STOP BREAKING THE FUCKING LAW!!!!

Dear all Duck athletes,

We Angry Guys have been around for a while and have learned many things. Much of our wisdom comes from living life experiences that would blow the minds of most ordinary people. We taught Dumbo how to fly, taught Eminem how to freestyle, taught William Shakespeare how to write. Through all of these experiences we have learned one golden rule that will lead you to success: DON"T BREAK THE MOTHERFUCKING LAW!!!!!!! While it seems cool at the time, breaking the law never has positive consequences on your career unless you're a mobster or a gangsta rap artist. And while we've been brought in multiple times by our equally rich and aesthetically pleasing Uncle Phil (we're choking on those words as we write them) to teach University of Oregon duck athletes this lesson, they keep showing that they were sleeping through class. From Jerimiah Masoli's five fingered romp through a Eugene Fraternity to the recent allegations that LaMichael FancyFeet James pulled a Latrell Spreewell on his girlfriend, this class of Oregon ducks just doesn't know how to stay on the right side of the law. Boys, let's break it down one last time... When you play well and go to class you have the chance to become an Oregon gridiron legend and make millions of dollars in the NFL. Let's look at recent Duck success stories: Dennis Dixon, Jonathan Stewart, Jarius Byrd, Joey Harrington. Some of those players may not have made it in the NFL (oh Joey...) they still made way more money in a few years than most Duck graduates will make in a lifetime. And, guess what? They're still obsessively worshipped by all Oregon Duck Faithful! If all else fails they could always become a bartender at Taylor's and RAKE IN the tips (Ok, we're dreaming but wouldn't it be awesome to see Joey mixing you a Long island at Taylor's? It would be like an Oregon version of Cheers). Here are the list of talented football players who broke the law, let's see if we can find out what they all have in common: Maurice Clarett, Pacman Jones, Donte Stallworth, Plaxico Burress. Stumped? They're all either in prison, out of the league or making way less money than they should. And you know why??? THEY BROKE THE FUCKING LAW!!!!!!! So as much as you want to steal a laptop which, I'm sure if you asked nice Phil Knight would buy you, or the next time you want to punch out another team's linebacker don't do it. Just pull a George Costanza and do the EXACT OPPOSITE thing that you would normally do in that situation. We're sure it's the right thing to do. And for all you Duck athletes out there doing the right thing we ask you for a favor. Don't let the talented idiots on your team out of your sight for a second... literally. Follow them into the bathroom. Share a room with them bunk bed style. Go to every one of their classes... and bring them with you. Because, you see, you need them to succeed. These guys are first grade morons and when they have millions of dollars you'll be able to con them into giving you money for things like cars, houses and business loans. Think of the time you spend keeping them out of trouble as an investment in your future self. Again, don't break the law and good things will happen to you. Follow that rule and stop destroying our football season before it starts.

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A few tall tales from some large gents.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the sports world, nay the sports universe. We, the two most handsome, ingenious and knowledgeable lads to ever be seen, (also known to you as the Angry Guys) have found a piece never before seen by our reading public. It was locked away in the Angry Guy Vault. You see, when Scrouge McDuck passed on a few years back, he willed his massive vault with all his money to the Angry Guys. He was always a man of great taste and enjoyed the Angry Guys so much when we wrote for the Wilson Statesman that he wanted to make sure that we would have all the money we ever needed so that we could focus all of our energies to writing these fantastic pieces for you, the adoring public.( However after several trips to Vegas, and countless parties with Mike Tyson, we found ourselves in worse financial shape then the NHL. ) We decided to lock ourselves in the vault and get to work, fueled by King Size Double Cheeseburger meals and Jack Daniel's Whiskey (What spinach is to Popeye, JD is to Sean). Things went well for about a year, with the Angry Guys producing masterpiece after masterpiece of fine crafted angry prose when the smell of money began to get to our magnificently large heads. Arguments were had, looks were exchanged and faces were made, culminating in the argument of all arguments in which, after debating for months who was the better Division II football mascot, Kyle spontaneously combusted and destroyed most of the vault. Only being able to reconcile at the beginning of last year, we Angry Guys made a promise never to visit the Vault again, locking up some of our best works ever. We finally got the courage to send Jacob our Stat Wizard to the vault to search the charred remains. Amidst all of the empty whiskey bottles and Burger King wrappers he found these pieces of goodness safely tucked behind a half charred Raef LaFrentz cardboard cut-out.
It's like this boys & girls, as you all know we Angry Guys are highly regarded amongst most pro sports possies. We have our own ringtone on LeBron's phone, we often hit the links with Chuck and D-Wade and there has been more then one occasion when a high out of his mind Michael Phelps has called us needing our opinion on which brand of cereal would best cure the munchies ( because it clearly ain't Wheaties. ) Needless to say folks, we have some pull. When the best of the best have a problem, we are the first call. Without further ado we offer up a few of the lost masterpieces most recently pulled from the ashes.


Circa 2007:

The landscape of professional sports was changed for ever last week when the New York Post broke a story about alleged gambling in the ranks of NBA officials. While this article mostly berated one specific official named Tim Donaghy, it also spoke of a culture deep seeded in the heart of the NBA. It's one we all saw night in and night out, yet none of us knew just how deep down the rabbit hole it went. Lucky for all of you readers out there in lala land we just had to give ol' Tim a call and he was more then willing to sit down with the two of us and give an exclusive interview. We laughed, he cried, we laughed some more, and now here it is for your pleasure:

AG: "So Tim we have known you for most of your thirteen year NBA officiating career, and while we have talked a lot of shit about you or made jokes regarding your eyesight and its likeness to that of a bat, we never took you for a cheater."

TD: "Errrrrr, thanks?"

AG: " So lets talk facts here Tim. You have spent 25 years of your life officiating basketball in some form or another, and you have always been near the fire or holding the matches. In the past 5 years you have now been involved with two of the biggest and most tragic events to hit the NBA. You were there during the Malice at the Palace and to be honest we aren't quite convinced you didn't throw the diet coke at Ron Artest yourself in hopes of keeping the score around the spread. Then we find out that you placed tens of thousands of dollars in bets on games during the 2005–06 and 2006–07 season, whats up with that?

TD: " Listen I'm not sure who you guys are or how you managed to bypass my security and get into my house, but I don't have anything to say on this matter until after the trial. Also are those homemade press badges you two are wearing?"

AG: You listen here fellow, we are not the ones on trial. We ask the questions round here."

TD: "But this is my house...."

AG: "Tim if you are going to be like this, then we will just have to get a hold of some of those low level mobsters we saw sitting parked in front of the house on our way in."

TD gets up and peeks through the shades: " I don't see anybody out there aside from two pink bikes with tassels. Do those belong to the "mobsters" or you guys?

AG: "Well its starting to look like this interview isn't going anywhere, we just have one last question and we would really appreciate if you could speak very clearly and direct it towards our chests?"

TD: " Wait are you two fuckers wearing wires right now?"

