Papa's Basement » Washington Redskins

Papa’s Basement 8-14-10-The Ballad of Moe Syzlak

admin — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 03:35:37 +0000

Moe Syzlak taking a call from 'Buster Hymen.'

I like to think I’m quite a smartass and have a more-than-capable ear for bullshit. Sadly, my skills at crap-detecting failed me this week at my day job and I let a prank caller on the air who brought the show I was producing to a screeching halt. Hear just what the son of a bitch said (and laugh at me), then rub one out to a call from a listener who goes into extended detail about the techniques she employs when “placing a man’s penis inside her mouth and then sucking it to orgasm.” (Hopefully you understood my sly euphemism for oral sex. Goddamn censors are killing me.)

Papa’s Basement 8-14-10 (To download this file, right-click this link and select “Save Link/Target As.”)

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-Coda

admin — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 19:40:15 +0000

“[I think the Redskins have] a chance to win out…the big question is if winning the remaining three games this season will be enough to save the jobs of Jim Zorn and Jason Campbell…I’m rooting for both to stay.”
-Johnny “The Greek” Papageorgiou, “Why the Redskins Will Kill Me-Week 14″

Yes, the Redskins did indeed win their last three games, thus saving the jobs of Jim Zorn and Jason Campbel. Also, JFK’s brains are still in his skull and I spent last night treating Eva Mendes like a Slip ‘n Slide. Given my skill at calling football games I should probably stick to writing about subjects a little more in my wheelhouse, like fast food value menus and inaudibly farting in social situations (the trick is to spread your cheeks enough to allow the gas free passage but not so far as to create that “air escaping a pinched balloon” noise).

Anne Hathaway is hot, right? Or am I alone on that?

Regardless of how ineffective he turned out to be as a coach, I sympathize tremendously with Jim Zorn. The man never got much of a fair chance with the Redskins and managed to handle what was thrown his way routinely with exceptional grace. I mean, Zorn only had experience as a quarterbacks coach and was hired initially by the Redskins as an offensive coordinator, which represented a nice, logical progression for his career. Then, because no one else wanted the goddamn job, he was thrust into the role of head coach. It was like one of those horrible Disney movies where a girl finds out she’s actually a princess and whisked away from high school to rule her kingdom, except Jim was unable to figure out the intricacies of his new job in the span of 90 minutes. (Perhaps it’s because Julie Andrews wasn’t there to help him. I’m not sure.) At least Napoleon Snyder had the decency to get his new lapdog, Bruce Allen, to deliver the news swiftly to Zorn after the season had ended and not let him twist in the wind. I picture the dismissal going down something like this:

ALLEN: Have a seat, Jim.

ZORN: (sitting) Tell me about next season, Bruce!

ALLEN: (beginning to cry softly) Okay. If you turn around, I’ll tell you so vividly that you can almost see it. (Zorn excitedly turns in his seat) There’s going to be a new offensive line. And team players. No egos like Clinton Portis and Albert Haynesworth.

ZORN: (interrupting excitedly) And rabbits? I’ll get to pet the rabbits?

ALLEN: (draws handgun) Yes, and rabbits. (Allen fires a round through the back of a smiling Zorn’s skull, then breaks down sobbing)

(You can watch security camera footage of the firing here, I just figured I’d transcribe it for you and save you time.)

So Snyder has gone and hired himself Mike Shanahan. Pardon me. Bruce Allen, the general manager of the Washinton Redskins, has hired Mike Shanahan. It just happens to be a move that Snyder has had an erection for making for months now. But Bruce acts totally independently of Snyder’s will, so how dare I insinuate anything! How do I think it will all pan out? About as well as the last time that Dan Snyder hired a guy with multiple Super Bowl rings out of retirement. In case you forgot his identity, I’ll give you a hint: My mom purchased his Jesus-y book of wisdom for me at Christmas because my life is in a shambles and she couldn’t afford one of those camps they send the bad kids on Maury Povich to. Yes, the four years of Joe Gibbs 2.0 contained two trips to the postseason, but the team remained inconsistent and never accomplished anything exceptional.

