Top 5 REALLY Old School Sports Games

It may be hard to remember a world without video games, the internet, or satellite TV.  But, like disco, we can’t go around trying to forget what was once reality. Even then, us sports geeks found ways to get our fix on rainy days, during math class, and even in our cubicles.

These were the top five sports games of a bygone era. If you’re busy filling out some mundane office form at this very moment, it may be the perfect time to bring one of these classic, sports-minded time-passers back to life. Anyone got a quarter?

1. Supa-Fly Flicka Football

Sweep the halls of any high school and you’re bound to find a piece of white-lined paper that’s been meticulously folded into a sharp triangle. But that’s no mere piece of paper, my friend; it’s a make-shift pigskin. Now, just bring it to the cafeteria, force some pimple-faced freshman to act as your human field goal posts, and you’re ready to play a little Supa-Fly Flicka. Simply spot the paper football at various distances and become a one-man place-kicking combo. Drill a few from 50 yards out and celebrate like a Grammatica brother. Give yourself some quality points if you can send the freshman home wearing an eye patch.

2. Suction Cup (aka Landfill) Basketball

Here’s a dorm-room classic for you. Spending half the night spreading saliva on a pair of oversized suction cups is well worth it once you have the cheesy, plastic hoop installed above your doorway. Now it’s time for a mini jam session, or if you want a real challenge, spot up from the land of three and make it rain foam rubber. If you don’t have a fancy, plastic mini-hoop, or if you’re trapped in an office right now, don’t despair. All you need is a trash can and a few balled-up pieces of paper and you’re ready for a quick game of Horse.  If your boss gets nosy and asks what you’re doing, just tell him you’re really into recycling.

3. Pencil Case Hockey

Can’t skate?  Don’t worry, you can still make your mark as an ice rink warrior—just as long as that ice rink is the surface of a desk or table and your skates are the four legs of a chair planted firmly on the ground.  Bust out a #2 pencil (your trusty stick) and one of those replacement erasers that fit on the end (the puck) and you’re ready to challenge that office geek whose wax lips seem stuck to the boss’s rear, or that annoying kid in class whose hand is permanently stuck in the raised position.  Rip a few wrist shots past either one of these clowns, make a few dazzling saves with your custom-made Meade, and you’ll be more than vindicated.  Don’t forget to drill your opponent with a devastating hip check as you make your way to the door.  True, it might not be part of this mini-game, but it sure would feel good.

4. Desktop Football

The beauty of this game is you only need a shiny quarter and a desk or table, so it’s perfect for study hall or the break room at work. Get ready for kickoff as you spin the coin down the Formica turf in search of supreme field position. Then use your four downs flicking the coin wildly across the gridiron until you reach the end zone, the edge of the table.  Get the coin to break the plane and it’s touchdown city. Shoot the coin over the edge and you lose the ball, even if you do gain the indispensable experience of how it feels to play for the Dolphins.  Once you’ve exerted your mini-game dominance, feel free to spike the coinage in your opponent’s eye and do an oddly choreographed dance.  There’s no need to worry about getting flagged for excessive celebration in this game. 

5. Honest Abe’s Soccer

Yet another mini-game that only calls for the use of coins and a table, Honest Abe’s Soccer is pretty easy on the pocket.  Just toss three pennies on the playing field and its World Cup time.  Flick the penny at the rear through the gap between the other two pennies to dribble your way down the field.  Once you get inside the 18, bicycle one Pele style into the goal, actually your opponent’s thumb and forefinger held at the edge of the table.  There’s no better way to play soccer than without all that mindless running.  Now, all you need are a few pints of brew and a couple hooligans and you can bring the post-game riot into the comfort of your very own living room.  I assure you, Honest Abe would be prou

Bud Bowl III: Great Taste or Less Filling?

Seems I can think back to a simpler time; a time when Super Bowl Sunday wasn’t the selfish, end of season hype generator it is today; a time when our nation’s most widely televised game could share the spotlight with another omnipotent, if ever-juvenile, contest; a time when the stop-break mayhem of a beer bottle football game played ring master to America’s most coveted day of commercial programming.

Of course, I can only be talking about Bud Bowl, the Anheuser-Busch company’s slick marketing ploy which began in 1989 and featured what was billed to be an annual gridiron slugfest between animated teams of Bud and Bud Light bottles.

But I’m not just speaking in general terms here, people. I’m dedicating this article to the genuine article: The greatest Bud Bowl of them all, Bud Bowl III.

