberts is going to try his luck in the NBA. He's following a long and successful tradition of Duke guys leaving early to get into the League ...

Here is what I don't get. Why leave a college basketball scene where you are borderline dominant, an icon on campus and a chance for a national championship for mid-level dollars and the title of "role player" for the rest of your career.

There is no shot he's a star in the NBA. (See: Shavlik Randolph, Cherokee Parks, Chris Carrawell, William Avery, JJ Redick, Trajan Langdon) He could be a starter for a weaker team with a me-first point guard, and hope he gets enough offensive boards and put-backs to warrant a roster spot for the next season. But Shaq will abuse him. Amare will abuse him. Oden will abuse him. Garnett will abuse him. Yao will abuse him. Hell, Michael Oliwakandi will abuse this guy ...

The sad thing is, Duke would've returned all five starters - something that personally scared the shit out of me - and been a top-10 team. Now? They'll rely even more on a shaky shooter and a weak ball-handler, and will get absolutely dominated by Tyler Hansbrough and UNC for the next two years - unless Gerald Henderson takes the next step and just shoots him in the face or something.

Best of luck to you, though, Josh. Seriously. Here's hoping Laettner buys a team so he can draft you, trade for Redick and Shav and assemble a true dynasty in the NBA. Get yourself a double-wide, kid; you earned !

Greg Oden's Diary : Entry # 3

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 05:38:00 +0000

Dear Diary: Just wanted to put a picture in here of how big my penis is around ... For the ladies, you know?

For real, though, I got some serious shit to talk about, and his name is Kevin Durant. You know, Kevin "I'm Not in the Sweet Sixteen" Durant. That guy. That guy that's fucking with my motherfucking NBA money. The Celtics got fined for calling him? Why? They need a dark toothpick? I was rooting for Texas; I really was. I wanted them to get into the Final Four so I could show the world who deserves that money, playboy. I'm playing with one hand! Do you not understand that shit? Durant, seriously, give me player of the year trophy, bro, and you won't get hurt. Did you see the foul I put on that fool against Xavier?

You wanna know why the O did that? Because he could. I could snap my fingers and cause a tsunami in Asia. I could flap my arms and fly around the world, shitting on people I didn't like. I could dunk on Jesus Christ - in Heaven - with four fouls on me. The world is mine. They're re-naming the school The O-Den State University. The mascot will be a scaled-down replica of my hand - so it'll fit in the building - and it will just stand there, staring at you the whole game. Whoever is lucky enough to be in that costume will get more ass than Kevin Durant, Tyler Hansbrough and whoever that white dude from Pitt is combined. MY HAND, SON! MY HAND!

I wish someone would build a time machine. I saw this movie, "Back to the Future," and I didn't get it because I don't know how you can go back to the future, if the future is in front of you ... But anyway, that's not the point. I need one of them cars, on 26's, so I can go back and dunk on Kareem, block Bill Russell's shot and just abuse Bill Walton in the post. Wilt the Stilt? He gonna need crutches when I get done with him. Shaq is my boy (I loved "Kazaam!") but for real, he best retire before I spin past him in the lane and cross his eyes; dude'll look like Stuart Scott and Rebecca Lobo had a baby when I'm done with him.

Elite Eight is up next. Do you get CBS, Durant? I may eat a Longhorn for dinner before the game. No, not AT Longhorn's. I'm going to eat A Longhorn. With some corn on the cob, bitches.

ODEN OUT!

It's Like My Dreams Came True ...

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Fri, 16 Mar 2007 04:25:00 +0000

First of all, doesn't Jon Scheyer look like a post-fight Ivan Drago?

It happened. Dook lost to a mid-major in the first round. It really is a dream come true for me. I feel like Martin Luther King Jr. post-"I Have A Dream." I feel like George Washington post-sticking it to England. I feel like Ghandi post-fasting. I feel like Jesus Christ post-Ressurection. I feel like Tommy Lee post-leaking the sex video with Pam Anderson. I feel like Rosa Parks post-not getting up from that bus seat.

Watching a humbled Coach K post-game, I almost masturbated. (I was fully erect, don't get me wrong.)

The solemn faces of those Blue Devils as they realized they'd lost to a mid-major ... Priceless. I'm going to frame them individually, but only after going to a store and having them made into a really nice wallpaper I can decorate my bedroom with. A crying Greg Paulus will be the thing I think of when I watch "The Sound of Music" and they sing the song about when the dog bites and when the bee stings ... (You know that you know it ...) The out-stretched arms of DeMarcus Nelson (PS, Mr. and Mrs. Nelson: You didn't like Marcus, you didn't like Dennis, but you thought, hell, together; that's a name?) and Scheyer getting shot over by my new favorite college basketball player, Eric Maynor (replacing Timmy Smith and the coked out dude from the 'Nova team that beat Pat Ewing and that unstoppable Georgetown team.)

My hope? That this is the catalyst to Coach K bolting for the NBA. That out of pure embarrrassment, Josh McRoberts enters the NBA Draft (and goes undrafted like super-stud Shavlik Randolph). I hope that all the McDonald's All-Americans commited to Duke change their mind ... I hope the court is re-named "Guy Who Hasn't Gotten Past The Sweet Sixteen Five of the Past Six Years Court." I hope that Jay Bilas never picks them again in a big game. I pray to VCU that Dick Vitale retires, and gets a water-front townhouse with Krzyzewski, where they have lots of unprotected sex and give each other HIV, and then AIDS and - just to top it off - really gross Herpes ...

It's not all ice cream and cocoa puffs, though. Usually when I was trying to eke out a few extra minutes in bed with the ladies, I thought of Coach K. I thought of Christian Laettner hitting that shot. I thought of JJ Redick's and Jay Williams' and - if I was really desperate - Shelden Williams' faces. But now? I'll probably finish a lot quicker because of this.

By the way, the State Farm commercial with "Coach K vs. Coach Jay" ... Pure gold. Write a book about this one, you rat-looking SOB.

Greg Oden's Diary: Entry # 2

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Tue, 13 Mar 2007 16:29:00 +0000

Dear Diary:

Tournament time, bitches. The O gots himself a Big Ten Championship, but you know the man wants a NCAA bling-ring-on his pinky fing. And then, I want the WWE Title. I could probably beat that Russian dude for the heavyweight title, too.

For real, though; is Wisconsin even a real team? It's like, "Double-double for Oden, cheese and fat chicks for Wisconsin." I dominate the Big Ten, just like my "Big Ten" dominates the ladies, playboy. There was some funky chickens hanging outside the hotel for the tournament, I cannot WAIT for them NBA shorties, yo. I be swattin' tig ol' bitties like I be swattin' fools shots every night.

