Player Hater's Ball 2: Hating Bugaloo

THE North Carolina State University is no more. Thanks in part to the U. of Wuss-consin and their love of traveling. Oh, and the officials love of not calling it. I am glad I root for a team that has a decent football team. I cannot imagine what it must be like to go to Kentucky, because when basketball is over they might as well just pack up the campus until next season. No one in Lexington was yelling, "Wait 'til football season" last night. When I watch my darkhorse team, Louisville, beat Washington an observer told me I have a lot of hate in me. I thought to myself, "Self, you hate far more team than you like." The observer aksed what are my all time top ten of sports hating. So, here we go:

• 10. San Francisco Giants (even without Bonds)
• 9. Los Angelos Lakers (with Kobe)
• 8. Carolina Panthers
• 7. Philadelphia Eagles (I cheered when TO snapped his leg. I am such a bitch.)
• 6. Tiger Woods (and I love Fuzzy Zoeller)
• 5. The Citadel (old College of Charleston rival. It is so hard not to hate a fake army.)
• 4. Florida State University (They almost ruined two of State's seasons. And I am an old Hurricanes fan. Just hearing the words WIDE and RIGHT makes me salivate.)
• 3. Notre Dame (People always say hate isn't born, it is taught. In this case, both are true. BIG UPS TO BOB!)
• 2. Wake Forest (See my first Player Hater's Ball. They can thank West Virginia, because if they had made the Final Four they'd be tied with...)
• 1. U. of North Carolina (I hate them so much, I cannot look at new born baby boys or the sky without getting mad. I think I'll waste a my entire next post spewing hate-filled rhetoric about UNC.)

Wisconsin-Our Canadian Spies...

Everyone who has a pulse saw the bankshot heard round the world yesterday. As Julius Hodge lifted THE North Carolina State University Wolfpack to the Sweet 16 for the first time in 16 years. As I watched the game with Clancy Strangelove, we both commented on how fat Ed Nelson has gotten. The guy was ACC Rookie of the Year, and now he looks like Sloth from Goonies. I think he misunderstood the NCAA when they told him to sit-out a year. I truly believe he sat for an entire year. Going to class on a Rascal. Pushing the fridge close to his bed, so his supply of Pepperidge Farm's summer sausages are in close reach. Look at him from his Georgia Tech days, to, well yesterday. He done blown-up. Now the Wolfpack turns their eyes to the Wuss-consin Badgers. I really don't know much about the team, but I have been to Madison. So, I am going to talk sheet about the U. W. campus and Madison today.

1. It is an isthmus between two big ass lakes. An isthmus is when God cannot decide on if he should turn the town into a island to keep all the azzholes on it, or to sink it into the bottom of Lake Mendota.
2. It is cold in Madison. A warm day in January is when only the lakes only freeze 3 feet deep. The cold weather is for the best however because Barry Alvarez's fatass would like still be sweating at roughly 20 below. And, the cold weather keeps the smell down.
3. Two people of note from Madison: Ed Gein and Tyne Daly. Spooky.
4. They are freakishly close to Canada, our half-French neighbors to the north. I think they are spying on us for the Canucks.
5. There is a small population of Dutch nationals living there. Can you really trust that?

I am just kidding, because I liked my weekend in Mad City. They drink lots of beer, eat lots of cheese and are trying to cryogenetically freezing their entire population, but the Wolfpack will show no mercy Friday are 7:27. I predict, Wolfpack-54 Badgers-46.

It Tastes So Good When It Hits Your Lips...

Today is the best day of the year, St. Patrick's Day. Where everyone is a little Irish, except for the gay and the Italians. It is one of only three holidays in the year where getting drunk is normal and encouraged. New Year's Eve is one and, of course, Ramadan being the other. I celebrate this holiday kinda hard. One, because I got plenty of mick blood flowing through me. And secondly, because I believe this is the day I was conceived. I know most of you would like to think I was an immaculate conception, but I was bore of woman just like Abraham Lincoln, George Washington and George Lincoln Rockwell. And no, I am certain my parents planned for me. I have two older sisters. The law of averages were in my parents favor that I was gonna be boy. This is a fun and creepy game to play. Look at you birthday (December 16th for me), track back nine months, look for a reason for your mammy and pappy to fool around, like your father got out of jail or mother was acquitted of war crimes, and wahlah! That is more than likely, you Conception Day. So, tilt one back and be happy your parents decided they needed one more mouth to feed, because without them, you are spunk.

