Papa's Basement » Albert Haynesworth

Papa’s Basement 6-19-10-Ken Griffey, Jr. is Dead

admin — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 16:13:29 +0000

You don't wanna know what I'd have done for this card in my youth.

…Metaphorically speaking. I do like me a catchy headline. We discuss the decline of sports (rigged games, steroids, not enough players’ wives/girlfriends on the sidelines in see-through lingerie) as well as the hellish conditions radio folk are forced to work in (like the time had to pee into a coffee mug because I had no one to cover for me in the studio to allow a proper bathroom break). I also rant about people who get fleeting Internet fame off of one lame idea that somehow takes off (jealous much?), like the asshat over at MyExWifesWeddingDress.com. Fuck you, pal. Papa’s Basement will one day grind you into the goddamn dust!

Papa’s Basement 6-19-10 (To download this file, right-click this link and select “Save Link/Target As.”)

Why the Redskins Will Kill Me-Week 15

admin — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 22:01:24 +0000

Folks, I’m not going to lie to you: At first, I was going to write this article without having watched the Redskins game. Last night, rather than sit through four hours of burgundy and gold torture porn (go ahead and click, it’s a very safe link. Scout’s honor), I treated myself to a little Avatar action. There isn’t much I’m sure of in this world, but if you do not enjoy this film, I can say with 100% certainty you’d be much happier watching Paul Blart: Mall Cop while sipping lead paint straight from the bucket through a crazy straw and, at that film’s conclusion, should promptly pull a David Carradine before your seed is allowed to spread any farther. Avatar‘s an amazing movie, so much so that you’ll mostly forgot the seat you’re in is probably soaked with geeky fanboy Hobbit spooge. Mostly.

Endear yourself to coworkers by reheating this at lunch.

Sadly, I would be remiss if I didn’t watch at least some of the game before reviewing it, so I fired up the DVR this morning and steeled myself for what I knew was a lopsided Redskins’ loss courtesy of the enraged texts I received every five minutes at the theater. (On a related note, is it just me, or are sports like salmon in that they’re great when hot and fresh, but reheated, they smell like raw ass?) May I just say that, if you ever were in a good mood and wanted it to end amazingly quickly, watch your favorite team get spanked in fast-forward. I thought that I’d be saving myself some pain by getting things over with as quickly as possible, like pulling off a Band-Aid, but it has the opposite effect: There was just too much evil stuffed into too short a time for my body to handle. I was forced to shovel brown rice and whole wheat pancakes into my mouth for the entire 15 minutes of fast-forwarded agony in some sort of half-assed attempt at healthy carbaholic gluttony to make the pain go away. It didn’t work.

What? I do...

The rallying cry for the past month or so of this Redskins team, which has managed to play some very impressive football in spite of no playoff hopes, has been “Well, we haven’t given up yet.” (Very inspiring, by the way. In a similar, shoot-for-the-stars vein, whenever people criticize me, I’m going to start saying, “Well, I’m not a pedophile.” Way to sock it to ‘em, champ!) After viewing last night’s effort, can we all agree they finally gave up? The offensive line allowed more penetration than (insert porn starlet name here. I think this week I’ll go with Nikki Rhodes), which in turn lead to one of Jason Campbell’s worst efforts. I’m also convinced that DeAngelo Hall and Albert Haynesworth are both overpaid, underperforming albatrosses around the neck of the defense, because with both of them back in the lineup for the first time in weeks, the team was lit up for 45 points. Way to earn your dollars, boys. There was one good thing that came out of last night’s game, though: I finally figured out that Jim Zorn is cloned from the DNA of Coach Klein from The Waterboy (click the link for indisputable proof). Sure, Klein’s a fictional character, but science has been capable of some pretty impressive shit lately, so I think I’m still more right than wrong on this one.

Seen hovering over FedEx field last night.

Last night served to do little more than to seal the fates of Jason Campbell and Jim Zorn. The game would be a bigger story if it weren’t for the firing of Vinny Cerrato and hiring of Bruce Allen as general manager which took place earlier this week. Though I’m happy to see Vinny go, this article gave me more than a little pause regarding Allen’s track record. Yes, I’m Mr. Glass-is-Half-Empty (and the waiter probably spat in it, too), but facts are facts, and Allen doesn’t seem like a guarantee to do anything with the Redskins that will make the front of my pants puffy anytime soon.

So Merry Christmas, Redskins fans, and be thankful for the blessings that still await us on the horizon: A loss next week at the hands of a vengeful Shaun Suisham and, in two weeks, Norv Turner gleefully sticking it to his former team. Dan Snyder’s lucky the season ends with that San Diego Chargers game, because if this trend of returning, vengeful spirits continued, we may have seen a zombie Jack Kent Cooke rise from the grave and give him the Night of the Living Dead treatment in the owner’s box. Now that’d be a Christmas present.