AG " Language not appreciated, but we will let it slide. Is there any chance you could just let us know who is going to win the championship this year? We are headed to Vegas in a few weeks, and could really use a hot tip. Anything?"

At this point Mr. Donaghy pointed us towards the door and asked us to leave. We may never fully know the truth, of course he wont have full control of his legs after The Mob is done with him.


Circa 2008:

We got this letter from the Jenny Craig corporation when we acted as Charles Barkley's agent for about a week and a half two years ago. Charles had sent them a letter asking them about their program and this their response.

Mr. Charles Barkley, Thank you for your interest in joining our company as a spokesperson. Of course we are always delighted to have our celebrity clients share their stories of weight loss with our customers, especially those of your massive girth. While we would love to have you join the team we feel there are a few things we should clear up. First, we're not sure who you spoke with but we do not have an "All Bacon and Grits" diet plan. Sorry that you were misinformed but both of those foods actually help you GAIN weight instead of losing it. We're sure that you can move your passion for those foods to more healthy options like carrots and whole wheat bread! Secondly, those "whores on the T.V" that you talk about in your letter are actually our current spokeswomen. We are positive that Kirsti and Valarie will not be interested in doing the "Sir Charles Sex Shuffle" with you and we're certainly not going to recommend they put on "20 or 30 pounds of cushion for the pushin" that you feel is necessary. Again, the whole point of our program here at Jenny Craig is losing weight and becoming more healthy. Who knows, maybe getting into shape will help that golf swing of yours... sorry, we couldn't help ourselves! We hope that you'll grab the bull by the horns (no, this is not a pun about you never beating the Bulls during your playing days) and lose the weight you gained when you ate Steve Kerr. You'll be helping us as well; a public image firm recently told us to bring on a male spokesperson and, if you pass, we'll have to go with our backup plan and bring on Jason "I'll always be George Costanza" Alexander. No one wants to see that Charles, no one. We look forward to hearing from you!

Sincerely, The People at Jenny Craig


Circa 2005:

We got this email from a friend of a friend who was hacking into Jose Conseco's email account. He wants to stay anonoymus so we'll change his name around. Thanks Mrian BcNamee!

Big Mac, Where were you yesterday buddy? We were supposed to be shooting the cover of my new book "Juiced"! Remember, we agreed to take the photo where you were bending over and I was injecting you with that novelty size hypodermic needle I got from the Jersey shore last summer? Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now. This was YOUR plan all along. You came to me and said "Dude, the Bash Bros need a TV show. Let's write a book about when we did steroids and smacked dingers all day and then call out all of the other players who we knew juiced!" You said we'd make millions because whistle blowers are all the rage now and that people would love us again. That's all I want Big Mac, I want people to love me! I'm beginning to believe this is a set up. I'm still waiting for you to finish up your section of the book, don't you think you should have finished that already? I mean, if you don't get it in soon they're just going to publish my part. Don't you think a book with just my side of the story would make me look like an asshole taking advantage of you? Also, I'm starting to think that just having my name on the book might be a bad thing. I can't think of any reason you wouldn't want to be a visible part of this! I was talking to McNamee and he said I was getting paranoid. He said I should probably stop taking the roids, that using them for this long might start making me crazy. Crazy?!? Is it crazy to want to look this good? So what if the last time I saw my balls was when Clinton was president, I've gotta get my swell on! Mac Attack, I hope you're not planning on letting me do this solo. I told you if I don't get a big payday from this I'll have to start fighting celebs for money. That's SO beneath me... Look, I've rescheduled the shoot for next week. Just make sure you're there and bring some of that new Andro gel you've been raving about.

Later. Your Pretty Steroid Princess, Jose


Circa 2009:

Sticking with topics close to our hearts, and about subjects we care deeply about, we were thrilled when our old friend Michael Phelps sent us the rough draft of a letter he was composing in retaliation to being dropped as a sponsor for the Wheaties brand. Ever since that photo was snapped of him taking a massive lap around the bong he has wanted his side heard. Soo:

Dear Wheaties,

Special K is a much better product. It offers all the energy and nutrition I need without forcing me to lie to my fans. If I want to enjoy an occasional bong rip after winning 8 gold medals, then who are you to judge? Sure it suddenly makes sense why I intake 15,000 calories a day, but it doesn't make sense why you would drop me so suddenly. You have to look at what could have been. Today's kids are all about the sugary cereal, nobody wants the health food crap. They want sugar, sugar, and more sugar; sometimes accompanied by a goofy mascot. You already had gold, what's goofier than my face? Right now, you don't even have a mascot for the company. Nothing says champion like a drawing of a grown man in speedo's enjoying a bowl of Wheaties. Imagine the cartoon commercials of me racing past Tony the Tiger, or me out swimming the Cheerio's bee in a pool of honey. Come on, how good would that be? Well, we will never know. Speaking of cereal I have a really bad case of the munchies right now..... I wonder if Taco Bell is open this late...... This screen saver on my mac is so pretty, the colors......... Did I mention that I won 8 gold medals.........I'm getting kinda sleepy now, so I better wrap this up...... In closing your company will live to regret this as I have just signed a mega-deal with with Frankenberry cereal brand. They didn't even have to change the logo, just a picture of me with two bolts glued on now. So suck on that for a while, while I suck down my bowl of sugary milk. MMMMMM, victory.

Sincerely-Michael K. Phelps


As you can see, over the years we have helped out a lot of our friends. Sometimes it requires burying a dead hooker in the desert after Tiger calls you up at 3 AM, sometimes its as simple as giving someone a shoulder to cry on because the roids are really messing with them( It's ok Barry, it happens to everyone.) Except us of course. No problem to big, no friend to small. A friend in need is a friend indeed. So until next time, Yamabethur.

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Once in a decade

For those who have followed our careers from our humble beginnings in the halls of ol' WHS, to those who have just recently embraced the dark side and discovered the anger and glory of our practices, we thank you. 10 years ago, the two of us didn't even know each other, now we are smoking stogies and enjoying a ballgame or killing a hooker together nearly every weekend. (Just kidding everyone, we only Dexter hobo's). It has been a year full of surprises, but even more so, it has been an amazing decade in the wide world of sports. From records considered unbreakable, to moments every sports fan would love to call a mulligan on. We have all laughed, cried, jumped for joy, and even at times vomited in our own mouths. We are actually doing two of the four right now while we think about how Tom Brady has spent the past 10 years. Gisele and Bridget Moynahan. WTF!?! On that unfair note, we submit to you, in some sort of order, our top 10 most important and life changing sports moments of the past decade. Why post this in the new decade you may ask? Because you can’t truly look back on the decade until that decade is done… and we’re lazy.


