Category Archives: Beyond Seattle

Comcast’s literal and figurative boner ignites Superbowl controversy

If you’re like most Seattleites, chances are you spent the immediate seconds after Larry Fitzgerald’s second Superbowl touchdown catch celebrating the possibility of a Pittsburgh Steeler loss. Fitzgerald, who took a Kurt Warner pass up the middle of the field for a 64-yard score, gave the Arizona Cardinals a lead in the waning minutes of the fourth quarter before the Steelers answered right back with a game-winning TD of their own.

Continue reading Comcast’s literal and figurative boner ignites Superbowl controversy

Maybe it was a water bong

So it begins. The inevitable downfall of America’s hero, swimmer Michael Phelps. So quickly, too, we never saw it coming. Michael Phelps, a stoner? Apparently so. And with all his endorsement money, he can afford all the weed he wants to smoke.

Not that anyone cares. He’s still Michael Phelps, winningest Olympian in history, American hero. So we’ll gloss this over, pretend it never happened, accept Phelps’s apology, and move on. Everyone gets one.

Continue reading Maybe it was a water bong

Alex Flanagan is no Erin Andrews, and other Superbowl musings

No one cares that Pittsburgh won. I don’t care. You don’t care. We all do not care. We hate the Steelers. We revile Ben Roethlisberger’s unusually chubby, reconstructed face. We despise the angry little Korean man residing in half of Hines Ward. We want to hack off Troy Polamalu’s greasy locks. To sum it up, the Pittsburgh faithful can take their six Superbowl trophies, and fornicate themselves.

All that said, the Superbowl is much bigger than the Pittsburgh Steelers, the Arizona Cardinals, or even John Madden. Sure, you might remember Larry Fitzgerald’s mad dash to a futile score, or Santonio Holmes’s miracle game-winning catch, but chances are you’re waaaaaaaay more pumped about Transformers 2, G.I. Joe, or even Danica Patrick’s morning shower. Which is why we’re here to dissect the Super day that was. If it happened between 3:00 and 7:30 PM yesterday and couldn’t be found in the “real news,” we’ve got your analysis right here.

Continue reading Alex Flanagan is no Erin Andrews, and other Superbowl musings

Santonio Holmes really knows how to bring an audience to tears

In one of the more peculiar stories of Superbowl media week, Steelers wideout Santonio Holmes announced to the world that as a child growing up in Florida, he used to sell drugs. Uhhh….

Citing the desire to prevent at-risk youths from committing the same mistakes he made during his adolescence, Holmes revealed the details of his former dealer lifestyle, a story he’d only told “three or four people about” before yesterday.

Holmes, who was cited for marijuana possession earlier this season, described how he avoided the pitfalls of pre-pubescent drug dealing that many kids fall into. He would head to school under the watchful eye of his mother, before skipping out in favor of the street corner. That’s how you do it, kids!

Holmes spent his drug money on personal luxuries, such as shoes, but decided to give up the trade when he noticed friends getting in trouble and heading to jail.
The third-year receiver has a less-than-sparkling track record of staying out of trouble, and his story, though captivating, probably won’t do him any favors with the league. Put him on Pacman Jones watch, this could get ugly.

DARE: To keep your kids from looking like Kirk Radomski

If you want to teach kids about the evil side effects of steroid usage, look no further than Kirk Radomski’s head. An oddly bulbous half-square, half-orb, Radomski’s noggin should be featured in its own infomercial with the message “Don’t do steroids…or you’ll look like this guy.”

Radomski, the former Mets clubhouse attendant/reputed steroid user/reputed steroid dealer, has spent the last few days all over ESPN, accusing everyone from Doc Gooden to David Justice of using steroids purchased from Radomski, Inc. If you’ve heard anything the man has said, congratulations, it means you’ve managed to look past his Nintendo Wii-like skull. “Is that a Wii Mii?” “No, no, that’s just Kirk Radomski.”

Let’s take a look back at a happier time, the 1980’s to be precise, when Kirk Radomski still had a regular-size melon. Here he is with Dwight Gooden:

Note the lineage of the face, the narrowing of the chin, all regular features of your average face.