To me, this piece of stop-break goodness outshined all other beer-related sporting contests before and after its time. Part of the charm of Bud Bowl III was dependent on the fact that it consisted of a whopping seven ads placed strategically throughout the course of the actual Super Bowl game. That meant you were bound to be treated to an all-important Bud Bowl update nearly twice a quarter on average, instead of the pitiful two or three ad performances of more recent contests.

Also, it was a matchup that set the stage for a possible King of Beers three-peat. A win by Bud would have given them an unprecedented third Bud Bowl championship and an automatic seat in history next to the other dynastic legends of the adult-beverage sporting contest world. Ok, maybe there’s not much competition in this arena. So what?

At any rate, Bud Light wasn’t about to simply crack under the pressure. They had themselves a scrappy team, and past defeats had helped them develop quite a sizable chip on their, eh, shoulders. The addition of top draft pick and star quarterback, “Bud Dry,” also didn’t hurt in the way of boosting Light’s often watered-down confidence.

Aside from all the background hoopla that built Bud Bowl III up in terms of fan excitement, the game itself did not disappoint.

From the opening kickoff, which actually tallied at least 20 seconds on the hang-time meter before ascending out of the stadium, to a big opening drive that featured Bud Light linemen busting open a huge running lane with the aid of a giant-sized can opener, to the introduction of “helmet cam” strapped to the caps of Billy and Bobby Bud (the brothers from Cerveza, TX of course) on a nifty play-action catch and run to open up the King of Beer’s scoring, to the intoxicating play-by-play of ESPN legend Chris Berman, this installment of Bud Bowl had it all.

There was even an encore touchdown plunge by larger-than-life Bud bottle “The Freezer” and a sweet Hail Mary pass to a certain “long necked” Bud receiver to give the defending champs a 21-17 lead with just seconds to go.

But the final play of Bud Bowl III is what cemented it as a commercial masterpiece.

In a play eerily reminiscent of Tennessee’s homerun throwback play (which didn’t happen for another eight years. I think Jeff Fisher may have done a little advance scouting at the Anheuser-Busch facility), surprise kick returner, Bud Dry, collected the kickoff, made a nifty move, and pitched the ball across the field to one of his teammates.

This unidentified Bud Light bottle rumbled down the sidelines, dotted with gasping Budweiser players and coaches, and directly through an over zealous Budweiser team band prepared to celebrate what seemed like a sure Budweiser victory. Then he plowed into the end zone, even with a Tuba uncomfortably clinging to his thermos-chilled body, and gave Bud Light its first ever Bud Bowl championship by a score of 23-21.

By setting up a key TD play earlier in the contest, and through his heroics on the game winning kickoff return, Bud Dry was the clear MVP. True, he may have deserved it. But tell me, folks: Where is Mr. Fancy Pants Bud Dry today?

Discontinued, that’s where.

Regardless, we still have to give Bud Bowl III some today for being the greatest string of stop-break folly to ever grace all those wasted minutes between Super Bowl drives. Have a look for yourself:

RE: The fate of your worthless trading cards

Dear Readers,

I’d like to speak to all of you about a very pressing issue that affects many of us on a daily basis. That’s right, folks. I’m talking about the boxes full of worthless trading cards that forced your bowling ball bag and ironing board out of the closet and into your bathtub.

Now, I’ve faced this problem on more than one occasion. There was that grab bag of batboys-through-the-ages cards I picked up for a bargain price at the card show. I’m sure you’re surprised to hear that little experiment didn’t pan out.

Then there was the time I thought I’d struck it rich when I strung together a dozen full sets of ’87 Topps cards. What I didn’t take into account was the fact that Topps produced enough packs of cards in 1987 to give a stale piece of tooth-shattering, flavorless bubblegum to every man, woman, and child south of the moon.  

But still, no choice was worse than allowing a pallet-full of Rick Schu rookie cards to “just happen” to fall off the truck and “roll voluntary” into my garage. And out went the riding mower, my tool set, and the car…not to mention my last shred of dignity.

But I’ve had enough, people. I’m taking my garage back, and I’m doing so at the expense and reputation of those bargain basement baseball cards. And I’m not just talking about the average Joes, neither. I’m going for the throat. I’m heading straight for the scrubs, the most worthless cards I can find. Oh yes, my friends, they’ll be facing my wrath first.

Here are just a few of the ideas I’ve come up with in trying to free myself of these worthless cards.

The School of Hard Looks

In the fine tradition of all past and present ball players who have mimicked the pained expression of a hardened criminal in their trading card photos, I give you the game of Hard Look War. That’s right. It’s just like the ordinary playing card version of War that you’re used to, except the winning card is always that of the player with the hardest, most intimidating expression on their face. So basically, you want to stay away from any card with David Eckstein on the front. But definitely drop a Pete Incaviglia card on the table and watch your opponent’s ’95 Kevin Stocker Donruss shrivel up in fear. 