Man, I tried to Google this team we're opening against. Central Coneticut. It kept saying "no results." Where's Coneticut anyway? It don't matter. Only places matter are THE Ohio State, THE Oden's Den and THE city that drafts me. 16 seed never beat a 1 seed, and you bet your ass it ain't happenin' on the O's watch. I might go for 50/50/50/50 night - 50 points, 50 boards, 50 blocks - and 50 BJ's, son!

Coneticut, watch yo ass, Oden want a sandwich.

ODEN OUT!

Andy Reid's Autograph Is Like Gold!

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Fettucini) — Mon, 12 Feb 2007 18:54:00 +0000

This isn't something we usually do at RKBYM, but we got the juiciest of juicy gossip from a friend of ours, and had to pass it along to you ...

Now the news has broke on ESPN and all the other sources that Head Coach Andy Reid has taken a leave of abscense from his Eagles until mid-March. He didn't name any reasons for this leave, but you can bet it has a lot to do with his children being about as out of control as is humanly possible. Garrett and Britt Reid have - seperately - been charged with numerous drug and traffic violations, assaults, etc.

That isn't the big news; this is.

Our anonymous source has informed us that - through a female high school friend who has engaged in sexual intercourse with Britt Reid - Britt Reid has his Johnson pierced.

Oh yeah; we went there. But that's just the start.

The two went to Harriton High School together - a preppy little school right outside of Philly - and our source has also told us after a party, where the young Reid was engaged in lots of underage alcohol consumption and drug use, decided it best for him to drive home from the party. Reid then backed into a friends car, smashing the hood, drove down the block only to be stopped by the police. Reid then tried to bribe the police officer with - this is my favorite part (besides the fact his dick is pierced) - autographed pictures of his dad, which he keeps in his glove box; obviously for situations just like this.

It seems the fuzz in Philly are overloaded with Andy's signed picture, and now they're actually charging the kids ...

What a city.

An Open Letter From Tom Brady to Rexxxtasy

noreply@blogger.com (Rich Kotite Banged Your Mom) — Thu, 01 Feb 2007 19:35:00 +0000

Mr. Grossman:

Notice how I didn’t call you Rexxxtasy or something pornographic like that? You know why? Class. I’ve got it, and you, my friend, do not. I drink port, you drink alcohol that came from the ports of San Juan. My girlfriends have included starlets and supermodels, whereas yours have included Brandi from Pensacola and Heather from Skokie. Way to go. I attended the University of Michigan, a university whose business school was ranked best in the nation by the Wall Street Journal (that’s a prestigious newspaper, by the way), whereas you attended the University of Florida, a school of champions, albeit not while you were there, but frankly a school where the average SAT rivals your quarterback rating against the Packers.

Do not continue to offend me, Mr. Grossman. While having sex with Gisele, I am oftentimes sickened by your actions. You are not “The Sex Cannon.” I am. I walk into bars and women immediately wet their pants. Think about that, Mr. Grossman. You walk into bars to get drunk; I don’t walk into bars so much as I walk directly into wet panties. It’s like the doorway is full of them, and I walk directly into them. Picture that, Mr. Grossman. I do sincerely apologize for the vulgarity of that statement, but I felt it necessary to prove my point. Often, when I am involved with a beautiful woman, such as the starlets and supermodels I share with people such as Leo DiCaprio and Derek Jeter, I like to wear my three Super Bowl rings, and admire them as any true champion would. Then I continue to last for hours on end. Again, I remind you, these are the most beautiful women in the world, not sorority girls from the Chi Omega house in Gainesville.

A final point, my dear friend. Perhaps, if you weren’t so busy attempting to be the next great western gunslinger (I refuse to even use any other word you use to describe yourself ending in “slinger”) you would realize that in fact, women most prefer the man with the rings who isn’t afraid to show off his sensitive side and dump the ball off. At that point, maybe, just maybe, my girlfriend Gisele could get you one of her friend’s phone numbers. Until then, however, Mr. Grossman, enjoy the pleasures of the women of Wrigleyville. You may think you’re special for merely MAKING ONE Super Bowl, but my good friend Peyton will likely wipe the floor with you. I have to cut this letter short; my Merrill Lynch stock just bought me my fifth Rolls Royce and I have to go pick it up.

Yours in Football,
Thomas Brady

Drunk Barry Zito

noreply@blogger.com (Rich Kotite Banged Your Mom) — Mon, 29 Jan 2007 03:24:00 +0000

Now, we here at RKBYM are not usually in the business of posting drunk athlete photos (frankly, we consider this lowbrow and crass...but not really), but when your friend puts up a pic of himself and a hilarious looking Barry Zito, well, you really have no choice but to post it for the world to see. The look on his face is awesome...he knows what he'll be up to in a couple hours, and he loves it. Alyssa Milano, take note, Barry's doing just fine.

Greg Oden's Diary : Entry # 1

noreply@blogger.com (Richard P. Kotite) — Thu, 25 Jan 2007 01:28:00 +0000

Dear Diary:Man, what a baller-ass night. Those two freshmen chicks hit the spot, son. Had them white bitches screaming "O-O-O-O-O-Oden! O-O-O-O-O-O-Oden!" Game wasn't bad, neither. Another one-handed double-double, thank you. Coach Thad told me not to look ahead, but come on, man. After I win us the conference tournament, I think I might ... Yeah, I sure am. I'm gonna get with that Asian girl Teddy Ginn introduced me to. I gotta Call Ginny back, though; kid texted me about a party with some senior girls. Hopefully he can smooth out that beef with me and Troy, too. Kid thinks I broke his Heisman on purpose. What kinda whack-ass statue has a arm stickin' out the side like that? Fuckin' thing snapped right off. These hands block shots and kill small animals; a little trophy arm can't handle my shit. Maybe I'll buy that dude a Rolls or a Benz when I get drafted ... Give him the ring I win for Buckeye Nation since he choked ...

Oh shit, time for class. "TV." Shit is hard, yo.

Naw, I ain't goin'. I gotta start thinking of names for my mansion. I looked at some real estate in Philly; Iverson's house is OK ... For my garage. I'm going to have to build something fly enough to be called the O-Den. That's what I'm gonna call my house, at least when "Cribs" comes to film ... I'm gonna get a kick ass pet, too. Maybe a ... snake? Fuck snakes. I already got a negro anaconda in these shorts. What about a giraffe? No; too Michael Jackson ... Hows about a gorilla? Maybe ... Oh, shit. Oden, you da' man. I'm gonna get me an ALBINO GORILLA! Name that mo'fucker something scary, too. Call that thing Ewing. Teach it to ball, son. A fuckin' dunking albino gorilla. Shit would be the bomb, boy.
WTF? This dude on ESPN just said I should stay in school for four years. The only reason I'd even think about that shit is the new freshmen honeys comin' in every fall ... What? Fool said Josh McRoberts is going to be a better big man in the long-run because he's got "smart moves" in the post. That honky motherfucker can't hold me. March Madness comes around I'm going to dunk on him 17 times, block a dozen of his shots and fuck his girl. Oh wait, she's probably ass-ugly. That's why I told Coach K no. I said Coach, you got a nice program, but shit; them girls is lookin' like the Elephant Man or some shit. You find nicer girls working at Burger King, man. Plus I couldn't shit on Ohio like that. Gots to get Buckeye Basketball on the map, son! Make these peeps forget LeBron. It's all about the O. But for real, being the O isn't that great right now ...

