Who to Bet and Who to Forget — 2015 MLB playoff edition

Just prior to the season’s start Kyle Magin and Andrew J. Pridgen wrote a Bet It or Forget It column—a capsule of every MLB team’s odds to win the World Series. Like a drunken Tinder spree, we placed faith in some sleepers, missed on some keepers and mostly were skeptical of the obvious winners.

Here then, the follow up as we see pre-season odds (in paren) have changed dramatically. If you’re looking to keep your mind off the predictable Sleepaway Camp-style massacre that is the verbal stylings of Joe Buck, Tom Verducci, Erin Andrews and Ken Rosenthal—yes Harold Reynolds, that doesn’t leave you much to work with—gambling is the only way to go.

Refrain from wagering—ushering a month of no-stakes baseball—at your own risk.

Kansas City Royals 9/2 (30/1)

AJ: Forget it. I like what the Royals did in the offseason—shedding Shields and Country Breakfast and letting Aoki flit away to the Giants. And they’ve done nothing but improve during the regular season—notably reanimating Johnny Cueto. But, the team is DOA in the LCS. Ned Yost’s Royals certainly dominated a sort of stripped-down AL Central. The Tigers demo’d the kitchen and bathrooms in July and the Twins and Cleveland are simply both happy to not be 12 games below .500 at this point in the season. Baseball Prospectus gives the Royals a 92.7 percent chance to win the division and a 97.3 percent chance to make the playoffs, but doesn’t say much about how deep they’ll go. Yost (like Mattingly) is about as good between the lines as the Crayon streaks on a children’s menu and therefore I’ll pass on the odds-on favorites to hoist the Commissioner’s Trophy.

KM: Forget it. Ned Yost remains a conundrum for this team. He’s obviously one helluva player development man–probably one of the best in the business from the manager’s step in the dugout–as evidenced by the maturation of guys like Lorenzo Cain (an off-brand MVP candidate, he’ll get votes), Salvador Perez and Mike Moustakas. Yost appears to keep it loose and his guys respond. That’s great for the regular season, but the postseason is the province of tinkerers and chess-players in the cut of a Joe Girardi or Bruce Bochy. Men who can play the matchups and respond tactically to everything the other team has to offer. With the Royals’ pitching staff looking shaky headed into October, you need a gamesman, not a statesman.

New York Mets 5/1 (25/1)

AJ: Forget it. I was high on the Mets at 25/1 prior to the start of the season saying that Cuddyer, Murphy and Wright are the closest Queens has had to a murderers’ row since Mookie, Daryl, Ray and Gary. Um, I was a little wrong about how they’d get there but right about the fact that they would. Young arms define the Mets who, if not for the Pirates and Cubs, would be the most intriguing squad in the NL, maybe baseball. I’m still brushing up on Noah Syndergaard’s fastball as well as the stuff of Jacob deGrom and closer Jeurys Familia. The lack of scouting on these guys may have Mr. Met dancing all the way to the NLCS. However, it’s there a run-in with the aforementioned NL Central wild card or the Cards/Dodgers that ends this turnaround season.

KM: Forget it. Iron sharpens iron, and for most of the season the Mets have been slicing through the NL Least like a hot knife through butter. The team absolutely fell apart this weekend against Washington, their only real competition in the East, after the suddenly innings-limited Matt Harvey left an 8K shutout only to watch it get blown wide open. It would require a miracle to get past Zack Grienke and Clayton Kershaw with the Dodgers and then one of the battle-tested Central teams in the LCS round. The Amazins’ don’t have it in them this year.

Toronto Blue Jays 5/1 (30/1)

AJ: Bet it. Kyle, I didn’t take our neighbors to the north in the pre-season but I’m, again, shuffling over with the masses even at no-so-great 5/1 odds. They’ve got the pitching. They’ve got the hitting. They’ve got the infield. They’ve got the home-field advantage. And they’ve got the would-be MVP. This year, because the AL is offering mostly Jell-o and iceburg, I gotta go with the only team with flavor. I just can’t believe it’s from, *gulp* the home of Anne Murray.

KM: Bet it. Tales of Jays’ fans ability to travel and sell the living hell out of the Rogers Center (they were middle of the pack before the Troy Tulowitzki/David Price acquisitions) are starting to circulate far and wide. 47k screaming Canadians are not what you want to face come October, when the Maple Leafs have yet to really break their hearts and the whole damn country’s sporting world will revolve around Front Street and Blue Jay Way. When you’re not worried about the fan base, you’d better get worried about a recovering Tulo, a dominating Josh Donaldson and David Price putting 10Ks on you every game.

Los Angeles Dodgers 6/1 (13/2)

AJ: Forget it. $307 million payroll. The most famous Cuban ballplayer since Castro? The two best arms in baseball? How can they miss? 1) Chicago. 2) St. Louis. 3) Pittsburgh.

KM: Bet it. Clayton Kershaw and Zack Grienke are the stuff of nightmares. Brett Anderson and Alex Wood are pitching like guys who can end a series, though. Anderson is 2-0 with a 2.31 ERA in his last four starts and is looking every bit the Billy Beane performer the A’s originally signed him to be. Wood, if he can stay healthy, just went 8 innings with one hit allowed in his last start, where he threw a measly 78 pitches. This is a rotation even Mattingly (maybe, probably) can’t fuck up.

St. Louis Cardinals 7/1 (12/1)

AJ: Bet it. Folks are starting to sour on the Cardinals because of injuries and their propensity (see: Kyle’s comments below) to fade down the stretch. However, the Matheny Cardinals are a team built for playoff success and it always seems the years they’re most underestimated or most seen as spoilers (see: 2006 vs. Detroit and 2011 vs. Texas) are the years they shine. Carlos Martinez (13-7, 3.02 ERA, 1.29 WHIP) has flushed away the memory of injured Adam Wainwright like last night’s Panda Express. In injured Matt Holliday’s (.303/.417/.421) place, Bay Area product Stephen Piscotty has stepped up with the some of the truest hitting and most fun last name to say all year. Throw in a healthy Tommy Pham, Brandon Moss and Mark Reynolds, the latter pair filled in for Matt Adams while he was out, and you’ve got the deepest bench in both leagues. The red birds will play past Halloween.

KM: Bet it, but bet it light. The thing about St. Louis is that either of their potential LDS opponents (assuming it’s the Cubs or Pirates) have seen them a ton this season and are improving in their head-to-head matchups, with Chicago winning 4 of their last 6 heading into the playoffs and the Pirates at 2-1 in their last series with one more to come next week. Both Central squads have the book on the Cards, and with Yadier Molina hobbled with a hand injury, St. Louis has a less-loaded deck to deal from. That said, Mike Matheny is in every way Don Mattingly’s superior if the two match up in the NLCS.

Texas Rangers 8/1 (40/1)

AJ: Forget it. I didn’t like them at 40/1 and I surely won’t like them at 8/1. I will give it to Texas though, they’re the Annie Wilkes of baseball teams. They should’ve been done after 2011. They should’ve been done after 2010. Hell, they should’ve been done after George W. traded Sosa to the Cubs in 1991. But they manage to never go away. Prince Fielder and Shin-soo Choo have made respectable mid-/late-career runs this year and Adrian Beltre has made a mini-comeback of his own in the second half. Mike Napoli and Mitch Moreland on the back end of the order give the Rangers depth, but the team’s rotation isn’t playoff-ready. Cole Hamels can still throw like an ace, but after that there’s a bigger drop-off than when Van Halen hired Gary Cherone. Yovani Gallardo in game two and Derek Holland taking the mound game three and…need I continue?

KM: Forget it. The push required from the Rangers to catch and pass the Astros and then hold them off for two weeks is going to be exhausting. Don’t forget that the Angels are only 4 games behind in the division and just 2.5 behind the Astros for the last wild card spot and are headed to Arlington for a four game series to finish the regular season. This team has to keep its foot on the pedal for 14 straight days just to earn a shot at potentially playing Toronto, if not a one-game wildcard matchup for the right to face Kansas City. Tall order.

Pittsburgh Pirates 10/1 (25/1)

AJ: Bet it. First off, the positives if you’re a Bucs fan: Three (potential) playoff appearances in as many years is a huge, huge accomplishment and shows that it’s smart spending and smarter play that keep baseball’s small cap franchises relevant. A ridiculously good bullpen: During a one-month stretch just after the All Star Break, the Pirates’ pen was a cumulative sub-1.40 ERA thanks to Detroit cast-off Joakim Soria, southpaw Antonio Bastardo and flame thrower Arquimedes Caminero—not to mention Mark Melancon (98 percent save conversion rate), Tony Watson and Jared Hughes have all shown they learned a thing or two from last year’s playoff dream-killer and eventual WS champion Giants. Hell, I know things aren’t looking as good on the offensive front, especially with recent notable injuries (see: Kyle’s take below) but if Pittsburgh gets the opportunity to wave the yellow towels and fire up the Sister Sledge as the bullpen gets going, magic can happen.

KM: Forget it. The Pirates were finished when Jung-Ho Kang went down last week with a broken leg. The do-everything infielder from Korea has been one of the true treats to watch this season–the KBO’s first export to hold down an every-day job as a position player in the big leagues. As much as McCutcheon was the straw that stirred the drink, Jung-Ho made that infield defense sing from three different positions and was providing a lot of the pop the Bucs no longer get from Aramis Ramirez and Josh Harrison. The Pirates are all but assured of a playoff spot but don’t really have the luxury to rest because catching the Cards is still a possibility. I have a really bad feeling that their season will end one night into the playoffs.

Chicago Cubs 12/1 (16/1)

AJ: Bet it, but don’t let sentiment get the best of you. I like the Cubs (especially at 12/1) as much as any Old Style swiller to go deep in the playoffs. And, besides the Pirates, I think they’re the most likable team in baseball right now—so much that I’m going to start selling bootleg Cubs Care Bears on etsy to subsidize these picks. Also, I don’t buy into the hype that a young team can be intimidated. If there’s anything I learned from obsessing over the 2010 Giants, it’s that youth and ignorance actually can go a lot further when the bunting and Joe Buck descend upon your home field. And the Cubs have the world’s best infield, probably ever. BUT, it’s playoffs and playoffs mean pitching dammit. Pitching, pitching, pitching—especially relief (see: Pittsburgh). Joe Maddon’s Cubs don’t have the starting five to make this a strong, big-money play. Do Jon Lester, Jake Arrieta, Jason Hammel, Kyle Hendricks and a questionable Dan Haren scare anyone save for maybe the one guy who is still playing head-to-head fantasy baseball? No. Arrieta and Lester are the only innings eaters in the rotation so that leaves Neil Ramirez, Trevor Cahill and Fernando Rodney to hold it together from the pen. Fortunately for the ivy dwellers, that threesome, plus closer Hector Rondon, seem to be hitting their stride at the right time. Should the Cubs make it past the WC round, those arms will be up right away with the Cards. To me, if this last weekend’s series did portend anything, it’s the Cards know there’s a difference between September and October baseball.

