Seattle Sportsnet

I am of the belief that the people who read this website are some of the wittiest, most intelligent, best-looking people anyone could ever possibly meet. While your good looks may not play a role in what I’m about to propose to you, your wit and intelligence certainly will.

You see, every year I like to recap the Super Bowl in some form or fashion (here’s an article from last year for reference). This year will be no different. Well, slightly different.

This year, rather than just going on and on about my own opinions of the game, the ads, the halftime show, the Puppy Bowl, the pageantry, the commentators, the event and any of its surroundings as a whole, I want to include all of you, as well. Yes, I’m lazy. I thank you in advance for your help.

For those of you who follow me on Twitter, I’ll be brain-dumping all my immediate thoughts there for the better part of the afternoon. If you’d like to contribute a brief quip that could possibly find its way into the interactive recap, by all means please send those thoughts to @alexssn.

If you don’t have a Twitter account, feel free to participate on Facebook by commenting on the message thread (it will be up later, shortly before kickoff) on the Seattle Sportsnet page.

You guys are awesome and I look forward to hearing what you have to say. Enjoy the day, make sure you drink a lot if you’re a drinker, eat a lot if you’re an eater, and have fun with your friends. Because really, that’s what the Super Bowl is all about. A great effing time.

Over the years, I’ve learned to never underestimate a woman. There are women out there who enjoy xBox, for example. Or like to watch porn as often as dudes. Or can even lead a receiver on the perfect corner route for a touchdown. Women can do anything. Men, on the other hand, are simple creatures.

If anything, women should have learned long ago to never overestimate men. We have a capacity for things we’re good at that maxes out around, say, six or seven. You’ll never meet a guy who is good at more than six or seven things. If you’re a woman, you better hope the man you settle down with doesn’t waste that capacity on stupid shit like Magic Cards or the construction of rubber band balls. We’re working with limited resources here.

Further, men only like six or seven things, as well. Most often the things we like are closely tied to the things we’re good at. For instance, I’m good at reading books. I also like reading books. You see how this works? It’s not that difficult.

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Welcome to Pop Culture Friday! As you probably know, I don’t always write about sports here at Seattle Sportsnet. So rather than keeping you guessing on when non-sports articles will appear on these pages, I’ve devoted Friday to the eclectic cause. Expect a good dose of pop culture every Friday from here on out. If you love it, enjoy. If you hate it, that’s one day out of the week you don’t have to visit the site. Without further ado…

The other day, my buddy Griffin Bennett (@GriffinWB on the Twitter; read his work over at Montlake Madness) tipped me off to an article simply entitled 10 Most Crucial Middle School Dance Jams. I took a look at the piece…and was thoroughly disappointed. First of all, any list that considers a song by Joe to be the most crucial of the most crucial is absolutely abysmal. Joe’s own mother wouldn’t put his music at the top, so why should anyone else?

Regardless, the article inspired me. It inspired me to not only compile a list of my own, but also to make that list helpful in some way or another. Writing about middle school dance jams is nostalgic and all, but it isn’t much more than that. So I decided I’d give every guy out there advice on music by which to get laid. Don’t thank me. I’m just trying to do my part.

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It started out as a political movement, but has since morphed into the gigantic pain in everyone’s ass. Occupy Seattle was all fun and games when it had a purpose, a message, some direction, and didn’t f**k with our everyday lives. Since then, shit’s hit the fan and most of us are pissed.

This has been building for some time, of course. With each passing day, Occupy Seattle protestors continue to camp out in the midst of our fair city, turning the once-represented ninety-nine-percent into the completely-disenchanted ninety-nine-percent. We used to side with these people. But then they started messing with our travel commutes, blocking our streets, and just generally causing trouble. How trouble-making solves the problems we face on Wall Street is beyond me. All I know is a) it’s annoying, b) even my most liberal acquaintances are upset, and c) no rational person supports the spectacle of the movement any longer.

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I have my own Wikipedia page now. My good friend Matt Holt decided to create it for me. We never thought Wikipedia would actually approve the thing. But lo and behold, it happened. This is a win for all of us average folks. If it can happen to me, it can happen to you. Wikipedia pages for all! America!!!

This year, 70 out of a total 120 NCAA Division I Football Bowl Subdivision (FBS) teams will be playing in a postseason bowl game. That’s 58.3-percent. A majority.

However, 50 out of 120 NCAA Division I FBS teams will NOT be playing in a postseason bowl game. That’s 41.7-percent. A minority.

The Washington State Cougars are part of the 41.7-percent. It’s time. Occupy Pullman.

It’s a true underdog story. Little Washington State University, the fightin’ Cougs, taking on the world and succeeding by landing Mike F**kin’ Leach, head football coach extraordinaire. Inspirational? Yes. Improbable? Certainly. Insane? Basically.

