Never Mind Who Dat, What the Fuck Dat?

Damn, what a call--opening the second half with an onside kick? The Saints converted that bit of ballsiness into a touchdown, grabbed the momentum, and 30 minutes and several clutch plays later, grabbed the Lombardi Trophy. And, as my friend India pointed out, felt no need for Jesus shout-outs in the postgame interviews.

That was the good. The bad? The breathtaking misogyny in the commercials. Forget Tim Tebow and his mom; against the baseline set by GoDaddy.com, FloTV, and Bridgestone, Focus on the Family rated a giant meh. What knocked the Tebows completely off my radar? Oh look, here's Danica Patrick abandoning her last shred of dignity and getting into a strip-off, with the promise of additional unrated web content. Ah, here's Jim Nance saying that a guy who goes shopping with his girlfriend has lost his spine! Oh, here's a guy who gets conceived, grows up, gets a job, gets married, and sires a kid of his own--whew, he deserves a break after all that! And here's a guy who abandons his wife to a Road Warrior gang rather than give up his tires! Oh, look, men strike back! Because they're been so grievously put upon for the past couple of decades out of the last 160,000 years of anatomically modern human history!

Fuck. Oh, want to see them? Here.

In happier news, chocolate Chex + rice Chex + chocolate Cheerios + pretzel sticks + mini marshmallows + mini chocolate chips + butter + vanilla + NUTELLA = OMFG awesome snackies. Also, roasting thinly sliced cauliflower with olive oil, garlic, and rosemary results in some stunning crunchy/tender bits of FUCK YES CAULIFLOWER IS GOOD. Who knew? My mom always boiled it to death. I would have eaten a lot more of it without complaining if she'd roasted it instead.

Super Bowl Fun!

Tim Tebow is going to be on TV on Super Bowl Sunday, which will likely be his last Super Bowl-related appearance unless he does something about the lisp and lands in a TV booth someday. No, he's not playing on the field--the draft isn't until April--but he'll be playing the missionary role that's become such a big part of the mythos that has been built up around the kid by people who are into that convert-the-natives sort of thing. Tebow will be appearing, with his mother, in an anti-choice advertisement produced by Focus on the Family.

... he's an unabashed pro-life supporter; his mother, Pam, was advised by her doctor late in Tebow's pregnancy to abort the baby because it was a dangerous pregnancy. Her refusal led to Tebow's compelling life -- and also to a 30-second Super Bowl commercial by Tebow and Pam (sponsored by Focus on the Family) that will add to Tebow-mania.

In the interest of fairness, I won't put words in the boy's mouth. This is what he said about why he's doing the commercial:

Pro-life is very important to me. My mother listened to God late in her pregnancy, and if she had listened to others and terminated me, obviously I wouldn't be here. If others don't have the same belief, it's OK. I understand. But I hope they respect that at least I have the courage to stand up for what I believe in.

Okay. Timmy, maybe you understand--and possibly even respect--that other people have sincerely held opinions on this that differ from your own. But if you're really approaching this with the live-and-let-live attitude your quote appears to be trying to portray--and if you are as cognizant of the "choice" element in "choose life" as you should be, given the personal history you're flogging here--you should know better than to do your witnessing for full-term pregnancy under the banner of James Dobson, who most assuredly doesn't think "it's OK" that other people don't have the same belief. Because, if you hadn't noticed, Focus on the Family spends an inordinate amount of time and money working to make sure that no American woman has a choice to exercise about pregnancy ever again. Otherwise, you're pulling a Palin and repeatedly referencing a choice that was made by a woman to insist that women should not be allowed to make choices. Encourage women to make the same choice your mom did? Mmm, considering she went against medical advice and endangered her own life and the well-being of the four kids she already had, I'm not sure that's the best thing to be encouraging, but hey, I'm all about free choice under informed consent, so go for it. Lend your face and boner-prompting among the evangelical set to an organization that will use your image to further their attempt to eliminate reproductive freedom? Shove that shizz up your ass, sideways.

Related issues include CBS' decision to approve airtime for this, when they've refused politically/cultural war-ly charged ads in the past (notably, the 2004 UCC spots supporting marriage equality), as well as the just plain tackiness of letting politics/culture wars intrude on what is supposed to be the one national holiday we can all agree on, goddammit.