KM: Bet it. I watched the Cubs all weekend, and my biggest takeaways were as follows: 1) Their bullpen can be electric. Fernando Rodney has been around the block in the postseason and Pedro Strop is nearly unhittable at his best. 2) Addison Russell is the baddest man on the planet wearing a glove right now. At a time of year when runs come at a premium, nothing gets past the Cubs shortstop. Two plays stick out–a Saturday dive to his backhand side and toss in a one-second motion to end the Cardinals’ comeback bid and a Sunday play where he rocketed himself over second base to handle a throw from catcher David Ross, then reached between his legs to tag out a runner. He’s so far into the zone defensively that it’s intimidating. 3) Starlin Castro is finding his groove. At the ripe old age of 25, the Cubs and Chicago fans appeared ready to close the book on the once-phenom. He lost his starting shortstop job to Russell, was benched for a week and moved over to second on his way towards the exit. Thing is, the switch worked and he’s collected 32 hits, 7 home runs and a litany of doubles and RBI since mid-August. He’s on the come, and adds to a Cubs arsenal that already includes Anthony Rizzo, Kris Bryant, Jorge Soler and Kyle Schwarber.

New York Yankees 15/1 (25/1)

AJ: Forget it. Especially now that it’s cool to root for the Mets. You know, it’s been so long since the Yankees have been post-season relevant, it’s almost worth considering at 15/1 for old times’ sake. But then there’s what’s actually happening on the field. Still-injured Masahiro Tanaka is supposed to take the ball game 1 in the playoffs and Joe Girardi’s woeful (but not hapless) Yanks wilt from there. Nathan Eovaldi is out and Adam Warren is on a non-Scott Boras-enforced pitch count. It’s only a matter of time before the Bronx flatlines and re-loads with free-agent starters for a run in 2016.

KM: Forget it. You just can’t paper over the team’s starting pitching once every opponent is playoff-quality. Plus, do you really want to bet on the Yankees when their probable wildcard matchup could be Dallas Keuchel, Cole Hamels or Jared Weaver?

Houston Astros 20/1 (60/1)

AJ: Bet it. This is a pride bet for me. The Astros are a year, maybe two away, but I want to see them go deep into the playoffs and with four AL teams (Texas, Houston, NYY and KC) all sort of just OK, I have to think if they slip in. The Stros are just young and plucky (<–that’s right!) enough to advance a round or two. Should they find themselves in The Show, who knows? This is a $5 to win $100 bet, max though as all recent signs point to the Astros’ dream season coming to an end with nary a wild card berth to show for all the orange H hats they moved over the last three months. The Astros starting hitters strike out a quarter of the time (not surprisingly, the same amount as the baby Cubs)…those Ks plus jitters are prohibitive from moving much past the LDS.

KM: Forget it. Look, this team just lost 4 straight to the Rangers and has spent the last month getting drubbed by pretty much every playoff-bound team they’ve faced. This week will tell us a lot with series against both Texas and Anaheim, but I think the Process is still a year away from providing results.

Los Angeles Angels 50/1 (10/1)

AJ: Forget it. Although I’m tempted to give the streaky Angels the nod for the fact that their odds have so desperately slid since pre-season, there’s no Rally Monkey in the hinterlands of Yorba Linda this year and definitely no bullpen to get them past the WC. Anyone know Scott Spiezio’s (and his playoffs-grown flavor saver) number?

KM: Forget it. Like the Rangers, the balls-out sprint required to make the playoffs by the Angels is going to be consuming and exhausting. I like Mike Scioscia a lot–I think he’ll get them into the postseason with Mike Trout, some spit n’ glue and a whole lot of black magic. Once they’re there, though, the wild card game could mash their bullpen and a potential showdown with Kansas City’s speed-based offense just doesn’t pencil out for them, pace-wise.

Minnesota Twins 50/1 (100/1)

AJ: Forget it. The Twins have to win at least 8 of their remaining 13 to have a chance for a wild card berth. The last time the Twinkies won 8 of their final 13, Kirby Puckett was climbing fences and Frank Viola was baffling Paul Molitor with filthy 82-mph breaking stuff. The Twins stayed relevant all year which is more than I can say for fellow L’Etoile du nord(er) Michelle Bachmann. If you do take ‘em at 50/1, hedge that a little with Cleveland at 100/1.

KM: Forget it. The Twinks have been assigned a closing schedule that will end someone: seven with the Indians, three with Kansas City to end the season and a three game shot of the Tigers in there for good measure. The Indians (more on them presently) play like Dale Earnhart and even with KC’s foot off the gas you’re likely not going to get more than one gimmee from the defending league champs. Check back in 2016.

Cleveland Indians 100/1 (25/1)

AJ: Bet it. The teams are taking it down to the dinner bell with a genre-defining showdown at Target Field in Minneapolis. The Twins thus far lead the season series by a pair of games despite being outscored. The Tribe has an eight percent chance of getting a wild card berth with the Twins’ odds slipping below six percent. Both teams trail the Astros in the wild card by at least four games, though Houston is showing signs of fading as well. All that said, I don’t need to go deep into Cleveland’s lineup other than the fact that I know Tom Berenger is showing Charlie Sheen it’s not just about throwing fast and living fast…it’s about embracing the moment. At 100/1, I’m embracing that moment.

KM: Editor’s Note: Kyle decided to abstain. Once the Major League references start, there’s really nothing more to say.

 

What NFL transgression will finally force me to stop watching for good?

The first last straw came early last season when tape surfaced of Ray Rice knocking his fiancé out like Debo in an elevator. On Sept. 9, 2014, I gave up the NFL and its sponsors for good. Well, kind of for good. Knowing full well that I could only avoid the NFL like a Smurf does Gargamel for so long, I kept a spreadsheet and gave to a local women’s shelter one dollar for each slip up (total donation at season’s end: $167).

By Andrew Pridgen

This year, I find myself back in the NFL fold. Without even trying, I’m signed up for a pair of fantasy leagues. I’m craving more articles like this about how terrible individual franchises are. I’m totally looking the other way with Pink Month. And I’m turning to Hard Knocks late night instead of Topless Prophet. I mean, I get it, JJ Watt is a big man. But how big is he really?

In other words, I gave in.

NFL, I wish I knew how to quit you:

So what kind of terrible does the NFL have to do to—in fact—lose me forever?

The NFL endorses Donald Trump: I mean that basically turns off their fastest-growing most tolerant fan base. If the league backed Trump, at least we’d get him maybe doing a funny teaser ‘firing’ of Roger Goodell prior to the season opener.

The NFL awards Los Angeles franchise to ISIS: This would be pretty bad. Though I’m not sure ISIS would do any worse a job than the York family. Guaranteed fewer beheadings.

The NFL expands to Europe and Mexico for players-as-drug-mule purposes only: Can running balloons full of heroine through TSA be any worse for a third-string guard than getting his head smashed in 19 weeks a year for the league minimum and no retirement?

The NFL opens a water theme park in my backyard: This would pretty much suck. I hate water theme parks and I don’t want one close to my home. The good news is maybe Tom Brady would come over.

The NFL reanimates Strom Thurmond: Sadly, I actually had to double-check to make sure he was dead. Google says he’s dead. I’m still not convinced he is.

The NFL releases a statement denying the Holocaust: (Tie) …The other one is the NFL comes in, sits on my couch and beats me at Mario Kart while spitting white supremacist rhetoric and reciting Rick Ross lyrics.

The NFL offers fans the same HGH and performance-enhancers its players use for an ‘more immersive game day experience’: Imagine how many beers I could drink, racks of ribs I could down and cheerleaders I could ogle if I could just take something that would shorten my lifespan by three decades and make me grow hooves.

All NFL officials are registered sex offenders: At least Jared Fogle could then find gainful employment again someday.

The NFL lets Adrian Peterson play again, no strings attached: Wait, you mean he’s playing? This year? Let me check my draft board—I’m feeling third-round sleeper. …As an aside, my (second) favorite off-season All Day update was when he grand marshalled a parade in his hometown and the crowd chanted “Fuck the haters!” NFL fans have the market cornered on all the classy.

Super Bowl 50 turns the field at Levi’s Stadium into a big game preserve at halftime: All the owners and some A-list celebrities (Kim Jong-un, Danny Bonaduce, Shifty Shellshock…Kevin Jonas) go on an endangered species hunt, preferably for koalas, pandas, killer whales and any of Cecil’s remaining cubs.

TV time outs mean only For the Love of Benji clips can be showed on the scoreboard: Sorry, wrong list. This was accidentally imported from ‘20 Things the NFL Can Do to Right Now to Enhance My Experience’. Damn you Google Docs.

Every NFL player gets caught in a gang bang video: Whoops (see: above mix-up.)

The NFL re-boots Indiana Jones, hires back Shia Lebeouf and features Erin Andrews as Marcus: It couldn’t be any worse than ‘Crystal Skulls’…or that one movie where Cate Blanchett played Bob Dylan.

 

Pints and Picks Week 5: Pink Month!

Each week DPB’s Kyle Magin and Andrew J. Pridgen will pour on the prose with Pints and Picks™. Who to wager and what to drink while doing it. Here then, is their point-counterpoint for Oct. 4, 2014. Or, if you’re in the car, simply scroll down for the recap (they may be verbose, but it’s better than clicking through a slideshow).

AJ: AWWWW YEAH KM, you know what month it is (Hint: 31 days of black, orange and puce; like Rob Zombie gets to design his own My Little Pony for the Bronies). That’s right, it’s October. And you know what that means (besides decorative gourd season is upon us). It’s bitch-don’t-be-frontin-muther-lovin PINK MONTH.

You already know how much I love big for-profit companies making a mint off eager ambivalence during breast cancer month.