The high school nerd doesn’t just bag the prom queen this easily. There has to be some crazy shit going on behind the scenes. Naked pictures may have been exchanged, blackmail may have ensued, we don’t know for sure. But what we can safely assume is that there has never been a more exciting day in Wazzu history than November 30th, 2011. Never. Imagine if the local John Deere store had a going-out-of-business sale. Or if Oroweat decided to work exclusively with farmers on the Palouse. Those are the only banner events that I could see creating more excitement for the Crimson-and-Gray faithful than what occurred on Wednesday.

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I’m reading this book by Malcolm Gladwell called Outliers. In a nutshell, it focuses on the factors that determine individual success. One such factor discussed is what’s called the “10,000-Hour Rule.” The 10,000-Hour Rule essentially states that in order to become an expert at any given task, one must perform that task for at least 10,000 hours. Through practice, repetition, and the honing of a craft over that time period, one can became a savant in any field they so choose.

So what does this all mean, anyway? Good question. First off, it means I need to get laid about a million more times before I’ll ever be anything more than a novice (boom, roasted). Second, it means that Paul Wulff — yes, THE Paul Wulff — is likely an expert head college football coach. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, Whoa, hold on, crazy guy…how do you figure that ridiculousness? Allow me to explain.

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Is he the greatest college football player in the history of college football? Many say no, but I say yes.

Is he one of Barbara Walters’ Most Fascinating People of 2011? In fact he is not, but I think he should be.

Is he recognized as the Ghandi of his sport, so altruistic and giving that we should revere this man for more than just the athlete he is? Currently, no. But if I have my way, definitely.

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“It’s a major award! I won it!” –Ralphie’s dad, A Christmas Story.

There is this devilish part of me that wishes I had the wherewithal to walk up to a group of attractive ladies at a bar and say, “Hey, ladies. Have you met the Best in Western Washington yet?” Thankfully, that part of me is currently being subdued by own Jiminy Cricket conscience. Pickup lines aren’t my forte anyway. By the way, anyone know how much a polar bear weighs?

Honestly, though, I never thought I’d be the best at anything, let alone be voted on by my readers as the Best Sports Blog in Western Washington. That’s freakin’ crazy. It means so, so much to me. You have no idea. I’m trying to put my thoughts down in a structured, cohesive format but I’m having trouble doing that.

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Let’s be real here. Rob Gronkowski deserved to have a great bye week. The Patriots’ second-year tight end is in the midst of a fairly decent season; a season so decent, in fact, that one might argue it warrants hanging out with a porn star. Which, as it turns out, is exactly what Gronkowski did.

Yes, the University of Arizona product was lucky enough to find himself in the company of one Bibi Jones on Monday evening, thanks to a mutual friend from Gronkowski’s college days. Jones isn’t really all that much of a porn star, so much as she is a porn actress. Sure, she’s had sex with dudes…on film…for money. But a star? That’s a generous use of the term. For starters, the most famous athlete she claims to have slept with is Atlanta Braves second baseman Dan Uggla…yeah. For another, I had to Google her. And if I have to Google her, well, hah…okay, let’s just leave it at that.

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When I was nine years old, I played baseball for a team called the Orioles. Just like the real-life Baltimore Orioles, we wore goofy orange jerseys with a goofy orange bird on our caps. And just like the real-life Orioles of present-day, our team was horrible.

My god, did we suck. I think we may have won one game that year. We had too many right fielders, if you get my drift, and as a result we just failed, failed, and failed some more.

I wanted to quit about three times that year. Once before the season even got underway (maybe I sensed the suckiness, I don’t know), once after I got drilled by a fastball for the first time, and at least once more when the losses started mounting. My parents wouldn’t let me give up, though, and thus a beautiful nine-year playing career was spawned (sadly, I would retire at age 18 due to chronic inability to perform at a reasonably high level).

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I have friends in the local media (who shall remain nameless) that have told me on numerous occasions to write about Erin Hawksworth. Erin Freakin’ Hawksworth. Every dude in town that covers a sport has noticed her and needs more of her. Problem is, I’ve never really known what to write. What do you write about a smokin’ hot sportscaster other than the obvious? It’s no easy task.

On top of that, it is not my goal in life to scare off beautiful women. I am 26 years old and single. I do not need that blemish on my record. My biological clock is ticking! Let’s have some consideration for my needs.

But frankly, I have an obligation to the people. Even if most of you are perverts. And back in the day when I gave you all your Nicole Zaloumis news, you ran around like children hopped up on cotton candy. You couldn’t possibly be more excited. Never mind the fact that I’ve been trying to run a legitimate operation over here. You’d all prefer erotica and smut. They already have that on the internet, you know. It’s free and it’s available everywhere. I don’t know why you need me to deliver it, too. Insatiable barbarians.

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