I Know I'm Late To This Party, But Some Shindigs Are Too Good To Miss

I know, I know, we're supposed to be covering sports NEWS and not OLDS. And this is maybe a week or more old. But damn. I've got say some things about this. Otherwise, I'm going to start pooping out of my weiner with an overwrought sense of denial.

So here goes...

WWWWWWWAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! WAHWAHWAHWHAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Oh no! I had to WAIT PATIENTLY before an NFL team had the audacity to pick me! WHAT TREMENDOUS TRAGEDY. But they told him second or third round! LOS BASTARDOS! He had to walk by himself with a baseball bat, and then be walked like a golden retriever around the block by his parents. What heartache. What turmoil. What anstiness.

Not that I don't understand. I've waited on fairly important things before in my life, none of which are as big time as playing in the NFL, and I've been less than patient. It's no man's bag.

But a little perspective would be nice. "Wow, I've had a fairly successful career since getting drafted a little later than I and most every other person drafted would have liked to have been." You know what that is? UNDERFUGGINSTATMENT. Brady's gone on to have one of the best careers of anybody ever. Who cares is a bunch of other teams you've railed COUNTLESS TIMES in your career passed on you? PISS ON THEM WITH YOUR SMOKING HOT WIFE AND SUPER BOWL ACCOLADES IN OPPOSITE HANDS. When I first saw he cried, I thought it would be about the happiness that came from getting picked. NAY. It was "Oh, no, I had to wait a day to get picked. A whole day! I know, I was so P.O.ed too..." Please.

Also, nice jab at the noble and venerable profession of insurance sales. I'm glad that you can afford to purchase your various belongings, STRAIGHT CASH, and have them wrecked or stolen with little to no effect on your vast wealth. Other people need insurance, and need good, solid, hardworking, and trustworthy Americans to sell it to them. Plus, for all of the tears you just shed at the possibility of NOT getting drafted, you'd think you might have the presence of mind to be like "You know, that was ALMOST me, maybe not kick insurance salesmen with my cleat."

Screw this guy, his sassy hair, and his veneers. THEMS FAKE YO.

If you want to make it up to me, let me see your wife without you.

Stovall Has A Question For You...

HOW MY ASS TASTE?


HOOOOOOOBOY. HOOOOBOY. HOW YOU LIKE IT, HOW YOU LIKE IT, HOW YOU LIKE IT?

Looks like everyone not named Zack got lined up and rolled out on a STRETCHER this year in the GRH NCAA Brackakke. I emerged victorious, vanquishing my foes with wit, wisdom, and mental dexterity hitherto UNSEEN in modern bracketology. The near misses...the upsets...the close calls. Describes some games in the tournament, but couldn't be further from describing the GRH brackets against me. It was me in a landslide.

Hold up, Harvard called. They need someone to speak at the commencement ceremony for their renowned Comm. V. Schmidlapp School of Bracketology. Hope I can make it when I'm not using my knowledge to teach computers how to moonwalk in VEGAS.

I don't think anybody is surprised. I'm full of nothing but basketball prowess. I didn't even have to watch any basketball games this year, I JUST KNEW. I knew where to pick my spots and how I needed to proceed in my quest to become the most vaunted bracketoleger, perhaps methinks, OF ALL TIME.

How many correct Final Four picks? One. Kentucky. How much in the field? Zero. I WIN!!!

Teams don't matter as much though. You've GOTTA find the hot hand in the deck. Who's coming into the tournament looking good? Jimmer Fredette? A pale, mormony excuse of a basketball player. What about Butler's Matt Howard? He's tall, isn't he? But no, everybody, YOURS TRULY, knew Kemba Walker was about to run a train on this tournament. His shots were the ones you had to SEE TO BELIEVE. In him, I put my faith, believing he'd drag his team, kicking and scream, to at least the championship game. And he did.

Of course, I thought Kemba Walker played for Pitt, and had them in the championship game. But again, no matter. I WIN!!!