But what I really love is when Nike—the leading cause of child labor infractions this side of the Kali-worshipping Thuggee cult, not to mention the source of rivers running electric black carcinogenic sludge through once peaceful villages in faraway lands where stitching soccer balls or human trafficking is your only way to 22 miserable years on this hunk of spinning stardust and ephemera—gets in the mix with their pink swooshes and numbers and helmets and shit. Makes me feel so much better about doing nothing about a disease I can do nothing about yo.

I also super love it when they maybe auction off like three things and give some of that money to charities like Susan G which basically makes a bunch of people dress up and walk around and then like a bunch of dicks and uses its powers to pull their funding from Planned Parenthood because, I guess it’s not a woman’s choice whether she gets cancer OR pregnant.

So, that’s cool.

What’s also cool is when the NFL gets involved and sells a crap-ton of merch to people who don’t believe in waiting till November to buy pink socks on clearance and then they give back less than sales tax to the American Cancer Society (eight percent). NICE!

But what I really love is college getting in the act. Oregon Thursday wore the aforementioned future landfill of the 50,000-year half-life variety (pink unis) in Eugene against the similarly undefeated Arizona Wildcats.

Once again, Oregon did it to “raise awareness”. I once told this loan shark who I owed $12k to after a particularly bad weekend in Henderson, Nevada during March that I needed a little more time, but in the meantime, I had a lot of awareness about the situation I was in. A broken nose and four teeth in my back pocket later and I found out that having awareness doesn’t come close to actually ponying up cash.

At least Nike/Oregon had the good decency to partner up with the Kay Yow cancer fund this year but it is still unclear whether any actual dollars go their way to fight a disease that kills about 40k Americans per year (versus about 7.4 million worldwide who die of heart disease, 6.7 million for stroke, 1.5 million for HI/AIDS, 1.5 from Diarrhoeal diseases and 1.3 million from getting hit by cars)

So, I’m going to “raise awareness” this weekend by donating Friday lunch money to water.org to give a village free water for a month and staying off the road. Seems that will contribute a lot more to eradication than rooting for a team that looks like a roller derby squad under the sartorial influence of Rizzo.

Because no marketing misdeed disguised as a good deed goes unpunished, Oregon and its RIDICULOUS 22.5-point spread shall be vanquished Thursday. And Phil Knight’s stadium shall crack in the middle and melt into the Willamette like a Cadbury Egg and all the ribald ignorance of Oregon’s fleeting fan base shall flow with it back to the hinterlands of college football relevance. And all will be right with the world, someday. Maybe.

Whoa, my fingers are all sweaty now Kyle. What say you?

Kyle: “Bitch, I couldn’t be more alert.”

Those are the immortal words of Tina Fey in the first Saturday Night Live Weekend Update after 9/11 when referencing the old color-coded ‘terror threat’ thingy.

They mirror my sentiments nicely about breast cancer. This isn’t now (was it ever?) a disease anyone I’m familiar with is unaware of. I’d love for the NFL and NCAA come to this realization and step up to the plate for something we could all stand to learn a little more about.

Frankly, I’d love to see the league clad in purple, which I understand is the color for domestic violence (I definitely see the Ravens irony in that one). Also, who the hell selects cause colors? Is there some think-tank of ridiculously hot former PR women who sit around and decide rectal blastoma gets burnt orange? Please, please let that be how this happens.

AJ, I know we try to keep it light here, but I have a friend struggling with a domestic violence issue and it’s an incredibly depressing situation. She, like any number of dv’s victims, is smart, talented at her work and incredibly loved by her friends and family. That’s why I’ll use this opportunity to ‘raise awareness’ about domestic abuse—which, like breast cancer, knows no class, education level or race and can also kill indiscriminately.

Unlike cancer, it’s entirely preventable, but we don’t do nearly enough to fight it. The people working on the ground against domestic violence are damn saints and—of course—use a kit of resources MacGyver couldn’t work with to perform minor miracles. What they’d do with 8 percent of a month’s worth of NFL merch would probably get us down the road to saving the world. I’m going to throw a small donation the way of Tahoe SAFE Alliance, who work tirelessly to provide a safe environment for women and families in my town. I hope some of you will do the same where you live.

Man, segueing back into football just isn’t really natural from there, so we’ll stay here in this unnatural world and take a look at Michigan +3 at Rutgers.

I hate hate Michigan, but when I saw this game on the schedule (prime time in NJ) I got a little pissed for the Wolverines. Rutgers and Maryland are both getting absolute gifts in the B1G’s scheduling matrix–night games at home against ratings-bait league powers–in exchange for joining the league. I was sure the Wolverines were going to roll into the Garden State and make mincemeat of the Knights. Then the Notre Dame game happened, and the Utah game, and last week against Minnesota. The Wolves are in a free-fall and an offense that managed less than 100 yards through the air last week can’t give their D a blow. Rutgers has a prolific offense (against inferior competition) and a pretty stout D.

Senior Quarterback Gary Nova is a bit like early Aroldis Chapman–I have no idea where this ball is going but I’ll keep throwing anyway–and is already more than halfway to a respectable 2,500-yard season with 10 TDs and 7 picks. If he gets the chance, he’ll test the hell out of a tired defense. I don’t think they get all over UM, but on the same token, I can’t, in good conscience, pick the Wolverines to cover even a close line.

Holy shit man; cancer, domestic violence, Brady Hoke’s death flails. Good luck steering this thing back into anything that won’t have its readers (Hi Mom! Hi Mrs. Pridgen!) crying their eyes out tonight.

AJ: For starters Kyle, I owe a bit of an apology. Your Sharon-Stone-as-Ginger-sharp depiction of what month it is and how we should turn and focus our attention to other, bigger and sometimes, more powerful problems was the stop-me-in-my-tracks apotheosis of this feature. I almost decided to drop the curtain right there and call it good.

Since then, Oregon got its just desserts for pandering and marketing its team which clearly can be outcoached by a not-great-coach and can not defend the run nor create a pocket for today’s most effective collegiate passer, and went ahead and choked down its second-consecutive multi-million-dollar loss to Arizona …albeit this time at home.

Also, the Giants pitched their way into the playoffs and look to be stingy against the young and worthy Nationals, so much that I think they’ll go ahead and face Los Doyers next weekend at Chavez—this is part wishful thinking as I’m already booked to go see the Ducks start their road to the Vegas Bowl against a should-be-heavily-favored running/passing/scoring machine that is UCLA …and would rather slurp down a couple-a Dodger Dogs and turn to see Vin up in the booth instead of stumbling around a golf course in East Pasadena.

Your Tigs have dug themselves into a deeper hole than Mr. Slate’s top rock puller against the transcendent Oriels and, well, if I see that ESPN GameDay Ole Miss promo custom-made for frat guys armed with toofey grins, daddy’s cash from the family Subway franchises and a palm full-o date rape drugs for the punch bowl, (especially in light of your above comments), I may just double over and cough up the rest of my flu shot vaccine. Man those things make you woozy.

Oh, the most forgettable Fincher flick since the one about aging in reverse but still only chasing after one gal (I don’t care if Fitzgerald is the author of the Ben Button source material—no 70-year-old man in a 19-year-old’s body is going to do anything but become a loathsome clubbing predator on a tear) was also released Friday. Granted, it’s based on a page-turner only to be read if it’s stowed in the seatback in front of you, but still, Neil Patrick Harris doesn’t quite have the shadow-drop over his eyes to pull off sinister in the third act.

And, DPB launched its sister site, Blind Tree this week. It’s about living in and enjoying the outdoors responsibly, and I’m not just talking about arsonists, but more where you go, what you buy and what megaloresorts you’re giving your patronage to. The name means nothing btw, other than that there’s juxtaposition and Lilac Sunset, though available, sounds too much like a paint color. At least Blind Tree is evocative of an electric folk quartet from Moab.

Check it out if you have a minute.

….Shameless plugs aside, it’s time for some picks, then I’ll pass the mic back to you KM to see if you have a cherry on top.

Stanford -1 at Notre Dame: Stanford wins by 10. Notre Dame hasn’t played anyone, much less a D this stingy. I’m starting to believe the top-four Pac 12 teams (Arizona, Utah, Stanford and UCLA — don’t laugh) can beat anyone.

LSU +8 at Auburn: The Tigers get their groove back on the road. Auburn doesn’t have its front five to fall back on and they’re too slow for the Tigers’ secondary. Take the points.

Utah +13 at UCLA: UCLA’s got back-to-back homegames and should emerge victorious on both and firmly the team to beat in the conference looking toward a FCS playoff berth. The Utes only showed about a quarter of their potential physicality-meets-speed at Michigan (because that’s all they needed.) Their secondary can hang and Travis Wilson toe-to-toe with Brett Hundley promises an 800-yard bonanza in Pasadena. Not an upset but a game the Utes should keep within a score if they don’t get overwhelmed early by the lack of crowd noise.

And look, I made it through without a single Erin Andrews reference!

Kyle:

Onto the picks:

I like Western Michigan +6 at home against MAC favorites Toledo. The Broncos have an offense that’s put together strong drives against superior teams like Purdue and Virginia Tech. Give them a full game against a like-talented foe and I’m guessing they cover.

Also, watch for another battle under the lights in Reno against Boise St. and the Nevada Wolf Pack. I line the Pack to cover +4.5 strictly because Boise’s secondary is decimated and they can’t get a pass game going. They’re likely the better team, but Nevada’s Cody Fajardo has been great this season and he gives the Pack a chance to win on his last drive.

The PnP Recap:

Last week:
AJ: 0-1
Kyle: 1-1

Overall:
AJ: 8 for 13
Kyle: 2 for 8

This week:

AJ:
• Arizona + 22.5 at Oregon
• Stanford -1 at Notre Dame
• LSU +8 at Auburn
• Utah +13 at UCLA

Kyle:
• Western Michigan +6 vs Toledo
• Nevada +4.5 vs Boise State

Goodbye Jeets

Derek Jeter began his career as a wisp on the calm shores of Baseball-as-National Pastime. He dipped his bat into still waters with the uncanny ability to not lose. Before he could properly puff on a cigar, his right hand was laden with a quartet of rings. But the seas grew rougher. There was a strike. There was steroids. There was scandal.

There was Steinbrenner. There was Seinfeld. Then there wasn’t Steinbrenner.