Being a freshmen sucks ball, yo. Dick Vitale called me a diaper dandy, but for real, I'd rather be a senior dandy and have a fucking car on campus. A Bentley. That'd be sick. Drive to classes in my Phantom. On 24's, bitch. Roll to practice watching "Scarface" on DVD on my 15 monitors. That'd be the shit like Taco Bell, son. Sucks, though. I gotta walk my ass to 7-11 now. I need some condoms like whoa! Magnum XXXL's, you know how the Big O slays it. But yo, I gots to wrap it up. Can't be having none of these white bitches chasing me around the NBA wantin' money for some kid I don't even know is mine ... Gotta bring me the DNA test, yo. That or they gotta be 7'1'' and have a full beard in 5th grade like me. I used to dunk on cats in Kindergarten. Gettin' head behind the swingset in 1st grade ... Yo, little Greg used to beat that pussy up while he watched "Power Rangers." Oh shit; speaking of that ... I gotta buy me one of those suits they wore. I always dug that black dude. He had some wild ass hair, though. Shit, that fool isn't doing anything. I'm gonna buy that dude, make him run around my house fighting Ewing. Shit would be awesome for parties. Pop some Dom P and watch that cat rumble with an albino gorilla all night ... God I love my life.

ODEN OUT

Confessions of a Two-Team Fan

noreply@blogger.com (Rich Kotite Banged Your Mom) — Wed, 17 Jan 2007 16:26:00 +0000

Growing up in Connecticut, I was always strangely a Denver Broncos fan. They were my only team that wasn’t local (the Red Sox, Whalers, and Uconn being the other teams to which I claimed undying allegiance to). The Patriots were an afterthought my parents rooted for despite being mired in the Dick MacPherson-Hugh Millen years. John Elway was my Jesus, and I worshipped at his temple every fall Sunday. When the Broncos played the Pats, it was an excuse to rip on my parents as Elway, Shannon Sharpe, TD, and co. beat them silly.

Then, in 1999, the Patriots were supposed to move to Hartford. Bob Kraft even signed a deal with the mayor of Hartford and governor of Connecticut to move the team to a new, downtown stadium. Then, out of the blue, he reneged and scurried back to Foxboro. I had debated where my loyalties would lie if they had moved to Hartford, but decided to remain steadfast to the Broncs. This treason made it all the easier to hate the Bledsoe-Pete Carroll era Patriots.

Soon, things changed, and I went to college in New Jersey, surrounded by the typical New York-New Jersey area Yankees fans. A diehard Sox fan (more so than of any other team), I was their foil: a loudmouthed, obnoxious Red Sox fan singing the praises of Manny, Pedro, and yes, Johnny D. Naturally, it was assumed I was a Pats fan. Well, of course, at this point the Sox hadn’t won a title, the Whalers hadn’t existed in five years, and Uconn didn’t really matter, seeing as we were all matriculating at a small D III school. Needless to say, most people didn’t quite understand the Broncos thing, given that I had to admit I had never been in the state once in my life and knew no one from there. I realized two things. First was that saying I was a Patriots fan to people was a whole lot easier than explaining that no, I’ve been a Broncos fan since I was four, despite any rational reason why. Secondly was that, well, I really respected the way the Brady-Belichick Pats played the game, especially after Super Bowl XXXVI.

I played high school football for an old school, tough, Italian coach who implored us to play the game the right way. Selflessness, and an all for one mentality were valued above all else. Everyone should know their role, play their hardest, and do their job, no questions asked. Amazingly, I found those qualities in the team I had been trying my hardest to despise in light of their owner screwing over my hometown. It was as though I had just realized that the girl who lived next door all my life was my dream girl. Of course, I still felt conflicted, especially as the Broncos recovered from their post-Elway malaise and came to rival the Patriots. To this very moment, when the two teams play, I feel wholly conflicted in a way a parent must when they watch siblings compete against each other (sure you’re guaranteed a winner, but also a loser).

This season represented for me a pinnacle in inner torment. I now live in New York’s unofficial “Sixth Borough,” Hoboken, NJ, a town with a large influx of New Englanders, and a much smaller population of transplanted Coloradans. I work in an office full of the same Yankees, Giants, and Jets fans that surrounded me in college. Since I started in July, needless to say, people here came to quickly know me as the department’s newest and perhaps most obnoxious Red Sox fan. Once again, as NFL season hit, I realized it was difficult to explain the whole Broncos thing. Now that we’re in the playoffs (and that the Pats dispatched of the Jets, no less), I realized, that frankly, it’s easier to just go with it. I even finally sucked it up, and asked for (and received) a hat with one of the cooler logos of all, time, Patriot Pat, which I’m now wearing with regularity over my standard Red Sox hat.

I don’t expect that everyone feels it’s kosher to have two teams. I understand. I took heat in college when I started to root for the Pats on a more vocal level. My co-blogger even called me “fair-weather” this weekend. That’s fine. It’s not that I ever expected this to happen. If you had told me in 1999 that I’d seriously while in New Jersey, no less, be growing into a Patriots fan, I’d have laughed my ass off. But, the allure of the Patriots, my local team, a true team, is proving strong. I still like the Broncos, don’t get me wrong, but as I grow older and wiser, perhaps I’m seeing the error of my ways. The girl next door keeps looking better and better.

The 10 People You’d Hang Out With In Sports Heaven

noreply@blogger.com (Richard P. Kotite) — Tue, 16 Jan 2007 03:21:00 +0000

We’d all like to hang out with sports celebrities. You know in your heart of hearts you’d trade all your friends to chill with an athlete and be homeboys (as the kids say). But, because I continuously feel the need to ripoff David Letterman, there are 10 people/groups that would be the best to hang with. Here, in top 10 list fashion, they are:

First, others receiving votes: Any offensive lineman (guaranteed a great meal, if you can get any food, that is), Emeka Okafor (a night of intellectual conversation, I’m sure), James Laurinitis (When your dad was “The Animal” you know you’ll get some stellar stories), Maria Sharapova (um, duh), Ben Roethlisberger (the conversation goes, You: “dude you should totally try and jump off the bar and onto the pool table 25 feet away,” Him: “hell yeah man, I’m gonna do it!” and then the fun ensues), Michael Irvin (hey, he’d hide your hashpipe, which is pretty cool), Mark Cuban (He’d make stalking college girls seem somehow not awkward).