I'd like to take a moment and thank all of the people I so savagely destroyed in the process of getting mine. Lattimer: Wasn't expecting a lot out of you, but you brought out the vigor I knew you'd have. You losing was a constant source of inspiration for me, both on and off the court. No really, I was laughing to myself about it later, helped me sleep. Icehouse, Icehouse, Icehouse. You have, by far, the most basketball expertise of anyone I know, outside, of course, of myself. You came in dead last. The writing is on the wall, the stars are aligned in the western skies; you will be a great bracketeer one day. NOT TODAY, GRASSHOPPER. NOT. TO. DAY. And the rest of you unimportant flunkies whose name either escaped me or never dwelled in my august brain region: Enjoy the smell. Waft in my vapors. Take in my aura as it glides past you, seemingly effortless, but with purpose and power. You will all fall before me one day anyway. Enjoy your bipedal, upright view for the time being.

And let's score more than 60 points next year. Our brackets all sucked.

Ways To Make Zack Like Basketball: Make Players Good Looking and Then Throw Them Through The Air

This is an ongoing series throughout what, for me, is the worst period of time in sports. Baseball is a few months away, and football is as good as dead until the fall. And it's all because, no matter how much I try (AND BELIEVE YOU ME I TRY A LOT) I just can't watch, like, enjoy, get behind, or generally stand basketball. I'll watch a Blake Griffin dunk, or a last second Rudy Gay buzzer-beater, or LeBron do anything. But, and nothing against basketball or any of its fine fans, this time of year is a real struggle for me to get through. Feel my pain, and bear with me, as I try to show room for the game's improvement.

Make The Players Better Looking, Then Throw Them Through The Air

If there's anything I don't like watching, it's men sweating as they perform feats of athletic prowess. The speed. The dexterity. The muscular definition. I've got none of that. I somewhat famously pulled a muscle or broke a rib sneezing. That's a bodily function. I didn't hurt it doing anything as athletic as Phil Jackson does on the bench coaching, and he's like 119 years old or something (THERE'S SOMETHING TO THAT ZEN, KIDS). Seeing all these guys, you know, moving well puts me in a bad mood. Plus, I'm not tall at all. All of those guys in the NBA? They're really freaking tall, which is why most of them got into basketball in the first place. Steve Nash is supposed to be short, and he's like 6'2" or something. Baseball? Prince Fielder is good at it and he's so fat, he'd float in most bodies of water, and that's AWESOME. Humans don't play football anymore, it's steroid-fueled creatures of Frankenstein and those dancing robots Fox has that are really playing under those pads and jerseys.

In order for me to tune in to college or NBA hoops, I'm going want to look at the players. And you know who I like looking at? Pretty women. Fill the NBA with gorgeous women running up and down the court, sweating, and fouling each other. That way when I watch them, I'm going to want to keep watching them play all of the basketball things that I don't understand. You want to know why all of those late night channels run ads with voluptuous women talking on phones? Because people like watching them do things, like talk on the phone and demand money. I'd wager a lot more people will enjoy watching them do whatever it is that people who play basketball do.

Also, other people should be allowed to throw the now good-looking basketball players through the air to make plays. And a lot of plays, too, like mid-air passes, throwing a person into a dunk, and imagine the midcourt buzzer beaters! In the NFL, there are rules forbidding players to use other players to levitate themselves. If there are any of those rules in the NBA, we should get rid of them. That way, players could get thrown through the air, simulating the same - IF NOT MORE - type of high-flying antics that NBA fans already enjoy. People already don't like the WNBA because nobody's flying around, and even if they did, well, now we're just back to the original problem with the NBA. My advice is to make sure that the good-looking players are flying around.

Plus, people getting thrown through the air is just cool. I believe everyone here knows my stance on the necessity of a return to an Era of Catapults.

That would make me watch some more basketball. 66 days until MLB opening day, by the way.