An old stadium with charm and grit and banners and bunting. A new stadium with cupholders and wi-fi. An all-star game cut short. Congressional hearings. Posters torn from the walls leaving only thumbtacks and forgotten corners. An entire wing in Cooperstown sits empty like a car showroom of a discontinued brand. Weeds are starting to grow through the lot’s split concrete. Nature is taking over.

The championships which came so easily in early career seemed to take a bad hop and skip through his legs. October 2001 seemed as good a time as any for a reboot–the soot of broken hearts barely settled from the world-changing events of the month prior—yet upstart Arizona somehow absconded with the Commissioners Trophy and buried it in the desert.

The man who won four in his first five seasons would have to wait almost a decade, until 2009, to get one for the thumb. In that time, he watched Boston and their beards overcome the curse of the Bambino from the front row in his dugout. He blinked and then goodbye to golden-boy teammates, homegrown in a lab, part pinstripe, part precision, all heart—Jorge and Andy and Bernie and finally Mariano; he watched as they all took that fateful final walk through the outfield grass and into the corn field.

His adopted brother A-Rod got hung up with the wrong crowd. That legacy will be in condominiums and cars and depositions and suppositions.

And then, like it always does in baseball, it came down to a single at-bat. A ninth-inning opportunity for a walk-off against the surprising and youthful division runaways Baltimore—a sprightly and unassuming team reminiscent of Jeter’s own fab five when he first came up.

With one out and a man in scoring position, Jeter didn’t wait for the announcers to set the stage. Forty-eight thousand Yankee fans lucky enough to be able to tell their grandchildren they were there, were there to watch the 40-year-old prodigy-in-winter slap a grounder with surgeon’s precision up the middle infield, dribbling into right for a base hit. Arms up before he punched the bag, his celebration was purely the end of something.

The tears, they did come. His old gang stood on the top step of the dugout, looking sullen and discarded in street clothes, gray streaks and faces drawn. What do these guys do now? Do they go home like the rest of us, cook up some dinner. Sit down and see what’s on. Maybe they stare in the dark and just ponder. Was it real? Could it have been? Was me who was away in the winters? Fishing and training and waiting for spring? Did I put on that uniform, perform out the play of a young boy’s dreams? Did I survive the tempest of the ever more toothless New York media, the gambit of my own owners’ scorn? And now, to this. A study full of mementos. A velvet-lined box in a drawer. Some scribbles on a piece of paper. A framed photo of someone who looks like me but can’t be him.

Shrunk down to mortal size.

*phone rings—it’s a coworker/buddy*
Hey.
Hey.
What’re you doing?
Nothing.
Nothing, nothing?
No. I’m trying to write about Derek Jeter.
Jeter? Why Jeter?
I dunno. It’s time.
You had all season. Season’s over.
I know.
You don’t even like Jeter, do you?
No. I don’t think so. I mean, there’s more to it than that. We’re about the same age and…
(pause) …Hello? (pause)
Sorry, switched to Bluetooth.
Bluetooth—sweet.
Bluetooth is sweet.
You put one of those things in your ear?
No. You’re just on speaker.
Oh.
Where you watching the wild card games?
I dunno. Home I guess. I was going to maybe take the bus into work and have a few beers but the last bus home is like at eight.
That sucks.
Yeah.
So what’re you writing about Jeter?
I don’t know. I was debating. I was going to maybe do my career highlights next to his, but that seemed a little boring even though that’s the point. Or maybe about the chicks he’s banged, but a bunch of people have done that.
Yeah. He’s banged everyone.
Everyone but Erin Andrews from what I can tell.
Don’t mention her.
Why not?
I feel like you’ve mentioned her in your last five columns. It’s getting kind of creepy.
Yeah.
…All right then, I’ll leave you to it. Will be interested to see what you come up with.
Really?
No. Not really. It’s the nice thing to say though—Bluetooth out.
*click*

On June 4, 2003, George Steinbrenner made it official that Jeter was The Captain. Jeter should have had that embroidered on every lapel—and maybe he did—because he became not only The Captain of the Yankee Clipper but of the town as well. “He represents all that is good about a leader,” Steinbrenner said. “I’m a great believer in history, and I look at all the other leaders down through Yankee history, and Jeter is right there with them.”

Though only one ring would come after that and Steinbrenner’s signature white turtleneck and blue blazer would go with The Owner quite literally to the grave, I think Jeter came to mean something more to New York and to baseball.

…It’s not just that Joe-average-guy/flip-flop fan is a little more blah a little more unkempt now; cargo shorts and a baggy shirt to hide some kind of work-a-day contempt sliding off his midsection. Nondescript white Nikes scuffed from tiny outside projects. A faraway look. Baseball, the beautiful game on the radiant grass is somehow less attainable and a little less relevant in the era post-mortgage crisis, post-Wall Street meltdown when nobody gets prosecuted, post-decade-and-a-half war in the Middle East which has no end in sight with a new generation of young men picking up the cause as radicals. Through the centuries, baseball has endured. It has survived world wars and a Depression and a country divided by race and ideology and yet, now in these first days of the collapse of this empire, it just seems so silly at times.

And maybe that’s the point of the end of Jeter. You can argue his stats. You can argue he wouldn’t have been much more than a journeyman infielder had he come up with the Royals, probably in the game for a decade or so before opening up one of those gross warehouse district pitching-and-hitting clinics in Tampa. But that’s not how it did go down. History is all grand brushstrokes and revisionist memory. And so, when he did step up to the plate and collect that game-winning hit, his 3,463rd—the sixth most in major-league history—the world did take notice for a moment …and that’s something baseball hasn’t made us do for a bit. And that’s something the game might not do, not in that way, again.

I’d like to think of Jeter as this kind of Alpha Male we either want to be or don’t admit that we want to be which makes us want to be him all the more. The Jeets in a $9k suit with a watch worth more than your mortgage tucked into a red leather booth. An array of empty glasses and bottles in front of him. The crowd blurs in his orbit. Plates cleared, tablecloth festively rumpled. Maybe a girl or two slinking next to him in sequins, purely ornamental. His eyes wide and aware. The bartender makes a vodka martini—the real kind. Chilled glass, a splash of Pernod and a swirl around the edges. He dumps the liquid garnish out. He gives the frosty shaker a couple more turns and pours the pristine toxin in. He lights a match with a thumb and squeezes the rind. The lemon oil ignites for a hot split second and the vapor melts into the glass. Jeter watches as the drink is brought his way from the bar, every step. It is set in front of him.

The Captain looks to his left and to his right. He doesn’t bother to take a sip. Instead he stares straight on, into the night and beyond. Now he’s there with the rest of us, in plain clothes. For a moment it feels nice. Then the next moment, it feels like things will never be the same again.

Pints and Picks Week 4: No bye week for bad bets

Each week DPB’s Kyle Magin and Andrew J. Pridgen will pour on the prose with Pints and Picks™. Who to wager and what to drink while doing it. Here then, is their point-counterpoint for Sept 27, 2014. Or, if you’re in the car, simply scroll down for the recap (they may be verbose, but it’s better than clicking through a slideshow).

AJ: Kyle, why are there bye weeks in college football? I mean, I get why they’re there in the NFL—basically an opportunity to get arrested in the club and for the league to fuck with fantasy owners who deserve to be fucked with. But there’s no reason for this in college other than maybe to see what FCS campus gets the biggest spike in date rape and frat house electronics raids over the idle weekend.

I only ask this because bye weeks in college used to not exist and now that they do, it brings an even bigger air of “professionalism” (air quotes) and indentured servitude to the amateur gridiron ranks. If the NCAA said, “We schedule bye weeks around midterms because academics” I’d be good with that. Happy even. But the real reason is to stretch out the post-season and turn college football into a 20-week endeavor (i.e. almost two-thirds the academic year) for the almighty bottom line—of which the athletes themselves see not a penny (and that’s where the lap top thefts come in).

Since you’re pretty good about finding out the why of things the way I’m good at identifying the season of Magnum PI (and episodes) where he tries to track down the ghost of his allegedly deceased wife, let me know if you know.

Otherwise, I take it now that you’re off the schneid you’re not taking a bye this week.

Me, I’m still trying to feel this week out like a Junior High dance. There’s no match up that stands out as a stone cold lock; and it has to be watchable to be (not a word: betable). <-One of my cardinal rules—the other is to never trust a Yelp reviewer whose mouth is wide open on their profile photo.

For now, a couple quick comments:

• Why is Wyoming traipsing around the country in pursuit of getting bitch-slapped? Is it like an anything-is-better-than-staying-home-and-risk-getting-shot-in-the-face-by-Dick-Cheney thing? First Oregon and now Michigan State? It kind of reminds me of those Pat Hill-era Fresno State teams which burned through their Southwest miles to go get rolled up by the SEC and ACC and Big-10 before limping back to the parched Valley and dominating, um, Wyoming …and most of the rest of the Mountain West. To be fair, Wyoming does have a slightly guttier squad than they originally got credit for (think corn snow-fed defense) and should give Sparty fits for at least a quarter or two. If you can get a first-half prop bet for the Cowboys at +10 or above, that’s better odds than your drunk-as-fuck out-of-town guest trying to pull a credit card advance on the gaming floor.

• Missouri on the road at South Carolina getting only 6.5. The Gamecocks are hotter than a rescue pit mix locked in a ’93 Aerostar in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly since forgetting Manziel was in the NFL and dropping their opener against Texas A&M. The Cocks have won three straight and Missouri is reeling from what should’ve amounted to a midweek January stumble on the hardcourt to the Hoosiers at home last week. Can Mizzou regroup or will South Carolina’s Mike Davis and Brandon Wilds harass QB Maty Mauk who already has four ints to go with 14 teeders …and, you know what, this spread sucks. Fuck this game.

…I’m going to pause right there and say I was running some errands with a buddy during the lunch hour today (he’s planning a birthday party for a one-year-old which basically means crappy burgers, a weird sheet cake that is actually just flypaper with white frosting and a couple of fifths because apparently one is too young to remember seeing your folks and their friends black out) and we ended up at Costco. Still $1.50 for a polish and a soda.

The thing is, we were the only sub-octagenarains dining there. All these Burns-postured McMurphys who’d escaped from “Serene Gardens” next door were gumming on these intestines and entrails pressed into a tube while gangsta leaning off their Rascals made me wonder: Do the old folks know something I don’t? Like, If I have one meal left, it’s gotta be Costco (because it is glorious, especially when you remember to ask for the slaw) or does it just kill a lot of time to try to gum down a dog the size of your shriveled and veiny neck midday on a weekday when you’re at the station of life when time, quite literally, can’t go any slower—and yet, you don’t have much of it left.

