Blah! Blah! Blah! Spin it any way you like, with JJ (Dumb) and JG (Dumber 2), we will NEVER get to a SB, let alone win one. Romo injured again; Dumber 2 should have never let him play in a game with the dirty, scumbag, neanderthal Seahawks. They don't tackle; they aim to maim and, in any way, take players out of the game. So, despite a positive backup (Dak), there goes another season.
This order is based off of my end of the season power rankings. I know this is a long shot be what happens next spring, but I will do my best since I cannot predict breakout stars and small school studs. Here is a link to my power rankings if you like explanations why your team is selecting where. http://walterfootball.com/PowerRankings/Published/490
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 1: Why the Phillies Stink This Year (Jayson Werth)
Anyone who has been reading this Web site for a while knows that I don't break news. I don't see the appeal in breaking news. I just like analyzing the news, picking games, and making fun of fat coaches and illiterate analysts.
However, I learned something Wednesday that I really wanted to share with everyone. Not because I wanted to break the story - but because the guy apparently responsible for the Phillies' 2010 demise is a major scumbag.
I learned the following from a friend of a friend, who happens to work for the Phillies. According to what this guy said, Jayson Werth has been sleeping around with Chase Utley's wife, and Utley found out about it around May. Ever since then, Werth has been awful and Utley, per the source, is currently faking an injury and plans on doing so until Werth is traded.
See, isn't that exciting? Wouldn't you want to post something like that on your Web site? Unfortunately some other site broke this story, so you may have heard about this incident. Jerks.
My friend and former neighbor of mine didn't. I told him what Werth did over lunch Friday, and while this was the first time he heard about Werth allegedly sleeping with Utley's wife, he wasn't surprised to hear the news.
Why wasn't he surprised? Well, this friend/ex-neighbor's friend's girlfriend's friend works at a strip club (strippers are very legitimate sources). She said that Werth comes in there almost every day when the Phillies are playing in town. According to what she told him, Werth allegedly is a major jerk and gropes all of the chicks there. No word yet if he forces money-hungry whores into the bathroom and asks his body guards to keep their friends out.
So to recap, we have my friend's friend, my ex-neighbor's friend's girlfriend's friend (who is a stripper), and some random Web site corroborating on the fact that Werth is a major douche and may have slept with Utley's wife.
Shaky sources, much? If you choose not to believe this, I don't really blame you. I don't even know if I believe it myself.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 2: B-Ball D-Bag
Back in April, I wrote about someone whom I called B-Ball D-Bag. This guy refused to play basketball with us because he felt like one of the other guys was too physical. Later on, he criticized my friend Josh for not wearing the proper attire during our pick-up basketball games, and then celebrated a victory by yelling, "We f***ing won! We f***ing won! Yeah baby! We f***ing won!"
Well, B-Ball D-Bag has done more stuff to piss me off. I played a few full-court games with him last weekend, and I unfortunately was on his team. B-Ball D-Bag is what you call a "black hole." If you pass the ball to him, you'll never see it again because he'll shoot it, no matter where he is or who's covering him. And during our games, he couldn't hit anything. I'm pretty sure he fired up five straight air balls. But that didn't keep him from shooting non-stop.
Amazingly, he had something to say whenever he didn't attempt a shot on the offensive end. On one occasion, Josh missed a shot in which he had a pretty good open look. This drew the ire of B-Ball D-Bag, who shouted, "You have to take better shots!" Seriously, dude? You air-balled five bricks in a row, and you're yelling at someone else for their shot selection?
He was even worse on the defensive end. We were playing a 2-3 zone, and I was underneath on the right side. I guess B-Ball D-Bag figured my teammate Mitch and I had no idea what a zone defense was, because every time he raced down the court, he'd scream, "Walt, cover the right side! Stay there! Mitch, you got the middle! Stay in the middle!"
Now, if he did this once, I'd just ignore it. But he kept repeating himself. I seriously thought about messing with him by standing right next to him on defense, but that probably would have given him a seizure.
It was all worth it in the end though. Toward the end of our second game, I guess he got so tired that he confused himself on one defensive possession. He looked back and both Mitch and me, and spazzed out, "MITCH!!! WALT!!! MITCH!!! WALT!! MITCH!!! WALT!!! MITCH!!! WALT!!!" The other team laughed at this and began mimicking him, "Walt! Mitch! Walt! Mitch!"
I ran point guard for my team, and eventually I purposely started passing to B-Ball D-Bag as much as possible. I figured it was a win-win - if B-Ball D-Bag actually hit a shot, we'd have a chance to beat the other team. And if he continued to put up bricks, he'd feel bad about his performance afterward. For a guy who goes nuts after winning in pick-up hoops, a loss like this would devastate him. He'd cry, and then I could pull an Eric Cartman and drinks his tears.
Well, he continued to brick his shots. I didn't count, but I think he went 3-of-19 during the game. We lost a close one, and sure enough, he was upset afterward.
"We almost had em, Walt," he told me. "If I woulda hit a few more shots, we woulda won." I thought about replying with, "If you woulda hit any shots," but I was content enough.
Despite B-Ball D-Bag's poor performance, he still felt like he was in a position to critique others:
B-Ball D-Bag: Josh, you need to start practicing your layups.