Even I, cynical as I am about the intelligence of the average person, is taken aback by the degree to which so many people Washington, DC area have, once again, begun to sip the Redskins Kool-Aid. THIS IS WHAT THE REDSKINS DO! THEY WIN EACH AND EVERY OFFSEASON! Teams change general managers and head coaches all the damn time, yet the Redskins got some of the sexiest, costliest names for those positions, so of course they’ll win! For those of you not trapped inside the Beltway, do you want a summary of what it is to be a DC sports fan? The Washington area dominated the sports talk world this week because: 1. The Redskins did the ol’ postseason fire and hire before any other NFL team and 2. Washington Wizards star Gilbert Arenas brought guns into the locker room. Please note that neither of these stories in any way whatsoever deal with a team achieving a damn thing on the field of play.

So how about we just wait and see, oh excited fellow fanboys? Maybe Dan Snyder really has stopped directly meddling in the affairs of the team (though I’d sooner believe a pedophile fresh out of prison that moved next door to a KinderCare). Maybe Mike Shanahan and Bruce Allen really will, in the span of a year or two, build a potent, well thought out team with talent, depth and heart. Bobby Knight once said that, “The key is not the ‘will to win’ – everybody has that. It is the will to prepare to win that is important.” Perhaps the Redskins organization has finally displayed that will. In the meantime, given the Redskins finished last in the NFC East once again and I’ve had to write about it every damn depressing week, I’d like to quote another wise, sometimes misunderstood soul who summarizes my feelings as a fan of this organization perfectly:

“My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this…there is no catharsis. I gain no deeper knowledge about myself, no new understanding can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.”
-Patrick Bateman.

See you next season, folks.

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 12

admin — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 22:09:48 +0000

A question for the ages: Would you rather have a team that, every weekend, made you think they just might do it this time, only to dash your hopes upon the rocks like a female firstborn in Communist China? Or would you prefer a team so bad that there was no glimmer of hope to crush in the first place, ala the Cleveland Browns? Lucky, as a Redskins fan, I haven’t had to choose: At different points in the season, they’ve offered both delicious flavors of failure. And I’m not going to lie…lately, I’ve been sort of enjoying it.

The Cowboys? The Eagles? Those guys are fags!

Before the season began, Redskins fans had hope. Real hope. This was going to be Jason Campbell’s second year under Jim Zorn’s system, finally giving him time to grow familiar with the offense. Albert Haynesworth was going to be a tremendous boon to the defense, putting it near the top of the league. Within the NFC East, the New York Giants had lost some skilled players. Donovan McNabb was getting older while Andy Reid was probably preoccupd with his children running a meth lab or a drug mule service or whatever it is the younger Reids do. And Tony Romo was balls-deep in another blonde “singer” (well, she does have quite a pair of lungs). This was to be the big year. Tragically, much like Jeff Spicoli’s pot-fuelled dreams of winning a surfing competition, the Redskins’ hopes of another Super Bowl victory have gone down the crapper (I didn’t want to insult your intelligence by saying “up in smoke” while making a marijuana reference).

Proper Redskins fan attire.

I’m not a masochist (though my decisions in life would certainly suggest otherwise). Had the Redskins continued losing in the way they lost their games in the first half of this season (i.e. utterly hopeless crushings), I probably would have tuned out by now. It’s just that, for the past few weeks, the Redskins have been playing amazingly fierce ball with virtually none of their high-priced starters in the mix. The concussed Clinton Portis, whom I’ve come to despise with a passion, has been gone, along with Albert Haynesworth, DeAngelo Hall and a slew of others. And, god help them, the team has been playing better for it. The offense has been more productive, the games closer. Sure, the Redskins are still losing for the most part, but they’re losing in a really exciting way.

My friend Brian (pictured here in rather demonic fashion during the Redskins’ loss to the Atlanta Falcons a few weeks ago) texted me with an interesting idea yesterday: He wondered if Dan Snyder, given the team’s success (well, success in Redskins terms) without so many of its high-priced starters, would finally realize that you can build a successful team with a lot of no-name talent. At first I scoffed at the idea. This is Dan Snyder we’re talking about, a man who can’t achieve an erection unless he’s burning a stack of hundred dollar bills while watching tape of Deion Sanders’ press conference announcing he was signing with the Redskins. But the more I thought about it, the more it dawned on me that, first and foremost, Dan Snyder is a businessman. Much like porn in the 80s stopped being about big films and went the low-budget, straight-to-VHS route to cut production costs and ultimately make more money, maybe Dan Snyder will let his inner Jack Horner come out to play and we’ll have a team of hungry, broke starters. Just a thought, albeit an interesting one.