10. Tank Johnson. Sure, there’s always the risk of getting capped in the ass, but you know if it happens (or when, as your viewpoint may be), you got enough ammos to take over Basra. And that, my friends, is peace of mind.

9. Scott Van Pelt. Every time I watch Sportscenter, I get the impression that SVP is the kind of guy who’d be fun at a bar when you’re chilling with your friends, doing hilarious impressions of your other friends and awkwardly trying to pick up chicks. He is, without a doubt, the best SC anchor out there right now.

8. Daniel Snyder. Not only could he buy you anything you asked for, but you could hang out with celebrities like Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, and try and figure out exactly what the fuck is going through their heads. You’d go to some reallllly nice place, have a $75 plate of duck and a $1000 bottle of red, then go pick up strippers. At least, this is how I picture what I’d do if I were filthy rich…

7. The 2004 Red Sox. I don’t care if you’re a Yankees fan, any team that shares a cup of Jack Daniels before the biggest game of their lives is pretty sweet. Plus, if you read any of the books about them, it’s pretty obvious they had the craziest locker room in baseball maybe ever.

Mike Tyson. Ever have a night where you and your friends don’t have any definite plan and just want to see where the night goes? Well, if your friend was Mike Tyson, odds are it would end up with cocaine, booze, strippers, Mitch Green, BJ’s all around, and Heidi Fleiss. And that’s a helluva time.

5. Nate Newton. One word: spliff.

4. John Daly. You just know you’d end up at some redneck bar, smoking Marlboro Reds and sucking down Jim Beam while watching fat redneck chicks with eight teeth throw themselves at Daly. Of course, the next morning, when you wake up next to Daly’s leftovers might be a little painful. Perhaps he wouldn’t be as much fun as hanging out with Newton…

3. Matt Leinart. Speaking of leftovers, Leinart’s might be just a slight upgrade over Daly’s. I mean, good lord, this guy knows how to freaking party and who to party with. This could not possibly end poorly. I can only dream to be that guy.

2. USC songgirls. Because no one wants to hang out with a bunch of attractive, promiscuous coeds, I guess I’ll fall on the sword, take one for the team, and escort them out for a night in a sunny LA. The things I do for blogging.

And this brings us to the coolest athletes in town, the guys you know you’re a guaranteed a memorable time with…your 2006 Cincinnati Bengals!

Things that are guaranteed to happen:
· Massive drinking
· Drug use
· Domestic violence
· Fun with cops
· Gun possession (albeit not at Tank Johnson levels)
· The chance to meet NFL commissioner Roger Goodell

All good clean fun, hence why the Bengals are number one in something, finally. Really, there’s no chance this wouldn’t end well.

The Biggest Busts in the NFL, 2006

noreply@blogger.com (Rich Kotite Banged Your Mom) — Wed, 03 Jan 2007 19:43:00 +0000

Alright, first of all, I know what you’re all wondering…”Where in the holy hell have you been of late, Richie K?” Well kids, the answer is simple, we’ve been out banging moms, duh. Of course, it also has been an issue that Brandon actually got employed (read his stuff now on page D10 of local greater Baltimore newspapers for that important Goucher-Villa Julie women’s college basketball report). But I digress. What good would a blog post be if it didn’t contain the typical vitriol necessitated by the genre? So, let’s get to brass tacks here. It’s time of course for another top 10 list. The list? The biggest busts of the 2006 NFL season. And yes, Brandon, the Skins are on the list, sorry.

10. Eli Manning. His stats aren’t terrible, and the Giants made the playoffs, but when you’re a fought over #1 pick in his third year starting, well, you ought to not be a weekly emotional question mark. I know Philip Rivers has struggled recently, but yeah, just a little bit of a difference…

9. The Seahawks. Like Eli, Shaun Alexander, Matt Hasselbeck and co. are playing in January, but they won’t be marching in like they were last year. I know they’ve been banged up, but the loss to San Fran was just…terrible. It really does make me question if this team won’t lose to the Bears by 37 should they play.

8. The ‘Skins. All I heard this summer was, Joe Gibbs is gonna be able to take this team with all these weapons and a solid D deep into the playoffs because he’s such a great coach and has all these weapons. Well, ahem, co-blogger, that hasn’t exactly happened now has it? Now they’re out of the playoffs, starting the backup, have a coach who looks just like an old man, and hell, I haven’t even heard of a good Clinton Portis outfit in weeks!

7. The Cardinals. They are who they always have been! I think Edgerrin James kind of wishes he went to a team that had, you know, an offensive line. At least Matt Leinart became a Dad. I’m sure he can take solace in that and the amount of grade-A poontang he gets to bury his face in every day. Otherwise this chic NFC West pick has been a disgrace to what is apparently an awesome stadium.

6. Daunte Culpepper and the Dolphins. I couldn’t really separate one from the other. Remember the preseason hype for these guys? It was, “they finished so well and now they have a former all-pro at QB.” Well, guess what? Apparently Daunte spent a few too many days on Lake Okeechobee because they started ice cold, and he got benched for Joey Freaking Harrington. At least they sort of re-created a strong end of season run again; I can’t wait for them to be predicted to win the Super Bowl again next August. They should bring back Shula.

5. Jon Gruden. Wasn’t this guys supposed to be a boy genius? Christ, I don’t care if you have to start Bruce Gradkowski, if you’re so damn smart, you can do better than 4-12. At least he still has his spleen, though.

4. The Steelers. They lost two key components of their championship team in The Bus and Randle-El, and they weren’t exactly the most dominant champion ever, and, of course, Ben Roethlisberger decided to test how many lives he has, and yeah, they are now .500, but still, defending champs aren’t supposed to be 8-8. Their season really does remind however of the Patriots 2002 season where they finished 9-7 but then the dynasty rolled on.

3. Jake Plummer. Teams with championship aspirations shouldn’t ever have to bench the starting QB. I mean, hell, even Trent Dilfer held his job. Yet, here the Broncos find themselves. I remember a Bill Simmons column last year where he compared Plummer’s revival year to Rich Gannon’s career. Well, needless to say whereas Gannon late in his career became an MVP, Plummer finds himself on the path to clipboard-dom. Too bad; his beard last year was pretty kickass.

2. Randy Moss. Has any player ever suffered a more precipitous decline in fantasy value? I mean, wasn’t it just like three seasons ago that he was the only receiver you’d consider as a 1st round pick? Now, granted Zack Braff’s retarded quarterback character from “Garden State” is likely better than the Brooks/Walter combo in Oakland, but still, Moss has basically admitted to not giving a shit while on the field. Way to go Randy.

1. The Panthers. Sigh, I too bought into these guys. I really liked them, especially with DeAngelo Williams. Instead, they’re out of the playoffs again. Oh well. I’m not bitter just because they ruined both my preseason picks and my weekly picks, nah, not at all. Damn you to hell John Fox!!!

Now, we’re going back to banging moms. Stay tuned.