Now let’s examine the ’90’s version of Kirk Radomski. The once-girlish frame is gone, replaced by a freakishly disproportionate number of muscles. In addition, the head has changed shape, evolving from your standard oval to a Transformer-like rectangle. Nice tan, by the way. Ladies, he’s available.

Finally we have Kirk Radomski, 2009. Combining both human and robot elements, Radomski’s cranium defies the laws of nature and seems to explode from the cheeks outward. His eyes, once normally aligned in the center of his dome, now appear beady and shoved together. From the nose up, we see Shrek. From the nose down, a chipmunk storing nuts for the winter. To top it all off, the once muscle-infested body now more closely resembles a beer keg.

See kids, drugs are bad. Especially steroids. They’ll make your family jewels shrink and turn you into an ugly Shrekbot Wiimunk. Nobody wants that. Just say no.

*Photos courtesy

A Seattle Fan’s Superbowl Dream

Superbowl week got you down? That’s why we’re here, to lift your spirits and make life worthwhile once again. Stick with us and come Sunday you’ll be in full Party Mode, ready to watch the lesser of two evils emerge as the best team in the NFL. With most Seattleites having zero vested rooting interest in either Pittsburgh or Arizona, we’ve come up with a list of things we all want to see happen during the Big Game.

1. Mike Holmgren as a sideline reporter. The ex-Seahawks coach will be working as a member of NBC’s Superbowl broadcast team, meaning he’ll be part of a group that already includes Al Michaels and John Madden. Where will he fit in, you ask? Hopefully on the sideline, where his sense of humor, vast knowledge, and intense passion can be exploited to the fullest. If the stars align just right, maybe we can get the guy dancing, Tony Siragusa style, or at the very least sport a Hawaiian shirt amidst the sunshine of Tampa. A 6’5″, 250 pound guy in a Hawaiian shirt is funny by itself.

2. Anquan Boldin box Ben Roethlisberger in the Battle of Reconstructed Faces. Roethlisberger (or BRo, as I call him) chiseled off his old mug in 2007 following a motorcycle accident. Boldin was defaced in a game earlier this season, following a vicious helmet-to-helmet collision in the end zone. Together, they’ll square off in the Fight of the Century to determine once and for all who looks weirder now than they did before!

3. Hines Ward get jacked up to the point of tears. Hines Ward is a wide receiver who likes to hit people. At least once a game, it seems, Ward will throw a crushing block that knocks out an opposing player. To top it off, he’s an outspoken advocate of his own ability to do damage and plays the game more like a rambunctious free safety than your typical offensive skill player. Which is why America would love to see Ward get the piss knocked out of him. Just once, on the world’s biggest stage. And then cry. Not just a tear or two, but a flat-out waterworld bawl session. I want to see Hines Ward sitting on his ass weeping after getting hit. Then I want to see Tom Jackson and Chris Berman yell “Hines Ward got….JACKED UP!” on ESPN. Yes, that’s my dream.

4. A one-second commercial that simply says “F— Yeah!” with a company’s logo beneath it. So here’s my idea. Let’s say you have enough money in your corporate budget to fund a one-minute Superbowl commercial. You want to make a great commercial, but you just don’t know how to go about doing it. Solution: You spend the funds on a one-second blip that reads “F— Yeah!” in big bold letters–Impact font, underline, shadow, the works–with your company’s logo beneath it. A small portion of the funds pays for the ad. The remaining majority of the money pays for the FCC fine. In the process, you create the most controversial television advertisement ever and become an instant marketing sensation, as well. Your company’s logo is now recognized worldwide and your one-second flash is all anyone can talk about come Monday. I know, I should be getting paid for these ideas.

5. Kurt Warner announce he’s gay. Not only will he do it, but he’ll do it with style. After scoring on a one-yard TD run early in the first quarter, Warner will celebrate by running to the goalpost, reaching under the padding and removing a rainbow flag. Then, he’ll run to the sideline and have a teammate awaiting his arrival with a big jacket that says “Kurt Warner: Gay 2009, HOF 20??” on the back, a la Chad Ocho Cinco Johnson. At that point, he’ll display his rainbow flag and run over to the sidelines where his wife, Brenda, will be waiting. In a not-so-surprising development, Brenda (FYI, who happens to be a lot better looking than she once was) will remove her wig and breast implants, revealing that she is and always has been Brendan Warner.