1.) Tiger Woods: Man, Golf God, Sex Machine

It would be impossible for us to do this piece without mentioning the Associated Press' Athlete of the decade. However, due to a recent restraining order we were served after our last article, we cannot really go into this subject in any great detail. But let us just say this, no Modern athlete has transformed their collective sport more than Tiger. He made it cool to watch golf, and he was winning every title in sight while arm pumping and swooshing his way to victory. In June 1999, Woods won the Memorial Tournament, a win that marked the beginning of one of the greatest sustained periods of dominance in the history of men's golf. He completed his 1999 campaign by winning his last four starts—including the PGA Championship—and finished the season with eight wins, a feat not achieved in the past 25 years. So the question has to be asked; will Tiger's recent "transgressions" forever tarnish his image as the greatest golfer known to man since Pappy O' Daniels was hitting stones in the 1800's or will he come back stronger then ever and make us all enjoy a dish of crow pie?

2.) The Poster Boy and Face of the NFL. Manning vs. Brady

Two men have stood like Titans over the game of football for the better part of this decade; Tom Brady and Peyton Manning. Both are statistically superior to most every other quarterback in league history and yet they've gone about it in two completely different ways. A sixth round compensatory pick with the looks of a GQ model vs. a home-fed country boy who looks like Dawson's Creek gone country. One comes into the draft knowing his value, and doing whatever it takes to become the #1 overall pick. The other is so unsure of his abilities that he actually hired a sports psychologist to help him cope with frustration and anxiety and even considered transferring to Cal. Manning is one of only two three-time NFL MVP's and was in arguably one of the best athlete related skits in SNL history ( If you haven't seen the guy's acting chops, just stop reading and watch anything on YouTube with Peyton in it. You will poop yourself). Brady? Let's just say that Manning has more class then to pretend he's a cowboy and sell hundred dollar perfume. You see, what Peyton has had to earn his entire life, Brady has had handed to him on a silver platter. (Aside from the whole almost going undrafted thing). Frankenstein Dawson has had to overcome a lot. His father is one of the best collegiate QB's of all time, his younger and uglier brother has been nipping at his heals his whole life, and did we mention he is hideous? And yet he has a fire in his belly which drove him to tell Indianapolis executives that if they didn't draft him #1 he was going to spend the next 15 years kicking their ass. Wow... The last time Tom Brady made a threat along those lines was when a Starbucks barista got his double whip, half-caf, soy infused frapalattechino order wrong. Talk about throwing a hissy fit. This guy makes the Olsen twins seem butch. Peyton has been a consistent killer in the regular season, making the people he plays with not only look good but look HALL OF FAME good. Take, for example, Edgerrin James. He was a superstar in Indy because the threat of a Peyton manning bomb to the end zone made opposing defenses play off the line. SUPPOSEDLY a great running back, Edge went to Arizona and played with the likes of Matt Leinart and got his ass kicked out of the league. Without Manning's superb control of the game, the holes dried up for Edge like water in the Arizona desert and he couldn't cut it (Granted, playing with Matt Leinert as a running back is like finding out you have terminal cancer; the end is sooner than you think). Who's career has Brady elevated? Well lots of people, but that’s not really the point now is it? Sure he took the NFL's poster boy of bad behavior Randy Moss and made him a pro bowler, and alright so his # 1 receiver the past 2 years has been a guy shorter then Papa Smurf. But do those really make him the best of the best? Can you really respect a guy who carries around an Indiana Jones man purse and has his tips frosted on a weekly basis? This is football we are talking about, not book club with the church ladies. While neither Peyton Manning or Tom Brady can come close to dethroning Joe Montana as the greatest quarterback in the history of the game, we give the edge to Peyton just because we can't give anything more to a guy who dates and knocks up a supremely beautiful woman only to dump her and knock up another supremely beautiful woman. It just ain't fair...

3.) Testicular and Brain Cancer Survivors Wing

We are going to take a trip into Imaginationland for this part folks. Let's all just close our eyes, and imagine the light stylings of Sade serenading us to a better place. Are you here with us? Good, now pretend for a moment that you just found out you not only have brain cancer but a nice bit of testicular cancer to top it off. Hold on a moment, take the gun out of your collective mouths. Life is not over as you know it. It turns out that is the best thing to ever happen to you. Not only will you live a long and happy life where you go on to produce four children with two different woman, nail Sheryl Crow, and be featured in a big budget Vince Vaughn movie but you actually go on to become the most recognizable person to ride a Bicycle since......ahh hell who are we kidding, naming another famous bicyclist is like trying to name all the Baldwin brothers. Just can't be done. So you lose part of your manhood, then go on to win your sports most coveted award 7 times in a row. That's like the opposite of Barry Bond's career (Ed. Note: Kyle was punched in the kidney for writing about Bonds outside of a baseball article). One of the downsides is that you have to hang out with losers like Robin Williams (Latin name: Harrious Knucleum Maximus) and Matthew "Beef's what's for dinner" McConaughey. Yet, all of this is not the one thing most people will remember about Sir Lancelot; it's those god damn yellow Livestrong bracelet that everyone and their grandmothers had for a while. Nike, we mean (cough, cough) charity must have made millions off those things! It spawned four copy cats, then Sham wow and then the Snuggie. It went viral. Think about this though. For almost the better part of this decade we were glued to the TV during Tour de France time, actually sometimes watching it on the VS network (We know, you're ashamed of us). With Lance out of it, though, no one gives a shit about cycling anymore. The reason we bring this up is that cycling's most comparable televised sport, golf, just lost their superstar for an indefinite period of time while he tries to remember what it feels like to have sex with someone married to him. Could we be on the cusp of no one giving a shit about golf anymore? We think we're already there. Ain't no one trying to watch a final matchup between Lefty and Padraig. If you know who we're talking about then you know we're right. In conclusion, Lance Armstrong is the most Bad Ass MOFO since Arnold showed up naked at the beginning of T2.