The syringe is probably full of gravy.

As for the game itself, I’ve got nothing to say other than the Redskins have mastered the ability to create a foreboding atmosphere beyond anything Hitchcock ever achieved. Any time they’re in the lead by a single possession or less, you know they’re going to blow it right as time expires. It’s just a matter of how. I can’t help but be reminded of going out to a bar in your best clothes, in a good mood, looking to impress some attractive girls and score some numbers. At first, it’s all going great: You tell a few jokes and learn a few names, intent on revisiting the new prospects by the end of the night to get the digits and maybe engage in some sloppy making out. Sure, there’s a fat girl who’s making eyes at you from across the bar the whole time with her Burger King-fuelled mammaries on display, but you won’t be falling for that trap!

And then, you have one too many. You begin to slur your witty banter. Your reflexes slow to the point that the quick peeks you were taking at the girls’ chests become 45-second attempts at you solving a Magic Eye puzzle that only you can seem to see. The girls leave in disgust. Well, all of the girls except for one. She’s still there. She’s always been there. She’s never left. And, much like Jason Campbell, sprawled face-down in the mud of Lincoln Financial Field yesterday after missing the fourth-down pass that would have kept the Redskins’ comeback drive alive, you lie down, close your eyes and stop fighting inevitability.

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.

you.'" title="Brokeback_Mountain_Heath_Ledger_Jake_Gyllenhaal_Ennis_Del_Mar_Jack_Twist" width="470" height="299" class="size-full wp-image-1033" />

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

Why the Redskins Will Kill Me-Week 10

admin — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 08:04:18 +0000

In Arnold Schwarzenegger’s 1997 opus Batman & Robin, his character, Mr. Freeze, spoke the following profundity: “In this universe, there’s only one absolute… everything freezes!” And, like every other utterance that has come out of that man’s teutonic gullet, be it “If it bleeds, we can kill it” or “It’s not a tumor,” it was proven correct. For on Sunday afternoon, Hell froze over. The Redskins won a game.

I'm a student of the Dom DeLuise school of coping.

Like any sane individual, I was fully prepared for a Redskins loss. I had advised my mom to pick against them in her office football pool and had ordered a titanic sausage pizza that I intended to sit and eat with more and more fervor as the game state progressively worsened in order to make myself stop feeling pain. And, in the game’s early stages, my plan seemed flawless. Redskins down by a touchdown? Bam, a slice down the hatch. The Redskins’ secondary looking positively pathetic and giving up a second, massive pass to Brandon Marshall? I didn’t even waste time chewing that slice: It’d just get in the way of me getting my medicine!

I had another slice wrapped up on itself like an egg roll so I could take it as a suppository in case the Redskins botched something else and my stomach was too stuffed for more medicine when the unthinkable happened: The Redskins converted on a trick play by their punter, Hunter Smith, who lobbed a beautiful pass that seemed to hang in the air forever. And, as the Redskins tied the score at 14-all, I felt reborn.

Yeah, it was kinda like that.

The tears fell like I had just seen the Baby Jesus or a woman undressing in my bedroom after an unfathomably long dry spell. I hurled the rolled-up slice of pizza in my hand across the room, disgusted at how far I had fallen, at what fate had reduced myself and my once-proud team to. There would be no ass-pizza on this day! As the game progressed and the Redskins continued to play tenaciously, long-forgotten behaviors slowly came back to me: A friend’s Facebook status, which read “At the Skins game!” was greeted with my comment of “I’m jealous!” instead of my usual “Thanks for financially supporting the infidel whore who has corrupted the team which I grew up worshiping!” I actively rooted against an opposing quarterback in a losing situation, in this case, Chris Simms, architect of at least one painful Redskins defeat as a Buccaneer. With every hit he took, I howled with delight, determined to see him get sacked so hard that his surgically repaired spleen shot out of his rectum.

Hudson, I'm going to miss you most of all.