I guess what I’m really trying to say is, I just have a lot more questions than answers this week.

Kyle? You there? You still reading?

Kyle: AJ, the middle school dance analogy couldn’t be more apt. I have an overwhelming urge to skip this week completely and tell all of our readers I was off doing some really cool stuff. In reality, I’ll probably be reading Madeleine L’Engle and trying to stay up for MadTV and hope my father (who, coincidentally, is visiting this weekend) doesn’t come out and turn it off when they swear for like the only time in the whole show.

MadTV featured the stylings of Michael McDonald (not this one, not that one, this one), a USC alum, and that’s my segue into talking about one of the only games that probably matter this weekend. With no ranked matchups, it’s going to be interesting to watch Oregon State-SC (-9) in the sense that it’ll be interesting to see your neighbor walk out the door with his 14-year-old dog tomorrow. Hey, still on the right side of the dirt, eh Fido?

The 2-1 Trojans are a technically, I suppose, still in the playoff race. Stanford exposed SC’s inability to get anything done in the red zone with a run game that’s hampered when it doesn’t have room to breath in a game the Trojans won 13-10. Boston College pantsed SC’s run defense in a 37-31 victory on Chestnut Hill. Both of these tell me the men of Troy aren’t yet sound in their line play. Mike Riley’s Beavers aren’t very good at running the ball on aggregate—they’re 91st in rushing in the nation—but in the first quarter, few offenses are as effective at running and passing the ball as 3-0 Oregon State, who put up more points early (10.5) than every other team in the Pac 12 North. If they can kick the Trojans’ line in the teeth early, I think OSU Quarterback Sean Mannion can play keep-up with a very potent SC passing attack.

Surveying the rest of the college football landscape leaves that bye week to be desired.

American Conference favorite Cincinnati visits Ohio State as a 15.5-point dog, and that’s halfway intriguing. Looking at the rest of this schedule is sort of like looking at the area surrounding Charleton Heston after that ship crashed in the first Planet of the Apes. Guess we’ll have to get walking.

AJ: Kyle, nice call on bringing the pops to town during the week of bettors doldrums. Now, instead of sitting indoors and inhaling the second-hand smoke of the sports book, the two of you can ramble around the Sierras inhaling the first-hand smoke of arsonists.

I think we agree this is a trap week as far as NCAA wagering goes. None of the spreads seem at all enticing and, as you pointed out, the dearth of compelling matchups (besides conference-centric spoiler games like Stanford at U-Dub) make this the week to take a BCS breather—and set the crosshairs on October baseball.

Namely Mr. Magin, the prospect of four very disparate and very under-(over?)achieving-for-different-reasons West Coast franchises making it to the playoffs.

It’s a Freaky Friday moment for baseball West of Lovelock. You’ve got the perennial lovable A’s who went out and made a splash at the trade deadline, only to wallow in the second half like so much locker room sludge through the AL West with dead arms and a listless clubhouse en route to a wildcard berth.

You have the predictably unpredictable Giants across the bridge who had a fiery start and a nine-game lead in May only to lose two-time world champion aces Matt Cain from the starting five (still unknown injury) and Tim Lincecum (still undiagnosed velocity problems) but somehow picked up where Oakland left off and went not with the big trades but with the white-flag youth movement: Hunter Strickland, Chris Hesten, Erik Cordier and even skipper’s son Brett Bochy have all contributed on the mound. Back-up backstop Andrew Susac has been clutch off the bench and in spelling Buster Posey and infielders Joe Panik and Matt Duffy have been key contributors plugging the middle whilst performing at the plate. The suddenly youth-infused G-men didn’t have enough in the tank to catch the boys in blue with the quarter-billion-dollar payroll and the world’s greatest stadium, but they do have a good chance of beating the Pirates in the wildcard sudden-death scenario and finding themselves the object of Joe Buck’s scorn again.

In Southern California, it’s a battle of swollen payrolls and depleting expectations. The Halos, who had all but given up on The Last Investment Albert Pujols till he decided to come out of the orange groves and hit a respectable .273 with 28 bombs and 104 RBIS (and he’s not done yet). Mike Trout is baseball’s lone superstar right now and the singing cowboy’s starting rotation featuring innings eaters Jared Weaver (18-8, 3.52 ERA), CJ Wilson (13-10, 4.61 ERA) and Matt Shoemaker (16/4, 3.04 ERA) suddenly looks like baseball’s best even without the services of Garrett Richards (13-4, 2.61 ERA). The hedge fund-backed Dodgers’ have the best pitcher in baseball in Clayton Kershaw. The once-in-a-generation starter-next-door has mastery of three pitches usually thrown in a way three different pitchers might; fastball, 90-plus, a makes-you-swing-from-the-heels slider in the high-80s and an elevator curve in the mid-70s. It’s like facing vintage Barry Zito, Pedro Martinez and Greg Maddox—in one at-bat. Kershaw recently notched his 20th win, has an ERA under 1.80 and tosses 100-pitch complete game shutouts like Drysdale the get away afternoon after a Saturday night bender. Kershaw alone almost makes one forget that any player who came up under Castro thinks hitting the cut-off man is a Fredo Corleone reference.

You got your Tigs Kyle, but the prospect of not only an all West Coast World series, but LCSs makes me giggle. I know Fox shares Erin Andrews’ resting bitchface scowl when it comes to the knowledge that KC, not NY will be in the playoffs and Mr. Jeter’s farewell bonanza is but a week away from coming to a cleaned-out-locker and teary press conference halt. All that historic footage from the pre-device ’90s shelved for roll out at Cooperstown in 2020. And what the fuck will Ken “He shoulda been-a dentist” Rosenthal talk about as Buck cuts Harold Reynolds off on the cutaways with no DJ?

With that, I’d like to be a sort of World Series wager Sommelier. First off, like a fine wine, many teams age into BETTER odds of winning Bud Selig’s final Commissioner’s Trophy as the season matures. But like your great aunt’s Bradford Exchange plate collection, not all teams go up in value. At the start of the season the last-place Red Sox were 12/1 (ditto Rays). The aforementioned Yankees, who are now 300/1 to take a Champagne bath, started out at 14/1. The Orioles who started the season at 35/1 are now 13/2—not bad for a runaway division champ. And your Motor City hardballers are a solid 6/1. For my money though, I’m liking either the A’s or the Giants at 12/1 to bring the hardware back to the Biggedy. After all, Giants fans, it is an even-numbered year.

Kyle, I know you’re headed out the door to see nature’s splendor with the man who pulled you out of oblivion and plopped you on this big blue-infused chunk of spinning granite, but I KNOW you’re laying down your World Series picks this week… so, (Pacino voice) what’dya got?!

Kyle: AJ, I’ve never been more happy to talk baseball during betting season, a sport I usually avoid at the book like the plague. It will also grease the wheels of conversation with the old man while we’re waiting for his knees to stabilize after I drag him up a few thousand feet above his normal playing altitude.

I, too, think the road to the World Series is definitely coming through California. Too many hardball-related planets are aligning with the Golden State. Dave Stewart is LaRussa’s new lapdog in Arizona. Scully is back again next year! I found out, just this week, that they still have an MLB team in San Diego.

As a Tigers fan, I hate to say it, but the Los Angeles Angels of Disneyland at 9/2 to win the series is the best bet at the book. Jeff Weaver is a horse, Matt Shoemaker has walked one guy for every 9 he’s struck out since the break and Wade Leblanc hasn’t given up a run in his last two starts headed into the postseason. Everybody has been getting on in front of Albert Pujols and he’s been driving all of them in—he’s got roughly an RBI per game over the last month, while Mike Trout continues to ape Barry Bonds with his slugging prowess. Gordon Beckham and Howie Kendrick have gotten on-base as often as anyone in the league over the last month. There’s just no way I see someone getting around this time save some massive power outage from Pujols and Trout.

In the NL—and I know this won’t be popular with much of our readership—I like the Dodgers. I don’t love them at 9/5, but in the “who’s going to win this thing” sense, I think we’re geared up for a freeway series. Which, wow, Randy Newman is going to RAKE royalties from FOX. It’ll make Erin’s Dancing with the Stars schedule manageable—I won’t have to put up with her whiny-ass Instagram posts from a private jet about #grinding from coast to coast.

We’ll get some hoity-toity reminders from the New Yorker about all the poor-ass people who got bulldozed out of Chavez Ravine 60-plus years ago to make way for one of the top-five stadiums in baseball. It’ll be gross and engrossing, all at once.

The Dodgers’ Matt Kemp, Justin Turner, Carl Crawford and Scott Van Slyke have been hitting the living shit out the ball over the last month—all four are in the top-15 of OPS over that stretch. Even with Puig’s second-half power outage, I don’t see how anyone else keeps up with the boys in blue. Selig passes out his last trophy south of the Grapevine.

AJ: Gotta agree it may be Los Doyers’ year and hey that Randy Newman song was supposed to be ironic; like how big a shithole-where-small-town-dreams-go-to-die-with-a-gooey-tarpit-center LA is. It makes me laugh every time the Dodgers notch a W and it bounces off the Hollywood sign and into the night. I love it! I love it! I love it!

Oh, yeah, the Huskies are better than David Shaw’s listless and unproven farm squad. Take the dawgs and the 6 points against the Cardinal (at home!) for a share of the Pac-12 North lead.

The PnP Recap:

Last week:
AJ: 3-3
Kyle: 1-2

Overall:
AJ: 8-12
Kyle: 1-7

This week:
AJ:
• Washington +6 vs. Stanford
• SF Giants (or Oakland A’s) at 12/1 to win the World Series

Kyle:
• Oregon State +12.5 @ USC
• LA Dodgers (9/5) or LA Angels (9/2) to win the World Series

Exclusive: Q&A with Fantasy Football Guy

Ever since he exploded onto the fantasy football scene in August 1999 with the first overall pick of Eddie George, who would go on to rack up 1,304 yards and 9 touchdowns—Fantasy Football Guy has put together a seamless blend of trash talking, personal barbs, terrible waiver moves, controversial trades and zero championships. Of late, Fantasy Football Guy has become a harsh critic of fantasy “experts” especially those from Yahoo! calling Brad Evans “my bitch” and a “lifeless hack” on his message board. He’s also not showing signs of backing off the throttle with his league mates, posting animated .gifs of Kate Upton’s boobs for his opponents when he wins with the caption, “Next time keep your eye on your lineup instead of these.” Gearing up for a “decade-and-a-half of dominance” with his draft set for after work this Friday, Fantasy Football Guy sits down with Death of the Press Box and talks about his new formula for winning, why he’s not a buyer on Chip Kelly’s offense and the surprising turning of his back on Red Zone.