4.) America's Past time, Stickball 101

If you have made it this far through the article, we salute you. You are a true fan, and have deep anger burning inside you. Come to think of it, you might want to get that checked out, but we digress. Any die hard sports fan has one topic that we would all rather never get mentioned. For one half of this due, we are talking about the horrible mess surrounding baseball and its "shocking" steroid use. While we understand this all started a few years before this generation began, it would be unfair to say all the blame belongs on the huge lumberjack shoulders of Mark "Big Mac" McGwire and Swingin' Sammy. For a few years there we saw players the size of jockeys averaging 40 home runs, and pitchers coming back from Tommy John surgery 2 weeks after the procedure (We are looking at you Brian Roberts. You’re like the size of the kids in Honey I shrunk the kids.). As usual, nobody wanted to accept the truth. Who didn't want to see Barry Bonds not only hit 73 home runs in a single season, but break Hank Aaron's all-time career home run record? Even if you were a Bond's hater, you still want to see history being made during your lifetime. People try to make Bond's out to be the big head of the steroids era (pun very much intended. Get it, his head was huge.) However, now we all must deal with the black eye left on America's past time. Speaking of black eyes in baseball, how about that dickwad Alex Rodriguez? While watching his admission special hosted by Peter Gammons( you will be missed ), we weren't sure what was more offensive, him speaking broken English while he cried his eyes out, or the fact that he did so while wearing a Mr. Rogers sweater. Bitch, we don't want to be your neighbor, maybe Kate Hudson, but not you. Worst of all, the year after he admits steroid use, and god punishes him by breaking his hip the baseball gods shower him with a World Series title. Now folks, get ready for a wild ride, because we are about to once and for all decide who is the greater super power in the world of Major League Baseball. (Note: This section will also be HGH free.) For all those member of Red Sox Nation out there with the raging hard-ons and Yankees suck shirts, we hear you. The Curse has been broken, and you won two championships within 3 years of each other. Hazaaa! After years, and years, and years of disappointment, no other fan base was more deserving than you. Each decade you had multiple tragic events prevent you from reaching the top of the baseball world. For example: Bucky "f@*#ing" Dent's hommer in 1978, who could forget '86 with the legendary Bill Buckner play, or in '03 when it became Aaron "f@*#ing" Boone. After 86 years though, it finally happened. You had an all-star team for a roster, and finally did what we had all hoped and dethroned the Yankee's. Speaking of evil empires back on the rise, how about them Yankees? The 2009 payroll was just a smidge over $192,000,000. That’s right everyone, count all them zeros. When you employ the best of the best and pay them more than anyone can offer because there is no rule against it, should we really celebrate you winning? That's like cheering for the non-disabled person participating in the special Olympics, sure a win’s a win but have you no shame? Not to mention, as soon as a player dons pinstripes they immediately become dirty and tainted. We thought pin stripes were supposed to have a slimming effect, instead, half of New York thought thanksgiving was early when they saw the group of kids walking C.C. out to the mound like a Macy's balloon. You may have the most titles of all time, legions of loyal fans, and billions of dollars to waste each year, but you are no team of the decade. If you think its anyone other than the Red Sox, you are crazier then Don Zimmer the day he charged Pedro like an angry senile bull.

5.) The Beijing Olympics: The Most Amazing Thing China Has Done Since P.F Changs

When deciding which Olympics to choose as the best we quickly eliminated the Aussies. Sydney was too close to the past millennium and, let's get real, if Michael Phelps isn't dominating in it it's not a real Olympics. That left us with Athens and Beijing (The Winter games are NOT Olympics); honestly a tough decision. In the end though, the ancestral home of the games just couldn't compete with the jaw dropping production value of the Beijing games (We're pretty sure Michael Bay had something to do with the opening ceremony) and the epic American victories that followed. Let us recap a little of what made the Beijing Olympics so gosh darn spectacular. Firstly, if you weren't blown away by the Opening ceremony you either A.) Didn't watch it or B.) Get violently sick by watching amazing shows of visual brilliance or C.) Didn't watch it. If you fall under the A or C category, go to the nearest computer and set aside 40 minutes to watch the entire thing, NOW. We're not going anywhere, just go! For those of you who fall under category B, go to the tallest building close to you and jump off the roof because you've missed an event so fundamental to the current human condition that you're like that guy who never got the message that cars were invented. End your horse and buggy existence friends because that show changed the way we live our lives. Like a laser light show on baseball sized steroids, the Beijing opening ceremony was freaking amazing and, what made it even better, was that China said "You know what, we've got 1.6 billion people in our country, why not put EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM in show?" What we got was insane coordinated drumming, 20,000 fireworks, floating montages of China's history and, again, billions and billions of Chinese all dressed to the nine doing the craziest things imaginable for our viewing pleasure. Simply marvelous. It made us wonder if we Americans could pull off a coordinated event of that magnitude, but we are all far to ADD to pull off anything close to an event like that. There'd be that ONE drummer who would have to break the third wall and wave to the camera. It probably would have been you, it probably would have been us; the one thing that we do know is that when Americans get a shot at their fifteen minutes, they take it (Looking at you Jon Gosslein… Oh and we ordered fries with that burger, not onion rings). When it was all over, you kind of forgot that this was the OPENING for something and not the main event. When the dust settled and the LSD subsided, we got into our chairs and watched ourselves some sport competition.
The Redeem team won over our hearts like no Olympic basketball team has since the Dream. We won, so of course we loved it but what was so great was the fact that we beat some actual competition. A Spanish team lead by Horseface McGee (Pau Gasol), Horceface McGee Jr. (Marc Gasol), Rudy and the Golden Child Ricky Rubio definitely gave our boys a run for their money but the unstoppable tandem of D Wade and apparently the best international 5 there is, Lebron James, sent them back to Madrid with only their Gucci glasses and fancy European sports cars to keep them from crying. It didn't help us though, we bawled like babies when the medal ceremony came on at 3 in the morning. America's got the basketball gold again! Welcome home...

6.) Half-man, Half machine or 100% Dolphin boy?

Ok, Michael Phelps, before he turned into a walking public service warning against smoking weed was a freaking stud in the water. They were actually considering making a biography about his life titled: Mermen, but had to postpone production after he was caught taking bong rips bigger than half the Chinese swimming team. In retrospect, it may have been blown slightly out of proportion considering what the boy did in the pool. With 37 world records (29 individual, 8 relay) as of August 2nd, 2009, Phelps has set more records than any other swimmer in history, surpassing Mark Spitz's previous record of 33 world records (26 individual, 7 relay). He doesn't need any fancy Nike or Speedo brand shark skin suits to make him swim better or faster. He just uses the world’s largest set of lungs ever given out, (aside from those of Willie Nelson and Rickey Williams) to swim past any person, large sea mammal, or shellfish stupid enough to challenge him. He won races by a mile; he won races by 0.01 seconds, and prompted the Serbian delegation to file a protest. When they slowed it down to frames shot 1/10,000th of a second apart all that was proved was that his arm began to stretch out and touch the wall like Michael Jordan at the end of Space Jam. Not only was the entire world treated to the second coming of Aqua Man, but we were also given the joy of seeing a man so fast that he could talk smack with his hands all the while embarrassing every other runner in the lanes. Usain Bolt was quicker than a fifth grader’s recess. Aqua Man and The Flash in one Olympics? How's that not gonna make the list? P.S. can you think of a more entertaining smoke session than Michael Phelps, The Angry Guys, Willie Nelson, and Rickey Williams?

