'Belicheat...'? 'Belichoke...'?

Nay.

I'll sacrifice alliteration for the sake of game-specific bluntness and propose "Beliterrible"--as in:

That was an absolutely terrible call that Bill Belichick made on Sunday night when he decided to go for it on fourth down, in doing so handing the game over to the Indianapolis Colts for no good goddamn reason other than that he's an egomaniac.

...

"Belimaniac"? Nah...sounds too cool.

Black Saturday

Damn you, National Football League. Damn you to hell.

As a New England Patriots fan, it was painful enough for me when my 11-5 team was inconceivably cockblocked from the playoffs by the busted-ass megalomaniacal quarterback of their division rival. The fact that the 8-8 San Diego Chargers--ever-so-fortunate to exist in a division that is the NFL equivalent of "Introductory Tambourine for Disabled Squirrels"--did make the postseason was salt in the wound. Conceive of that wound being located on your genitals and your genitals being on fire, then you might have an idea of how I felt about the comically-undeserving Chargers facing the despised-Manning-based and despised-in-general Indianapolis Colts in the AFC Wild Card round on Saturday.

Who could I possibly root for? Nobody, that's who. I wanted both teams to lose. Unfortunately, such an outcome is not allowed by the current NFL regulations.

Once the Chargers-Colts game went into overtime, I made the Sophie's Choice to root for Indianapolis. In keeping with my fan-karma this season, San Diego wasted no time in their march to victory.

An 8-8 team has reached the second round of the playoffs, while the 11-5 New England Patriots didn't make it past the regular season. I might not be very good at math, but I sure as hell know injustice when I see it.

Damn you, National Football League. Damn you to hell.

(And, I guess...go Buzzsaw.)

Patriots Win Super Bowl*

*I'm just kidding. That won't happen for a couple of weeks.

But no Sinbad parties for you, Pat Coyle!

Pat Coyle and the Cone of Safety

As if I weren't already ashamed by the simple fact that I have been neglecting my blogging-related responsibilities as of late (it may stun you to learn that I don't get paid for this), I have returned to the fold to discover that not only has my man crush Pat Coyle been diligently maintaining his own blog on a daily basis, but, two days ago, he successfully manipulated his Sports Marketing/Indianapolis Colts/English Writing Clinic website into a platform for a debate on the hot-button issue of human genitalia.

You think you've got balls? You don't. Pat Coyle's got balls.

(As well as something called a "cone of safety"...inside of which, I guess, is the only place one is free to talk about balls.)

PAT COYLE UPDATE: Pat Coyle Has Noticed That People Noticed Pat Coyle

As I mentioned a mere two posts ago, I've fallen head over heels for the poet/Indianapolis Colts' Executive Director of Digital Business Pat Coyle.

It was a piece on Deadspin that blessedly brought Coyle into my life, and the attention that it unexpectedly thrust upon the ever-demure Coyle's blog has compelled the man himself to respond with his signature mix of unshakable vanillatude and needless exclamation points.

In his post from Friday, Coyle helpfully includes a screenshot of a site traffic chart from Google Analytics to illustrate how the previous day's offering "generated more buzz than anything [he's] ever posted". (While it appears that the level of "buzz" generated by all of Coyle's other writings amounts to approximately none whatsoever, you still can't accuse the man of lying.)

When I first read, on Coyle's blog, the words "a few bloggers had strong opinions about the story I told", my pace quickened as I could not suppress the instinctive hope that my muse would include me on his ensuing shortlist of "favorites". Alas, Coyle opted to tip his hat to, aside from Deadspin, a bible thumper (whose "strong opinion" amounted to "I liked the part when Pat Coyle talked about God"), a fellow white-collar soldier whose blog makes Coyle's look like The Brothers Karamazov, a guy who made fun of Sinbad...and no one else.

I made fun of Sinbad, Pat! How is it, then, that I didn't earn the commendation from you that I so desperately crave?

If my broken heart could speak, it might, fittingly enough, quote the very words you used in response to some of the "negative" comments directed your way on Deadspin:

"Yikes. It's like playing with fire!"

Yikes, indeed, Pat Coyle. Yikes, indeed.

I Love You, Pat Coyle

[Full disclosure: The source material in this post was snatched right off the coattails of Deadspin, the gold standard of sports-derived humor on the internet. I just couldn't help myself.]

As a Patriots fan, I used to be upset that New England puked up an 18-0 lead on the Indianapolis Colts in the 2007 AFC Championship Game in an eventual loss (you'd think that with eyes that big, Reche Caldwell could've not dropped a couple of passes) that allowed the Colts to go on and win a giveaway Super Bowl against a team led by the worst quarterback to ever appear in such a contest. And while I still think it would have been nice had Tom Brady not been able to get quite the early start on his offseason baby-making that he did, I have finally found something good that came of the Colts' Super Bowl victory:

The linguistic stylings of Pat Coyle.

