Step 1 Kansas City directs a heat-seeking safety at Tom Brady's knee, knocking him out for the 2008 season and into the arms of a Brazilian supermodel.
Step 2 Candles are lit in churches throughout New England, and Matt Cassel's miraculous ascension ensues.
Step 3 The Chiefs steal Patriots vice president of player personnel Scott Pioli, for zero compensation.
Step 4 Pioli channels the ghost of Hank Stram and hypnotizes former boss Bill Belichick into trading a franchise NFL quarterback and his pass-rushing defensive captain for a second-round draft pick and a tuna fish sandwich.
Step 5 Kansas City receives an NFL stimulus package from New England.
Mar: To spoil or detract from something. To ruin.
Bury: To put a dead body in a grave dug in the ground.
My question about Stephon Marbury isn’t “Can he play?” It’s “What happens when you put a second-team player with a first-team ego on the bench?”
I’m hoping Danny Ainge and Rajon Rondo don’t suffer the dictionary definitions of Marbury.
The name game
In last week’s game against the Celtics, Indiana put Marquis Daniels and Jarrett Jack on the floor at the same time. So for about 10 minutes, the C’s were playing against a backcourt of Jack-Daniels.
From tee to jail
In the same week that Charles Barkley revealed he’d be serving five days in the slammer for DUI, the Golf Channel chose to launch a TV show based on fixing Barkley’s golf swing. Nice timing, Golf Channel.
I can’t be the only guy hoping that the themes of jail and golf collide on reality TV. Remember the old B movies that show guys banging their tin cups along the bars of their cells? That’s how I picture Charles in stir, TaylorMade driver flailing off the floor, toilet, walls, and ceiling.FULL ENTRY
Julio Lugo of the Red Sox has revealed that he is lactose intolerant. Judging from his defense at shortstop last year, somebody must have been rubbing milk on the baseballs and making sure his glove was 100 percent cowhide. Lugo is posturing that he might demand a trade if he doesn't get handed the shortstop job. Julio, please! Who's your adviser, Plaxico Burress? For $9 million, if the coach asks you to get him a moon pie and a Yoo-hoo, you say, "Yes, sir." I suggest the Sox trade Lugo to Manchester United, because he boots them like Beckham and rarely gets a "hand ball" call.
As part of a Red Sox promotion with the state of Massachusetts, Tim Wakefield should be required to live in Wakefield, Mike Lowell in Lowell, and Wes Littleton in Littleton. And on top of that, the Sox' official sports psychologist, Bob Tewksbury, ought to live in ... well, you get the gist.
The Yankees' annual spring training drug drama began with Alex Rodriguez admitting that not only did he do performance-enhancing drugs, but also that a mystery cousin muled the drugs in from the Dominican Republic and back-alley-doctored them into his butt. Hell, I won't let my cousin stick me with a check, let alone a needle filled with some street juice called "boli." If I'm making $25 million a year, I hire a doctor to put a needle into me, not some cousin with 30 seconds of Dominican medical school training. I'm waiting for A-Rod's admission that he had to bite the head off a chicken and do some voodoo to achieve optimal 'roid results.
If Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett have shoe contracts with Nike, why can't Big Baby have a contract with Gerber or Stride Rite? I can see Glen Davis' smiling mug plastered all over the Gerber jar. The label would offer substantial baby-man food, like steak and potatoes, chicken and biscuits, or country ham and grits. Food a kid could sink his gums into, then post up the nursery school competition in the paint.
There could be an entire line of Big Baby products. Big Baby hats and pants. A Big Baby section in the Garden, filled with Big Baby seats. Drunks could wear Big Baby diapers, continue to order beers, and never have to leave those seats for the entire game.
Manny's an author
If you haven't heard, Manny Ramirez has written a book. Yes, Rain Man is vying for a coveted spot in Oprah's Book Club. What makes Manny's literary feat all the more remarkable is there's no proof Manny has ever even read a book, although a few found in his hotel room had been colored in.
Spring training hasn't even started yet, and J.D. Drew is already hurt. How does that happen? Did he twist his back getting out of the Mercedes? Tweak it avoiding a wayward champagne cork? Fall off a $13 million pile of cash? Put your socks on, Rocco Baldelli, because you're going to get plenty of playing time this year.
During the same week in which Hank Aaron turned 75 years old, hard evidence surfaced that some of the guys besting his records had indeed become supermen through chemical science. Jason Giambi, A-Roid, and Barry Bonds couldn't beat out old-school guys who played strictly on liquor and cigarettes. These new-school guys had to rub the lotion on their skin, swallow the pills, and inject the juice. Hell, Mickey Mantle and the Babe used to hit home runs while battling monumental hangovers and the occasional STD. Now, those were men. Not like these chemical brothers whose Valentine's Day gift to us, the fans, is a loaded 104-bullet weapon of mass destruction pointed right at America's pastime.
Varitek should apologize for not taking steroids
After hitting a full 10 points below Charles Barkley's blood alcohol level, Jason Varitek should apologize for not taking steroids last year. OK, I’m kidding. But when a guy can hit .220 with 43 RBI and still score $5 million, it shows you how desperate the league is for men who can squat behind the plate. And just in case, Jason, I have the keys to Brian McNamee’s junk trunk and A-Rod’s gym bag.
Swimming under the influence
Michael Phelps was not smoking from a bong in that picture. Those were scientifically developed underwater breathing exercises developed by Dr. Bob Marley. In Dr. Bob’s training regimen, you get your hair braided, you take herbal supplements, and you swim to Jamaica, mon.
In a midseason purge that was magically suspicious, the Celtics sacked mascot Lucky the Leprechaun — or, as the little people call it, downsizing. This management move broke Lucky’s pink heart, kicked him in his yellow moons, and put him out to pasture in the green clovers. Possible replacements for Lucky include Brian Scalabrine, Eddie House’s son, and, until last week, Jason Varitek. Personally, I’m looking for Lucky to resurface as a guest drinker at the Fours.