Kurt and Brendan Warner.

6. Larry Fitzgerald retire from football. The Cardinals have just won the Superbowl and Fitzgerald is handed a mic on the makeshift podium at midfield. He then issues this brief statement: “I just want to take this opportunity to announce that I’m retiring from the game of football. Also, I’m the luckiest man on the face of the earth. Thank you.” Defensive backs around the league fund the going-away party, and Fitzgerald takes off on an intellectual quest of some sort around the globe, never to be seen or heard from again. He leaves football at the top of his game, and carves a Barry Sanders-esque mythical legend. The Seahawks go on to reclaim the division title in ’09 by sweeping Arizona. All is right with the world.

7. A non-geriatric perform the halftime show. Not gonna happen this year, I guess. Bruce Springsteen is the featured act, meaning the Superbowl Halftime Show Committee has pretty much outlined their prerequisites for performing artists, post-Janet Jackson Boobgate as follows:
  • Over 50 years of age.

  • Male (meaning no boobs, unless you up and decide to forgo other criteria and book Charlie Weis, Bill Parcells, or the lead singer of Rascal Flatts).

  • Non-ethnic (meaning no big physical features that could possibly elude clothing).

  • Heterosexual (meaning no Clay Aiken, no Lance Bass, no Elton John, no George Michael, and no Michael McDonald).

None of this.

8. Tim Hightower get mauled by a lion. Okay, this is more of a personal matter involving me and Hightower, but it’s worth noting. Hightower is the Cardinals number two running back and a perennial underachiever since about midseason. Over the course of the 2008 fantasy season, I picked the bastard up off waivers three separate times (meaning I had dropped him twice in between) in hopes of snaring lightning in a bottle. For a few weeks, the strategy worked. Hightower started the year as a goal-line back, taking touchdowns away from Edgerrin James. Then, with James’ struggles, Hightower emerged as the starter. That’s when everything went dark. Hightower laid an egg the remainder of the year, then crapped all over my fantasy team, the Compton Honkies. Sure, the Honkies finished the season second overall, but the drop in morale likely cost us the championship (I take my fantasy seriously). Ultimately, I was forced to send Hightower to the waiver wire a third time when the season was complete. It’s a keeper league, so the move had repercussions, but in the end I just wasn’t willing to give Hightower another chance.

9. A sinkhole swallow up both teams during the game. What better way to get revenge on two of our rivals then to witness the earth devour them, coaches and all, during the Superbowl? Short of every player tearing his ACL and being forced to sit out the ’09 season, this would be sweet, sweet justice for Hawks fans everywhere. Forced to pick a winner between two teams you would hate to see come out on top, your dilemma is resolved now that they’ve completely disappeared into the Land of the Lost. It’s a celebration!

Arizona’s Budinger gets stomped on

During Saturday’s Arizona-Houston men’s basketball game, Arizona forward Chase Budinger was on the receiving end of an Aubrey Coleman head trampling that, to anyone outside of Stevie Wonder or Helen Keller, was clearly intentional.

The events transpired immediately following a charging foul call on Houston’s Coleman. Budinger, who took the charge, was sprawled on the ground before falling victim to Coleman’s best attempt at a curb stomp. Pretty cold blooded if you ask me.

Worse yet, Coleman (who was ejected shortly thereafter) could be seen celebrating with teammates following his violent outburst.

Houston coach Tom Penders, who apparently condones this sort of thing, defended his player’s actions after the game. “I know Aubrey, and I have never seen him lose his temper or composure or anything,” said Penders. “I’m just sorry the official interpreted [the stomp] that way. The way I saw it, Aubrey got tangled, and his momentum carried him forward, and I think it was a mistake.” Penders, I think your parents fornicating was a mistake. As for Coleman, a month suspension wouldn’t be out of the question. There are just some things you don’t do.

UCLA’s Dragovic redefines “greatness”

In case you need some bulletin board fodder to carry with you to Saturday’s Husky game against UCLA, here’s a tidbit on Bruin forward Nikola Dragovic.