Coyle, apparently, is the Executive Director of Digital Business for the Indianapolis Colts and as a member of the organization, he was able to partake in the Super Bowl ring ceremony Wednesday night. Let's ignore for our purposes the spurious validity of a team's "Executive Director of Digital Business" laying claim to a Super Bowl ring and focus instead on the magic that is Coyle's firsthand recap of the night's events.

The evening's alleged entertainment came courtesy of Sinbad (of "not being heard from in over a decade" fame), and one might presume that this cast a pall of sadness over the proceedings. Not in Indianapolis, and not for Pat Coyle! He in fact dedicates the bulk of his article to the altitudinous jokester, describing him as "flat out hilarious" and recounting an episode where he himself was "roasted" by Sinbad when he called into question Coyle's ability to assert himself in his marriage. Was Coyle angered by this affront? No, because--as he insightfully explains--"it was all in good fun." (He also unironically categorizes Sinbad's performance as "comedy".)

After expressing amazement over the fact that football fans in Indianapolis are interested in the Indianapolis Colts' Super Bowl rings ("Lots of people have asked me, 'are you getting a ring? did you get the ring yet?' and other similar questions"), Coyle backtracks to--from completely out of nowhere--drop some Jesus on us, describing how the appearance of a gospel choir helpfully reminded him that "all good and perfect things come from God."

He certainly does work in mysterious ways--I'll give you that much, Coyle. For while I had for many months been saddened by the Colts' Super Bowl victory, seeing it as a reminder of the Patriots' failure, I now see that it needed to happen in order to bring you into my life...and bless me with eternal gratitude for the collective fact that I don't live in Indianapolis and I never will.

Colts' Backup QB Seeks to Back Up Peyton Manning in Additional Careers

You would think that with all the time the Indianapolis Colts' backup quarterback Jim Sorgi has to spend on the bench (read: the entire season), he might get a little recreational reading done, and at some point he might have learned the definition of the word "irony". Apparently, though, he has not.

Capitalizing on a comment he made during an interview over Super Bowl weekend where he likened himself to the Maytag repairman ("the guy bored out of my mind waiting for something to do"), on Tuesday Sorgi actually auditioned to play the iconic washer-dryer advertising character [scroll down to the last four paragraphs] as part of a promotional deal with Whirlpool (who owns Maytag).

One can only assume from this news that, in addition to lacking a dictionary, Sorgi does not own a television set. Otherwise, during his three-year tenure in the NFL, he would have seen his on-field superior appearing in just about every commercial ever.

With Peyton Manning completely dominating the field of athlete pitchmen, there's no room for any other starting quarterbacks--never mind his own backup. Jim Sorgi cannot surpass Manning in his third-greatest talent (playing football) or his second (endlessly whoring himself out for money)...but perhaps these facts are just what Sorgi will need to carve out a career for himself in the very realm where Peyton Manning's greatest strength lies: blaming his teammates for his failures. Now that would be ironic.

[Ed. note: Yeah, so I just referenced that last link six posts ago. So what? Tom Brady rules!]

Tom Brady's Sex Season Finished Much Stronger Than His Football One

Now it all makes sense.

When Tom Brady, one of the most clutch quarterbacks in NFL history, was intercepted by Marlin Jackson on what should have been the New England Patriots' game-winning drive in the AFC Championship Game four weeks ago, there was simply no explanation. Tom Brady doesn't fail when the game's on the line. The Patriots don't lose to the Indianapolis Colts. And the finger-pointing crybaby Gomer Pyle certainly doesn't fall ass-backwards into a Super Bowl Ring Giveaway by matching up against the worst quarterback to ever play in the game. But Patriots fans (and, let's be honest, anyone who recognizes the difference between what is fair and right and what is a grotesque affront to football, mankind, and even God) can now take at least a small amount of solace in the fact that there apparently was an excuse for all of these tragedies...

And it was Tom Brady's doggone virility.

How could Brady have been expected to keep his head in the game when he was faced with having to explain to his super-hot girlfriend Gisele Bundchen that his former, less hot but still very attractive (and certainly not deserving of the "aging B-list[er]" title the obviously jealous Boston Herald reporter Laurel J. Sweet assigned to her) girlfriend Bridget Moynahan was 2 months pregnant (now it's 3) with his baby? That's an impending conversation that no man--not even one as handsome and talented as the Patriots' #12--can completely put out of his mind in any situation.

Of course, it's technically unclear as to whether Brady actually knew about the pregnancy four weeks ago...but I refuse to accept the possibility that he couldn't have, because that would leave him with no excuse for the AFC Championship loss. And whether it's on the football field or in the bedroom, I know that in the final seconds, Tom Brady always comes through.