By the by, Tebow is fond of referencing Bible verses on his eyeblack. I'm sure the fact that he's never put MATT 6:5-6 under his eyes is just an oversight.

Year-end Pre-January 1 Bowl Games Special

The Arizona Wildcats apparently thought last night was their Holiday Bowl walk-through rather than the actual game, and came away with a 33-0 drubbing at the hands of a pissed-off Nebraska team. The highlight of the evening for the 'Cats was Ndamukong Suh's failure to behead either of the UA quarterbacks. Three of Arizona's top signees for next season picked the U over Nebraska; the incoming AD better check to see that those letters of intent are signed in blood, or carved in stone, or possibly both.

Notre Dame did not play.

The end.

The Weekend in Sports

The Cubs have suspended Milton Bradley for the rest of the season and may be looking to unload him. At this point, just eating the two years remaining on his contract would be worth it if it gets him out of Chicago. They dumped Mark DeRosa to pick up this guy, and then had the temerity to act baffled when he refused to play nicely with his teammates, the fans at Wrigley, and greater Chicagoland. Bradley's been clubhouse poison basically forever. How this knowledge escaped Jim Hendry until it was too late is a mystery to me.

In football news, the Irish escaped a fiftieth or something consecutive home loss to Michigan State on the whisker of two dropped balls by the Spartans and Kyle McCarthy hanging on to an interception at the Notre Dame 10. And top receiver Michael Floyd is lost for the year to a broken collarbone. Maybe this was the wrong year to keep Goliath-slaying Washington on the schedule?

Finally, the Washington Freedom's Jo Lohman and Becca Moros are spending part of the WPS off-season playing in Japan. They're blogging about it, and they're adorable.

Sportsweek in Review

Busy week, sports fans. We started with Notre Dame walloping the mighty, mighty Wolfpack of Nevada, who managed to make Jimmy Clausen look like the second coming of, well, the Jimmy Clausen who was last seen spanking Hawaii in the Coconut Bowl last holiday season. This week sees Jimmy lead the Irish to the Big House against the guys with the six-note fight song and little wings on their helmets. ND is a 3-point favorite. I say, MICHAEL FLOYD, and that translates to a 14-point Irish win. You read it here first.

Moving from throwball to kickball, the US men's national team snoozed through an actually fairly important World Cup qualifier against Trinidad 'n' Tobago and managed to pull out a one-goal win for a crucial three points. Seriously, Clint Dempsey? I was worried about Clint the last couple games because his more-hangdog-than-usual expression, coupled with his lassitude on the field, made me fear he was suffering from clinical depression and needed some serious help. Then I realized it's just that he pouts and doesn't bother running when Bob Bradley makes him play midfield, and only puts out what qualifies as "effort" when he's up top. Wow. I thought that kind of crap was limited to recreational leagues, and lord knows I've played with enough people who pull that to wonder how his teammates manage to not kick him in the nuts. Or why Bradley wastes a spot on him at all. I want Stuart Holden, dammit! Boy's young, but he run his ass off no matter what. No matter who starts in the midfield against Honduras, the entire side needs to remember how to possess AND move off the ball, and maybe show just a glimmer of intensity, as if, oh, the World Cup were at stake or something. You! Read! It! Here!

For contrast, have a look at the Slovakia-Northern Ireland game FSC keeps replaying. There's 90 minutes of passion and creativity and full-speed running for you, plus the requisite testicular injury for comic effect. Look out for the Slovaks, especially Vladomir Weiss. Tricksy!

Finally, the England women made it to the final of the UEFA championship for the first time in forever, but got wiped by a German team that hasn't lost a game in this tournament since 1999. England did manage to fight back for two goals and probably wins whatever metallic boot is awaded the most improved team over the past few years. Think the WPS has helped that national side? I do. They'll be an interesting team to watch. Kelly Smith. Sigh.

Go Irish!

We Also Has a Migraine

Ancient and not-so-ancient people the world over drilled holes in their heads from time to time (or hacked good-sized chunks out of their own skulls with stone knives), and after the past 24 hours that is starting to make more and more sense to me.





















This might have helped yesterday.

