Hypocrisy, Thy Name Bears a Similarity to 'Vagina'

One probably would have to have been following sports extremely closely to have even heard the news, but back in the first week of the NFL season, the New England Patriots were caught illegally videotaping the New York Jets' sideline during a game at the Meadowlands. Jets head coach Eric Mangini--a former protege of Patriots head coach Bill Belichick who pretty much owes his entire career to the man, whom he'd already stabbed in the back by taking the job with New York--reported it to the league; as a result, the Patriots were fined $250,000, Belichick was personally fined $500,000, and (now that they've made the playoffs) the team lost a first-round draft pick for next year.

While the Patriots have gone on to be undefeated thus far this season (handily beating the Jets 38-14 in the 'Spygate' game), the scandal has, for many predisposed to be jealous of New England's spectacularity™ and Tom Brady's handsomeness, given fuel to a belief that the franchise's legacy of three Super Bowl victories in six years is tainted, that--should the team go 16-0 (or 19-0, counting the postseason)--the accomplishment should carry an asterisk in the record books. Jets fans--whose team has been something slightly less than perfect since Week 1--have of course been as vocal in this opinion as anyone.

Perhaps they'll quiet down some, now that Newsday is reporting that the Jets were caught illegally videotaping the Patriots' sideline during a game at Gillette Stadium last year.

Whoops!

On Tuesday night, the Jets admitted that such an incident took place last season, and--even better (or worse, if you're a Jets fan)--a team source claims that it was during a playoff game. (Insanely, a Patriots' source is actually disagreeing with that assertion, claiming that it was a regular-season contest.) Perhaps even more telling is the fact that Patriots didn't say a peep about this matter during the investigation into their own misconduct this year...which sort of pokes some holes in the currently popular belief that they are an ethically questionable organization (or at least more of one than any other NFL team).

With the league watching the Patriots like a hawk since Week 1, there can be no question that no impropriety has taken place during New England's quest for a perfect season, currently at 13 weeks and counting. I doubt anyone's been watching the Jets, though...so the question for Eric Mangini is: How can you cheat all the time and still suck that much?

What Is a 'Myocardial Infarcation'?

Although I'm equally if not more surprised to have learned that Alex Trebek no longer wears a mustache, most people might currently be more interested in the news that the 67-year-old "Jeopardy!" host has suffered a minor heart attack. According to Access Hollywood, Trebek is "resting comfortably in a Los Angeles hospital" and will be "back in the studio for the next scheduled tapings in January".

Funny that the report doesn't mention any possible cause of the pulmonary event. Perhaps Trebek's people don't want to admit that the constant badgering by Sean Connery finally got to the syndicated-television mainstay.

They'll Make You a Serve You Can't Return

Either John McEnroe is crazy or organized crime isn't what it used to be. The former is suggesting that the mafia has infiltrated tennis, fixing matches by bribing players and threatening their families.

Really, mafia? Tennis? Was the racket of grade-school piano recitals too impenetrable?

Steeler's "Guarantee" of Victory Over Patriots Contains More Caveats Than an NFL Contract

Pittsburgh Steelers defensive back Anthony Smith made headlines Wednesday night when it was reported that he guaranteed his team would beat the undefeated New England Patriots in their upcoming matchup Sunday. Upon closer inspection, though, it turns out that headlines are the only thing Smith actually made.

While it's true that Smith did say--as reported by SI.com--"I can guarantee a win," he's got nothing on Broadway Joe (or, for that matter John Goodman, star of the only visual evidence to date that Babe Ruth ever "called his shot") in the ballsy-prognostication department, for he immediately went on to qualify his declaration with "as long as we come out and do what we got to do" and then all but retract it by saying "we've got a good chance to win."

Is this the paltry level to which smack-talk has descended in the world of professional sports? "I GUARANTEE that we will defeat our opponents...unless they score more points than we do"? It's heartbreaking.

One can take solace in the possibility that Smith was less interested in throwing down a genuine gauntlet than he was in garnering some publicity for himself. He certainly has a better chance to achieve the latter than the Steelers do to defeat the Patriots...something to keep in mind as we consider the words of New England safety Rodney Harrison, who--when told about the so-called "guarantee"--remarked, "Never heard of him."

UPDATE: Hey, whaddya know. Smith's prediction turned out to be somewhat less than accurate.