7.) The Malice at Auburn Palace

There is a legend that speaks of a child who was as strong as an Ox but also as obnoxious as an ass. Given over to a deeply secluded monastery in the small hamlet of New York by his family, the boy was entrusted to a circle of Monks adhering to the ancient arts of the mystical Harlem Globetrotters. They were excellent teachers of the basketball arts, crafting the child into an unstoppable offensive and defensive force. However, when the child would act out they would punish him by administering the "Low Calorie Cola Face Slap", essentially throwing cup after cup of Diet Coke into his face until the child relented and apologized. Little did those venerable monks know that what they were doing to the child they called Ron-Ron would deeply scar him for life and set off a set of cataclysmic events which would culminate into the single greatest shitstorm ever caught on live TV until Kanye West became famous. Yes people, we're talking about the Brawl at Auburn Hills. Probably the greatest thing about the brawl was that Artest went after the wrong guy at first. The definition of an "Oh Shit" face must have a picture of this guy the second before Artest takes his head off with a haymaker straight to the jaw. Never before had anything remotely close to what happened at the palace taken place within professional sports and, as fans, we Angry Guys couldn't get enough. It was like watching your favorite sitcom live on network TV when, all of the sudden, one of the actors starts drunkenly improvising while all the other cast members just look confused and try to go along with it. Pure television gold. The icing on the cake was listening to the commentators trying to balance their "oh my god what a disgrace" remarks with their natural sportscaster instincts to start giving a detailed blow by blow like it was a heavyweight title fight. Sadly, the only athlete to get his ass handed to him by a fan was our own Freddie Jones of Duck fame who was annihilated by David Wallace, the brother of Piston's center Ben Wallace. Ben Wallace is a big guy but his brother is even BIGGER which meant that High Flyin Freddie really never had a chance. Unfortunately because David Stern can't afford to have another heart explode in his chest like it did that night, the NBA has made changes to prevent fan/player skirmishes from ever happening. Too bad, because that fight was the last competitive battle we've seen on an Eastern conference court in a long time.



8.) The Decade of the Thug in Sport

Yes, the thuggery in sports is one of the top moments of the decade. Some of you are probably thinking "why aren't they talking about that Boise State guy proposing to his girlfriend the cheerleader?" or “why don't they consider the Winter Olympics a sporting event; I liked Salt Lake City!" Some of you are also probably at the wrong website. If you want cheesy feel good sports stories about people overcoming adversity or puppies playing D-II basketball get your ass over to ESPN. It's got Rick Reilly's over-the-hill articles that read like "Dear Abby" and "Men of a Certain Age" had a boring ass baby and SportsNation; a show devoted solely to telling you what you like about sports. Seriously. If you know sports, then you already know what we're talking about and you aren't afraid of going to the dark side. We ain't talkin about practice. Mike Vick gets alot of the heat as the poster child for thuggery in sports today and while most of it is deserved; let us give some credit to the forefathers of this brotherhood. Shall we not forget St. Pacman Jones; the man who made it rain dollar bills and bullets whenever he wanted. He spat on women, drove cars impounded for trafficking cocaine, and beat up strippers who tried to collect the money he threw at them. Pacman was a habitual line stepper who's sad story led him to the Winnipeg Blue Bombers (Believe us, this is what happens when all the good names are already taken) only to lose the gig when he confused the Canadian Football league with the Ultimate Football League. Jeez, how could he do that... Nor can we forget Sir. Maurice Clarett. Unlike Pacman, Maurice did insanely retarded things like robbing people without the guaranteed money cushion of a 1st round draft pick. Instead, he gave up close to half a million in guaranteed money for a contract loaded with incentives for achieving ridiculously difficult feats like multiple seasons with over 1000 yards and removing his underwear without taking his pants off. That's not really thuggish but it is freaking retarded. Poor Maurice is currently serving time in prison so, while he qualifies for grand thug status, we can't say he started the trend. We must go back further. We will, however, give him credit for starting the bullet proof vest look for athletes which is something he probably picked up from his buddy Suge Knight. Better than Vick or even Maurice and Pacman are a couple of the Angry Guys best pals. One graduated from our great alma mater Woody Wilson High, the other graduated from the bottoms of our heart. They defined an era with bright yellow hummers and headbands, bringing Portland's great basketball tradition to the breaking point. So much talent and oh so many great memories that have nothing to do with basketball. We are, of course, talking about the late and great Rasheed Wallace and Damon Stoudemire. Of course the Jailblazers started this whole trend. Sheed set one of the most untouchable records in sports at 38 technicals and then, in 2000, HE BREAKS HIS OWN RECORD and drops 41 unforgettable tantrum moments on us that each resulted in the opposing team getting a free throw. When you have two special players like that on sour roster, you know you are in for a few fun and unpredictable seasons. Sure Sheed hated every moment he spend in Portland, but wont we all look back fondly on his time spent in P-town?. From staying in the parking lot 2 hours after a game just so you can threaten the life of an elderly official, to throwing a towel in the face of our one moral player: Arvydas Sabonis in his final playoff game as a Blazer. We may not remember the titles or lack there off, but we will always have the memories of Raweed and Mighty Mouse.

9.) The 2003 NBA Draft

We were juniors in High School at the time but we already knew more about sports than pretty much anyone else in the history of sports or people. So when we started getting excited about the importance of the 2003 NBA draft, we got everyone else pumped about it as well. For a moment there it looked like we had even given Gordon Gund his sight back, but alas it wasn't meant to be. He had to instead settle for a King. The class was star studded and there were quite a few teams at the top (Cleveland, Miami, Toronto and of course the goddamn Clippers) that desperately needed an influx of talent. Included were players of every sort; uber-talented high schoolers, one and done college superstars, mysterious foreign 7 footers and college upperclassmen that had the game and the maturity to take off right away in the league. The biggest debate us Angry Guys were having at the moment other than should we or should we not eat cookies off the ground was who should go #1? There were only two players in this discussion and each had the potential to be not only team changers but league changers. Lebron James and Darko Milicic... Now while most of you were probably expecting Dwayne Wade or Carmelo Anthony, the consensus at the time was that this was a two man draft between Darko and Lebron. Everyone now knows why Cleveland picked Lebron; the man is the son of Zeus and beasts people without effort every night with his creepy blend of size and athleticism. Darko, however, was the more refined player. He was huge ( 7 foot, 275) and had the shooting stroke of Reggie Miller. League execs who went over to Serbia (this is how good they thought this MoFo was going to be; they traveled to a warzone to watch him practice) came back convinced there was nothing this guy couldn't do. He physically overpowered everyone he played against and there wasn't a place on the floor he couldn't score from (of course we all know now he was playing against Serbian midgets in those practices). Our conversation at school was, quite literally, this: Lebron will sell more tickets because of his popularity but Darko will (pause, wait for it...) end up being the better player over time because of his skill set... Even though he was the FIRST of the that class to win a championship ring, we'll admit that in the long term Lebron will probably be the better player. But the beauty of this draft was not that it contained the best future player in the league but that it contained 3 or 4 of the best future players in the league. For god’s sake 4 of the top 5 picks are NBA All-Stars and members of the Redeem team. The 2003 draft class has drawn comparisons to the legendary 1984 and 1996 NBA Draft classes. Only time will tell how this one turns out, but from what we have so far it looks like we are in for another glorious decade of hardwood classics.