They always hit in the wee hours of a weekend morning, like 3:30 wee, which severely limits my chances of getting a Torodol shot from my doctor's office. Can it ever be during regular business hours? Heavens no.

Figure VIII is the ticket.

Would you like to be Boltgirl for a day? Find an icepick. Draw an imaginary line connecting your left and right temples. Hold the icepick horizontally and place the point at the intersection of this imaginary line with the outside of your left temple. Have a friend drive the icepick into your head along this line, preferably with a four-pound crackhammer, until the point of the pick is lodged directly behind your left eyeball. Leave it there for 48 hours. Maybe tie a weight to the handle of the pick so it wiggles every time you move your head. There, wasn't that easy?

In other news, the Super Bowl is today and I sincerely hope my head stops exploding long enough for me to drink enough beer to make it explode in different ways. Chez Bolt is not rooting for the Cardinals, despite being located in the same state. The girlfriend grew up outside Pittsburgh and the Steelers have always been my AFC team of choice, and, besides, Bill Bidwell is slimy, the Cards never made much of an effort to be friendly to Baja Arizona, and all the taxpayer money that went to build their very strange looking stadium in Glendale opened the gates to an ongoing flood of public funds to that godawful municipality, which has since sucked more than the lion's share of resources to west Phoenix and left Tucson more and more in the dust.

And thus ends the bitchfest for this weekend.

Buh-Bye, Charlie

Will Notre Dame extend the customary five-year courtesy to Charlie Weis, show him the door a la Ty Willingham, or perchance will Fr. Jenkins trundle over and discreetly slip the big guy his pink slip before he makes it to the locker room in the Coliseum tonight?

They are beyond bad. They are uninspired, uninspiring, dull dull dull. But this is Notre Dame, and they already took a huge image gamble when they pulled the trigger on Willingham after only three years, got hoodwinked by George O'Leary, and then--once they thought they had a high-demand winner in Weis--locked up the new guy with an unheard of eight-year extension two years into his contract. Now they're looking at a $4.5M buyout and the unsavory prospect of (1) acting like every other football factory in the country, except for the part about perennially having a winning record, and (2) finding somebody who has a high profile and still wants to step into this mess and coach.

As I type this, it's the end of the third quarter and ND just made their first 1st down of the evening. They'd been outrushed in the first half a lot to -6. Negative. Six.

At least the basketball teams are representing, complete with Luke Harangody's throwback Kelly Tripucka haircut. Of course, now the big guy's come down with pneumonia (after a week in Maui? I am confused), so it might be a rough few weeks.

Go Irish?

Liveblogging the Real Start of the College Football Season

Notre Dame-San Diego State! Let's dive right in!

Hmmm.

Huh.

Wha...?

Ah Christ.

Wait, no, nononono!!!!

Ah shite. Seriously?

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Oh, wait, they just scored after a blocked punt. Huh.

And that takes us to halftime! Not optimistic! Beer time!

Super Monday

The day between Super Sunday and Super Duper Tuesday is given over to Super Bowl post-hash and primary pre-hash.

Super Bowl: The game? Eli needs to locate all the guys on the competition committee who voted to do away with the "in the grasp" rule and buy them puppies. The pre-game? Only watched a few minutes of Red!Carpet!Coverage, which was more than enough to confirm that Fox programmers and most of the "fans" in Glendale are idiots.

Ryan Seacrest: Who do you think's going to win today?
John Krasinski: Well, it would be really awkward to say I think the Giants are going to win since I'm wearing this Patriots cap.
Ryan Seacrest: Oh. I guess I'm not tall enough to see that.
Fans: shriek, shriek.

Super Duper Tuesday: Michele Obama is supposed to be in Tucson today, but I haven't heard where or when. Given that it's (1) cold and (2) pouring rain, I hope it's someplace inside on high ground. The streets went into raging river mode right on schedule, so I don't know what her turnout's going to be.

In other primary news, if I had cast an early ballot for John Edwards, I would be mightily pissed off right now. As it is, I am perplexed about the effect early voting might have on the primaries. What happens to the early votes for candidates who drop out before a state's actual primary date? Do they dissipate into the ether? This is a big reason why I wish Edwards had stuck it out the extra week just to see what might happen in states like Illinois and California. I know you take the risk when you go with the early ballot--your candidate might drop a bombshell that would make you withdraw your support, or might drop out altogether--but it seems that something as essential to the well-being of the republic shouldn't be subject to the same kind of risk as, say, going with the early-decision option when you apply to college.