FIX MY REDSKINS !!!

noreply@blogger.com (Rich Kotite Banged Your Mom) — Wed, 03 Jan 2007 04:37:00 +0000

5-11.

That's many things. It's the height of tallest girl I'll have sex with. It's the 11th day of May. It's San Francisco's area code. It is NOT the record my Washington Redskins should be ending a season with. Maybe the Arizona Cardinals. Maybe the Cleveland Browns. Maybe the Houston Texans. But NOT the Washington Redskins. So what went wrong?

We started a Rogaine model (Mark Brunell) at QB for far too long, while I sat on my couch screaming and punching myself in the testicles hoping through some cosmic force, Joe Gibbs would feel my pain and put in the future, Jason Campbell. He did. When we were all but out of the playoff chase. Clinton Portis - running back, interview guru, Flavor Flav's sloppy seconds - seperates his shoulder in the pre-season showing the defense how to make a tackle. They didn't watch closely enough, as they blew more tackles than the fat chick at the club when the NFLers come in on Sunday night. Our pass rush was actually sickening to watch. I threw up chili on my John Riggins jersey watching them flail around like seizuring special ed. students versus every NFC East team. The secondary is either too old or too young.

You want solutions?

Start with the talent on the team already. It's there. Two vastly different, very talented WRs, with the best slot guy/return guy/trick-play guy in the game - Indiana QB Antwaan Randle El - will help Campbell take the next step. His tight end, Chris Cooley, is going to make a few Pro Bowls down the road; the guy can catch, run and block from several positions on the field, plus his hair is just amazing. Plus, he's got that last name that sounds like people are booing, but they're really saying COOOOOOOOley. Kinda like DUUUUUUUUUUUUUCE. Or ... BOOOOOOOOOOO Williams. I like those kind of players. And with that talent, the ball needs to be in the air more than it was this season. The capability for a truly balance offense is there, when you take a look at the running game; featuring Ladell Betts - who boggled my mind this season with his tenacity - and CP. The smart play here? Go wish-bone, Gibbs. OLD SCHOOL! Get them both out there. Put Cooley in front, and Betts and Portis behind him; move Cooley around, move Portis around; go to a strong set, an I set, whatever; but those guys both need to see time. They're both getting paid like starters, anyway. Start 'em.

Defensively, the talent is there, and showed it at times. But a big-time pass-rush is needed, more consistent play from the DT position and Gregg Williams and his bloated salary need to teach someone how the hell to tackle. And knock down a pass. Force a few turnovers. This guy gets paid like a head coach, and is about as loved in Washington as Osama Bin Laden. Dump this hillbilly off on the Colts, or some other chump defense. (Why isn't Darrell Green coaching anyone on this team? DBs? Special Teams? Get him a job, ASAP. And Charles Mann.)

Now for free agency.

Dwight Freeney needs to be offered a contract so big that first day of availability that he actually orgasms. Dan Snyder is the guy to do that. (Plus, he's got Tom Cruise's witchcraft to help sway the deal.) Honestly, a few years ago, I thought he was going to with Jevon Kearse. Eagles beat him to the punch; and we start Phillip Daniels and a 49er reject at DE. Granted, Andre Carter started to pick it up at the end of the season, and the 'Niners were so bad the past few seasons teams ran on them 3 of the 4 quarters - hence eliminating the need for a pass-rushing guy like Carter - but the guy is a slouch, plain and simple. And I know you're saying Freeney is going to re-sign. How? The Colts D is so bad, they need to spread that money around; a corner here, a DT there; not one lump sum for Freeney. I want Freeney, and I want to either re-sign Derrick Dockery, or bring in a replacement. This offensive line is talented - see: Ladell Betts running for 1,000 yards - so it'd be best to re-sign him and keep them together; but there's talent out there in either the draft or free agency to replace him if he decides to venture off.

As far as the NFL Draft is concerned, the no. 6 pick is a great one to have - if you need a building block. We don't. Brady Quinn, Adrian Peterson, Calvin Johnson, Dwayne Jarrett, Ted Ginn Jr., Greg Olsen, Joe Thomas, Gaines Adams, Quentin Moses and Laron Landry are those type of guys. Notice the quantity. Some team is going to want to trade up to get one of those players. Lets trade down, to the middle of the round, and pick up the best player in this entire draft: Paul Posluszny. I will buy 25 jerseys myself if this guy is a Redskin. Watching this guy play gives me and my golffish erections. I almost want the Packers to take him, so they can amass the greatest linebacking unit of Caucasians ever, but I'm greedy. I want him. I want Gibbs stumbling over his name during press-conferences. I want Gregg Williams' replacement patting him on the butt after he bleeds all over Eli Manning. I want an immovable object in the center of my defense to remind the nation's capital what this country was built on: Burying cocky receivers who come across the middle. Add with the third round pick we get with that trade, and we get ourselves a decent enough CB or OL prospect. I'd love to take Brandon Meriweather - who's stock plummeted in that fight vs. FIU - and pair him with another thug from Miami - Sean Taylor - and watch the first live decapitation in NFL history as they high/low Donte Stallworth next season.

Hey, Gibbs. Do those things, you get yourself another Super Bowl ring with a black quarterback. HAIL TO THE REDSKINS!

Rich Kotite (Bangin' Your Mom) At The Movies !!!

noreply@blogger.com (Rich Kotite Banged Your Mom) — Thu, 21 Dec 2006 01:00:00 +0000

"Rocky Balboa"

3 out of 4 Smiling Kotites (Yeah; that's a smile ...)

There are a few things in this world that get any man riled up: A sexy woman, a few shots of tequila and the music from "Rocky." Whether it's the original instrumental version, or the Survivor "Eye of the Tiger" power ballad / instant erection (for me anyway) from the sequels.

"Rocky Balboa" doesn't stray far from the road that led its predecessors to success:

Step One: Establish Likeable Underdog Status for Protagonist.

Step Two: Establish Dominant Antagonist for Underdog -- Preferably a Minority (Mr. T, Apollo Creed, George Washington Duke and this versions Mason Dixon) or Foreigner (Ivan Drago).

Step Three: Establish Some Sort of Love Interest.

Step Four: Show Vastly Different Training Montages.

Step Five: SHOWDOWN! with a) ring entrances, b) motivational speech for Rocky, c) first and/or second and/or third round domination by underdog and then finally d) triumphant Balboa wins over the crowd, earns his opponents respect and rights all wrongs.