Dragovic, UCLA’s token Serbian with the awkward-looking name (everyone who’s anyone has one!), is a 6’8″, 214-pound sophomore who may be best known to Dawg fans as the guy who put up two airballs and compiled an 0-4 shooting night in his first trip to Seattle last season. To Bruin fans, Dragovic is a contributing role player who mustered a career-high 20 points against Washington State on Thursday.

Nikola Dragovic, UCLA forward, Criminal

Oh, but there’s so much more to Nikola Dragovic than just numbers. For example, back in November, Dragovic was involved in a domestic dispute with his live-in girlfriend (now, presumably, his ex-girlfriend). The dispute occurred when Dragovic arrived home around 4:00 PM on the evening of November 8th to find his belongings strewn about the front lawn.

Likely bewildered (“I cannot say that I understand this custom of American culture”), Dragovic took out his rage on the only other person present, his girlfriend. A verbal dispute turned into an episode of Cops right after Dragovic shoved the woman to the floor and was subsequently taken into custody. Try doing that to Jon Brockman and see what happens.

Once safely behind bars, a judge set bail for Dragovic at $20,000. Somehow he managed to post bail and escape prison (ahem, NCAA rules violation, maybe?).

Shortly after being informed of his player’s incarceration, UCLA head coach Ben Howland went so far as to call Dragovic “a great kid.” Really? Would we call him great? Because let’s face it, 7.9 PPG is anything but great, so Howland couldn’t have been referring to that.

Maybe Howland was misquoted. Maybe what he meant to say was, “Nikola is great at shoving women to the ground. He may not be much of a basketball player, but you should watch him send ladies flying. Perfect form. Reminds me of the greats: Mike Tyson, Ike Turner, guys like that. He has a real future if he sticks with it.”

Always the ladies’ man.

Why couldn’t Howland just speak the truth? “Nikola Dragovic is a dumbass.” That’s all he had to say. Why does Ben Howland condone violence against women? Hard to say, but there’s no way we should tolerate the presence of Howland or Dragovic come Saturday. It’s an insult to the game and an injustice to society. Stop Violence. Stop Ben Howland. Stop Nikola Dragovic.

*Husky fan Joseph Wood contributed to this story.

The Lookalike List

Over the years, it may have come to your attention that certain athletes resemble other famous people we all know and appreciate. That’s why we’ve created the lookalike list, a collection of athletes who bear a striking resemblance to another public figure we recognize. We’ll revisit this list from time to time, but for now, here are five athletes who can’t seem to distinguish themselves from their celebrity lookalike.

Larry Fitzgerald, Arizona Cardinals receiver, aka Giant Lil’ Wayne. Ever wonder what rapper Lil’ Wayne would look like if he didn’t spent most of his time high on a combination of drugs, ate regular meals, and had never shot himself in the chest? Look no further than wide receiver extraordinaire Larry Fitzgerald, who resembles Dr. Evil next to Lil’ Wayne’s Mini-Me. Take Fitzgerald, place him in a refugee camp for a month, cover him with tattoos, cap his teeth with a grill, then reenter him into society and try to tell him apart from Lil’ Wayne. It just couldn’t be done.

Quincy Pondexter, Washington Huskies forward, aka Wayne Brady. You used to watch Whose Line Is It Anyway? and found yourself gravitating towards that magical Wayne Brady. He could sing, he could dance, he could make white people laugh, he was the total package. Then one day, you tuned into Chappelle’s Show on Comedy Central and, OMG!, there’s that clever Wayne Brady teamed up with Dave Chappelle. But soft, what’s this? Wayne Brady shooting people? Wayne Brady pimping his hoes? Wayne Brady going 187 on the po-lice? What’s the deal here?

Then one day, being the Husky Basketball fan that you are, you watch that mesmerizing Quincy Pondexter playing basketball. He can shoot, he dish, he can play defense, he’s the total package. But let me tell you something about Quincy. You mess with him off the court, you rag on his abilities, and he can turn on you faster than Wayne Brady turned on Dave Chappelle. Is Quincy Pondexter gonna have to choke a bitch?

Mark Few, Gonzaga Head Basketball Coach, aka Mr. Hand. You’re a product of the ’80’s and you just can’t seem to put your finger on who that Mark Few resembles. An actor, you’re sure, but you can’t remember which one. You comb your library of old-school films but can’t seem to crack the code.