Oh No

David J. Phillip, Associated Press

Groan. The Packers spent the last three quarters yesterday forgetting how to throw flanker screens and 10-year crossing routes, and pissed away their last best hope when Jarrett Bush forgot the dictum do not attempt to pick up a fumble and run with it, especially in shitty weather. Who knew Eli would have the game of his career? Not me. Poor Wisconsin.

So Super Bowl Sunday now presents the conundrum of rooting against the evil empire of the Patriots, but being required in the process to support a New York team. There's a joke in here somewhere about a blind guy and a deaf guy in a lifeboat with a pig who has a satellite phone, but it's escaping me this morning.

But wait, there's more. Just when Super Bowl Sunday could not become less appealing, well, it does. In a move that should disqualify Fox from ever hosting the big game ever again ever ever, Roger Ailes has decided to pair pregame coverage with pre-Super Tuesday political coverage, Fox-style.

Starting at 9 a.m. Feb. 3, the broadcaster will air a three-hour preview of this year’s steroidal Super Tuesday free-for-all, examining all 22 state primary races. The special news block will kick off with a one-hour edition of Fox News Sunday with Chris Wallace, followed by two hours of politics and pigskin coverage hosted by Fox News Channel anchor Shepard Smith.

Adding some regional flavor to the mix, eight reporters from Fox owned-and-operated stations across the country will file stories from the campaign trail, with each correspondent linked to an individual candidate from his or her local market.

Oh, goody. I hope this really is the extent of it, and that earlier rumblings about having to listen to Terry, Howie, and the boys make their picks from the GOP field were simply vile rumors. And Chris Wallace seriously better be limited to that first hour. His smirking mug popping up unexpectedly will be enough for me to heave bottles through the screen.

Friday Sports Report

The US women's soccer team continues to, shall we say, comport themselves poorly in the wake of l'affaire Solo. The initial premise that you do not talk about the team in public was quickly applied to Hope Solo and just as quickly discarded, as the coach and various non-Solo team members have spent the past three weeks persistently speaking about betrayal, their inability to forgive, and a loooooooong slow reconciliation/healing process that no one is quite sure how to jump-start. Meanwhile, Solo has been silent, save for a mechanical formal apology released prior to the first match of the three-game US-Mexico Victory Third-Place Tour, and while she's under contract, she has been left off the official roster for those games, sitting at the end of the bench in street clothes. By all reports her teammates are maintaining their distance.

And the half-full stands are mostly populated by little girls, some of whom are still clutching hand-painted signs squealing that they love Mia. I read that Greg Ryan received some hearty boos when he was introduced in Portland, and a few fans have been photographed with anti-Ryan, anti-sorority system signs, but for the most part it appears to be business as usual. Meaningless games against an overmatched opponent, with the old guard getting too many minutes.

It's a year until the Beijing Olympics. After the World Cup exposed the fatal weaknesses in the team and the system, preparation should have begun on the plane ride home. But Solo's heat-of-the-moment words shifted the rally point from we must be better than this to our aging heroines must be venerated. Now it's simply a matter of waiting until January, when Ryan's contract expires, to see the direction the Federation chooses to go. New blood, creativity, and merit-based team selection, or the hegemony of the '99ers? That decision will let me know whether I can start caring again.

In other sad sporting news, Notre Dame has decided to honor its 1977 national championship by busting out the throwback uniforms this week. Against USC. Do you really honor a championship team by sending this year's mostly incompetent lot out in costumes to the slaughter? Does slapping on a Superman t-shirt and cape give me the ability to fly? I do not think so. Maybe they'll surprise me--this season has been completely unpredictable, after all--but come on. The green jerseys sparked an unbelievable fire under the '77 team when they walked back into the locker room after the pregame warmup, but the most recent outings in green have not gone so well for the Irish. Tomorrow, oh god, I'll watch, but I'll avert my eyes.

0-9, Anyone?

Suck of the Irish

Wow. Haven't seen an offense that inept since the waning days of the Willingham era.