However, this "Rocky" - out of all the sequels - is the most similar to the original, which dominated the 1977 Academy Awards, and launched our boy Sly into the spotlight. The story begins in a graveyard, at Adrian's headstone, who seems to have past between film five and six from, as Stallone later describes, "Ladies Cancer." He lives in a crappy Philadelphia house (although in that city, what house isn't crappy?) and has two pet turtles in his bedroom, feeds the birds outside some sort of candy and does roughly six chin-ups a morning with his coffee. He runs a somewhat successful restaurant, with, what Paulie sums up in the funniest part of the movie, "... a bunch of Mexicans cookin' Italian food ..." His son is some sort of financial bitch, and seems to be doing OK for himself. During all this, we see glimpses of the current heavyweight champion, Mason "The Line" Dixon - another phenomenal name from the "Rocky" saga (played decently enough by current Light Heavyweight Champion Antonio Tarver). He's not the people's champion Balboa was, and, in many ways, we see Stallone taking jabs (pardon the pun ...) at the real boxing scene.

The most confusing part of the film - to Rich Kotite, anyway - was the character of Little Marie. Remember her from the first one? The cigarette-smoking, street-walking little girl? She's bartending now in South Philly, at a place I'm sure a ton of Eagles fans inhabit on game day. Balboa comes in to reminisce about a date he and Adrian had there years before, and is recognized by Little Marie. He drives her home, which begins what appears to be a courtship/friendship/parentship of Marie and her son, "Steps." ("Steps," by the way, was fathered by a Jamaican man, to which Balboa replies "Jamaican huh? So he's European?" Sly Stallone may be the only person on the planet who could deliver that line and actually convince me of the sincerity.)

"Steps" slowly turns into the son Balboa wishes his own boy was; the two buy a dog together, he gives the kid a job in his restaurant and he even takes him into the gym during the training montage.

Anyway; back to the plot. ESPN - that SOB - is what ultimately gets Balboa back into the ring. After showing a computer-generated bout between the current versus former Heavyweight champion, Balboa wins and pisses off Dixon, who has been searching for a way to regain his popularity with the Pay-Per-View buyers he so dearly wants to impress. Dixon's manager and publicist find their way into "Adrian's" to make an offer to the Italian Stallion - after learning of its location from "Cold Pizza" and Skip Bayless (who should be shot in the fucking head). Balboa accepts - after learning some of the proceeds will go to charity, of course - to a ten-round exhibition in Las Vegas; and then, my friends, the movie goes from good to orgasmic.

The training montage we've all grown to love hits hard, with an appearance from Apollo Creed's old manager, Duke (Tony Burton, one of only four actors to appear in all the films, by the way ...), telling Balboa he's got no speed and is falling apart. Balboa's only chance, Duke says, is the line that made me want to stand up and punch the lady next to me: "What we will be calling on is blunt force trauma ... Let's start building some hurting bombs ..." Solid gold. 100%.

Once the fight is on - and Balboa enters the ring to Frank Sinatra singing "High Hopes" - the action finally picks up; waiting for the climax like only the first "Rocky" did. Dixon warns Balboa not to try and hurt him, or else he'll punish the old man. Balboa does what he knows how to do: Leads with his chin and works the body. These scenes are the only ones Tarver looks comfortable in, pummeling a somewhat jacked, somewhat geriatric Stallone on and about the head and face.

I won't give away the ending, but it doesn't end with a senile Balboa screaming and crying "ADRIAN!" on his way to the nursing home (like I'd feared).

Overall, the film is exactly what you'd expect it to be: A cookie-cutter version of the series, with a modern twist. Look for Mike Tyson making a jaw-dropping cameo in Las Vegas, and keep your ears open everytime Paulie speaks. If you're a fan of the old "Rocky" movies, see it. If you're a boxing fan, see it. If you have something hanging between your legs, see it. Tell 'em Richie Kotite sent ya!

Welcome to BCS High

noreply@blogger.com (Rich Kotite Banged Your Mom) — Tue, 19 Dec 2006 03:55:00 +0000

32 bowls sure seems like a lot.

It’s basically the same number of students as you might kind, as say, in a high school, especially if said high school is a large public one where education takes a backburner to football and the average SAT is about an 870 on the old scale. Each bowl, like each student, is unique, but comparable. Here now is each and every bowl and the kid from your high school you knew:

Poinsettia: Slutty but ugly chick. She’s first to give out the HJ’s your freshman year or sooner, and you know you can easily get your first bit of satisfaction from her, but despite this, you know you shouldn’t because the only reason you would is because it’d be first. You know you could do better.

Las Vegas: Awkward looking kid who doesn’t belong. BYU fans in Vegas are like sticking UNLV’s hoops team in the Salt Lake bracket. It’s just a misfitting situation not benefiting anyone, just like the foreign exchange student who doesn’t speak English in the FUBU sweatshirt.

New Orleans: Fat ugly girl with the cleft lip. You can’t look at her, she’s so ugly, you want her to go away, and you wish she didn’t exist; yet she does.

Papajohns.com: The kid you don’t know anything about but don’t really care about either. Maybe this kid never says anything, maybe he reads Kurt Vonnegut books all through lunch at a table by himself. He seems harmless, but he also seems like you don’t know where he lives, what his real name is, or anything about what he does after school ends. He’s there, but who cares?

New Mexico: The obviously introverted kid. He keeps to himself, stays at home all the time, and nobody outside his family gives even the slightest crap about him. Kind of like how only New Mexico Lobos fans care about the New Mexico bowl, so it’s lucky the Lobos are in it…

Armed Forces, GMAC, and Motor City: The losers who have some sort of kinship because of how loserly they are. You know the type; they’re similar in some freakish way, and hang out all the time, but no cool kid will ever even acknowledge them or give a care about seeing them ever.

Hawaii: The kind of hot foreign girl who doesn’t talk to anybody. Sure, she’s kind of cute, and she lives in a nice area, but she keeps herself down and doesn’t dress nearly hot enough to really want to get to know her. She’s also really introverted too and likes to stay within her family, just like how Hawaii seems to always end up in this bowl year after year.

Emerald: The kid who used to be really cool but then got fat and stupid by 8th grade and everybody stopped being his friend. Everybody used to think this kid was cool, but then it became obvious he was overrated and all his success was built on his former glory days, in this case 3rd grade when he had all the coolest toys. Now he’s a shell of himself and nobody who’s anybody acknowledges ever liking him. Hello, FSU (and to a lesser extent, UCLA).

Independence: The kid somebody’s friends with who shows up at parties but no one really wants there. I mean, he’s OK, but would the world go on without him? Hell yeah it would. Does Alabama really want to go to Shreveport? Eh, no.

Holiday: The ridiculously underrated girl. She’s hot, and smart, but unfortunately for her, too smart. She consistently outperforms some of the cool girls, is kind of rich and lives in a nice area, but she’s just not able to bring in the football stars. She does get noticed once she hits the Ivy League, however and then all the guys in high school realize how much they screwed up.

Texas: The chick who somehow gets herself between two guys who used to be best friends. Hello NFL Network and cable providers everywhere. This girl isn’t really that hot, but somehow got stumbled into every girl’s dream where two hot guys are fighting over her like there’s no tomorrow. Maybe her family won the lotto or something, but it is what it is.