(Originally published on Zack Gets Down, a neat website you should all check out.)

ESPN College Football Analyst Trevor Matich Declared Legally Dead Four Years Ago

BRISTOL, Conn. - Sources behind the scenes at ESPN have confirmed that college football analyst and former NFL and BYU lineman Trevor Matich, despite being hired by the sports broadcasting giant two years ago, was declared legally dead no less than four years ago.

"Yeah, I mean, it's pretty clear to me," said fellow ESPN analyst and physician Dr. Jerry Punch. "He's got absolutely no brain activity. Merely repeating what he sees on film and enunciating it too harshly, with no concept of tone or diction...open and shut case.

"Oh yeah," concluded Dr. Punch. "He had a temperature of 66 degrees and no pulse whatsoever. A lot of drool when he's talking, too."

The incident was reported after records were found that Matich was hit by an oncoming bus, launching him into a nearby river, but not before he was hit by an oncoming speedboat. Cause of death was due to drowning due to sinking as well as blunt force trauma, none of which was to his brain.

Matich said he couldn't confirm or deny that he had been killed four years ago, and instead insisted we look at game film of the Oregon-Stanford game that showed conclusively that Oregon was a more physical team, despite the obvious double-digit deficit the Cardinal had.

ESPN has refused to comment on the life status of Lou Holtz and insist that Mark May is just a huge asshole.

Friday Afternoon Funbag!

One of my favorite Cardinals, for some reason, is the ever-defensive, 'stache-totin', getting-better-batsman SS Brendan Ryan. I think it's because last year, everyone had good-luck mustaches to kick the season off, and he kept his through October. The Boog is a team player. Here's him after the Cardinals clinched the NL Central. Hope there are more pics like this elsewhere.

MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND! I don't know exactly what I'm doing, but man, I could really go for a swim. I want to be outside, enjoying the heat of the sun and the cool of a beer, and the inexplicable joy I get/give from being shirtless. Hooboy. I'm ready for this.

Onto this week's funbag.

A real hoverboard exists apparently. KSK provocateur Big Daddy Drew dismisses it, as it cannot sustain a person yet. WE MUST CRAWL BEFORE SPRINT, ANDREW.

HOVERBOARD - NILS GUADAGNIN from nils guadagnin on Vimeo.

As someone who hosts an online webbing page, I appreciate William of Ferrell answering his fan mail so publicly.



Boys being Boys by flinging themselves into/at dumpsters from shopping carts. WEEEE!!!



A perfectly sane and rational fellow releases forth his mounting frustration upon his delightful computing book device.



In another instance of computer-related tomfoolery, Glenn Kitsmiller here can't figure out the whole Print Screen/SysRq button at the top right hand corner of his keyboard. Oh, Glenn! You'll NEVER reach supervisor that way!



In another instance of "WEEEE!!!!" related tomfoolery, this is one of the first viral videos that ever happened. It's like hearing a pretty cool story from your Great Uncle, while you're Grandpa just buries his head in his hands, muttering to himself.



That is all. Oh yeah, and Sam the Eagle says something about Memorial Day to American Women everywhere. Have a good one.

McWunkler's All-American: Scott Sicko

"Loyalty to the bros, sticking it to the man, and paper stacking. This is what it is all about here at GRH." - Icehouse, Founder of the Ghost of Roy Hobbs

This is the quotation engraved on every plaque given to the various recipiants of the McWunkler's All-American award. This month's award goes to:



Scott Sicko, TE, New Hampshire.

You've probably already heard about this guy since last Saturday, specifically right after 32 NFL teams had approximately seven chances to add this large, sure-handed athlete to their respective rosters, declined, and he threw a subsequent hissy fit, a fit which included the words "since I didn't get drafted, I'm not going to try and get signed with a team, I'm going to go focus on my education, which is to be an educator."



Wahh wahhhh, indeed.