10.) The Series Which Must not be Named

Every true blazer fan knows of a time when they cried their eyes out. A time when their hearts were torn from their chests by an overweight D-List actor and a lip-licking snake who raped people. We are talking about the day when fun died in Portland, June 4th 2000. Nothing in this sporting decade has even come close to game 7 of the Western Conference Finals in terms of sheer pain inflicted. Now, just to clarify, we are the Angry Guys and not the Guys who Cry at Everything and Anything. However, after that game both of us looked like Latrell Sprewell two years after he rejected a multi-million dollar contract from the Timberwolves and was standing in the line for unemployment; covered in tears. Let's set the stage, shall we, for the uninitiated. The 1999-2000 Blazers had a great team of role players and good character guys who worked together in perfect harmony to dominate opponents. You had Brian "I lead my own army" Grant, Steve "I've never seen a puppy I didn't have to stop and hug" Smith, Damon "Can I get a headband" Stoudamire and Arvydas "I'm getting WAY too old for this shit" Sabonis. Mix in a dominant Rasheed Wallace and the league's ultimate sidekick Scottie Pippen and you had the recipe for some fun basketball. Remember that there really was no star on this team (no one averaged more than 17 points a game) and that the West was INCREDIBLY more talented and competitive than the East. Everyone knew that whichever team won the West would roll over a Pacers team protected in the frontcourt by Rik Smits and Dale Davis. Battling back from a 3-1 deficit, the Blazers forced a game 7 in LA and played their hearts out. Leading by 15 points with ten minutes to go, the Blazers had almost assured that Arvydas Sabonis' wife would be getting her 18th DUI driving back from a Western Champs celebration party. Alas, it was not the case and Ms.Sabonis had to stay sober. The mitigating factor for the Blazers was that they had no superstar to lean on in the clutch. Steve Smith had 18 in the game but went 3-10 in the 4th. Pippen had 12 in the game but disappeared from the game in the 4th, apparently looking for Michael Jordan to win a game for him. The Lakers didn't have this problem. Kobe and Shaq eviscerated our hapless blazers with a little help from Ron Harper and jump started a decade of Laker's Suck chants from the entire population of Portland by Alley-Ooping on our hopes and dreams. A 20-9 run in the 4th and a final score of 89-84... The kicker to this sweet story was that this loss marked the beginning of the Jail Blazer era when we had to deal with the likes of Reuban Patterson, Bonzi Wells and Zach Randolph blacking out and spitting on our great franchise until the later part of the decade. Just know this Shaq and Kobe; we might respect you as great players but wherever you are just know that there at least two insanely Angry Guys out there who hate your guts. Some day we will find you, incapacitate you and destroy your minds by forcing you to watch and rewatch Steel. Until then we will have to live with the pain of watching you guys destroy our championship dreams. It might not be nice but the 2000 Western Conference Finals was one of the top moments of this past decade.



On that note, we are out. Happy New Year, fa la la la la, and all that other junk. It's nap time, and we can’t wait to go try out our new matching snuggies.

All we want for Christmas is Tiger Woods wife......

On Friday, November 27th 2009, we, the American people, faced a tragedy the likes of which we had never seen before. We lost a champion, an icon, a statuesque god among mere mortal boys. At 2:25 AM the Tiger Woods we all knew and loved died. It was not the death we had all envisioned for him. It was not him reaching out for God's hand as he ascended towards heaven like in Michelangelo’s "The Creation Of Adam". Instead it was an unexpected car crash that ended up sending him to the great beyond. RIP Tiger, for the man we once thought as great, the man we loved, is gone forever. In an age where colorful young men rule the front pages and award show ceremonies, Tiger Woods stood tall as the one true champion. Always with grace and dignity, Tiger represented all that was good. The ever present family man, with his picture perfect clan of baby Tigers; they could do no wrong. Since his formative young days putting against Bob Hope in a live television event on the Mike Douglas Show in 1978, to the four consecutive Junior World Golf Championships he won from '88-'91 he had always given the public what they wanted; a White Knight. ( No pun intended. ) White America had finally found a young black athlete it could believe in. For god's sake his nickname at Stanford was Urkel. Urkel! And that's nerdy white people calling him that!

Tiger's golf skill gave him the opportunity to fundamentally change that plaid pant wearing, country club loving, last bastion for race and gender discrimination we like to call golf forever by being the uppity black kid they couldn't ignore. Imagine this: instead of being raised by his father Tiger is raised by Spike Lee; instead of ranting and raving on the course when he misses a shot he channels that rage towards the Man in the form of racially charged post game interviews. He only wears African clothes on the course, converts to Islam, changes his name to Tiger Ali Hussein and burns every Green jacket he receives, live on TV, giving the Masters committee a collective heart attack every year. Why would he do such a thing? Because until 1975, no African American had ever played on Augusta national's course and even then it took them another 15 years to get their first Black member (admitted only because the PGA was banning clubs who didn't have one Minority or woman as a member). But, of course, Tiger was not raised by Spike "White people exist only to play evil landlords or racist pizza joint owners in my movies" Lee and became every white golf fan's dream; a Black superstar that worked with the establishment to bring golf to new heights. Hell before Tiger joined the tour, I bet you any general sports fan couldn't even name 5 other golfers on tour. Now we have an entire Wikipedia page dedicated to his caddie. Steve Williams should wake up with Tigers balls in his mouth every morning ready to give them a real nice shine. If he doesn't, then he damn sure isn't doing his job right. For gods sake, the caddy prior to him taking the position was nicknamed Mike "Fluff" Cowan and as we now know, Tiger needs a lot of Fluffing....

The Tiger we all came to know and love was first introduced to us in August, 1996. With a "Hello World", and signed endorsement deals worth $40 million from Nike, Inc. and $20 million from Titleist Young Eldrick never looked back. Since that fateful summer day, he has produced 14 Major Championships, 91 Professional wins, 2 picture perfect children, and a butt load of other stats to make white America fall in love with him. He played a white mans game, in a white mans world as a black man. Even in our current PC culture that’s asking for issues... And it was all good too, until Tiger went out and pulled a Kobe

To Pull a Kobe: Definition: 1. To create an image that centers around your wholesomeness and family first mentality only to go and fuck that all up by cheating on your wife and/or raping someone. Originally called the 'Reuban Patterson Two Step", the act was renamed for Kobe because of his epic sleaziness in dealing with the allegations. To pull a proper Kobe, one must attempt to reconcile with your wife by giving her outlandish things, such as Kobe did with a $7 million diamond the size of a Ring Pop. 2. Lesser used definition: Any action that causes you to lick your lips repeatedly in an annoying way i.e. "Hey Randy, stop pulling a Kobe and use a fucking napkin to get that BBQ sauce off your face."

Yes, Tiger most definitely pulled a Kobe and has now set the bar to new and unseen heights. Not only did he cheat on his wife with more girls (6... no 7... no wait, now it's 8... oh shit wait they just found a set of Siamese twins he banged so that's 10?) but he also went out of his mind with a 75 MILLION dollar contract just to keep his wife from leaving his ass. 75 million... Wow Tiger, you done fucked up real bad. And here's the worst part, the American public is just beginning to get their greasy little hands on you and your personal life and they are not happy. Rick Reilly, too old to have any pop culture references that make sense except to people who watch "Men of a Certain Age" but certainly someone who has his fingers on the pulse of angry, White America says it best, "His image, his likeability, his hero factor were in the clouds. He was the kid with the 10,000-watt smile from the public golf course -- he brought golf to people of color all over the world. He was the great black hope of the game who made good. A golfer? With two young kids at home? Alleged to have had affairs with numerous women? The best swinger becoming the biggest swinger? Overnight? Unthinkable!" Beautifully stated Ricky. Tiger went from the billionaire nobody knew to pure tabloid gold faster than you could say Jon Gosslein. And, of course, like all these stories, the trail of indecent bread crumbs leads back to the city of sin, Las Vegas. Has anything of good moral value and wholesomeness ever come from the city of Las Vegas? Keep thinking...... Didn't come up with anything? Good, cause neither could we. It doesn't matter if you are Tiger Woods or Adam "Pacman" Jones, if you are a big time playboy enjoying a weekend in Vegas and making it rain, you better hope nobody around you has a camera phone and a Twitter account.