Death of the Press Box: Congratulations on taking third runner-up in your league last year. After all your months of prep and making a record 171 waiver moves, how did it feel to end up losing in the playoffs to the guy you beat weeks one and seven?

Fantasy Football Guy: I was playing really loose at the beginning of the season but I always get a little nervous come playoff time. When you’re curating your spreadsheets and making wire moves, dropping a Kenny Britt and picking up a Mike Williams, you can lose sight of the big picture. The biggest takeaway from last year and what I’m learning—what I’ve learned—is to look at a fantasy season the way this girl I dated looked at a season of Downton Abbey. By the way bros, don’t pronounce it “Downtown” Abbey, you won’t get laid for like weeks. Sure there’s a lot of down time, a lot of slow time, a lot of talk; but in the end someone bangs someone or someone dies and there’s a payoff. I’m looking at the regular season as a build-up now and hopefully someone gets fucked in the end—and that someone isn’t me.

What keeps you going after 15 fantasy seasons?

I always grew up with the idea that in order to be a successful fantasy player, I should be successful in life first. Good job. Happy household. I feel like I lost sight of that the last few years. That resulted in me picking up TJ Houshmandzadeh in 2011 after he signed with the Raiders. I was drinking a lot, At work (mostly in the parking lot) …then and, well, the pressure just got to me. I also feel like I wasn’t keeping promises to myself, like every year saying, “This is the year I shock the league and take Calvin Johnson, Andre Johnson and AJ Green one, two, three” then I get on the draft board and Matt Forte is there at number seven and I can’t resist, I puss out. I’m sticking with my game plan this year. I have a Post-it on the desktop my computer, you know, the digital kind. It says, “I can do this. Let’s do this.” And that’s sort of the direction I’m going, a more Zen approach. Instead of junking out over commentary and bloggers, I’ve just been watching season three of Friday Night Lights over and over. Because it’s about loyalty. It’s about the right personnel.

You reveal a lot of your personal life on the fantasy boards every year, perhaps no more than last year when you chronicled the death of your Labradoodle and your breakup with that girl you’d been kind of seeing/texting.

People always ask me how I find strength to be so open about things, and I explain to them that I took the Myers-Briggs test, like, eleven times, failing it the first five. Every single time, I ranked a 92-percent extrovert, so it would probably take more for me to keep my trap shut on the boards. But really, it’s about fun too. People highlight my more controversial posts, like the one in ’01 about Jano knocking me out with GHB at the club still gets mentions and that’s more than a decade old—but that wasn’t personal, that was me just trash talking and doing what I do best—taking the focus away from the game because when I have guys thinking “Oh shit, he’s in bad shape, he just got dumped.” That’s when I trade you Steven Jackson for Jordy Nelson and Jackson sits with a knee and Jordy goes off for three teeders.

Your fantasy franchise has evolved to be more more about you and your take on the game in general as opposed to just pure weekly moves. Has that been intentional?

When I started playing fantasy, I never intended it to be about me. But then you think about the name, Fantasy Football, and it’s like, well—we can live out any life we want to on that screen. I mean, I can literally be making roster moves and have three porn windows open at the same time. You don’t know what I’m thinking. You don’t have a glimpse into my browsers and you don’t know what keeps me running. It’s the same as the Fox dancing robots when they cut to commercial—it looks like a silly CGI robot doing awesome moves, but really, it’s a distraction, it’s hypnotic, it’s subterfuge—it lulls you into sticking around through the next Geico ad. Similarly, every time I made a post about me and what I thought about, say, Cadillac Williams leaving the game, and a hole in my roster—and heart—it just got a lot more traction with the rest of the league. It is a fantasy, but it’s a reflection of us. So I make it about me.

You’ve already been vocal that you’re not a buyer on Nick Foles this year, why is that?

I hope that every year I get a little smarter, a little sharper. I got Foles off waivers last year week two, because that’s what I do. I see something I like and I go out and get it. This year he’s what, seven or eight on the QB depth chart? And all I see is a glorified Charlie Batch—and that’s no offense to Charlie. I think there will be third- or fourth-round quarterbacks out there that’ll put together a better season than Foles. You’ve got a guy like Jay Cutler who’s just had his second kid—a son called Jaxon. A name like that takes balls especially when your first son has a doucher name like Camden. And I like balls. So, yeah, if Cutler is on the board, I’m taking him. (Laughs) Spoiler alert!

You’re obviously passionate and knowledgeable about fantasy sport, but it’s not just about spreadsheets for you.

Like I said, the game is about intangibles as much as anything else. I have a buddy who’s come up with an algorithm for making quality late-round picks because late rounds is when guys have already crushed four or five Lime-a-Ritas or have to go sit down with their families and eat or some shit. His formula works, to an extent. What I look more at is the stuff like what player just got dumped? What teams are traveling to New York from the West Coast and will be out at Scores all night? Who’s not on Hard Knocks? I went a little crazy last year after I fell in love with Gio Bernard. I thought his girlfriend was cool, so I took him in the third round.

What is a typical day in your life?

It’s not as cool as you think it is. It’s like I had this buddy who worked with this guy who dated Melissa Stark. Remember her?

We do.

Yeah, well and he said, she was just like a normal chick in real life and got moody and after awhile it kind of sucked and he would’ve been better off with Hannah Storm, propane burns notwithstanding. That’s pretty much my life. Get up. Have coffee. Get to my desk around 8:30. Check some blogs. Answer some work emails. Mostly start g-chatting about where lunch is going to be and what time. Check on some other issues—I don’t even know what that means. Do lunch. Most of my waiver moves are done by Sunday afternoon, so I want to check and see if those came through. Prepping for bye weeks is huge for me. I’ll usually go crack a beer in the bathroom nobody uses over by the IT guys around 3 p.m.

You said you stopped drinking at work.

The bathroom doesn’t count as work—unless you’re working one out.

You’ve been a big critic of Yahoo! since Marissa Mayer took over as CEO.

Yeah, I feel like I was a little tough on her. It just seemed like easy pickings when she took over the best fantasy platform in the world just before the 2012 season and then got pregnant right away. A lot of the fantasy site’s functionality either stayed the same or didn’t improve—mobile especially. Someone told me I should go easy on her, that Yahoo! is a search engine? (Laughs). I had to laugh because, what the fuck, you know. Anyway, mobile is getting a little better. I can change my lineups, but still can’t really make trades or waiver moves. I have to log in for that. And of course, trash talking or whatever. Still, on Mayer, she’s making $200 million for her first 5 years on the job and still my background is all blurry and LeSean McCoy and Jamaal Charles sit atop the draft board like it’s late 2012, and my lineup changes don’t save until I log out and log back in. So wake up Marissa!

Do you think you’ll expanding your team’s brand?

I would love to. Work gets in the way sometimes, but spreadsheets are spreadsheets, you know. My boss could care less as long as certain stuff gets done or whatever. But for me, and this may come as a surprise, it’s been more about doing my fantasy stuff at home, where I can give it total attention. It’s like stalking hot chicks on LinkedIn. There’s only so much of that you can do and it starts to seem futile—plus they know you’re looking. That’s how I feel about fantasy at work. This year, I’m making work about work and fantasy about fantasy. Compartmentalizing. I’m also investing in a software one of my buddies—the late-round algorithm guy—is making that we’ll basically turn into a fantasy football consulting firm. We hope to expand to start a real-life fantasy football camp, which will be similar to a kind of Spring Training meets actual OTAs, except we’ll be using computers and crushing more Bud Lights.

Draft Week is upon us; what’s the plan this year?

I sort of miss the days where I would go and buy a magazine: the Athlon Sports Fantasy Preview with, you know Terrell Davis on the cover. As an aside, I hope they make the Terrell Davis story one day with Taye Diggs as the lead, I just think that’d be a natural. Anyway, I miss the Post-its on the big board and the pencil and lined graph paper. It’s the same how I miss buying a Club magazine in a wrapper from the back of a liquor store and getting it home and running to the bathroom, like a mini Christmas morning. Everything’s at your fingertips now and you can make a million bad moves with an itchy trigger finger. So this year, I’m taking it old school. I’m writing down—physically writing down—my picks beforehand. I’m sticking to my one-pager and seeing how that goes.

You posted about Richard Sherman’s post-game rant on your league’s board last year during the NFL playoffs long after everyone else had long since logged off. Why did you feel the need to say something?

Yeah, I just feel like I wanted to be heard, to add to the conversation. I think he was just trying to ask Erin Andrews out, you know. He got all excited and that shit just came out. I feel him. I could feel his nervousness. But he needs to save that for the lobby bar, you know. He’s a guy just like the rest of us. I’m sure he’s checked out her slideshows, especially that pic when she’s walking around with a mic and black stretch pants. But, I just felt like he needed to dial it down. Suffice to say, I won’t be taking Seattle D this year unless they’re still around in the sixth.

How long do you think you can keep losing and still keep such a good attitude?

I hope a long time. Again, this year, I’m kicking it old-school. No Red Zone, that’s just for ADHD kids and guys who don’t make time to think about the intangibles. No SportsCenter for me either. I just want to evolve past this need for information all the time. If there’s a player I like, like Frank Gore, and he’s around in the second or third round, I’ll take him. If he’s up against a defense, like Miami, that’s not going to stack the box, I’ll play him. Like coach Eric Taylor says, “Don’t whisper yell at me. Don’t whisper yell at me, please.”

How the 2014 MLB All-Star Game got Blue Crushed®

Invariably and almost irrevocably, every time I start to feel a little bored agitated by a sporting event of great import (the NBA Finals, the NHL Playoffs, the Super Bowl, the Valero Alamo Bowl …the PDC Darts Championship) I find myself scanning through the 700 channels.

And I find Blue Crush is on premium cable.

Blue Crush vs. Major Sporting Event happens so often I’ve developed a Countdown to Switching Over to Blue Crush Point Deduction System™ (works especially well on Fox broadcasts).