I'm sure his agent was like "WHAAAAAAAT?!" But then again, maybe this was a clever ploy, because, boy, did he get attention.

Shortly after he uttered this agent-choking-inducing statement (even though he had a lot of interest from Dallas, Jacksonville, and other NFL teams) limp-wienered, pointy-headed elitists who don't like it when big, dumb, athletic people get paid $40M in guaranteed cheddar started cheering from the Nerd Section about how much of a role model this kid was for shunning the NFL for the sake of education. "Here, here!" they clamored with their leather-elbowed tweeds. "About time some smart person stood up to those big dumb bullies," quothe the dweebs.

Noted KSK punching bag Peter "Who's Ready To Love What I'm About To Say" King said this : "It's nice, in the midst of a weekend when football seems more important than breathing to some, that we have a different kind of role model for our kids. I hope they read everything Scott Sicko just said here."

Because the kind of person I want influencing my spawn is the one who looks NFL teams in the face and says "Meh."

But wait! Sicko uses that above average brain of his (or he was given a late night visit by his agent and his agent's friends) and decided to sign with the Dallas Cowboys. He'll have an opprotunity to make exponentially more money than he could ever make teaching a bunch of kids who won't appreciate him, playing a sport in which delivering a coma-inducing blow to someone's head will get you a raise.

SUCK IT, WALT DISNEY!

Your good teacher making the right, heartfelt decision to stick it out for the kids is back to the drawing board. Looks like the ABC Family fall line-up is still going to be lacking and Sandra Bullock is not here to pull your story out of the gutter. Sicko could very well be making the league-minimum when he could be making about 1/12 of that in a classroom.

BITE ME, PETER KING!

Oh, football seems more important than breathing sometimes and breathing should ALWAYS BE IMPORTANT! D'oh. What a jabroni. Not a big deal if he doesn't want to do that thing that only a small fraction of people will ever be able to do ever. That's not admirable: That's retarded. And loogit! Sicko's not retarded. Now he's a Cowboy, for awhile anyway.

GET DOWN ON THESE, ACADEMIANS/PEOPLE SEARCHING FOR ROLE MODELS!

Nerds! HAHAHAHAHAH YOUR SAVIOR HATH FORSAKEN YOU!

Caption Contest!

Here are some fairly inspried photographs that require your movingly inspired captions. It's a caption contest.



"We await instructions before continuing the love-makings."



"It's funny because I'm fat!"



(Only in here for homerism)

Daly: "Jealous?"

Commence Hobberation.

Monday Morning S--t Storm!

Oh man, what hath this week preceding and its end wrought?

First, Texas has its national championship hopes dashed away due to some apparently exposed nerve endings on the backside of their wunderkind Colt McCoy. Ain't that some booshmain.

Green Bay Aaron Rodgers fumbles away an overtime playoff win in a game that was an offensive show case. W, T and the F?!

Chris "I'm Challenging You to a Race To Purport Even More Masculinity" Johnson doesn't even get a sniff for the MVP? WHAT UP WITH THAT?Basically, there's just been plenty of legitimate beef going on in the sports world. Complain as justice compels you to do so.

Off-Limits: Tom Brady having a bad game causing the Pats to lose is purely just, so no backtalk. He had Randy Moss and another stocky-Caucasian sensation (Edelman, I think) to replace Welkah. Justice = served.

Monday Morning Sh--t Storm!

It's a Hail Mary MMSS this morning, but luckily, College Football has given us a bowl schedule to digest and debate.

• What's the best bowl game?


• Who got blown (the bad kind)?


• Who got blown (the good kind!)?


• Do you love/hate Tebow?


• Cinncy/TCU/Boise: Winners or Whiners?


• I took a dump the size of my thigh this morning: Call the doctor in fear or brag to my co-workers?


• Mack Brown or Nick Saban?


• Who's going to win the Papajohns.com bowl AND WHY?

It's bowl season, which means there's plenty a-goin' on. DEBATE.