Then one Sunday afternoon, you’re watching the watered-down version of Fast Times at Ridgemont High on TBS (meaning no Phoebe Cates, no boobs, no sex). You get to that first school scene, the one where Spicoli (Sean Penn) walks into history class late, and you finally have your answer. Mark Few is Mr. Hand, the history teacher that torments Spicoli through his entire senior year of high school. I’ve heard that the Gonzaga basketball season doesn’t fully get underway until Mark Few walks into the locker room, writes “I DON’T KNOW” on the chalkboard, underlines it, and then stands in front of his players looking for answers.

Taylor Rochestie, Washington State Cougars guard, aka McLovin. I imagine that the first time Taylor Rochestie ever got laid, he proudly announced to the world “I got a boner!” before rounding second base. Such is the life of the Cougar guard, who more closely resembles the teenaged nerdy underdog from the movie Superbad, than a Division I basketball player. If we can get Rochestie to trim his moptop and sport some glasses, we’ll be in business. If we can get him to dress in a white button-up, tan vest, and slacks (“You look like Aladdin”), then we may have a perfect match.

Brandon Morrow, Mariners pitcher, aka Voldemort. Maybe Morrow just happened to be the victim of one of the worst headshots of all-time, but if you went to an M’s game last year and saw the right-hander’s image on the big screen, you might have thought you were looking at the spitting image of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Children flee in his presence, wizards crumble before him, batters buckle at his curveball. Yes, Brandon Morrow may not be the most photogenic baseball player in history, but he does bear a striking resemblance to the villain of the Harry Potter stories, making him our most feared lookalike of all.

If you have a lookalike that you think should be on our next list, email us at

What we can learn from Barack Obama

Whether you’re a kid, a young adult, a parent, a grandparent, or anything in between, there is always more about sports that we can learn. This article, from Sports Illustrated, on Barack Obama’s rise to prominence and the playground, can help anyone find sports and turn sports into a passion. If this motivates you to play, great. If this gets your kids playing, great. The important thing is that Americans take sports and make them an important part of everyday learning.

I mean, we’ve all seen what happens when people shun sports. They turn into angry, bitter, people-hating Emos, who then materialize into the teacher or professor we can’t help but despise, who then turns into a fat loner that calls the cops on you whenever you turn your TV volume past a certain level, who then becomes the senile old person that frowns at kids whenever they have a smile on their face. Don’t become that person. Don’t let your children become that person. Learn sports, teach sports, become involved. Reading this article is a good start. One more time, you can access the link by clicking here.

Pic O’ The Day

In a picture taken from this week’s Sports Illustrated, President Barack Obama schools UNC forward Tyler Hansbrough on his way to an easy layup. Reports out of Chapel Hill confirm that Obama called Hansbrough a “punk beyotch” on his drive through the lane, and told Hansbrough later on that he “played defense like Luke Ridnour’s little sister’s wheelchair-bound friend.” Ouch.

Why are you reading this? It’s Inauguration Day.

Because I know very few people will read this, I offer you some random digressions on sports that I’ve put together. Enjoy.

-Why hasn’t an opposing team’s fans ever started chanting “You are Gay!” at Rudy Gay? It only makes sense. I just hope I can be there when it happens.

-Xavier McDaniel (Sonics), Alvin Davis (Mariners), and John L. Williams (Seahawks) are three players that Seattle sports fans should have a special place for in their hearts.
-The best mascot name that has yet to be invented: Balls Tate, future mascot of Ball State University. Imagine the Western Kentucky mascot (pictured at left), but shaped like a scrotum.

-I’m pretty sure Dave Niehaus invented his “Grand Salami” call while pounding his wife.

-In case you were wondering whatever happened to Kurt Warner’s spiky-haired wife, she’s now pretty darn hot. Click here for more on that story, as well as pictures. A perfect example of what money can do for you.

-Athletes most likely to exit the closet in the next ten years: Derek Jeter, Dustin Pedroia, Tim Hardaway, Eli Manning.

-Names of players I’ve created on Madden or NCAA Football over the years: Woody Goldenrod, Wee Wang, Juan Aphilippines (sound it out, syllable by syllable), Boner Johnson, Deuce Moss.