PhD. In Bracketology

As I stare at what might be the second best thing about the month of March, the NCAA Tournament Bracket and all the delicious office pools that go along with it. I am a Professor of Bracketology. Having picket at least 75% of the Final Four over the past 4 years, I rock. Now, everyone has their system. Can one mascot take the other mascot in a no holds barred street fight. Which school has the best cheerleaders. Which school drinks more. Are they THE North Carolina State University (currently the toughest 10 seed in the field)? I thought I'd go with which college town has the best burritos. Then, it came to me, Raleigh has by far the worst solid burrito places per capita in the field. I guess, Montana might be worse, but I cannot be sure. This also goes to show you why UNC has been to so many Final Fours. I lived in Chapel Hill for time, and founded the Orange County Militia there (now under the control of my Minister of Arms, General Salvatore Uomo Grasso). There are easily seven solid burrito places, Carrburritos, Bandido's, The Burrito Bunker, Cosmic Cantina, El Rodeo, etc. Raleigh is depleted in our burrito resources. If it were not for the Non-Agression Pact I signed with General Uomo Grasso, I would totally invade Chapel Hill. It would serve three purposes. One, I would cut off the precoius Tarheels from exploiting their buriito resourses. Two, the Wolfpack could feast on delicous burritos, thus fueling us to our first Final Four in over two decades. And thirdly, Rochester could eat his ass full of burritos.

I Done Said It...

I knew as soon as the Bush administration call for a "War on Terrorism" and linked up with the English this was gonna happen. I told my Domino's delivery driver, Jorge, this like three years ago. The English would call a favor on the Americans to snub the IRA. This is a complete load of sheet, and 95% of the reason I have yet to vote for the sneaky leftist Bush. For the first time in over decade a member of the Sinn Fein will not be welcome in the White House on the most Holiest of Days, said St. Patrick Day. "Why?" you ask. I am willing to bet to has something to do with our protestant President and his unwillingness to separate Church and state. The death of a Protestant outside a bar by an IRA member has led to his sudden cold shoulder. I would have voted for McCain in the 2000 election, but because he was ousted by the mighty state of Iowa and his hatred of their sheety corn fuel, I voted for Pat Buchanan. As a good Irish Catholic, I am sure that Sen. McCain would not pull the same shenaningans. I wonder how much this has to with the fact that the ol' Irish Catholic vote is not what it used to be. Hmmmm, there are still a solid base of militant Catholic in America. Only this time instead of O'Leary and Sherwin, their name are Gomez and Santos. Jesusland in 2008, beeyotchs. We are like Bebe's kids, we don't die we multiply. SHO NUFF!

Player Hater's Ball

I hate Wake Forest. I hate the fact that it was founded in Wake Forest, NC and moved to Winston-Salem, NC for no reason. Thus, making the school's name gibberish. I hate the basketball team. I hate their coach. I hate their fans. I hate tye-dye. Most of all I hate Chris Paul. I hate them so much that my hatred of UNC is getting jealous. If you have not been living in a bunker hiding from the Soviets for the past week, then you have heard about Mrs. Paul's actions in the NC State-Wake Fofest game on Sunday. No? Well, Mrs. Paul, upset about not being able to grow a mustache or not being able to push off on all his drive to the basket, took out his frustations on Juilius Hodge's testicles, in the form of a punch. The ACC took action, where the game officals did not, and suspended him for the first game of the ACC tournament. Hmmmm, who could they be playing in that game? THE North Carolina State University! Chris Paul can thank his dark Lord, Satan, for this little blessing, beuase he was in for an All-American gooning at the hands of Will Roach. I would not be so angry if Mrs. Paul had pushed Mr. Hodge or even punched him in the back of the head. There is an unspoken rule of man-to-man combat. I can see Tyler Durden preaching to the masses of a fight club, "Sixth rule of fight club, you do not hit a man in the baby makers!" They teach that to women in karate class to fend off attackers, hence all the Mrs. Paul's stuff. But, no male katate teacher is telling his male students to hit his agressor in the fun sack. I cannot wait for Mrs. Paul to try that on Shaq next year, or maybe she'll stick around to work on some testostrone to grow a man's mustache. The best part is how the grandpa-less fruit apologized for his actions, by going bowling. Class act.

Life is Tough...