Why the Redskins Will Kill Me – Week 7

admin — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 06:17:37 +0000

Four plays.

Four plays before the Redskins gave up a touchdown to the Eagles.

At that point, I was done. Had I been at my own place, I’d have flipped over to FOX to watch “House.” It’d have had a less predictable outcome than the towering monument to frustrated impotence I witnessed being built in front of me, one botched play at a time. (For those that haven’t watched it, every episode of “House” is the same. Yeah, funny joke, I know. Shut up and keep reading.)

In an attempt to make the game bearable, I began texting the one female Eagles fan I know, begging her to take off her top and send me pictures as a sign of good sportsmanship. Though I thought my logic was rather flawless, she was unmoved my my pleas, and I was forced to sit back and rationally analyze the game rather than enjoy it through areola-tinted glasses.

never loved you." title="clerks" width="155" height="152" class="size-full wp-image-721" />

Oh, Veronica...Dante never loved you.

First things first: Though the results were hardly spectacular, Sherman Lewis calling the plays was a (small) step in the right direction. Two touchdowns speak for themselves. (Two touchdowns. La di da. It’s like a guy who’s just gotten laid for the first time in a year: Nice start, pal, but you’ve got some catching up to do). Though it’s hard to get excited about a member of the staff that you know is going to get swept out at the end of the season like some girl you’re just dating until something hotter comes along, at least there’s now hope that the Redskins will be able to pick off a few weaker opponents and finish stronger than 2-14 (Raiders, I think we’re all looking at you).

Though 'Little Campbell Urban Achievers' would be cool, I'm praying this isn't Jason's fate.

Second, the Redskins’ offensive line sucks. It gives it up faster than a French hooker on VE Day. There is just nothing to say here other than I fear for the health of Jason Campbell. Not little health fears, either: More like “I hope that bastard can walk by the end of this season” type fears. The offensive line opens no running lanes. They offer no protection. I get it: Randy Thomas and Chris Samuels are gone due to injury, and the team is scrambling for replacements. But at this point I can think of a few college offensive lines I’d rather have guarding the quarterback. Is it really so difficult to go out and find five massive cracker hayseeds that don’t blow their blocking assignments? Isn’t there an 84 Lumber in western Pennsylvania the team can scout? Because I’ve seen those GEICO commercials Jason’s starred in: If his football career ended tomorrow, his next job would involve plays like, “No mustard. Extra pickles. Hike.”

In the course of the game, Clinton Portis, Albert Haynesworth, Jason Campbell and Mike Sellers all sprained their ankles, Stephon Heyer strained a knee ligament and Cornelius Griffin sprained his elbow. What the hell is up with that? That reads like an episode summary of “The Golden Girls.” All we needed was Campbell and Portis vying for the love of a hotshot silver fox Miami doctor and Haynesworth talking about his childhood in St. Olaf and we’d have been all set. Feel better, guys, but who the hell is the strength and conditioning coach out there in Ashburn? Was his last assignment at a retirement home working with Izzy Mandelbaum?

Heal up, you pinnacle of alpha male, you.

The night’s most serious injury, though, was a broken ankle for Chris Cooley, aka “that one guy who doesn’t suck.” I love Chris. He’s funny on Elliot in the Morning, he once posted a picture of his hog online and he’s married to a cheerleader. A cheerleader named Christy Cooley. Do you know the sheer balls it takes to bang someone who more or less has your name? I’m pretty sure if a cheerleader named “Johnnie” fell in my lap, I’d go limp as an indoor windsock. Maybe it’s the intense self-loathing. Maybe it’s a fear that, the instant I went inside her, the entire universe would end, like matter had just collided with anti-matter. Either way, Chris was the one play-maker you could still look forward to on the field each Sunday. As far as I’m concerned, the Redskins just lost their one must-see guy.

Which isn’t to say I won’t watch the rest of the games this season. No, while wishing I were watching “House” last night, I figured out a game I could play with myself (ha, play with myself) to keep things bearable. I call it “Anti-House.” For those not familiar with the show “House,” each episode consists of a patient of the week coming in, Dr. House and his team administering treatments that initially improve the condition of the patient, only to realize they misdiagnosed the patient when the treatment nearly kills them a little later into the episode. Finally, Dr. House has his “aha” moment, figures out what is wrong, and everyone goes home happy and healthy. Well, to play “Anti-House,” just imagine Sherman Lewis as House, the play calling as his diagnoses, the Redskins as his patient and the Redskins’ opponent as the deadly disease. Every week, things start off bad, improve slightly, then take a turn for the worse. But there is no “aha” moment: Instead, every week, the correct diagnosis never gets made and the patient succumbs to the disease and dies. Hey, I didn’t say it was a happy game.

This entire article was just an excuse to post this picture on my site. Look at his little cripple cane!