As the final moments wound down and the Redskins’ victory was assured, I felt…well, I’ll quote Jim Zorn for that one: “We’ve had a desert experience – very arid, if you will – for the last few weeks. To be able to come out with a win, you almost don’t know how to feel.” And he’s absolutely right. I’ve been witness to a lot of crappy Redskins teams this past decade, but I can’t recall a time when I have ever felt such apathy toward their entire season, such a belief that they were doomed to lose every game they played. To taste victory again, to see the team play with heart for a full 60 minutes, has added a bittersweet quality to the remainder of the season for me. Because, barring a miracle, the majority of these guys are going to be gone at the end of the season. It’s like watching Aliens for the millionth time: You know pretty much all of the space marines are going to die by the end. But you hope against hope that, somehow, this will be the time they pull it out.

This victory combined with the Cowboys’ loss has made next week’s game in Dallas infinitely more compelling. Do I think the Redskins are going to make it two in a row? No, probably not. But I’m not 100% convinced that they’re going to lose, either. And that means, when it comes time to order a pizza, I’ll only be going with a medium.

Why the Redskins Will Kill Me – Week 9

admin — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 04:32:54 +0000

The Redskins were back from their bye week, which meant I was as well. What a glorious bye week it was, though: I took an Asian fusion cooking class. I reacquainted myself with how amazing it feels to run through a national park with a golden retriever puppy leading the way. I read Dostoevsky’s The Possessed in its native Russian. I learned to not just have sex, but truly make love, for the first time. And that last item I mentioned didn’t even involve the golden retriever puppy. See, I told you it was a good week.

If only I had those movie star good looks to go with the temper. Christ, he looks like a constipated chipmunk.

I decided I would shake up my usual Redskins routine and go out to watch the game, which is odd because I almost always insist on watching any sports event I’m invested in alone with a locked door. The reasons for this are two-fold: First, I’m a highly ADD control freak who loves complete reign over the remote control so I can flip around during commercials to other games or TBS’ 40,000th broadcast of Billy Madison. Second, for a fairly stable man, I invest way, way too much of my emotional well-being in the success of my chosen team. If things are going well, I’m as happy as an Irishman seated next to a poorly guarded tap. If things go downhill, though, I tend to scream profanity non-stop into nearby furniture cushions (which makes me even angrier because I know my mouth is pressed against a foam-filled fart vault). And if anyone around me gloats about my team failing, it takes a Herculean effort for me not to compact their rectum with my boot: Like an abusive father, only I get to make fun of my underachieving child.

It was either this picture of Woody or, well...just Google image search the word 'Jew.'

At the bar I was joined by my friend Brian, the only person I know who’s tall and successful in life that I don’t want to bleed out like a cow I intended to prepare as a Kosher brisket. I knew Brian would be good company during the game because he’s both a Redskins fan and almost as negative as me, both qualities I want in a person I’m planning to drink with during a game. We quickly ordered our beers, and, no sooner did he begin talking about how the team needs to fire both its offensive and defensive lines and rebuild entirely through the draft then the unthinkable happened: The Redskins scored a touchdown.

It was the reaction at the bar that shocked me the most, though: The entire crowd lit up and cheered. There was thunderous applause as “Hail to the Redskins” boomed over the house sound system. I heard things like, “Just one more like that and we’re back in this thing” and “I knew we could do it!” The unbridled optimism of it all made my skin crawl. Back in this thing? Do it? How dare they act like the Redskins could defeat any opponent, much less the above-average Atlanta Falcons. Don’t they know that the only way to derive any enjoyment from the Redskins at this point is to act like you’re watching a Tee Ball game? Jason Campbell completed a pass? Hey, good for him! A field goal? Wow, startling athleticism! Like so much in life, the key is greatly lowering your expectations. Play your cards right and there might even be a juice box and orange slices waiting for you at the end of the game.

Yes, a one-armed drummer. No, this isn't 'Spinal Tap.'

As for an analysis of the game itself, what do you want me to say? It’s not like the Redskins magically gained a new offensive line during their week off. Did you get mad when Rick Allen’s drum work after losing his arm seemed a little light on drum rolls and clash cymbals? Hell no! You were simply astounded that the sonofabitch could even play (okay, you laughed until you emptied your bladder into your pants the first time you saw the video to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” at the sight of a one-armed drummer, but, by the fifth viewing or so, it was all love). Similarly, until the Redskins get a new offensive line, all I can do is cheer for them like a kid who’s 20 swings deep into his first plate appearance and seems as likely to knock the ball off the tee with a strong fart as he is with the bat.