The real question that begs asking, is after all of this does Tiger even care? Sure he has come out and given us a heartfelt apology, and asked to be left alone while his family heals. But does this really hurt his standing in the public eye? While we all ponder that question, consider this Tiger and his wife own a luxurious 155-ft yacht called “Privacy” that is based in Florida. The $20 million, 6,500 sq ft vessel features a master suite, six staterooms, theatre, gym, Jacuzzi and sleeps 21 people. You really think she's leaving?

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Are you there God? It's us, the Angry Guys.

Dear God,

Why do you hate Greg Oden so much? Why did you have to give him the freakish athletisicm of a once in a decade player, the body of a man that can do nothing else but play basketball, the lovable charm of a teddy bear that talks and the glass bones of that guy Samuel L. Jackson played in Unbreakable? What has Greg done to you in a past life that caused you to give him the gifts of a prodigy and the heart of a lion? Yet just when he begins to figure it out and puts his wobbly parts together, you snatch it away from him like that angry kid in elementary school never invited to anyone's birthday party. ( Think Cartman in Casa Bonita episode.) Seriously, come on! The only other profession he showed any interest in was dentistry and you made his hands too big to fit into anyones mouth but Seabiscuit! So he endures never knowing the joy of performing a root canal and turns to basketball. You give him the face of an 80 year old man with forehead wrinkles big enough to hide Charlie Weis and his $30 million buyout, so he develops a charm which makes him as lovable and cuddly as Snuggles the Downy bear. You break his dominant hand in college and he makes lemonade out of dog shit; he shoots better than 70% at the free throw line WITH HIS LEFT HAND! He comes into the league as the #1overall pick, the final piece of the Trail Blazers' effort to rebuild a franchise that looked like scortched earth after the Jail Blazer era and with a work ethic that cannot be taught. He wants to win 15 rings, dreams of being the greatest center ever and what happens? Two season ending knee injuries, bone spurs in the "healthy" knee and a broken foot that cause him to miss, as of today, 165 of the 246 games he could possibly have played in. And do you know what he said about his latest injury? "It's in God's hands now."... Of all the thing you have put him through and he still trusts you to take care of him? WTF!?!?! Doesn't he realize yet that humanity's purpose in life has been to reach the point where he was born so that you could inflict your omnipresent wrath on him for your divine ultimate joke? Because he can't say it we, the Angry Guys, will and we're sure we speak for all Blazer fans in doing so when we say GO FUCK YOURSELF GOD!

Leave this beautiful (subjectivly speaking of course) creature alone and move on to other cosmically funny events taking place in the universe like Tiger Woods getting whipped by his 95 pound Swedish wife or the NHL (Just let it die already Canada, with global warming on the rise you won't even have ice to play it on in 20 years). Seriously, the joke is played out. Leave Greg Oden alone.

Sincerely, your two biggest fans,

The Angry Guys

(P.S. Thank you for Jessica Alba.....Also, no offense......)


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Are those splinters in my ass, or am I just riding the pine?

Today we gather to preach to you about a great place: A hard place, A place of battle and A place of sacrifice. Somewhere few want to be yet everyone ends up. We are of course talking simply about The Bench. In recent weeks there have been many headlines about certain players being too good for the bench. Too high and mighty to be a role player and pass on the great knowledge you have been entrusted with. Perhaps you're doing a little to much of the high and not enough of the mighty Mr. Iverson. I mean are we really talkin' bout' practice? (Sorry, we couldn't resist.) For being a place that no one wants to be the bench gets talked about nearly as much as that media-whore Jon Gosselin. Well we have had enough of this shit! As sworn protectors of the sacred rest area known as the Bench, we are here to clear its name and burn the ungrateful mothertruckers who dare defame its glory. Pop quiz hot shot, do you shut your face and get paid 3 million dollars to play a game, or do you open your mouth and constantly run it until not even the New Jersey Nets want to sign you? THEY JUST SET A RECORD FOR LOSING!!! We're here, we're angry, and come get some. Yamabethur!

Now you can't have a real discussion about the bench without learning some of its rich history. So we decided to dive right in and fix a common misconception. When one talks about a player who spends most of his time on the bench, it is usually referred to as "riding the pine." Well that ain't pine those sweaty asses are perched on, that's pure redwood from the very rainforest featured in the hit Disney movie Ferngully. We spoke to one of the lumberjacks who harvest the wood for these majestic caboose catchers, and he told us that redwood is used because of its incredible wicking ability. You see, if pine was actually used the sweat from a single game of basketball would warp the bench so much it would start to look like Al Davis' face. Lumberjack McFarland also told us that if he ever sees any of the players badmouthing his majestic creation that he would serve them a "flapjack surprise." Just after he said that he began jumping up and down, licking his lips and unbuttoning his overalls. We got a feeling that the surprise in a "flapjack surprise" is much too similar to a cockmeat sandwich for our pleasure. I think we'll pass on that breakfast.

After that awkward moment, let's just jump right into it. Let us speak of those few mighty defenders of the Royal Redwood; The unique player who realizes that winning is the most important aspect of the game. Forget leading the league in scoring, or setting a single game record, without a solid bench and supporting cast you have nothing. It's tried and true in every sport. Whether you're talking about the 46 year old place kicker, the ol' lefty out in the pen ready to pitch his 2/3 of an inning or the most famous reindeer of all... Sorry, all together wrong, we just cant help but making spirits bright. What we are trying to talk about is the most famous bench player of any sport in the last 20 years. If your team has ever had a crucial game or big playoff series, you already know the man. We are of course talking about Robert "Big Shot Rob" Horry. (Collective shiver runs down our spines) No man has ever embraced the spirit of the bench more than " I play for two minutes and make fatty stacks by winning championships" Bobert Horry. This is a man, nay, a great man, nay, an indescribable wolverine like gust of wind that collects more gold rings than Sonic the Hedgehog after he has defeated Dr. Egghead. This is a man who dunked the Spurs to a ring, shot the lights out of the Staples Center whilst simultaneously destroying the career of Chris Webber ...wait, he did that himself by marrying Tyra Banks. Anyway, this silky smooth gentleman was as close to a closer in basketball as there will ever be. Putting that man in the fourth was the basketball equivalent of pressing the easy button; give him five minutes and he'll win you playoff games. As far as his first two championships go, however, we cannot give him credit. Any rings earned while riding the coattails of the Glide are undeserved just like Tony Parker being married to Eva Longoria. THIS IS AMERICA!!!!