I guess you’re wondering what happens when the inevitable dispute arises from a difference in judgment between you and your opponent. I gotta to be honest with you, I don’t see this one ending pretty. Just make sure you pick a playing partner that is small, fragile, and slow of foot. Isn’t that why younger siblings were invented, after all?

Drink The Blues Away

Ok, so you’re looking for any excuse to knock a few back on your day off. Isn’t that the perfect reason for a new drinking game? I think it is.

But then you hear it: “Honey, you said you’d move your baseball card collection out of the closet. It’s been sitting on top of my wedding dress for three years!”

Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered. Go in there and grab that dusty box of baseball cards. Hell, while you’re at it, you might as well throw that dress on a hanger for her. Good, you’re golden. Now grab yourself a six pack and get to work.

The game is simple. Grab a handful of cards, toss them in the air and let them fall where they may. Then, pick up the card that landed closest to you, and then next closest, and so on. Every time you pick up a card with a player whose career average is under .250 you chug a beer.

There, that should keep you busy for at least ten minutes. When you’re finished, toss the cards in the trash and repeat with another handful.

Melt Them Down For Energy

Hey, all I’m saying is I’m tired of signing over half my pay check to the pimply geek behind the counter at Sunoco. I’m also tired of a frigate’s-worth of crappy trading cards hogging my whole garage. Are you starting to connect the dots? I mean, can you imagine a world where the Bud Smiths and Rick Reuschles of the world contributed to the conservation of world energy? It sounds like Utopia to me, folks.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more convinced I become about the inevitable conversion to crappy trading card energy. Then again, it just may be because I’m pretty sure Al Gore is probably sitting on an unopened case of ’87 Topps. The dude needs some space for his solar panels in that garage of his.

Make Them History

You’ve heard of Casey At Bat, but why not Momar or Churchill At Bat. All you really need is a few crappy trading cards, a black marker, and a hazy understanding of world history and you’re ready to morph your least favorite baseball players into your favorite historical figures…at bat.

The best thing about it is you don’t even need art skills to turn Von Hayes ’85 Fleer into Von Kaiser Hayes ’85 Fleer. The possibilities are endless and, I assure you, the revenge is sweet.

Some of my personal favorites include Brian “Davy Crockett” DuBois ’90 Upper Deck, Lloyd “Rick James” Moseby ’88 Donruss, Jeff “Honest Abe” Innis ’90 Upper Deck, and Jeff “Ponce De Leon” Granger ’94 Upper Deck. (pictured here)

Make Them the “Butt” of All Jokes

This one basically speaks for itself, and I’m not talking about actually bad mouthing your baseball cards to your friends. What I am referring to is probably one of the most childish and immature things you could possibly do to your worthless trading cards. That’s also why it’s my personal favorite.

A friend of mine back in middle school once astutely likened the small crevice which forms on the side of your index finger when you bend it down towards your palm to yet another crevice which undoubtedly makes more sense with the subtitle I’ve so subtly placed above. Of course, I did what any sports-minded person would do after hearing something so nonsensical. I took the ball and ran with it.

Therefore, for ultimate comic relief, I suggest you get yourself a pair a scissors and a few worthless trading cards and follow my directions.

First, you need to find a card with a good pose on it. In this case we’re looking for anything that gives new meaning to the line from Rookie of the Year, “Pitcher’s got a big butt.”

Then you need to go to cuttin’on it. Basically, you cut the player’s mid section out of the card. Stay with me here, the results are worth it.

Finally, you need to bend the tip of your index finger down to your palm. Look for the crease on the side of your finger…it’s hard to miss. Now, simply place your bent index finger behind the little window you created with the scissors. Take a look.

Woops, looks like somebody took part in a little too much sliding practice! Is there any wonder why there’s such a pained expression on Glenallen Hill’s face as he slides into home?

Please Help!  

So there you have it. In this writer’s opinion I’ve provided you with a fairly comprehensive list of possibilities when confronted with the troubling problem of what to do with your useless trading cards. I just wish there were more options out there because that pallet-full of Rich Schu rookie cards in my garage isn’t getting any smaller. That’s why I’m open to any ideas you all may have out there to alleviate my problem. Please keep them coming.

Thank you so much for your time and understanding in seeing me through what is obviously one of the more pressing issues of our times.