ESPN Might Want To Just Rerun That Last Game Every Monday Night for the Next Few Seasons

ESPN's "Monday Night Football" broadcasts (just as they did when they were shown on ABC) usually turn out to be one of two things: a blowout or a sleep aid...and unless you're a fan of one of the teams involved in a blowout, they're often both. The latest matchup, before it began, appeared to be an exemplary case for more of the same, pitting the seemingly unstoppable New England Patriots, deep into a quest to become the second team in NFL history to go undefeated in a season, against the Baltimore Ravens, well out of the playoff race and losers of their previous five contests.

Lo and behold, the lowly Ravens didn't just "hang in there" against the Pats, they played like the better team for the majority of the game, controlling it on both sides of the ball and putting themselves in an excellent position to pull off an inconceivable upset...until the final minutes, when a freaking cartoon broke loose. Multiple botched chances by the Ravens to win simply by converting late in the fourth quarter...the Patriots getting do-overs on would-be game-losing failed fourth-down attempts--one of which came courtesy of a Baltimore timeout...Tom Brady being his ridiculously calm-under-pressure and handsome self all the way to a review-inducing touchdown with 44 seconds left to play...bizarre penalties from the Ravens that they're going to be kicking themselves about for a while because--even with the yardage it cost them at the start of their final possession--they came three yards short of winning the game on the very last play with a Hail Mary pass (y'know...like in Tecmo Bowl)...it was madness on a level one would not believe if it were scripted. End result? Patriots won, 27-24. And I didn't even mention the part where Ravens head coach Brian Billick blew angry kisses at Patriots safety Rodney Harrison.

As a Patriots fan (a real fan, for the record--one who still bears (pun accepted) the emotional scars of winning his third grade class' "Squish the Fish" (re: Dolphins, in the AFC championship) picture-drawing contest only to see his team be humiliated in their first-ever Super Bowl by these jackasses), I'm obviously happy with the outcome. But even if you're one of the rapidly-growing number who hate the still-perfect dominant force from Foxboro, I've got to believe that every football fan--every sports fan, even--is at least a little bit happy to have seen that, in these days of ever-compromised and disappointing professional sports, a game as dramatic and unpredictable as Monday night's can still take place.

(Ravens fans probably aren't feeling that way right now, though. They're probably going to be pissed for a while.)

UPDATE: I have no qualms whatsoever about saying I told you so, ESPN.

Jihad-a-Bear

A British teacher at a school in Khartoum, Sudan, was arrested on Sunday and could face 40 lashes or six months in prison if formally charged and convicted. What terrible offense did this woman commit?

She allowed a group of 7-year-olds to name a teddy bear.

Gillian Gibbons' students voted to call their class bear "Mohammad", an option put forth by a boy of the same handle. The trouble for Gibbons is that "Mohammad" is not just the name of that little egomaniac, but also the Prophet of Islam...and rumor has it that Muslims tend to have fairly strong opinions about its use and application. Parents complained, Gibbons was arrested, and the school ("Unity High School", naturally) has been closed until January.

Whenever I learn of such heartwarming and perfectly reasonable occurrences like this one, I can't believe that there are people in the world--not too many, praise the Holy Ghost--who think that religion is a bad thing.

They Want You Back

Without clicking through to the article below, how many members of the Jackson Five can you name? I'll play along:

Obviously, Michael. After that, everybody knows Tito, because he had the funniest name and is the go-to reference when making fun of the obscurity of the Jacksons who aren't Michael or Janet. La Toya? No, wait, I already said Michael. I think there was a Jermaine in there...and maybe a Marlon? No--Keenan Ivory. And lastly, let's say...Action. That's five, right? Pencils down.

Time to check your score as you learn that--according to Jermaine (hey, one right so far!)--the Jackson Five is going to reunite.

(What? One of them was named "Jackie"? Jackie Jackson? That's ridiculous.)

Unless this story merely represents a desperate attempt by Jermaine to seek attention (which is unlikely because he was just on the British version of "Celebrity Big Brother", after all), fans of broke and/or allegedly child-molesting middle-aged men trying to relive their teenage years through song and dance better start clearing their calenders. As Jermaine told BBC Radio, a reunion is something that the Jackson Five "owe[s] to the public"...and that's a pretty mean thing to say about you.

He Got the Hook-Up

As we all learned from Hoop Dreams, athletic ability can be the key to escaping a life of poverty and opening the doors to a brighter future for African-American youths...but even for the most talented among them, this is still far from a guarantee.

As we all learned from Black Supaman, Master P doesn't know how to spell "Superman".

How are these two things related? The son of the aforementioned one-time rap impresario and multi-millionaire, Lil' Romeo--himself once a somewhat successful hip-hop performer--has been awarded a basketball scholarship to the University of Southern California [FUN FACT: USC is Metroville's alma mater, of which he only becomes ever more proud]. According to SI, Romeo, currently a senior guard at Beverly Hills High School, signed his letter of intent "at a news conference held at a posh hotel near Beverly Hills".

