Papa's Basement » Shaun Suisham

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 13

admin — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 16:11:48 +0000

For those of you unfamiliar with Oedipus Rex, it is a Greek tragedy (much like my life, hiyo!) telling the tale of Oedipus, who, through the cruel machinations of fate, is led to slay his father and marry his mother. So great is Oedipus’ horror at what he’s done that he puts out his own eyes, blinding himself. After watching Sunday’s Redskins game, I’m beginning to think that Oedipus was onto something, though I’m pretty sure I’d prefer lopping off my dad’s head and going balls deep in mommy to ever witnessing anything like that heartbreaker again.

Papa's Basement is all about sexy. Thus, you get a virile, young Stalin!

Where to begin…where to begin. Has a team ever looked so snakebitten and jinxed as the Redskins did on Sunday? I mean, I enjoy making fun of Dan Snyder as much as the next guy, but was he John Wilkes Booth in a past life? Maybe Stalin? How else do you explain the following plays: After an impressive Redskins defensive stand, a ridiculously short New Orleans punt smacks Kevin Barnes in the head, rendering it a live ball which New Orleans then recovers. Or Kareem Moore picking off a Drew Brees pass for a backbreaking turnover…only to then lose the ball to the Saints’ Robert Meachem, who took the ball in for a touchdown. Or Shaun Suisham blowing a clutch kick…well, that part is easy enough to explain. But those other two plays were incredibly stupefying.

A lot of people ask how I can still care about the Redskins at this point in the season, how I can still get worked up when they – gasp – lose a game. The answer (other than I really need to get laid more) is I feel the team has turned a corner. Jason Campbell has finally broken through to that next level as a quarterback, the offensive line has finally come together and Clinton Portis’ worthless ass is sitting on the sideline as multiple new guys run the ball better than he ever did this season. Yes, they’re still losing, but at least two of the last three losses have been due to shockingly bad luck more than any play failure. Not only that, but they’ve been losses to rather strong teams. A loss is still a loss, but I can’t help feeling the Redskins are on some sort of right track at the moment.

From Smoot's website. Though the kid's mouth makes it look like a shot from a Dutch porn.

Given all of this recent “success,” I’m not sure where I stand in regards with what to do next year. I think a lot of players will be departing in the off-season. (Fred Smoot, whose tired ass I pray will be one of those departures, can get back to selling his SMACK Energy Bars, which he promotes on his website with the tag line “Smack is back!” Classy.) With a lot of the player personnel being scrubbed out, why not also through in some more effective coaching? I still think Jim Zorn is a great guy and has a future somewhere in this league, but I’m not sure he’s the best guy for the job at the end of the day.

On the other hand, if most of the players remain, just spend our draft picks on nothing outside of more lineman and a stronger secondary and keep the staff around. My only fear is that the recent moment as of late has me buying into Zorn and a system that, at the start of next year, will tank yet again. If I had to vote one way, I’d say stay with Zorn and just fix the line and secondary via draft. Sean Payton, Tom Coughlin and Walter Matthau in The Bad News Bears all took a while to learn their craft before becoming winners. Maybe the whole Sherman Smith experiment was more successful than any of us thought it would be.

I learned from the best.

Confused as I am about what the Redskins should do with their future, I’ll tell you one thing I’m not confused about: I now want the New Orleans Saints to fail spectacularly in the postseason. I never did get the whole, “Well, they beat us, we might as well root for them now” mentality. Call me a hater, but I want to see Drew Brees get Joe Theismann’d. I want Reggie Bush to catch a scorching case of herpes from Kim Kardashian (I love that broad, but after seeing what she’s slept with, I’m afraid I’d be something of a hot dog down a hallway, so f her vaginal health). I want Sean Peyton’s son, while watching from the sidelines of the inevitable Saints-Vikings playoff game, to see Brett Favre’s chiseled features underneath that purple helmet and be driven to confused, conflicting thoughts about his sexuality by them (why should I be the only one). What I’m trying to say is yesterday’s game hurt.