Sincerely,

C.G. Morelli

The Sporting Scribe 

Heart of the City: The Northeast Taproom

  Aaah. Reading, Pennsylvania. Once nicknamed the Compton of the East, some would say a bullet proof vest is perfect attire for a day of outlet shopping in the city’s downtown district. But don’t despair if you happen to find yourself passing through the area this summer. If you’re brave enough to venture into town and you can tolerate the pungent odor of mushrooms multiplying on the surrounding farmland against 90 degree heat, you may find yourself pleasantly surprised…especially if you find yourself on a pilgrimage to a little beer drinker’s Mecca called The Northeast Taproom on N. 12^th street.

From the moment you lay eyes on the dingy, broken-shingled exterior of The Northeast Taproom as it sits on the corner of street lined with similarly tattered residences in a run-down and inconspicuous section of the city, you know you’re not dealing with the ordinary. Even so, if not for a small sign and a set of steep, stone steps built into the corner of the block, you could easily mistake the place as a part of the neighborhood itself. And once you step inside, you quickly find that statement isn’t too far from the truth.

You’re greeted at the door by the owner’s golden retriever as your brain struggles to process the endless stream of off-beat art, Elvis memorabilia, strange mosaic tiles, and other assorted oddities that hang from the walls. Shells crunch beneath your feet, a product of the endless cracking and tossing of complimentary peanuts by the thirsty patrons. You notice the men’s bathroom is actually built into the crawl space beneath an apparently unusable staircase, and that the sink to said bathroom is actually hanging on the wall on the outskirts of the barroom with a sign that reads, “Please wash your goddamn hands, we’ll know if you didn’t.”

A group of locals, who presumably know each other on a first name basis, huddle around a hand-pump loaded with a variety of craft beers such as Rogue Schwarzbier and Anchor Old Foghorn. There’s also a refrigerator stocked with an assortment of bottles ranging from the ordinary (Sierra Nevada) to the bizarre (DogFishHead). With so much variety on tap and in the cooler it’s hard to decide on a winner. But don’t worry. The bartender at the Taproom is quick to let you sample the goods. If that fails simply order the house specialty, appropriately termed a “classic.” It’s a goblet full of Guinness and a bottle of Lord Chesterfield Ale. That’s right, you’re going two-for-one, folks. Drink from the goblet, refill with the Chesterfield and repeat.

Now all you need is something to keep you busy (as if double-fisting brews and downing free peanuts doesn’t eat up your time). A lounge area inside the bar houses a vintage “Dr. Dude” pinball machine and an arcade Pac-man game, not to mention dart boards, puzzles, trivia games, beer placards, a few random trophies, a leather couch, and a ping pong table. There’s weird crap to hold your interest all over this place. And let’s be honest, people, what goes better with beer than weird crap to help you idle away the time?

The Northeast Taproom is gritty. It’s the kind of place that stays with you even after you trudge back down the heavy corner steps at the end of the night. If you like good beer and a great environment to enjoy it in, it’s a place you really can’t miss. 

The Most Important Innovations in Sports Equipment History

 I’m sure I can only speak for myself when I say that studying sports equipment is really interesting. See, I know most sports fans out there aren’t thinking about what kind of resin Roy Halladay powders on his hands before hurling a 90 mph heater. And there aren’t many fans, like me, who see a boxer laid out on the canvas and wonder what kind of mouthpiece it is laying beside him in a puddle of his own drool.

It’s this hazy attention to details that causes many of us to take these seemingly innocent innovations for granted. We fail to see the important roles they play in the lives of our athletes and rarely think about how things would be different without them

Therefore, I feel it is my duty to present to you the most important innovations in sports equipment history.

Honorable Mention – Nerf Footballs

Ok, so these flashy globes of foam rubber aren’t really pieces of equipment used by the professionals, but they sure make your Uncle Harry look like Johnny Unitas.  Maybe he was telling the truth when he told you he would have went pro if not for that damn alien abduction. Either that Nerf ball is scientifically designed to soar 90 yards with a flick of the wrist, or your Uncle Harry’s stashed some performance enhancers in that six pack of brew he’s got dangling from his belt loop.

5. Football Helmets with Facemasks

Just think, it wasn’t until the 1950’s that the modern football helmet and face mask were mandated in the pros. Before that, guys pretended to be tough while wearing the same leather helmet worn by Snoopy in his exploits as the Red Baron. Could you imagine how many teeth must have littered the turf by game’s end? It must have looked like closing time at the Chic-let factory. I guess on the bright side, however, not having facemasks would have eliminated pretty-boy smile guys like Tony Romo and Tom Brady from the game. Of course, I’m sure it also eliminated any chance of having the ability to produce rational thought after an average playing career.