Americans do not quit. George " I cannot tell a lie" Washington once said, on his death bed, while surrounded by Benjamin Franklin, Abraham Lincoln, the guy who played Huggybear from Starsky and Hutch, not Huggybear, but the actor who played him (oh wait isn't that the father of Justin Fargas?) and the lovely lovely Martha Washington, that the greatest injury an American could inflict on his nation was to shirk his job duties. With all that said, we channel our full fury and answer in the form of a question; who is Allen Iverson and what the f@*k is he thinking? Who turns down 3 million dollars to do nothing, cries about doing that nothing and getting paid, and then quits only to do nothing and not get paid? When your retirement is shorter than a thousand pound fat man's Hover-Round battery life can you really call it retirement? Seriously dude that shit wasn't designed for you! For the love of god and Ray J, please just shut your cornrowed pie hole, and start doing what won you the 2003 MVP Trophy. Just suck it up, come off the bench and start jacking up shots like Chris Brown to Rihanna's face. Too soon? Too bad, we think it's not soon enough. Please Allen, do not resort to starting for the Dakota Stampede in the D-League; we cannot afford another Jersey.

With that we have done our sworn duty to defend the honor of the bench. We do not ask for your praise, we do not ask for your pity. We demand your respect. For every small Tanzanian baby reading this, enjoy the XXL Iverson jersey and live long and prosper.

Numbers, WTF?

On the count of three say the first number that comes to your mind... Wait, let's rephrase that because I know all you degenerates reading this article immediately went for the number 69. What is the first number you think about connected to sports? Is it the number 23? Be honest; it either means you're thinking about the LeBron of today, or the Jordan of yesteryear, or possibly that horrible Jim Carrey movie from a few years back. He really should stick to comedy's where the punchline is him crawling out of the ass of a fake rhino... But we digress.

Perhaps the only other sports related number that could come to mind is that of the Utah Snow monster, that's right folks good ol' 00. Greg Ostertag. Never has a number represented the skill set of the player who wears it so well. Numbers are more then just whimsical off hand choices. Consider us the two geeks from that awful CBS show, because this issue is all about NUMB3RS.

This heated discussion about numbers started years ago between us, but it just recently came to a head and boiled over after sitting on the back burner for so long. The relationship between a player and his number was once a sacred bond that gave us the ability to describe a guy without having to say his name. It was like saying Peanut Butter, you know that Jelly couldn't be too far behind. Nowadays numbers are changed at the drop of a hat and for the most obscure of reasons. Who cares what you wore in Pop Warner football 20 years ago. I just spent $75 bucks on your retro alternate jersey from an era that you never played in, and now your telling me you want to switch it up because it reminds you of "when things were fun"? Fuck fun! Fun is not having to replace your obscenely expensive jersey every year just because, on a whim, you want to change it up. The attention span of an athlete today is like that of a goldfish, like that of a kid with ADD at Chucky Cheeses, like a guy with NBA League Pass; they just can't make a decision and stick with it. Oh wait, the Knicks game is getting good, we've got to change the channel... be back in a sec. Speaking of the Knicks, and Allen Iverson, does anyone realize that after they sign him that he will have played for 4 different teams in less than 2 seasons. Thats like 8 different Jerseys with who knows how many number changes. Thank god we are some of the lucky few who picked up his Alternate Blue Grizzlies Jersey. We really thought that was going to end better.

Really you can trace this all back to the bastard that is Kobe Bryant. A few years ago when he raped... we mean allegedly raped... we mean had consensual sex with someone other than his wife, he felt he needed to change his image. So what did he do, he fucked anyone who had ever bought a Lakers jersey during the first ten years of his career and changed it up from 8 to 24. I guess the only thing better than raping a white girl and getting away with it is raping every fan of his while giving that ugly fucking badger smirk of his while he does it. Of course then Lebron James has to follow suit and not only change his number but DEMAND that everyone else out there with a 23 on their jersey change theirs as well. Now don't get us wrong, we love MJ just as much as anyone else who watched his Airness toy with the rest of the NBA like a cat slapping a mouse around but retiring his jersey league wide is a little much. Lebron, be honest, you're just trying to find another way to make more jersey money now that everyone and their mom from Cleveland to Shanghai owns a Lebron James jersey. Retiring MJ's jersey would set off a cascade of other player movements to have their favorite player's number retired because of their greatness. Say goodbye to numbers 33 and 32 (Larry and Magic). Kiss 6 (Bill Russell), 13 (Wilt Chamberlain) and 44 (Jerry West) goodbye. Soon the only numbers we'll have left will be Ostertag's bastard double zeros and the range from 91-99. God, we'll have to start putting fractions on jerseys and the Angry Guys don't know enough about math to handle that.

Come to think of it, only one player and his numeric obsession affect out psyche more than fractions. We are of course talking about the man named after a number. The one the only, the incomparable Chad Ocho-Cinco. Child Please. This guy makes T.O. look like an alter-boy. He argues, he tweets, he changes his name, he gets tattoos on his face. He infuriates The Man so much, the he reminds us a little of a fiery red head thats also constantly fighting the man. We should really be celebrating the creativeness of a man who came out of the black hole of Compton, California. Instead we punish him for all of his ingenuity and cunning. Let there be Mustard! To celebrate Ocho-Cinco's great Renascence like creativity we have decided to start a grass roots petition that we're sure will take the country by storm. A change we can believe in. When a player comes into a league their number is either branded or tattooed onto their head for all to see. This will create instant brand recognition for unknown players. Instead of walking downtown unseen and uncared about, new players would instantly be recognized by their million dollar Scarlett letter! We can just see it now; little children stopping and pointing at small time athletes, "Look daddy, there's number 25! I want his jersey," or ladies in the club going, "Well you don't look like much but because you're number 6 for the Lakers. I guess you can buy me a drink." ( Oh Adam Morrison, how the mighty stash has fallen.) Of course all you readers are super smart and probably are already wondering what would happen when two players on the same team have the same number... Well you can't get anything past us so we figured a way around that. The better of the two players (determined of course by a game of rock, paper, scissors; a game of horse and a game of boxing chess) gets to keep his number but pay for the laser tattoo removal surgery for the other guy. By laser surgery, we of course are referencing the scene from the movie "The Fan", in which Robert De Niro cuts the branded flesh from Benicio Del Toro's arm in hopes of helping the great Bobby Rayburn break a slump. This would keep good players on the same team for life because they'd be too scared to lose their number in such a manner. After your first scalping, you start to wonder if the guaranteed money is really worth it. With that disturbing mental image we leave you with this. The only number worth retiring is # 10. In honor of none other, thats right, Zoran "The Scorin' Foreign" Planinic.

Shadado Readers. Til next time

Sidenote: Chris "The Birdman" Anderson is the Light Heavyweight Grandmaster of Boxing Chess in the US. No one would ever take the number 11 from Lord Birdman's face).