South Bend Tribune photo/Jim Rider

Michigan getting amazingly slapped down by Appalachian State was the day's only saving grace; at least we lost to a Division I team. Suck it, Wolverines! Go Irish go!

Go Irish! Beat Jackets! Suck It, Jackets! Go Irish Go!

Midnight Drummer's Circle was better back in the day before they added so much stupid oooOOH-ooOOH chanting, but it still kicks off an ND home game weekend like nuthin' else.

Harry Oliver, RIP

Harry Oliver beat Michigan on a last-second, 51-yard field goal on September 20, 1980. I was at at that game, sitting three rows from the top at Notre Dame Stadium right on the goal line. Oliver lined up for the kick, the 15-mph headwind fell still, and he hit the ball. The stadium fell silent as the ball toppled end over end, end over end, surely falling short... and clearing the crossbar by maybe three inches. And the stadium exploded.

"It's probably what's going to go on my tombstone instead of when I was born or when I died," he said during the 2004 interview. "It's going to be, 'September 20, 1980. Notre Dame 29, Michigan 27.'"

Harry Oliver died yesterday of cancer at the age of 47. Godspeed.

Draft Day Drama

Well, that took long enough. The Browns took Quinn with the 22nd pick overall after trading next year's first-round pick to the Cowboys. The Steelers have along been my AFC team of choice, so this sets up some interesting ethical issues. I'll muddle through somehow.


It was hard not to feel a little bit dirty after watching the draft. The pre-event hype had been going full steam for a couple of months, finally hitting a crescendo in the last couple days of last week that had to have left even the ESPN execs feeling a little sheepish. How many preview shows does the draft really need? Why have we collectively consented to a national platform being given to Mel Kiper Jr.'s breathtaking ego?

Actually, the best part of the whole thing was watching Kiper's head bob and sweat ever more violently with each team that took a pass on his sure-bet number three pick. Next year I'll have some pride and just read about it in the paper the next morning.

Utter Randomness, and Some Eye Candy

Watching the NFL draft, still shaking my head at the Browns taking Thomas instead of Quinn, and wondering how far Brady will fall now that the middle of the first ten teams have specific needs that do not involve a quarterback. Hmmmm, if the Vikes take (and keep) him, I may need to re-think my decade-old defection to the Packers. But probably not.









Brady Quinn: eye candy for any orientation.

In other news, In-N-Out Burger finally opened in Tucson on Wednesday, and people predictably flipped out, spending up to two hours in the walk-up and drive-through lines for a Double-Double and fries. Last night I drove by on my way to someplace else, around 7:00, and the drive-through line looked to be at least 30 cars long. Reinforcements had been called in, possibly from Phoenix, in the form of a In-N-Out semi trailer concession stand that was taking walk-ups. The line there was immense, as was the line snaking 50 deep out the front door of the place.

I don't get it. In-N-Out is reasonably tasty--frankly, I'm a sucker for just about anything served in a crisp paper wrapper as long as it isn't raw fish--and the shakes kick righteous ice cream ass, but I'm not sure it's an earth-shaking experience of the order of magnitude required to make hours in line worthwhile.

Draft note: the Vikes take Adrian Peterson with the 7th pick. Ah shite.

Things I have waited in ungodly long lines to purchase or partake in, in order of reward:pain ratio...

1. Cubs home opener tickets. Every year in college we traipsed over to Rose Records on Davis Street in Evanston in the middle of a February night and waited for the TicketMaster window to open at 8:00 the next morning. It was always cold and sometimes snowy, and we never thought to bring chairs or coffee. Just 5 or 6 layers of clothes and lots of stamping our feet to stay warm, giddy with growing anticipation as we watched the city slowly wake up and start its day, knowing we'd get our tickets but still worried they'd sell out in the five seconds it would take to sprint from the door to the TicketMaster counter.

2. Um. I don't know that there is a number two. Let's keep things in realistic proportion and skip down to

10. Return of the King. I guess that was worthwhile.

10. The Indiana Jones ride at Disney...land? Which one's in California? That one. That's a pretty cool ride that's almost worth waiting an hour for.

Guess I'm not much of a line person, or maybe it's that I'm not much of a delayed gratification person. Nothing has come close to the flush of victory that comes from skipping out of the record store clutching my bleacher tickets after eight hours of freezing my ass off, heading back to a hot shower and the happy promise of Opening Day on the horizon.