4. Batting Helmets

The original batting helmet, used from the mid 1800’s all the way up into the 1950’s, was portable, fit like a glove, and was incredibly inexpensive. That’s because it was the human skull. Apparently no one thought it was a priority to protect the most vital organ in the body from whizzing, rock-hard projectiles. That is until the Major League death toll from wild pitches tallied six players by 1951. Teams like the Pittsburgh Pirates took notice of this scary statistic and began wearing protective helmets. Of course, the rest of the league immediately branded them as pansies… until 1954, when Joe Adcock was knocked unconscious by a wild pitch for a full 15 minutes. After that, the league decided to mandate the helmet rule for all players. Now you couldn’t catch a ballplayer standing in the on-deck circle without a helmet.

3. Hockey Goaltender Masks

You have to be either extremely brave or extremely stupid to stand in front of a blazing slap shot and stop a puck with your face. Until Jaques Plante of the 1960 Canadiens finally donned a protective mask, hockey goalies were a little bit of both. Since then, the goalie mask has progressed from the full plastic variety, made famous by Jason Voorhees in the slasher flicks Friday the 13^th, to the modern version of a helmet and a protective metal cage that we commonly see today. Both varieties have allowed goaltenders to escape their playing days without losing an entire row of teeth or winding up with a face only a mother could love. 

2. Protective Cups

There’s really not much to say here. To even provide a reminder of sports without the trusty walnut shell would be an exercise in barbarity to anyone who’s ever taken a knee to the groin during a game of rough-touch football. But, yes, the forefathers of sports didn’t think twice about leaving the little guy open to injury. Makes you wonder how we all came to be, doesn’t it? The first cup was actually just a rolled-up piece of leather. Yeah, that gives you peace of mind. Thankfully, a wide variety of lightweight and sturdy materials now exist to protect you from the ultimate manly mishap.

1. Baseball Caps

There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t sing the praises of the baseball cap. I mean, I where a cap so often it’s become my hairstyle, and that’s the way it is for millions of hat-dependent Americans each day. Don’t feel like combing your hair? Baseball cap. Don’t want your hair to get wet in the rain? Baseball cap. Don’t have hair at all? Baseball cap. It’s the answer to most head-related issues…at least in my book.

But one thing that can’t be disputed is the modern ball cap has become an American staple, like the cowboy hat or apple pie. Thankfully, the original straw hat worn by the 1860 Brooklyn Excelsiors has come a long way. It’s been updated to the modern 59-50 style worn by current major leaguers. Otherwise I’d be sitting on a porch with a goofy straw hat and a corn cob pipe trying to whittle something right now.  

 And, really, who wants that?

Top Dawg: Bernie Kosar

Growing up, my friends and I spent the bulk of every summer playing sandlot baseball.  Of course, each of us would take a shot on the mound and see how accurately we could imitate the quirky wind-ups of our favorite major league pitchers.  You know the old drill: “Hey, I’m Kent Tekulve!” “Look at me, I’m Fernando Valenzuela!”

Once the weather got colder we’d trade the bats and gloves for a football.  But it was never as easy to imitate our favorite quarterbacks.  They pretty much all looked the same when they released the ball, especially in the eyes of an eleven-year-old kid.  Unless, of course, that favorite quarterback was a Cleveland legend. 

“Look, I’m Bernie,” I’d say.  Then I’d whip a sidearm bullet to an open receiver for a TD (ok, so the sidearm part is accurate even if the “bullet” remark is debatable).  What was never debatable was Bernie Kosar’s impact on the city of Cleveland during his sometimes-brilliant, sometimes-embroiled tenure as the Browns’ starting quarterback.

Kosar was a Brown in the making since his first day on Earth.  He was a fan of the team as a young boy growing up in Youngstown, Ohio.  His love for the team grew as he played football at Boardman High School and began solidifying his legacy as a brilliant quarterback. 

He earned Parade All-America honors his senior year at Boardman and then moved on to the University of Miami, where he took over as starting quarterback in 1983 after a red shirt season.  His impact on the Hurricanes offense was immediate.  He threw 15 TD passes on his way to an 11-1 season and a berth in the Orange Bowl.  Then he followed the brilliant regular season performance with a 300 yard, 2 TD shocker against top-ranked Nebraska.  He did the unthinkable in leading Miami to its first national championship in a stunning 31-30 victory over the Huskers.  The following season Kosar threw 25 more TDs and finished fourth in Heisman voting.  It seemed he was ready to join the NFL ranks. 