Josh: Uhh... what?
B-Ball D-Bag: You need to improve your layup skills. You know how you work on your free throws?
Josh: Umm... I don't work on my free throws.
B-Ball D-Bag: Well, you need to take some of the work you put into your free throws and work on your layups.
B-Ball D-Bag: If you work on your layups, you'll start to make some layups.
Josh: *Angry glare*
"I can't believe he told me to work on my layups," Josh said to me while we were walking out of the gym. "That guy is such a douche."
My pool rents out three lanes every Monday and Wednesday night to this middle-aged Russian guy who holds some sort of swim team practice for these 11- and 12-year-old kids. I have no problem with the guy; he lets me keep swimming after the pool shuts down, and once even went out of his way to bring me a jacket I forgot on the pool deck.
My admiration for this man grew a couple of weeks ago. When I walked out to the pool deck, I noticed that he was yelling at the kids. "Get out of zee pool, now!" he shouted, but to no avail; these kids, particularly this one girl, kept splashing and ignoring him. That's when he decided to yank that girl's hair.
"Stop pulling my hair!" she screeched. He let go, and she finally obliged; she and some other fat kid climbed out of the pool and sat down on the bench. I wanted to shake that man's hand for doing this.
** Side note: I personally think we're much worse off as a society now that teachers can't beat their students. Back in the good old days, if someone misbehaved, WHACK! That kid would get smacked by a hard ruler. Now, all these artsy-fartsy new-age hippie parents and government idiots are against this. Coincidentally, crime is up and our education levels are down. I have no numbers to back this claim up, but I don't need any numbers. Numbers are for sissies. **
Later during that practice, the Russian coach timed these kids. Those who didn't break a certain time had to get out of the pool and give him 20 pushups. And he didn't settle for just any pushups - these kids had to go down all the way to the ground and push back up.
The aforementioned fat kid obviously couldn't do this. He went down a little bit, but that didn't work. "One... one... one... one... one..." the coach repeated. It took the fat kid about 10 minutes, but he finally got past one pushup.
I had no idea how bad these kids were until Wednesday. I overheard two of these kids talking about state capitals, and whether or not it was important to memorize them. To settle their argument, they asked me if I knew the state capitals.
Me: I don't think I could name five state capitals, to tell you the truth.
Buck-Toothed Kid: See Melvis, you don't need to know the state capitals!
Melvis? It's like the names Melvin and Elvis had a deformed child. What sort of drugs were Melvis' parents on when they decided on that name? My guess is crack and shrooms with a side of Purple Drank.
By the way, I just Googled "Melvis," and UrbanDictionary.com says that a Melvis is a "Mexican that bares a striking resemblance to Elvis." Wow.
Anyway, back to the conversation...
Melvis: But isn't it good to know the state capitals?
Me: I mean, I guess it doesn't hurt, but you're never going to need to know them unless you're on a game show or something.
Buck-Toothed Kid: See Melvis, this guy's in college and he says you don't need to know state capitals!
Me: Oh, I'm not in college. I've been done with school for a few years now.
Melvis and Buck-Toothed kid then went on a tangent about colleges, and how they planned on attending Harvard or Yale (dream on a-holes). I, on the other hand, recalled all those pointless tests I took in grade school and middle school where I had to memorize the state capitals. What was the point of all that? Like I told Melvis, I can't name five state capitals. I know Harrisburg because I live in Pennsylvania, and I know Sacramento because of the Kings... but that's about it.
Capitals are stupid. The capital of every state should just be the state's name followed by "city." Like the capital of Maryland should be Maryland City, and the capital of West Virginia should be West Virginia City. Then, no one would ever have to memorize stupid state capitals, and no kids named Melvis would have to talk to me about them.
Eventually Melvis left. When I was putting on my shoes, Buck-Toothed Kid annoyed me again by asking me which college I went to...
Me: I went to Penn State. It's not ranked as highly as Harvard or Yale, but it's a lot of fun.
Buck-Toothed Kid: Penn State has good sports.
Me: Damn right.
Buck-Toothed Kid: My brother goes to Pitt. Pitt and Penn State are big football rivals.
Me: Well, they would be if they played each other. They haven't played since 1999 or 2000.
Buck-Toothed Kid: Nah-uh! They play each other every year!
Me: Nah, trust me kid. They haven't played in 10 years.
Buck-Toothed Kid: I remember watching Pitt play Penn State!
OK seriously, this kid has no idea what he's talking about. The last time Pitt played Penn State was the fall of 2000, with the Nittany Lions losing 12-0. I even double-checked to see if I had a brain fart. The last time they played was 2000. Stupid know-it-all buck-toothed idiot.
Me: Look, I know for a fact that they don't play because Joe Paterno refuses to play Pitt because he doesn't like them.
Buck-Toothed Kid: Joe Paterno is old!
Me: Yup - 84 years old and still going strong.
Buck-Toothed Kid: Joe Paterno is a clown!
Me: What? A clown?
Buck-Toothed Kid: Yeah! He's a stupid clown!
This kid seriously deserves to get knocked the f*** out. Damn laws prohibit me from beating him up. Fortunately, I can just ask his coach do that for me.