-Why hasn’t an opposing team’s fans ever started chanting “You are Gay!” at Rudy Gay? It only makes sense. I just hope I can be there when it happens.

He’s Gay!

-A roster of the most obscure Mariners anyone could possibly think of at each position:

  • Pitcher, Jerry Don Gleaton.

  • Catcher, Bill McGuire.

  • First Base, Greg Pirkl.

  • Second Base, Brent Gates.

  • Third Base, Dave Cochrane.

  • Shortstop, Rey Quinones.

  • Outfield, Brian Turang.

  • Outfield, Quinn Mack.

  • Outfield, Warren Newsome.

-Names of players I want to create for Madden and/or NCAA Football after reviewing the list of names I’ve already created: Horace von Schnauzerface, Kareem Abdul-Smith, Tango McBerg, Konichi Wakamatsu.

-A short list of the best (term used loosely) sports comedy movies of all-time: Major League, Major League II, small doses of Major League III (if only because it’s so bad it’s funny, such as when they superimpose images of Taka Tanaka in the Metrodome because, presumably, they couldn’t get him to fly to Minnesota), Caddyshack, Bad News Bears, Happy Gilmore, Air Bud, The Sixth Man, Celtic Pride.

-An image from the soon-to-be-released Reggie Bush-Kim Kardashian sex tape:

And on that note, we are done. Check back later today for our feature article, and in the meantime, enjoy the inauguration.

Attention socially conscious sportswriter: Nobody likes you

Jemele Hill and L.Z. Granderson are two ESPN columnists who share a common goal: bore readers with social issues that infringe upon our love of sports. The interesting thing is, they’re both featured as part of’s “Page 2,” a sideshow of sports media coverage which generally displays a humorous undertone. Hill and Granderson are two columnists who stray far from humor, however. In our Utopia of sports, they’re the buzzkills who tend to rain on our parade. Think of the guy at your party who drinks diet soda, sits in the corner, and refuses to participate in anything fun. That’s Hill and Granderson in a nutshell.

In recent months, Hill (pictured at right) has written articles on the abolition of fan voting when it comes to the Pro Bowl (no one watches anyways, so why take away the only fun part of it), a scathing rebuke of the Plaxico Burress incident (what, like you’ve never shot yourself in the leg?), and a profile of her father and her faith (touching, but definitely lacking intrigue to non-Hills everywhere). At one point, she compared the World Champion Boston Celtics with Adolf Hitler, netting her a suspension from ESPN for her unenlightened (or, perhaps, overenlightened, in her mind) point of view. Granderson (pictured at left), for his part, has interviewed New York Knicks rookie Danilo Gallinari (who?), the inspiration of Mia Hamm (did Sounders fans even read this?), and a piece entitled “Why are we still talking about Pacman?” (why are you still talking about Pacman? Face.).

Now I’m not trying to insinuate that what they’re doing isn’t respectable, because it is. It’s just not what we, as sports fans, want to hear about. Sports, like television and movies, are our break from reality. When we indulge ourselves with sports, we don’t want to hear about the social ramifications of Player X’s actions, or be chided for not reacting in a certain ethical way to what occurred with Player Z. Understandably, Hill, Granderson, and other columnists like them have an opinion on what occurs. That’s great. It’s expected. But we don’t care. We don’t care about why we should appreciate your charity case’s outstanding performance in the Lesbian Professional Curling League. We don’t care about your kid sister’s outlook on life. We don’t care about things like that. We want to be awed, overwhelmed, entertained. We want to laugh, we want to cry, we want our blood pressure to rise. We don’t want grim seriousness. We don’t need flatlines. It’s something that the socially conscious journalist–like an Oscar-winning dramatic film director or the great American novelist–may never understand. What you do is fantastically amazing in the grand scheme of life, but to the everyman, it’s just not that cool.

L.Z. Granderson and Jemele Hill are good storytellers. If they were writing for Time or Life, maybe then we could fully appreciate what they’re trying to bring to the table. But as sports fans, we just can’t sit idly by and deal with their oh-so-holy bullcrap. You may find a certain level of acceptance in soup kitchens or book clubs, but here, in the Great Wide World of Sports, we’re not having it.