One of the best lies I have ever told was that when I was younger, roughly toddler aged, I was in a Golden Grahams commercial. And because of my new found fortune I tried unsuccessfully to have myself emancipated from my parents. I lay on a sob story about my father spending the $10K on a 1986 Chevy Camaro Z28 IROC. I have told it once in a bar in Chapel Hill and Chicago. I play the role wonderfully and by the way I read my audience (thanks to training at the Wake Co. Militia camps) I can tell they honestly believe it. Although this lie did not get me laid on either occasion, I feel it has given me an insight on the life of a child star. I read today that Aaron Carter, the crooner who sings such complex ditties as Aaron's Party (Come Get It) and Cowgirl: Lil' Mama, was recently caught smoking pot in the National Enquirer. I find that one's intoxicant, be it booze, drugs, or rubber cement, should be an escape from the hassles of a day-to-day struggle. Since I have been in the mind of a child star, I know it can be tough. However, this kid divorced his parents when he was 13. According to the article, he was still in his pajamas at 2 in the afternoon. Doesn't have to worry about money for the rest of his life, and he is blowing what I make in two and a half months in a "fortnight" on grass. What is his struggle? I don't even see any effing acne on that kids face. He is sleeping in a Florida mansion, driving fancy cars and boats, nailin' any 16-year old he wants, what is he escaping from?! He needs to try and walk a mile in my Nike Air Safari '87s.

Hollywood Juice?

BALCO, Giambi, Canseco, Bonds, and maybe Russell Crowe? We look at athletes with their finely chistle bodies and wonder if they are use steroids. Why do we not look at Hollywood the same way? People always give the actors and actresses so much credit for how their bodies look from one film to the next. They give Oscars, and even Cable Ace Awards, away for such things. People were so amazed with Robert DeNiro's potrayal of Jake LaMotta, in Raging Bull, because of the weight he put on and lost. First off, I do the same transformation every Friday evening to Monday morning every week. And, I don't get an award, just a bloated feeling and a bleeding ulcer, so color me unimpressed. Hollywood is really nothing but a body building cult. For an example, let us look at Mr. Crowe. His first US release was sci-fi film called Virtuosity. I saw it, because I don't care to talk to people and I am rather self-depreciating. He was not the beast he was in Gladiator. The celebrity exoskeleton, Joan Rivers, asks, "How did you get your body to look like that?"
The response is almost always, "Diet, hardwork, and genetics."
This is the kind of response wrestlers give, so you know it is bullsheet. Also, think of all the fights Mr. Crowe has gotten into with his notoriously short fuse. Hmmmm, does anyone else smell 'roid rage? I am not directly saying people in Hollywood are doing steroids, because I have not gotten piss sample from most of Hollywood's big name stars. (I would like to thank Andy Dick and Rue McClanahan for their contribution to my piss testing field.) I just think the next time you give credit to a celebrity for their awesome, impossible, freakish body, think about who else has that body.

Confessions of a Recovering Goon

I confess to almighty God and to you, my brothers ans sisters, that I have gooned through my own faults, in my thoughts and in my words, in whom I have gooned and those I have failed to goon. I am a recovering goon. My gooning days have past, as I haven't played in an organized basketball game in over three years. I feel I could control my goon instinct now. There was a time when I saw a skinny athletic teenager, dribbling between his legs, hanging his tongue out like Michael Jordan, and all I saw was my elbow tearing through his rib cage. Why do I say these things? Because of the actions of John Chaney.

People feel that goons have no place in basketball. This is not true. They set the tone of the game, if a coach get them in soon enough. A hard foul on a shot in the lane can make a player, or even a team, think twice about go inside again. And, because of past goonings by myself I undersatnd and respect the fouls made by Nehemiah Ingram. What I have a problem with was Mr. Chaney's rationale for unleashing Mr. Ingram's wrath, MOVING SCREENS. Now, John Bryant's season, and most likely career, is over. If I were Mr. Bryant and someone were to end my career over moving screens my response would be similar to Animal Mother in Full Metal Jacket. In which Animal Mother says, in response to the belief that the Vietnam Conflict is about freedom:

"Flush out your head gear, new guy. You think
we waste gooks for freedom? This is a
slaughter. If I'm gonna get my balls blown off
for a word ... my word is 'poontang.'"

Mr. Bryant should look the media right in the eye and say:

"Flush out your head, Tommy Sutter. You think

I broke my arm for setting a moving screen. If I

broke my arm for a reason, my reason is 'poontang'"

I bet Rick Mahorn would've said it. Moving screens, what a beach-azz thing to end a career over.