NEW YORK, NY – Just got rid of my decrepit, dried out Christmas tree and I’m in no mood to write anything, let alone yet another column for this frogging non-profit venture. I’m outta booze and covered in pine needles, I need this like a root canal. Ah, to hell with it. Here goes nothing.
Last Tango in Tampa? Rumors are swirling that the Tampa Bay Buccaneers have narrowed their head coaching search to three names. Are you ready? They’re biggies! Wade Phillips, Brad Childress, and Marty Schottenheimer. Which begs the question: Does the NFL have a Reverse Rooney Rule, where if you fire a black head coach you are then compelled to interview no fewer than two completely inept white candidates and at least one older caucasoid who can’t win the big one? If Phillips or Childress get the nod, it would be tantamount to NBC Nightly News hiring Short Matt to be their video editor.
You’ve Got to Fight for Your Right to Party. Speaking of Short Matt, what’s the deal with this so-called MTM Holiday Party? Exactly what holiday was he referring to, Presidents’ Day? Cinco de Mayo? At this point he should just turn it into a rent party, collect money from his contributors, and hopefully avoid becoming yet another homeless blogger shooting Rugby Wrap Up spots in the tunnels underneath Grand Central Terminal.
BCS Championship Game Cures Insomnia! Millions of insomniacs awoke from a deep slumber Tuesday morning and rejoiced. It seems the NCAA unwittingly came up with a cure for sleep deprivation with Monday night’s much-ballyhooed BCS National Championship Game. The contest lived up to all the hype of the two teams’ previous drowsy 9-6 donnybrook as the Alabama Ambien bested the Louisiana State Lunesta 21-0 in a game that featured five field goals, one meaningless late touchdown and a final, emblematic missed extra point. Alabama’s head coach Nyquil Nick Saban barely hoisted the coveted Waterford football over his head before nodding off. Forget the fact that LSU only managed 53 yards passing or that their top ground gainer rushed for 16 yards, or that Alabama’s leading receiver’s name was Smelley (an appropriate adjective, if ever there were one), this one was a big “W” for all of those needing some serious zzzzs. Not since Bob Ross’ The Joy of Painting went off the air have so many slept so soundly.
Curious George Calls it Quits. Big news out of the Bronx this week, aside from the opening of the borough’s 10,000th Domincan Chicken eatery, is that Yankees catcher Jorge Posada is retiring after 17 seasons with the Bombers. This is probably a smart move as this past year Georgie started resembling my aforementioned Christmas tree: a bit old, prickly, and featuring that unmistakably piney scent that comes from riding the bench. Rather than take a job within the Yankee organization as a seat filler for the luxury boxes behind home plate, Posada will be taking his considerable talents to South Beach where he plans to rent out his ears to shade-starved celebrities. As various animal laborers used to utter on The Flinstones, “Eh, it’s a living.” Buena Suerte, Jorge. See you in Cooperstown, the next time you’re up there visiting the museum.
That’s all for today. Be sure to tune in next week to find out what happens when this Sunday’s Giants/Green Bay game runs into the beginning of my wife’s favorite program of the year, The Golden Globe Awards, in our one television household. Hoo boy!
And tune in tomorrow for Cam Purcell. He’s our Tim Tebow – the book is out on him.