Oregon’s Pit Crew: The answer to the question "Where does our trash go when we throw it out?"

If you’re a Northwest college basketball fan, you may be familiar with the University of Oregon student section, better known as the “Pit Crew.” The Pit Crew is an abomination to fandom in general, and especially to the intimate nature of college basketball. While other West Coast schools such as UCLA, California, Stanford, Gonzaga, and Washington have established some of the best, most recognized student sections in the nation, Oregon has attempted to undo all the creative, good-natured fun being had by their rivals with an out-of-bounds attitude towards opponents that crosses all moral and ethical lines of behavior.

To briefly sum it up, the Pit Crew is a waste of humanity. If you were to classify humans into two groups, those who to deserve to walk the earth and those who don’t, most members of the Pit Crew would fall into the latter. That’s not to say that they’re bad people when outside Oregon’s Mac Court, or in a one-on-one environment, but when they get together and form their ocean of green-and-yellow ugliness, bad things happen.

Perhaps their most notable transgression took place last season, when Pac-10 rival UCLA came to town. The Bruins were led by freshman center Kevin Love, a native of nearby Lake Oswego, who spurned the Ducks for greener pastures (no pun intended). Love’s decision to attend UCLA naturally didn’t sit well with Oregon fans. But instead of jousting the 6’10” NBA prospect with witty barbs or tongue-in-cheek chants, the Pit Crew led an all-out assault on the entire Love family. With Kevin Love’s parents, siblings, and even grandmother sitting in attendance near the UCLA bench, the Oregon students unleashed a wrath of abuse that no group of people should ever have to endure. They called Love, the player, names like “faggot,” “pussy,” and “cock-lover.” They offered to fight any one of the Love clan who dared bat an eye in their direction (for the record, I’d put my money on Grandma Love to bust the balls of some well-deserved Duck with a cane to the groin). They made signs bearing R-rated language that was condoned by the MacArthur Court security. They spewed epithets, insults, and basically made a mockery of the sport and of fans in general. The media, appalled by their actions, scolded the university for tolerating the behavior. Stan Love, Kevin’s father and an Oregon alum, publicly disowned his alma mater. None of it made any difference to the Pit Crew, with one Crew member going so far as to justify the behavior in print with this article in Oregon’s student newspaper just a few days later. Like I said, they’re the latter portion of humanity.

After the Huskies overwhelmed Oregon last night on that very same floor, Washington players walked away underwhelmed by the performance of the Duck students. “I just expected so much more, but it was nothing,” said freshman point guard Isaiah Thomas. Anticipating the same treatment that former Husky mighty-mite Nate Robinson received in Eugene four years ago (with chants and signs indicating Robinson’s supposed likeness to actor Gary Coleman), Thomas was entertained by little more than a less-than-creative Pit Crew, who have come to typify the fairweather nature of the Oregon fan base. I guess winning breeds confidence.

The Pit Crew likes to think they try hard. They have their own website, complete with all the Duck propoganda one could pull out their ass, and even go so far as to hold weekly leadership meetings, not unlike high school ASB officers or, perhaps, the mafia. In reality, the cowards who call themselves the Pit Crew are little more than a joke that embodies the lawlessness of the University of Oregon and reflects the less-than-ethical standards of their head basketball coach/Latin lover Ernie “Ernesto” Kent. Like Kent, maybe the Pit Crew would be better off taking a woman to Mexico and having sex with her before trying out some of their unimpressive tactics on opponents, because let’s face it, they’ve had very little to offer in their ten years of existence and I speak for just about everyone when I say we’re all sick of it. With any luck, MacArthur Court, scheduled for demolition after the season, will be taken down with the Pit Crew still inside. We can only hope.

Point of Contention: Do Emo kids have a place in sports?

You’ve seen them, of course. They walk amongst the shadows, clutter your local food court, constantly amble with a hanging head, and maintain a leering glare. They grow their hair out to obscure their faces, dress in dark attire, and seek the public attention they so desperately crave at home. They are like the Children of the Corn, except the Children of the Corn had a purpose and direction; these kids do not. They skip middle school classes, listen to teeny rock, and prepare for the angst and social awkwardness of their undoubtedly weird transition into adulthood. Yes, by now you may have figured out who we’re talking about. They are Emo kids, and they are the face of American youth. From Gen-X, to Gen-Next, to Gen-Y, we’ve reached Gen-Zero, an entire generation of adolescents charactized by their absolute nothingness.