Every major sporting event starts with 100 poitns. If it falls below 50, I’m allowed to watch Blue Crush until Faizon Love’s ‘Da nah nah naaah’ scene. If the score falls below 25, I’m allowed to watch Blue Crush through the one-night-stand with the Pro Bowl quarterback scene. If the score falls to zero (or below), I’m “forced” to watch Blue Crush through the closing credit gag reel.

Them’s the rules.

In other words, once enough points have been deducted from said sporting event’s watchability, it has officially been declared: Blue Crushed®.

It’s not that Blue Crush is the most special movie in the world*, it’s that, well, for my two-something hours of time invested, I get more enjoyment out of azure shots of Kate Bosworth fetching rocks from the bottom of the ocean back before she was all red lips, elbows and knee caps.

Below, my Point Deduction System (pat. pending) —or—how a sporting event can lose enough steam for me to switch over to BC quicker than you can say: “What do I want? Oh my god, I want Penny to quit smoking and go to college. I want, I want to be able to pay the phone, electric and rent in the same month. I want a girl to be on the cover of Surf magazine. It would be great if that girl were me, but any girl would do. I want… I mean I wish my mom would come home, and I really, really want to win Pipe Masters tomorrow, that’s what I want.”

Note: Each sporting event has its own unique set of “rules” that can also be easily modified to suit a drinking game, albeit, with baseball it’s never good to devise a drinking game with Joe Buck in the booth. You’ll be more blacked out than Dodger fans by the third inning.

On the occasion of the 2014 All-Star Game in Minnesota Tuesday night, the game’s first pitch was at 4:27 p.m. PST. As luck would have it, Blue Crush was starting on HBO West at 5 p.m.

By 5:13 p.m., the Point Deduction System enabled me to permanently click over just in time for Anne Marie, Eden, and Lena to get worked at Pipe in front of the locals before scurrying around the Ihilani Resort & Spa at Ko Olina in their hottest-maids-ever outfits.

• Joe Buck expectorates just prior to or after commercial break because he’s a beat off: -3

• Joe Buck makes dated pop culture reference that he tries to pass off as relevant (“This Cuban’s defection was a bigger game-changer than when Ted Danson started dating Whoopi.”) -5

• Joe Buck disapproves of players’ facial hair by making crass joke, “he’s a great hitter and an inspiration for all the homeless i step over when I’m in Oakland.” “I bet he’s the kind of people you see on public transit.”: -5

• Joe Buck admits to never enjoying any destination Southwest flies or any state that isn’t mostly buoyed by corn subsidies: -3

• Erin Andrews starts asking too-long questions like she’s in the “Is there anything you want to know about us” portion of a job interview: -4

• Erin Andrews tries to manufacture Richard Sherman emotion out of completely mundane moments and falling disarmingly short: “What were your thoughts when you were pulled with two runners on and nobody out?” A:”My thought was it’s the All-Star Game. It was nice to be out there and have fun, I guess.” -5

• …Erin Andrews doing it all in a first-job interview blazer: -6

• Longer-than-dinner in-game interview with (fill in blank of retiring Yankee here) runs over a key pitching change, the go-ahead run being scored, a wild pitch or use (or conspicuous non-use) of baseball’s replay. Nobody in the booth seems to mind.

• Fox teases to the “New Star of Sunday Nights” which is a sitcom knock-off of Two Broke Girls. (side note: why can’t anyone do a bad knock-off of Alf. it would stand to reason that it’s time for puppets—jewish alien puppets—to make a comeback. -12

• Speaking of Jewish Alien Puppets, Ken Rosenthal: -8

• Ken Rosenthal tries to evoke Costas by referencing Roberto Clemente when talking to anyone in a Pirates uniform: -4

• Troy Tulowitzki walks up to The Sign, by Ace of Base: +20

• Shot of animatronic Bud Selig: -4

• Shot of Mr. Burns and animatronic Selig sitting in same box: plus 38

• Joe Buck regales audience with stories of Selig’s tenure as commissioner but fails to mention ownership collusion, being complicit with the PED/Steroid era to save job post-strike but prosecuted it to the fullest extent of federal law when the tide of public opinion turned; then being complicit with it again; the 2002 all star game (ended in tie: his call), the World Baseball Classic; the amount he’s profited by his own policies as still-owner (shhhhh) of the Milwaukee Brewers Baseball Club (in spite of fake ownership transfer to his daughter and fake sale to Mark Attanasio); racketeering charges Selig faced for trying to contract the league and get rid of the Twins (leaving the Midwest market open for Brewers business only) in 2001; earning at least $14 million/year as commissioner for pretty much making it job one to screw the Astros and the A’s at every turn (strangely to the benefit of the Brewers, see: 2008 Playoffs): -12 (for each)

I guess assigning such high point totals to the omission of commissioner Selig’s transgressions in this, Melty Ice Cream Face’s last All Star Game, weighed the programming a little in Blue Crush’s favor.

Then again, it was a wholly more satisfying experience watching Anne Marie’s luau meltdown than the alternative: witnessing live the horror of the DH getting home field in this fall’s Fall Classic because Mike Trout hit a chopper up the line that third baseman Aramis Ramirez thought was foul ignored and didn’t make a play on.

Trout was MVP for that almost-hit that didn’t get replayed in the era of replay.

…But Anne Marie took home the quarterback, caught a monster wave at Pipe, got signed by Billabong AND scored the cover of Surf magazine.

*Blue Crush may not be the best movie in the world but it’s the best movie in the world directed by Cougar from Top Gun who looks like he landed on his feet after turning in his wings.

The difference between NBA preseason and playoff games is there’s more commercials

Had Monday’s second division round playoff match-up between the Golden State Warriors and host Los Angeles Clippers of LA at the Lakers’ downtown practice facility been a pre-season walk-through, a recap could have gone something like this:

Clippers’ Kia-jumping side show Blake Griffin can certainly sell jerseys to children who imagine he could paint himself green and make a pretty convincing Hulk for Halloween.

As is, Griffin showed he may also know how to play basketball as he spilled his water all over the listless Warrior starters for 35 points last night. The power forward from the Sooner State didn’t commit a single foul in the backroom casting couch-worthy immediate disrobing of the Northern California franchise as the Clippers sailed to a 138-98 victory.

The Warriors clearly seem to love LA like Randy Newman pretended to in ’83 as the bright lights of Tinseltown have lured the offensive-minded Northern California splash shooters into a roofied-like state of being “lost” at a bar after all your friends have ditched you and you can’t find your phone …on the court.

Similarly to the Walking Dead, whose sound stage is less than a mile from Staples Center, the Warriors meandered through the first three quarters without plot, narrative or clear mission; just enough carnage to keep an audience mildly interested. By the time it was decided and the extras were inserted midway through the third, the Warriors were en route to a 40-point loss and perhaps call for a franchise reboot prior to their home opener Wednesday night.

It will be a long season for the men in blue and gold if Steph Curry decides to score all his points in an eight-minute garbage-timeframe as he did in the third quarter last night (Curry who had 24 scored 20 in the third). Kinks, notably playing basketball at a tempo that is suitable for …the game of basketball, will have to be worked out as the Warriors never closed in on the double-digit Clippers lead spotted to them three minutes after tip.

At one point in the third, Clippers point guard Chris Paul called a time out and offered to let Warriors sort-of center veteran journeyman Jermaine O’Neal (causing most of whatever was left of TNT’s Rizzoli & Isles audience who didn’t already switch over to Dancing with the Stars for Erin Andrews sideline action to say, “so THAT’s where O’Neal ended up this year…”) shoot an uncontested three-pointer “worth 25” from the top of the key, but the refs refused. As it happens, that 25-point gap only grew, so the free shot would’ve been moot.

Showing no signs of rust from the long summer off, the Clippers surgically dismantled the Warriors’ offense and managed to force more turnovers (26) than Cedars Sinai performed tummy tucks Monday evening. On the offensive side of the ball, the ships set sail shooting 57 percent and burying 32 of 35 at the line.

The Clippers pulled all starters in the fourth. Many of whom joined the Warriors front five already Instagramming selfies from Santa Monica Boulevard before reserves could feel the ire of the Dubs’ futility.

The Warriors’ Jordan Crawford came of the bench to shove the Clippers’ Darren Collison with 42 seconds left and was called for a flagrant foul, begging the question: if a flagrant foul is committed in the basic cable forest when nobody is watching, does it actually get called?

The answer is yes.

“We were awful,” Warriors coach Mark Jackson said after the scrum-filled scrimmage. “The way we played in Hollywood today, I had an agent come up to me and say he had a script for a show called the Golden Girl Warriors and ask whether we wanted to shoot a pilot.”

(OK, so we made up the last part of the quote …the rest is true: The Warriors were awful).

…

Now take into consideration Monday night’s game was not, in fact, played in humid Hawaii in mid-August. It was not the neighbor kid fleecing you for double what you owe him to get your mail and water your plants as he goes backdoor all day on you in NBA Live 14. It was, in fact, a playoff game and the first notable lopsided postseason match this season.

Sadly, it may not be an aberration.

During last year’s NBA playoffs, more than a dozen games were decided by the third quarter as double-digit leads turned into sub city. Nine games featured teams wining by more than a 20-point margin, six by more than 25 and one by more than 30.

Though Monday’s Warriors/Clippers “playoff” game is the first such post-season contest in a half-decade to reach the magic 40-point spread, it is possible we will see more in that stratosphere these playoffs, and in ones to come (especially as long as the Heat and Pacers …have to play everyone else in the east.)

Sad but true, Curry post-game towed the league line saying the Warriors “came out with a sense of urgency.” To be fair, he was cut off before he could say what the sense of urgency was for.

My guess is it was something along the lines of:

• Checking out the Truffle Burger at the Umami on North Cahuenga.
• A lap dance, and stuff, for the road at Jet Strip in Inglewood.
• Hitting every stop on the Point Break Map.
• Partying like it’s an episode of Entourage Season 2 with a house specialty cocktail and smog-enhanced gaze at the sun setting over PCH from Skybar.
• TMZ Starline Tour.
• Quick grovel in the Grotto at the crumbling Mansion.
• Burrito de Lengua Con Todo from Tacos La Oaxaqueña.

All of these would have been formidable tasks for the Warrior’s star point guard to complete as the franchise was making its final spin down Sunset for the 2014 campaign.

Curry’s obligatory mouthpiece toss in the third (resulting in his first technical of the season) was perhaps just a show of frustration that he wasn’t going to have time to get his picture next to Matt Damon’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame before leaving town.