Music City, Sun, Liberty: The third tier kids who show up together as a group at parties, bring some weed, but otherwise, no one cares that they’re there. You know the types, they’re usually entertaining for a few minutes when they show up at parties, and you talk about something, but then you go back to doing keg stands with your real friends. It’s like, if I didn’t have New Year’s Eve off from work, would I care about the Sun Bowl? No, no I would not.

Insight, Champs Sports, MPC Computers: Another group of weirdos nobody acknowledges. They’re like the Armed Forces, GMAC, and Motor City weirdos, but they play Dungeons & Dragons at lunch instead of Magic: the Gathering. In the case of the bowls themselves, they just happen to be later in the schedule, but just as meaningless in the bowl social strata.

Meineke: The kid you know is going into the military from day one. He shows up in a ripped Stone Cold Steve Austin shirt and fatigues with a flattop haircut his first day of freshman year and from then on just calls the football players jackasses and quits the wrestling team because the coach doesn’t “get him.” He just wants to go kill him some al-Qaeda. Kind of like how this bowl has a hankering for some Naval Academy every year.

Alamo, Chick-Fil-A: The otherwise cool kids with some critical defect. They could be just as cool as the cool kids, really, but they have some issue, like, they dress slightly off, or have no sense of humor, or are secretly poor, just SOMETHING that keeps them from the top echelon of popularity. They’d like to be there, and everybody seems to pretty much like being with them, but there’s just that something missing right now.

Outback, Cotton, Gator, Capital One: the kids who think they’re totally awesome, and the really cool kids hang out with them at all times, but then make fun of behind their backs. Just like how Steve Spurrier used to say about the bka Citrus (now Capital One) Bowl, “You can’t spell citrus without UT (Tennessee)” as a dig against the bowl the SEC’s #2 team went to. Everybody below them would die to hang out with these guys, but the truly elite just mock them.

Rose, Fiesta, Orange, Sugar: The elite. These guys are the coolest kids, but they’re still at the beck and call of their leader, the BCS Championship. Picture Lacey Chabert and the other girl in “Mean Girls.” (What? It was on Saturday night at the party I was at, sue me). A lot of people are content just to be dating them (Wake, Louisville, Boise St.) while others REALLY wish they could be with the Rachel McAdams character, aka the Championship (see: Michigan, USC, OU, ND, LSU).

International: The kid in the trenchcoat you’re scared of and confused by. Who is this kid? Where did he come from? Why is he in the room with the rest of us? He sits in some far off corner, says nothing, but is there, almost as though he’s plotting some terrible plan to justify his dark, pointless existence. Just like a bowl in Toronto. In mid-January. After the BCS games are done.

The BCS Championship: The hottest chick everybody wants. Everybody, no matter how lowly or otherwise popular wants this girl (or guy, as the case may be). This bowl is the head cheerleader, starting QB, and lead singer all rolled into one. You HAVE to be cool with this bowl to be anybody. People fight over it, cry over it, heck, maybe even kill over it. It is the crème de la crème.

Put Big Mac in the HOF

noreply@blogger.com (Rich Kotite Banged Your Mom) — Thu, 30 Nov 2006 03:22:00 +0000

Think back to 1994, specifically, August 1994. Baseball stopped. No World Series, no .400 average for Tony Gwynn, no playoffs in Montreal, no World Series for the Braves to lose in. Baseball ceased. Now, think to early September 1995. Cal Ripken broke Lou Gehrig’s “Iron man” record. Baseball modestly creeped back into national consciousness. Now, refer to the infamous and still referenced commercial featuring Greg Maddux and Tom Glavine and their catchphrase “Chicks Dig the Longball.” What player most epitomized America’s infatuation with the longball in the late 90s? Certainly there’s only one answer to that: Big Mac, Mark McGwire.

The summer of 1998 was baseball’s resurgence. McGwire and Sosa captivated the country, cliché as it sounds. Only two games have been on FOX in primetime outside of the playoffs: Big Mac’s 62nd homer game and the first Sox-Yanks game in April, 2004. The chase to Maris was more “Wag the Dog” effective than anything President Clinton could’ve otherwise used to get the country’s attention off the whole Lewinsky thing. BIG MAC BROUGHT BASEBALL BACK. Look, we may have very well been duped (in fact, we likely were), but there is no Game of Shadows-esque rundown of McGwire’s doping schedule as there is Barry Bonds that tears him down and proves beyond doubt that he was a doper, and hence a cheater. Rather there is merely the scared testimony of a human in a suit before Congress one day 20 months ago.

But, in the end, so what if he did do steroids? Barry Bonds has been a cancer on the game; a plague everyone seems to just be waiting out before he goes away for good. He’s also considered a pretty huge jerk. None of these same things could ever have been said about McGwire before that fateful St. Patrick’s Day in 2005. Bonds may be a loving doting father for all any of us knows, but come on, McGwire and his son Matt were all over the news and pictures in 1998. People loved the guy, and baseball suddenly had that charm back on it for the first time since the strike occurred. Add into the mix the sunny Dominican slugger, Sammy Sosa, and this was a marketer’s dream.

However, in a way that Sosa continuously sullied his good deeds as his career wound down (the cork incident, injuries, infighting while with the Cubs, issues with the O’s), Big Mac retired gracefully once his bat speed and career were obviously over. Maybe there was a reason for this, but it’s possible the guy actually knew he was done (why this was the case may also be up for debate, of course). He hasn’t exactly been an ambassador for the game since retirement, and again, for all any of us can speculate, there may be a reason for that, but what isn’t up for speculation is that for one magic summer, this man was what brought eyes back to baseball and put people in seats. No one would even care about the hearings in Washington or that Jose Canseco wrote a book and is now up for election too if Big Mac hadn’t spent his 1998 summer sending balls all over parks with his son and a smile. Say what you will about how he may have done it, but you can’t tell me he didn’t make you care about baseball again and that you don’t still feel the way you did in 1993.

Go Home, Homers !

noreply@blogger.com (Rich Kotite Banged Your Mom) — Thu, 09 Nov 2006 03:32:00 +0000

How many times have you sat down, hoping to be enlightened by the so-called "experts" of the sports world, only to be completely blown away by the sheer one-sidedness that they have towards their own alma mater or former employer? ESPN hires ex-players because they seem to make the most natural progression to the booth. But - as evidenced by former Hurricane WR Lamar "Don't Come Into The OB With That Weak Stuff" Thomas' comments during last month's Miami-FIU brawl - you can take the player out of the system, but can you take the system out of the player? From 10 to 1, here's the biggest homers in the sports world ...

10. Stuart Scott, University of North Carolina Tar Heels - The lazy-eyed wonder himself barely beats out Maryland's Scottie Van Pelt for SportsCenter anchor ACC pride. Scott makes the list simply because he cannot make it through a SportsCenter without letting you know if a Tar Heel did something big, and beats out Van Pelt because there's way more of a chance for Stu Scott to be calling a Vince Carter highlight than SVP calling a Steve Blake base-line jumper. Boo-yah!