Of course the Redskins lost: That’s not the point anymore. Maybe it was the fact that two of my best friends got married the day before. Maybe it was the drunkards singing along to “Hail to the Redskins” like a scene out of Triumph of the Will for the not one but two touchdowns scored on the day. Maybe it was the cheap beer and four pound nacho plate that will no doubt lead to my Farley-esque early demise. Whatever the cause, I suddenly found peace while watching the Redskins lose. Knowing that they as a team have the balls to go out there every week, fully aware that the odds of success are zilch and yet still play ball, I felt my heart swell with…well, I think an old friend said it best:

BART: I feel so full of…what’s the opposite of shame?

MARGE: Pride?

BART: No, not that far from shame.

HOMER: [voice hopeful] Less shame?

BART: [satisfied] Yeah.

Here’s to eight games of less shame.

Why the Redskins Will Kill Me: Week 4

admin — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 16:58:14 +0000

What? There was a Redskins game this week? I’ll be honest, my heart is so out of the season at this point that I was more psyched by the commercials I saw during the game than the game itself. James Earl Jones is going to be on “House” tonight. That’s right, Darth Vader. If they make him talk through a ventilator and speak the words, “Greg, I am your father,” I’m pretty sure I’d be able to forget the tragedy I bore witness to Sunday.

didn't look like a chimpanzee made out of beef jerky?” title=”jenna2″ width=”225″ height=”169″ class=”size-full wp-image-378″ />

Was there a time Jenna didn't look like a chimpanzee made out of beef jerky?

Another pitiful Redskins victory. I’m pretty sure next Sunday it’d be less painful if, instead of watching the game, I dropped 12 hits of acid and put The Passion of the Christ on repeat. There’s just so much to hate about this team: Jason Campbell has undeniably regressed as a passer, throwing the same little screen dink and dunk crap for zippy yardage. And I think it’s high time we call it like it is: Clinton Portis has hit that same wall that all running backs and porn stars do when nearing age 30. I just finished watching Denver put down the Cowboys, thanks in no small part to one Champ Bailey…did we really trade him and a second-round draft pick for Sheriff Gonna Getcha? Sonofabitch.

For those that never played, he was UNSTOPPABLE.

It’s obvious that, at the end of this season, Coach Zorn and Jason Campbell are gone. After this game, it’s safe to toss Defensive Coordinator Greg Blache into that pile as well. Our pass rush and tackling are pathetic. Everytime I see someone cut through our line I start to hear that song that plays over the ending credits of “The Benny Hill Show.” The one bit of consistency I’ve seen out of the Redskins is the ability to make every offense that plays against them look really good. Bo Jackson in Tecmo Bowl good.

Even Michael's gone over to the Ravens.

My friends and I have resorted to various games to get us through each game this season. Yesterday, “That’s What She Said” was the big hit. For those of you that have ever watched NFL, it’s almost as if the commentators go out of their way to spit out homoerotic hyperbole. Any time you hear anything with remotely sexual in nature, just say “that’s what she said” as quickly as possible. In addition to the usual winners like “Look at them struggle to penetrate the end zone” and “They are just fighting for every inch,” yesterday contained the golden “Portis gets a hard one yard.” I had to laugh at that. Unlike this column. Snap. (My editor, who may or may not go by the name of “Mom,” called after reading this to say, “John, they probably meant “hard-won yard.” She’s more than likely right, but the game of “That’s What She Said” isn’t about splitting hairs. It’s about preventing as many suicides as possible during Redskins games. And upping the dirty joke count.)

So don’t let the win fool you; the Redskins still suck and Dan Snyder is still a vile little hemorrhoid of an Ewok that won’t leave town until he’s profaned every last thing burgundy and gold. The Lions gave up 48 points this week. The Rams gave up 35 and were shut out. Those are the point totals that should be racked up against teams of that caliber. You know, teams like the Redskins. Hiyo!

For those of you that didn’t have a father who raised them on a television diet of Benny Hill and Telemundo, flip to 4:21 in the video for a Benny Hill ending credit sequence.