Rumors began to surface that Bernie would forego his remaining collegiate eligibility and enter the draft.  Kosar denied the reports, and then rebuked his denial.  A messy draft scenario ensued.  The Cleveland Browns jockeyed for position.  The Minnesota Vikings made accusations.  Kosar stood fast by his claim that he wanted to come home to Ohio.  Cleveland fans held their breaths and crossed their fingers….Long story short, the commish at the time, Pete Rozelle, allowed Kosar to enter the 1985 supplemental draft and the Browns scooped him up with the first pick.  And, just like that, Cleveland’s love affair with an unlikely hero began.

Kosar never possessed the athletic gifts of John Elway or Dan Marino, but he did have two things going for him: accuracy and heart.

In 1986, Kosar’s first full season as the Browns’ starter, the sidearm slinger connected on 310 completions for nearly 4,000 yards in leading the team to the AFC Championship Game.  Who could forget Bernie’s 489 yard performance in a comeback win against the Jets to get them there?  It took the mighty John Elway and a certain 98-yard drive to stamp out Cleveland’s Super Bowl hopes.

Kosar dialed up 22 TD passes in 1987.  He led the AFC in QB rating, and his Browns once again rumbled into the AFC Championship Game.  But Bernie’s 356 yards and three touchdowns still could not top Elway’s Broncos.

Kosar made one more trip to the AFC Championship in 1989.  He was once again unable to slay the dragon that was John Elway.  But through all the heart-breaking defeats, Kosar embodied the never-say-die attitude that defined the Cleveland fans and complimented the hard-nose atmosphere of the vaunted Dawg Pound.

Perhaps the most telling sign of how deeply Kosar had touched the Cleveland fan base with his gritty play came in 1991.  That was when Bill Belichick took over as Browns head coach.  Belichick’s first order of business was to bench Bernie in favor of Vinny Testaverde.  Later in the season, after a bad round of backup work, Belichick ordered Kosar’s outright release.  The Cleveland fans were outraged.  Angry Dawg Pounders showed the new head coach what they thought of him by wearing Bernie Kosar masks instead of Dawg masks at the next game (by the way, I’d love to get my hands on one of those masks before Halloween). Think Cleveland fans still hold a grudge?  Let’s just say Billy boy shouldn’t throw on an old, sleeveless hoodie and take a moonlit stroll down West Third Street any time soon.

But Bernie, in classic Bernie style, kept his chin up and moved on.  All he did in 1991 was sign a million dollar contract with the Cowboys and win that elusive Super Bowl ring as Troy Aikman’s backup.  Bernie completed the final three years of a brilliant career back in Miami, playing second-fiddle to Dan Marino.  Then he faded away from the spotlight and took his rightful place as a Cleveland legend.

The 20 Dumbest Football Quotes

 Let’s face it, football players are measured more accurately on stop watches than on IQ tests. Don’t get me wrong. I‘m not complaining. It’s not like I tune in every Sunday for rocket science. 

Actually, I’m here to support athletic stupidity in all its forms. Without it, how would I compile a list with such absurd notions as the ones you’ll see below. Thank you, sweet football, for yet another 20 reasons to spend half my weekend drooling before you.

They may stupid. They may be childish. They may not make a shred of sense. But at least they’re something.  I give you: 

20 Really Stupid Football Quotes

George Rogers, former Saints RB

“I want to rush for 1,000 or 1,500 yards, whichever comes first”

Bill Peterson, former Oilers Head Coach

"You guys line up alphabetically by height."

Dick Butkus, former Bears LB

"I wouldn't ever set out to hurt anyone deliberately unless it was important -- like a league game."

William “Refrigerator” Perry, former Bears DT

"I've been big ever since I was little."

Thomas "Hollywood" Henderson, former Cowboys LB

On Terry Bradshaw’s brain power…“He couldn’t spell cat if you spotted him the C and the T.”

Joe Theisman, former Redskins QB  

“Nobody in football should be called a genius. A genius is a guy like Norman Einstein."

Jim McMahon, former Bears QB

On traveling to Europe…"The people don't take baths and they don't speak English. No golf courses, no room service. Who needs it?"

John McKay, former Bucs Head Coach

"Well, we've determined that we can't win at home and we can't win on the road. What we need is a neutral site."

Randy Moss, Titans WR

“When you're rich you don't write checks. Straight Cash, Homey!” Randy Moss

John Madden, former Raiders Head Coach

"The purpose of the center during the snap is to get the ball to the quarterback; and if that doesn't happen it usually results in a fumble."