Outside of skateboarding, Emo (short for “emotional) kids aren’t known as avid sportsmen. At one time or another, they may have been forced onto a court or field by an all-too-pushy parent, but by the time they’ve crossed over to the dark side, athletics are little more than a distant memory. At this point, they’re more concerned with the prospect of piercings and tattoos, or the staging of a perfect self-taken bathroom shot of teenage misery to post on MySpace. Nevertheless, in our sports-frenzied society, we have to ask the critical questions of how athletics and culture can intertwine to produce sweet, sweet beautiful love. All of which leads us to the question of whether Emo kids do or do not have a place in sports. Without further ado, we’ll examine both sides of the argument.

Pro: Emo kids do have a place in sports. I have a great idea. Let’s say a Major League Baseball team has an “Emo Night” event. They hire a popular Emo rock band to play a postgame concert, and offer reduced admission to Emo kids with a paying adult (scratch that, no paying adult required…their parents don’t love them, after all). Of course, there has to be a catch, and there is. The catch is the Emo kids must submit to a haircut and an exchange of clothing at the gate; a well-coiffed ‘do in place of the long, dark locks, and a normal person’s wardrobe instead of those goofy-ass skintight disasters they buy at Value Village. It’s not unlike the scene in Return of the Jedi when Luke removes Darth Vader’s helmet and essentially turns him into the peaceful Anakin Skywalker once again. It’s not just an isolated incident; it’s an entire statement about life.

From a societal standpoint, the transformation has multiple repercussions. One, the sports franchise willing to stage this endeavour has quite possibly created a repeat customer who will be overwhelmed by sports fanaticism. Two, the younger Emos may be intervened during a point early enough in their Emoism to give athletics a try on their own; rather than just their lame-o attempts at skateboarding, they may take up baseball, basketball, football, or any other sport that frowns upon, rather than embraces, the use of mass quantities of hashish to drive success. Three, by capturing Emos and exposing them to athletics, we will accelerate their extinction and incorporate a whole new set of fans into the world of sports; in doing so, we will keep our world thriving and avoid the downfall of sports franchises, sports media, and anything else sports related. Diabolical.

My backup plan is much more simple. We submit the Emos to an all-day marathon of ESPN’s First and 10. I have a feeling they’ll establish a connection with Skip Bayless, slowly but surely drawing them into the sports spectrum. Also, it’s quite possible that Bayless is one of them. Two birds, one stone.

Con: Emo kids do not have a place in sports. Let’s face it, this is a lost cause. Emo kids hate stuff, and sports can be tough to hate. The only way this will work is if we send them all to Detroit. There, they can quickly adapt to the atmosphere of losing and fall in love with the misery that is the Motor City sports scene. Of course, we don’t have the funding to do that, so our attempts to convert the unconverted are simply futile.

For example, what are Emos in Florida supposed to do? The Florida Gators have won two football and two basketball National Championships in the past five years. That culture of winning will repel Emos quicker than sunlight and happiness. The bright blue-and-orange color scheme probably won’t perform any miracles either.

On top of that, everyone knows Emo kids are completely unathletic. Have you ever seen an Emo throw a football? Of course not, his hand would melt and his parents might appreciate him, two things most Emos try to avoid. Even running track might be a stretch for most Emo kids. The exposure to that much sunlight could be harmful to their pale, sensitive skin…and it’s really tough to run in nut-hugging, button-fly jeans.

Sports doesn’t need Emos, and Emos don’t need sports. The love Emos could receive from sports would likely overwhelm them and possibly short-circuit their brains. Their home life might be repaired, and they might develop some semblance of a personality. They might possibly spend their Saturdays in the gym instead of walking the mall, shopping despite the fact that they have no money. They may become better human beings, establish a future, and actually become whole again. These are all things we don’t need.
Okay, so there you have it, both sides of the argument. Now it’s your turn. Take a moment to share your thoughts on Emo kids and their place in sports. Thanks for reading, and for chipping in your opinion.