Now it’s on to the Raiders. If the Redskins lose this one, I think Zorn’s firing is a lock at the end of the season. Given I’m voting for Zorny at moment, he needs to win. Also, there needs to be one more victory this year so I don’t feel all Cleveland Brownsy about things. Sadly, I can see the final seconds of the game play out in my head already: The Redskins are up by two with 10 seconds left, the Raiders pinned at their own 1-yard line. Just for the hell of it, the Raiders decide to call out Sebastian Janikowski to attempt the 117 yard kick. He puts it up, and an eagle swoops out of the air, mistaking the ball for a delicious turkey, sinking its talons in. It flies through the uprights clutching its lunch in hand and the NFL decides that the kick still counts in what becomes known as the infamous “eagle is legal” play. Kill me now.

Why the Redskins Will Kill Me-Week 11

admin — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 19:05:20 +0000

In one of the great scenes in movie history, Jack Woltz awakens in his bed covered in blood, the severed head of his prized stallion Khartoum lying at his feet. The beauty of the scene is how the discovery of the head is teased: First, Woltz gently begins to stir as he registers a new, warm fluid under the sheets (as an aside, I would have awoken bolt upright the second I felt anything like that on my leg, but hey, maybe old Jacky was a bedwetter). He then rolls over, checks his hand, dumbfounded for a few seconds by the blood coating it before yanking down the sheets to make sure it’s not his own. The sheets don’t immediately fly off, either: There is a good second or two of frantic pulling to find the source of the blood. Oh, but when we do, what a payoff! For there lies the severed head of Woltz’s million dollar stud stallion. That’s what you get for screwing with Don Vito Corleone, Jack!

What does any of this have to do with the Redskin’s heartbreaking loss on Sunday to the hated Cowboys? I’m getting to that. First, I’m going to need the home address of Shaun Suisham. Oh, and if any of my readers have a spare horse, that’d be great, too.

My brand. (Relax, voice in John's head: It's your website. No one can prove you're a liar.)

Is there anything as damming in football as the missed field goal? I can think of no other botch that angers the fates quite like it. In the pantheon of fucking up, “missed field goal” ranks right up there with “didn’t use a condom.” Either way, you spend the rest of the clock waiting for the other shoe to fall, be it a call saying she’s four weeks late or the inevitable loss by one or two points. And, after the gut punch I felt watching Tony Romo score the go-ahead touchdown at the end of the fourth quarter, I’m pretty sure I would have preferred getting an “It’s yo baby” call from Mo’Nique (do yourself a favor and wait for that link to load. It’s worth it) to ever feeling that way again.

Can I really lay all the blame for the emotional rape I felt at the feet of Redskins kicker Shaun Suisham, who managed to blow not one but two field goals on the day? No. I should have known better than to believe in, well, anything, but especially the Redskins managing to pull out a gutty win on the road against an NFC East opponent. But am I so wrong for wanting to believe a miracle could happen? Hell no. Sometimes, someone manages to buck all the odds and achieve the impossible. Like Rudy. Or me that time I slept with a moderately attractive woman.

Yeah, the Redskins have taken some hits.

So where are the Redskins left in light of this loss? Well, I think we can safely rule out the 19-0 record at this point. Which isn’t to say things have become unwatchable: The season has grown mildly more interesting simply because of the disgusting amount of injuries the team has suffered, which has forced them to field countless backups and third-stringers, aka guys who are hungry as wolves to see some play time. It’s like the Redskins have secretly signed a deal for to make a sequel to that awful Marky Mark movie Invincible and are trying out a lot of guys as potential leads. Hell, I’m starting to think that if I went to a game and sat in the front row in full pads there’s a chance I could get a shot.

Yep, like the battered wife I am, I’ll keep watching the Redskins. I’m sure I’ll even find ways to trick myself into believing they’ll win another game here and there this season. Because that’s what I do. I hope against hope. I fall in love with the biggest loser I can find that’s as bad for me as humanly possible and I invest every last one of my emotional dollars in them. Am I even referring to football at this point? I don’t know. You got me twisted, Redskins. You got me twisted.

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'Don't give up on us John. We'd never stop loving you.'