Punishment: Scott should be forced to call a UNC football game twice a year. And get some friggin' surgery on that eye. Not even as punishment. Just so people can eat while he's on TV.

9. Shannon Sharpe, Denver Broncos - This guy has a head like Shrek, lips like a burnt Cher and the audacity to never pick against his former team, even when they're severly over-matched. He's the constant optimist for Jake Plummer, makes sure no one ever forgets he played with John Elway and loves Mike Shanahan more than Grandma Estel Shanahan does. I'm not sure if you can find the clip on Youtube or not, but I'm 99% sure that on last year's pre-Super Bowl coverage, when asked if Pittsburgh or Seattle would win, he picked Denver.

Punishment: Sharpe should have his eyes pried open a la "Clockwork Orange," be strapped down and forced to watch all of Jake Plummer's post-season games as a Bronco. And that weird Bronco hat should be surgically attached to his massive head.

8. Digger Phelps, University of Notre Dame Fightin' Irish - How can a college basketball analyst talk about a mid-level team so much? When he coached said mid-level team for 20+ years. He thinks they should be in the NCAA Tournament every year, despite not having a winning record or talented starting five. He wears their colors on most of his broadcasts - although he's since stopped so that he can match his freaking highlighters to his ties, a tip he got from watching too much "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy."

Punishment: Take away the highlighters, first of all, and then make him actually watch the Notre Dame teams play the Big East elite. But make sure you take away the highlighters. Please.

7. Rich Eisen, University of Michigan Wolverines - Don't have the NFL Network? Don't bother. It's basically Rich Eisen interviewing former Wolverines, or mocking former Notre Dame, Michigan St. or Ohio State players for not being Wolverines. He seems to be quiet at least once a year, though, and it's usually the week after Jim Tressel spanks Lloyd Carr.

Punishment: Since he's a regular on VH1's "I Love the 80's" and "I Love the 90's," he should be forced to come up with witty remarks about the 1993 NCAA Championship game. "Fab 5? Is that what Chris Webber got on his SATs?" Beat that, Michael Ian Black!

6. Howie Long, Oakland Raiders - Thank God Gruden left, because if Oakland had been good for much longer, FOX was going to have to ban Long from talking about the greatness of the Raiders. But even know, with his former team an embarrassment to its great history, Long still picks them to win games, and still thinks they have the pieces in place to win. The first five weeks of this season were surreal to watch on FOX's pre-game show, as Long thought first Aaron Brooks, and then Andrew Walter would bring the team victories. He loved the Art Shell hire, the only person on the planet to do so besides Shell himself - although that isn't even certain. Here's hoping the Raiders don't draft his son ...

Punishment: Stick him on the team right now. He'd probably kill himself or ask to be traded like every other smart player on that team ... That or put him and Tom Jackson in the same room before a Raiders v. Broncos game, surrounded by blunt objects.

5. TIE Peter Gammons, Boston Red Sox AND Dick Vitale, Duke University Blue Devils - Two of the most respected professionals in their field, each one absolutely oozes allegiance to a team despite their consumate "professionalism." Gammons got his career started in Boston covering the Sox, and praises everything they do. He grew up a Sox fan, and despite his fantastic coverage of professional baseball, he tends to lean a bit towards Boston in most of his critiques and predictions.

The same cannot be said about Dick Vitale.

Vitale has absolutely nothing to do with Duke. He didn't go there. He didn't coach there. He didn't grow up rooting for them. His parents didn't go there. His mother's maiden name isn't Krzyzewski. And yet every single thing he does, every prediction, every break-down, every praise ... Is directed at the Blue Devils program. He has an extreme bias for Duke, so much so that college coaches have even called him out for it. His favorite cartoon dog? MarmaDUKE. Favorite first person video game from the 90's? DUKE Nuke'em. His favorite position in a sovereignty? A DUKE.

Punishment: They're both too old to really do anything mean to. We'll make Gammons watch the Buckner play over and over, and ... Oh, just shoot Vitale in the head. Dipsy-doo-dunk-a-roo that, baby!

4. Kirk Herbstreit, THE Ohio State University - His dad was a captain for the Buckeyes. He was a captain for the Buckeyes. How can you impartially bestow "expert" knowledge of the game to us when you grew up hating some of the best teams, and then played against those programs yourself? Lee Corso needs to be medicated, but at least he doesn't always pick his Florida State Seminoles. Herbstreit defines the term "homer."

Punishment: Make his first-born son go to Michigan. And like it.

3. Tim McCarver and Joe Buck, St. Louis Cardinals - How can a broadcast team as different as this one both be Cardinals fans? McCarver is a legally retarded, and was a catcher for the Cardinals organization for most of his playing career. Buck, who was born and raised in St. Louis, by his father Jack - the legendary Cardinals announcer - began his own broadcasting career calling games for St. Louis' minor league team, the Redbirds. He then worked Cards games with his dad, before getting hired as a national broadcaster. So how do let these two in a booth together? During the World Series featuring the Cardinals??? I was waiting for Ozzie Smith to start doing the sideline report ...

Punishment: Aside from never being allowed to call a Cardinals game together again, both men should have the Cardinals logo tattooed on their foreheads and have their vocal cords pecked out by a few real cardinal birds.

2. Michael Irvin, University of Miami Hurricanes AND Dallas Cowboys - The only duel threat on this list, Irvin is an NFL analyst for ESPN that manages to defend both the Hurricanes and Cowboys on a weekly basis. Never before has a former player brought so little to the broadcasting world in terms of talent, and yet had so much to say, so poorly dressed. You'd think a born-again Christian cokehead would have more sense ...

Punishment: Make him wear a regular black suit, white dress shirt and solid tie. Every day.

1. Jay Bilas, Duke University Blue Devils - If you've ever heard Bilas call a Duke game for ESPN, or listened to him in the pre- or post-game coverage of one, you damned well know where he went to school and played his college ball. You can actually measure on his body how far up Mike Krzyzewski's ass he is. The guy was a four-year starter for Coach K, went to Duke Law school while serving as an assistant to Krzyzewski and cleaned his office twice a week, too. He has never picked against Duke on the air, wears a one-piece "Blue Devils" pajama outfit (with attached feet) to bed and has almost as much of Coach K's semen in him than Mrs. Krzyzewski (and Dick Vitale).

Punishment: Paint him up like a Cameron Crazy and force him to watch JJ Redick's tournament games versus Kansas in 2003 (2 for 16 shooting), UConn in 2004 (4 for 12), Michigan State in 2005 (4 for 14) and LSU in 2006 (3 for 18). And then sit down and listen to some of Redick's poetry, while watching a Duke football game.

*BP*