So it was pretty much exactly like Hoop Dreams...except with insanely rich kids with ridiculous stage names instead of impoverished kids who struggle to afford shoes, Beverly Hills High School instead of the Chicago projects, and an infuriating happy ending instead of a depressing realistic one.

Let me hear you say UUUUUGH! (Na-na, na-na!)

The Internet? Never Heard Of It.

If there is one upside for me personally to the Writers' Guild of America Strike (currently at eight days and counting), it's that it has given me a perfectly reasonable-looking excuse for not updating this blog. It's a phony excuse, sure, but it's reasonable-looking nonetheless.

In lieu of any original content (unless you're counting this paragraph and the one previous), enjoy the above video from unitedhollywood.com, which quietly suggests that the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers maybe are being something less than completely honest with their claims to the WGA that there is no money to be made from online content.

Sox on a Plane

Full disclosure: I have been posting about the Red Sox way too much lately (I even managed to tastefully work them into a Robert Goulet obituary). After yesterday's mention of Jonathan Papelbon's less-bananas-than-expected appearance on Letterman, I figured that would be the end of the assault for a while.

No sooner has I made that prediction when, lo and behold, in my inbox arrived EXCLUSIVE! candid photos taken inside Tom Werner's plane as it transported a number of the Red Sox players from Denver to Boston following the team's World Series victory over the Colorado Rockies.

What am I supposed to do? Not post the pictures? They are "exclusive", in capital letters, and with an exclamation point. My hands are tied.

I’m pretty sure David Ortiz isn’t following FAA passenger regulations, here, but who’s going to tell him? And how did Jason Varitek get those guns past security?

Barack Obama is not averse to public displays of affection. Oh, wait--that’s Julio Lugo.

Mike Lowell, Trophy Hog.

Professional Athletes—They’re Just Like Us! They collect autographs! (Or at least the rookies do.)

Sleep tight, Kevin Youkilis. You earned your nap.

"Hate Does Enter Into the Equation"

While I was watching Game 2 of the World Series with a group of fellow Red Sox fans, my friend Dave hypothesized that the inside of Jonathan Papelbon's head was "a swirling nightmare."

I was somewhat hesitant to watch Papelbon's appearance on "Late Night with David Letterman" Wednesday night for fear that the Red Sox closer might have said something that proved Dave's (my friend, not Letterman) theory to an unsuspecting national audience beyond that of baseball. To my relief, Papelbon handled himself with surprising restraint (even his inevitable dance was brief and relatively low-key), not even letting a real hint of his madness slip out until halfway into the interview (you'll want to jump to the 5:00 mark in the above clip if you don't have time to bask in the whole enchilada).

Despite what the world beyond Red Sox Nation may now think of you now, Jonathan (and there's a fair guess as to where Yankees, Rockies and Indians fans already stood)...we still love you.

You batshit insane sonuvabitch.

The Thing You're Staring At: The Movie

From The Net to Hackers to Pulse, I think we can all agree that movies about the internet are both awesome entertainments and virtual guarantees for box office success. But one thing that's always been missing from the genre is a film that focuses specifically on blogging, arguably the most cinematic activity in which a person can engage.

Thanks to Nora Ephron--living proof that having a hand in one decent romantic comedy equals a free pass for churning out two subsequent decades and counting of soul-deadening claptrap (including her own contribution to the fine canon of films that deal with people sitting in front of computers)--the cavernous void of blog-movies ("bloovies"?) is finally set to be filled with her adaptation of Julie Powell's book Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen...in which Meryl Streep will play Julia Child.

While the idea of Meryl Streep playing Julia Child--although not necessarily appealing--is, at worst, strange, and certainly not sphincter-tensing, it appears to have nothing whatsoever to do with blogging. Not so fast. If you merely glance over the above-linked Variety article, you might miss this bone-chilling aspect of the film's plot:

"[The] frustrated temp secretary...chronicles her trials and tribulations in a blog that catches on with the food crowd."

You see, it's not just a movie about cooking. It's a movie about blogging about cooking. If I had to take a shot in the dark, I'd wager that it also might include a few montages set to bouncy music featuring Amy Adams' voiceover saying the things that she is typing while an ever-increasing amount of the aforementioned "food crowd" stare at computer screens in various locations and look amused.

If that prediction hasn't activated your gag reflex, you're probably my mom. Enjoy the movie, Mom!