Try as they may to play a brand of not-quite-ready-for-regular-season basketball, the Warriors are still knotted with the Clips at one for their return to Oracle on Wednesday. Hopefully, by then, the SoCal Spring Break blues will have been vanquished and they can return to playing like their LA-based rivals, showcasing real NBA playoff basketball in three-quarter time for at least a whole half.

The fans deserve as much.

The best Super Bowl party prop bets ever

We KNOW you’re Super bored of the Super Bowl “square game”, so we’ve come up with a list of Super Bowl prop bets you can make at your own Super Bowl party.*

Number of drunk guys calling out “Omaha” back at the TV every time Peyton Manning does in the first quarter:
Over/under 5 1/2

Number of guests who laugh the first time they do this:
Over/under 8

Number of guests who still find it funny by the third quarter:
Over/under 1/2

Will the seven-layer dip last past kickoff (minus the gross, drippy corner nobody touches)?
Yes +300
No -500

Number of times Joe Buck uses the word “inappropriate”:
Over/under 15

Number of times it’s actually inappropriate for him to be using the word inappropriate:
Over/under 15

Will Joe Buck refer to Russell Wilson as being “of mixed race”?
Yes +680
No -425

Will he then stumble over another sentence or two before subconsciously sending it over to Pam Oliver?
Yes +550
No -335

Will Joe Buck make a clever reference to the marijuana-friendly laws of the Seahawks’ and Broncos’ home states by saying something subversive like, “I’m sure there are a lot of Pot Luck parties going on in Denver and Seattle today” or “The game’s an eighth of the way through which means most of Washington and Colorado are watching a blacklight poster instead and trying figure out how to order pizza.”:
Yes +420
No -420

Number of times Joe Buck believes “that should’ve been a flag for unsportsmanlike”:
Over/under 28

Number of times Joe Buck says “weather is a factor” in spite of the fact that weather is not a factor:
Over/under 37

Number of times Joe Buck refers to the Manning family with the same reverence as an Irish Catholic mother of three would the Kennedys in 1965:
Over/under 5

Will Joe Buck say something vaguely racist and condescending but revelatory in his mind in reference to Marshawn Lynch and Richard Sherman like, “They grew up in neighborhoods where gang activity was rampant and even bars on the windows couldn’t keep trouble out.”
Yes +975
No -90

Will Erin Andrews have her ears covered regardless of the weather:
Yes +1,280
No -900

Will Peyton Manning take all the stickers off his Super Bowl Champion hat and bend the bill before putting it on:
Yes +800
No -600

Will your neighbor come over to “borrow some ice”:
Yes +300
No -200

If so, will he end up staying for the duration of the game and drink your beer and maybe try to flirt with your cousin’s friend that you were maybe supposed to talk to?
Yes +800
No -600

Will someone accidentally knock the remote to Diners, Drive-ins and Dives during the third quarter?
Yes +250
No -180

Will everyone be OK with it staying on for a segment, because, you know, Philly Cheesesteaks:
Yes +250
No -180

Will MTV’s Kennedy or Pauly Shore be mentioned?
Yes +.000000560
No -11,987,383

“All I know is their cheerleaders have chaps.” Does this convince the room to root for the Broncos?
Yes +850
No -215

How many times will ADD guy try to get a game of corn hole, flip cup or beer pong going on the patio?
Over/under 15

Will the guac brought by the coworker you invited because he overheard but didn’t think he’d show up taste a little funny?
Yes +500
No -180

Will everyone say “this guac is great’ anyway?
Yes +250
No -180

Number of times Vizio and Costco get said in the same sentence during the party:
Over/under 15

Will your drunk uncle refer to Bruno Mars as a she?
Yes +250
No -180

Ditto Anthony Kiedis:
Yes +370
No -135

Will someone ask why Will Ferrell is drumming for the Red Hot Chili Peppers
Yes +140
No -120

“If I was doing halftime, first thing David Lee Roth vs Hagar — everyone would watch that!” Whole party nods and takes a sip in agreement:
Yes +550
No -375

Will any of the broadcast crew have bare hands?
Yes +250
No -180

Number of times someone at your party asks “Where are they playing this again?”
Over/under 15

Number of times someone at your party follows that question: “And is it outdoors?”
Over/under 15

Number of times one of the women at the party mentions Beyonce’s performance last year:
Over/under 12

Number of times one of the men at the party mentions Beyonce’s performance last year:
Over/under 20

Average number of red vines consumed from the red vine bucket by halftime:
Over/under 47

Average number of flu strains in the red vine bucket by halftime:
Over/under 7

Number of times some kind of sideline warming device is profiled or otherwise interviewed:
Over/under 3

Number of people who ponder aloud whether Evel Kenievel ever did a Super Bowl halftime:
Over/under 1 (I always pose this question, so, there you go.)

Number of guests who reminisce over the Bud Bowl or when Go Daddy “actually had hot chicks” in their ads:
Over/under 4

Will your mailbox still be standing on Monday?
Yes +250
No -180

*Yes, that’s three references to the Super Bowl, as in Super Bowl XLVIII (3:30 p.m. Sunday, Feb. 2 on Fox at MetLife Stadium, East Rutherford, New Jersey) because, you know …that’s what the $22 billion/year nonprofit supported by HGH-friendly drug testing policies calls it.

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Post by Death of the Press Box.

How Richard Sherman may someday save the world

Seattle Seahawks cornerback Richard Sherman* is very good at knocking footballs out of the air and toward the ground.

As if by magic — and in a seemingly singular motion — he can jump up, touch a football, and change its trajectory.

This can result in one of three things happening: 1) The ball can fall directly to the ground (which happens the majority of the time.) 2) The ball can fall into the waiting arms of his opponent (which happens some of the time.) or 3) The ball can fall into the waiting arms of Malcom Smith, another Seahawk defender (which doesn’t happen a lot, but happened Sunday to turn Smith, Sherman and the rest of the Seahawks into three-point dogs to hoist the franchise’s first Lombardi Trophy and finally exorcise the ghost of Brian Bosworth.)

Essentially, what Sherman did was win a very high-stakes coin toss. For his effort, he is guaranteed an extra $45k bonus which jumps up to $85k should the Seahawks hoist that big silver trophy at the end of the game in two weeks.

Beyond this, the verbose defender who is a dead ringer for Oda Mae Brown, is in line for a big payday at year’s end.

His ability to knock balls into the waiting arms of his teammates — on demand — should take him from earning $550k/year (he signed a four-year, $2.2 million deal with Seattle after he was taken in the fifth round of the 2011 draft) to somewhere in the $4 million/year range because he actually sometimes catches balls thrown by the opposing quarterback (20 interceptions in 43 career starts) along with his knock-down specialty.

The average lifespan of an NFL cornerback is just over two years. This means Sherman, heading into his fifth year in the league, is already showing the staying power of a Twinkie. It also means if he signs for the predicted four years, $16-plus million, the man with Aspergers writing his checks will be paying him for services already rendered.

Seattle Seahawks cornerback Richard Sherman is very good at running his mouth along with knocking balls towards the ground. This also seems to be the new prerequisite for the job of cornerback as that position was flagged more than any other the last two NFL seasons for unsportsmanlike penalties.

The position has evolved, because the prerequisite used to be having a custom towel hanging over your junk and being in Hammer videos (and/or having Hammer on the sidelines during your games emulating his dance moves on the videos you were in — see how that comes full circle?) But now it’s running your mouth.

//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/Cdk1gwWH-Cg?rel=0

This is because we live in the world of the sound byte. Nothing’s more fun than knocking a football from the air, towards the ground, earning at least a year’s salary for a teacher in doing so and getting to talk about it for the world who cares after.

Richard Sherman is not very sportsmanlike. After he did his job (which, to clarify, is knocking balls toward the ground on a regular basis), he went up to the receiver who was supposed to catch the ball before it got knocked down and gave him some not-very-constructive criticism.

He then punctuated the sentiment making a chocking sign — which normally could be believed to have been “Help, my big mouth swallowed my oversized mouth guard” but in this case meant, “I knocked a ball out of the air which means my opponent chocked.”

That wasn’t very nice. He got a penalty for that, but the penalty meant nothing because the ball had already been knocked out of the air and the game was over.

Then, this happened:

//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/elatO5E8pGs?rel=0

Because there are no subtitles in this video, this is what he told former Dancing with the Stars contestant (third place, season 10) and sometimes Fox sideline reporter Erin Andrews:

“I’m the best corner in the game! When you try me with a sorry receiver like Crabtree, that’s the result you’re going to get. Don’t you ever talk about me. Crabtree. Don’t you open your mouth about the best, or I’ll shut it for you real quick. LOB [Legion of Boom]!”

Nobody knows what this means.

Sherman, a Compton-raised, Stanford-educated (read, there should at least be a built-in perception he’s smart — that’s why you’re reading about him) communications major, decided to clarify in a blog post about the game and his actions for Sports Illustrated. In it he talks about a “BS holding call.”

Then he discusses his job, which is, knocking the ball to the ground.

After that, he explains the choking sign he made was intended for 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick, showing deep humility after the heat of the moment had passed:

“Why? [the choking motion?] Because he decided he was going to try the guy he was avoiding all game, because, I don’t know, he’s probably not paying attention for the game-winning play. C’mon, you’re better than that.

“Erin Andrews interviewed me after the game and I yelled what was obvious: If you put a subpar player across from a great one, most of the time you’re going to get one result. As far as Crabtree being a top-20 NFL receiver, you’d have a hard time making that argument to me.”

He then goes on to assure us he has no plans for world domination, rubbing his hands together in a sinister manner, trapping a girl in a well while he curates his moth collection and plays skin seamstress, or becoming the murderous kingpin of a feared drug cartel:

“I don’t want to be a villain, because I’m not a villainous person.”

Then, he plays the victim card, which is OK, because we all know the real victim(s) are all the balls he knocks toward the ground:

“But people find it easy to take shots on Twitter, and to use racial slurs and bullying language far worse than what you’ll see from me.”

Richard Sherman’s job to touch a football in midair and hopefully send it careening toward the ground. By doing this job well, he can right the trajectory of the planet while he’s at it:

“It’s sad and somewhat unbelievable to me that the world is still this way, but it is. I can handle it.”

*We chose to run a column about Richard Sherman for SEO purposes only. Apologies if you read this long to see this disclaimer.

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Post by Death of the Press Box.