Terry Bradshaw, former Steelers QB

“I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid.”

Craig “Ironhead” Heyward, former Saints RB

“People say I’ll be drafted in the first round, maybe even higher.”

Randy Cross, former 49ers RG

“The NFL, like life, is full of idiots.”

Chuck Knox, former Rams Head Coach

“Most of my clichés aren’t original.”

Gale Sayers, former Bears RB

“The only thing I got out of football was the ability to work hard, and that’s it.”

Joe Namath, former Jets QB

“I guarantee a win.”

Bum Phillips, former Cowboys Head Coach

“If I drop dead tomorrow, at least I’ll know I died in good health.”

Jim Mora, former Saints/Colts Head Coach

“What’s that? Playoffs? Don’t talk about — playoffs?! You kidding me?! Playoffs?! I just hope we can win a game!” (former Saints and Colts coach Jim Mora

Bill Cowher, former Steelers Head Coach

 “We’re not attempting to circumcise the rules.”

Bruce Coslet, former Bengals Head Coach

“We can’t run. We can’t pass. We can’t stop the run. We can’t stop the pass. We can’t kick. Other than that, we’re just not a very good football team right now.”

On the 8th Day God Created...Tom Brady?!?

I don’t think I’m the only one who’s getting tired of the Tom Brady/Bill Belichick love fest that occurs every Sunday around noon. So far this football season, the bitter taste of Brady’s almost effortless performance has left me speechless and frustrated. But when I heard the following joke the other day in a crowded checkout line, I was left slightly refreshed:

Many years into the future, God layeth down his mighty robes and strapethed on his NFL foam finger. He headed to his own personal 50-yard line seat at his own personal stadium, and readied himself for an exciting week of professional football…played to his specifications, of course. On either side of him was an empty seat for whomever he deemed worthy enough to be his guests at the game.

The Lord had just taken a rather large bite of chili dog and wiped some dribbling cheese-wiz from his chin, when the spirit of Drew Brees came walking down the concourse. 

“Do you mind if I sit with you, uhhh, God?” Brees asked sort of confused.

“Well, my son,” said God mildly, “What do you think it is that makes you worthy of such a seat?”

“Uhh…well, during my career I played football like a warrior. I ignored injuries, I lifted my teammates, and I also thanked the guys around me for allowing me to have so much success on the playing field.”

“Hmm,” God responded, “It sure seems like you’ve made your contribution. Please, have a seat on my right.”

Drew obliged and began enjoying the game from the best seats in the house…literally.  A few moments later, as God and Drew Brees shared a pile of spicy nachos, another spirit made his way down the concourse.

“Is this seat taken?” asked Peyton Manning with a smile.

“Well, my son,” said God gently, “It is not taken as of yet. However, it is reserved for someone most worthy.  Do you think you are that man?”

“I’d have to say that I am,” Manning claimed. “For one, I always made it a point to treat the game like a game and have fun with it. But, at the same time, I remembered that my teammates and my city were counting on me, and I made sure to take it seriously as well. I think I was able to find the perfect balance.”

“That is quite an accomplishment,” said God with a grin, “I believe you are the man to take the seat at my left.” Peyton took his seat and snagged a stray nacho from the plastic tray, and the three miracle men took in the sights and sounds of barbaric poetry ringing from their private playing surface.

They were silent in their observations for a long while, until something from the stands caught their attention. This time, it was the spirit of Tom Brady who was making his way down the steps. There was an awkward moment of silence as the two legendary spectators, and of course God, glanced nervously from Brady to the row of occupied seats and back at Brady again. They simply had nowhere to put him.

Of course, Tom had no intention of missing the game. Do you know what he did?

He looked God directly in the eyes, tucked his very own biblical hairstyle behind his ears, and said, “Hey, buddy, I think you’re in my seat.”

You're Outta Here!!

By: C.G. Morelli

Before you get all worked up over my not-so-politically-correct decision to sing the praises of unsportsmanlike conduct in the game of baseball, please spare me the tears. I’m not here to endorse fighting, or cursing, or even umpire bashing. I’m not here to teach you how to kick dirt on someone’s shoes. I’m simply not the kind of guy who condones this type of behavior.

But still, there’s something inherently passionate about a coach who storms out on the field to defend his version of justice before his team. I don’t care who you are, there’s something completely satisfying about seeing an umpire’s arm reach to the heavens before unceremoniously pointing a manager in the proper direction for a shower.