The Elephant Golfer
Third-year PGA Tour pro John Merrick almost won the Bob Hope tourney a week ago. When I Googled Merrick the player, his PGA photo came up along with the original John Merrick. ... That's right. The Elephant Man.
Guy couldn't putt worth a damn, and he obviously took a couple of Top-Flites off the noggin.
It seems that Barry Bonds' urine has come back so chock-full of 'roids that most of San Francisco faces indictment. The government has been holding on to Bonds' urine samples since at least 2005, evidently aging them like a fine Bordeaux. Where do you store a urine sample for four years anyway? Do you cellar it like a first-rate wine? Does a urine steward come to the grand jury table, uncork the bottle, and give testimony? "This is a 2003 Barry Bonds, extra strong and fortified. Its bouquet hints of leather baseball, hickory, testosterone, and just a trace of ballpark toilet."
Super Bowl Sunday is one of the great eating days of the year. Fire pits explode into Polynesian luaus while bellies stretch throwback jerseys to the point of gaseous detonation. I’ve seen my buddies’ game-day gear held together by nothing more than prayer, duct tape, and gravy stains, while they drink so much beer that their bathrooms are accidentally transformed into extreme water parks. Even dainty women eat as if they’re going to the electric chair. So with Super Bowl Sunday food in mind, I’ve rounded up some of the designer NFL tailgating specialties you might want to avoid … or feature at your party.
Terrell Owens Jerky: You’ll work your jaws as hard as TO, while chewing on the dried meat of former teammates and coaches. Salted to taste with TO’s own tears.
Matt White Cassel Burgers: Toss these little sliders down your throat for a tasty completion to any meal. Pick them up now, because they’ll be much more expensive next week.
Brett Favre Baloney: This baloney seems to have no expiration date, so its shelf life is much greater than that of any other baloney currently on the market. But remember, if this baloney stinks, don’t blame Brett. Blame the guy making the sandwich. Brett Favre Baloney, the choice of drama festivals throughout Greater New York.
Deltha O'Neal Toast: Burned beyond recognition, this toast can be scraped clean and burned again and again for a quick snack the following week.
Michael Vick Hot Dogs and Hush Puppies: You won’t see these tofu dogs served at the New York Kennel Club’s luncheon, but frankly, these dogs won’t bite back and are gentle on your buns. Serves four to six … years.
Don’t forget to wash all of this great Super Bowl chow down with a Jerry Jones Whine, a Teddy Bru-schi Brewski, or a Plaxico Burress Shooter.FULL ENTRY
The Patriots’ coaches and front office are being harvested like new tobacco in Havana, gutted like bluefish on the Cape, and peeled like a Bloomin’ Onion at the Outback. Enough with the metaphors, but you get the idea — the Pats’ talent is being poached. In the past four years, four head coaches and two directors of player personnel have been plucked from the franchise’s management tree. On lesser teams, coaches become available because they stink and get fired. The Patriots lose guys like Scott Pioli and Josh McDaniels because of excellence. It’s gotten so bad that I dreamed Bob Kraft called me to come over to Foxborough and help coach long snappers.
So suspend me. I'm on supplements!
The editors at OT have threatened my suspension because I’m on illegal supplements. Yes, it seems the Flintstones vitamins I’m taking have come up dirty, especially the Barneys.
In the bluff
While awaiting Brian McNamee’s grand jury testimony, let’s pretend I have a million-dollar college coaching job at BC, when a New York team calls me up for a job interview. My boss (whom I forget to tell about the interview) threatens to fire me if I go. The question under those circumstances becomes, “Would I go to the interview?”
No, I would not … because I love a million dollars.
But then at his press conference, my boss blurts out that he will pay the remaining three years and three million on my contract, and I don’t ever have to show up to do any work! What exactly is my downside here? That I don’t get to flash my cash around the Chestnut Hill Mall? No riding the Green Line in the dead of winter? No fresh bagels from Kupel’s in Brookline? How will I live? This guy just made my job a three-year snow day. Gene DeFilippo is a very bad poker player.FULL ENTRY
Rumor has it that the reason Mark Teixeira signed with the Yankees instead of the Red Sox is that his wife didn’t like the shopping in Boston. To that I say, HA! What about the shopping in Allston? Or the footlights of Somerville and Mattapan? The first time Mrs. Tex comes to town on a Yankee road trip, I’m sending some Revere girls to the Four Seasons and having her run up to the North Shore Mall for hair extensions and a shopping throwdown. Those babes will open her eyes to a part of Boston she’s never even dreamed about, and bring her back with nine-inch French nails and really big hair.
Rocco Baldelli, the newest Red Sox outfielder, has a name more fitting for the third capo in the Patriarca crime family. Imagine next year’s public address introduction of the former Tampa Bay Ray at Fenway. “Yo, listen up. I want you to show proper respect for our new left fielder and a real stand-up paisan. Give it up, because we know where your children go to school … our No. 6 hitter, Rocco Baldelli.”
The Sox bullpen continues to morph into the Hiroshima Carp: The team has added right-hander Takashi Saito to its 40-man roster. Theoretically, you could see a game where Daisuke Matsuzaka starts, long relief goes to Junichi Tazawa, Hideki Okajima handles short relief, Saito throws an inning, and Papelbon-san closes. Kamikazes for everybody!
OT beat writersMaureen Mullen brings you Red Sox information and insights.
Tom Wilcox covers the Patriots.
Scott Souza is all over the Celtics.
Danny Picard is on the ice with the Bruins.
Mike McDonald takes a look at the humorous side of Boston sports