Fantasy Football and Congressional Fantasies, Both Gag-worthy

Sometimes your fantasy NFL team tanking yet again takes on the same significance as the Foley-Kolbe phantasm. Not often. Actually, I'm so used to it that today is probably the last day it will register. Oh, swell. The Broncos just picked off yet another pass. Good thing I'm not in this for cash.

When this happens (not the demise of my team, so much, although it's an apt metaphor for the rest of the world at the moment), I like to pop open a bottle of Red Truck and go through the last month's worth of Joe Mathlete Explains Today's Marmaduke.

I confess to not paying inordinate attention today to the newest Foley developments. Apparently Jim Kolbe (recently retired representative from Arizona), another inexplicably Republican gay man, knew as far back as 2000 that Foley was behaving inappropriately with the pages. Nothing that's come to light so far suggests that Kolbe himself did anything wrong with the boys (reports indicate he was friendly and generous, but no hints of smoking guns yet), but his minimal actions to rectify the situation (notifying the House clerk) are damning.

Note to the remaining gay Republicans in Congress: knock it off, already. If you get so much as a whiff of impropriety involving one of your gay colleagues and an underage kid, you are obligated to go all Avenging Angel on the guy's ass. Doing the bare minimum that you think will stand up to clear you in court or preserve your committee chairmanship only makes the rest of us--who, by the by, are overwhelmingly interested in getting laid by People Our Own Age--look really, really bad. The Focus on the Family people have the stereotype of the gay sexual predator up there in stark relief. Look in the mirror and see if your actions are perpetuating that stereotype or protecting someone else's efforts to perpetuate it in any way. If so, knock it the hell off.

There.

Super Duper Bowl

Ah, an entertaining game (after the first quarter, anyway) that finally went the way I wanted it to. As a big Jerome Bettis fan, dating back to his Notre Dame days, it was especially sweet. Notes from Da Big Game:

* As usual, I did not pace myself well at all when it came to the snacks. We don't often get big piles of deep-fried stuff at home, so the plates of Mexican egg rolls and regular faux-Chinese egg rolls disappeared within the first five minutes of the game. Undeterred, we moved on to the buffalo chicken tenders at the start of the second quarter and the chili cheese fries at halftime. I realize now why we thought it would be a good idea to have a veggie platter--nobody eats much of it, so we wouldn't have felt half as close to death as we ended up.

* I balked at the idea of having wine instead of beer, but the part-time housemate doesn't drink beer, so we ended up with a lovely jug (!) of zinfandel. Thank god for red wine's ability to cut right through several layers of deep-fried snacks.

* Commercials? We got 'em:

* The FedEx caveman, the pair from Ameriquest (defibrillators and the lady on the plane), and the streaking sheep at the Clydesdales' annual football game made me laugh out loud. The baby Clyde getting a helping nudge from the big horses was my sentimental favorite.

* The GoDaddy.com ad and the Pizza Hut Jessica Simpson ad were the most nausea-inducing (hey, let's sexualize 13-year-old boys!).

* In retrospect, I guess I'm surprised that there was only one overblown razor ad. Note to Gillette: get over yourselves already. It's a friggin' RAZOR, not a WMD.

I'm really too tired from the weekend to have the energy for political crabbiness. At least not until another cup of coffee goes to work. Nevertheless, I was bothered by something I heard on NPR just as I was pulling into work today. In the little rundown of headlines, Steve Innskeep stated that outrage over the Mohammed cartoon continues to roll. True dat. But the statement was phrased, "Muslims are outraged over a cartoon depicting the prophet Mohammed as violent. So protestors attacked the Belgian consulate and ransacked a Christian neighborhood." SLIGHT editorial problem there, Steve-o. The outrage is not over Mo being depicted as violent, but over him being depicted at all. But if adherence to fact eliminates the opportunity for a pithy ironic comment, well, fact be damned.

**Edited to add: I have close to zero sympathy for the people who decided to go on a rampage over the cartoon. Well, exactly zero. My empathy with your perceived religious insult pretty much ends when you think the insult makes it incumbent upon you to set buildings on fire and stone people to death.