As much as we can all admit this behavior is better left to the dogs, we still can’t quite forget there’s something about a manager meltdown that’s essential old school baseball. It’s gritty, and it brings us back to the days of old John McGraw, when winning a ball game was more about protecting your pride than protecting the fan base.

That’s why, as I attempt to fill the next three months until opening day and the next million Sundays until football starts again in Carolina, I’d like to share with you some of the most entertaining meltdowns in baseball history.

The Most Entertaining Manager Meltdowns in Baseball History

We’ll start out with the simple but classic approach to getting ejected. Here’s Ricky VanAsselberg of the Alexandria Aces minor league team giving a gentle nod to the old school as he buries home plate under a mountain of sand. Give a few style points to the ump on the toss.

Butch Hobson of the Can-Am League Nashua Pride added a little creativity to his meltdown routine. Hobson decided a call on a close play at first was so blasphemous that no one should ever again be allowed to touch that base…except, of course, the group of ten year olds seated near the top of the bleachers he delivered it to after being axed. Give this one a minute, it’s worth it.

There are a million clips of Tommy Lasorda hurling insults, spit, and whatever else at unwitting and perhaps even dimwitted umpires. The man’s slight problem with his temper is well documented. But, to me, nothing is more telling of the man’s passion for the game, his team, and his player than this clip. I mean, the guy was ready to argue even in spring training! 

Asheville Tourist’s manager Joe Mikulik would probably like to do these few minutes of his life over again.

Sometimes when I watch Lou Piniella really give it to an umpire I have to ask myself, “Was he basically put on Earth for this exact purpose?” If there’s such a thing as a meltdown artist, Sweet Lou would have to be the one and only. Here’s a double dose for you.

This is perhaps my favorite clip of all time, in any sport. Phillip Wellman, manager of the minor league Mississippi Braves, puts on a performance worthy of an Oscar after getting tossed from a Southern League game. Take note as he army-crawls to the mound, pulls the pin on the, uh, resin bag? And then tosses it grenade style? Genius.

I present to you Earl Weaver, Master of Language. WARNING! Let’s just say this might not be the best clip to play on full volume in the middle of a board meeting. But if a few choice words aren’t enough to get your panties in a bunch, I promise you’ll be in tears during this one. And, by the way, don’t ever put your finger on me again. You’ll know what I’m talking about in a minute.

Honorable Mention

I know, I know. How can I compile a list like this without including all time ejections leader Bobby Cox of the Atlanta Braves? Well, for all the times Bobby’s been given the old heave-ho, he’s really been able to keep a lid on it. That’s pretty surprising when you consider Cox has been sent packing 158 times in his professional managerial career. At any rate, here’s an honorable mention for a guy who clearly prides himself on quantity over quality when it comes to arguing.

At the Table With...Baseball Legends

By: C.G. Morelli

We’ve all heard the obligatory conversation starter before: “If you could have dinner with an influential person, who would it be and why?” Ah, the sounds of a high school history class…except without all the snoring and with only half the amount of drool.

Believe me, I’m not asking you to relive it with me because, seriously, those conversations usually turned out to be as exciting as a Kansas City Royals home game.

Personally, I always thought it’d be more interesting to think about what you’d actually say to these people as they were huddled around your kitchen table. What would you serve them? What in the hell would they say to you?

Ok, so maybe I think about pointless stuff a little too much. But I only do it so you, the faithful readers, don’t have to.

I’m a baseball guy, so let me share with you the top five ballplayers throughout history that I’d dine with. But I’ll even take it the extra mile for you. I’ll let you in on our conversations.

5. Manny Ramirez

The Meal: Something extremely rich

The Conversation: 

CG: I’m glad you decided to stop by, Manny.

Manny: Me too. I can never pass up a free meal, especially when I don’t have a place to call home.

CG: Free? I never said that.

Manny: It doesn’t matter. You’ll pay for it. Come on, look at this face. How can you resist me?

CG: Do I look like Ned Coletti?

Manny: Actually, yes.

CG: Take that back.

Manny: Give me 30 million.

CG: What?!?

Manny: I meant 45 million.

CG: Ok, I think this dinner’s over.

Manny: (walking to the door) You’ll call back. They always do.

4. Joe DiMaggio

The Meal: Veal Parmigiana and a pack of Marlboro Reds

The Conversation:

CG: Joe, I’ll always be in awe of your 56-game hitting streak. How’d you deal with the pressure?

Joe D: Trust me, it was easier than being married to Marilyn.

CG: High maintenance?

Joe D: You don’t know the half of it.

CG: Was it worth all the trouble?

Joe D: NO!!!  Well, yes.

CG: Shocking.

3. Pete Rose

The Meal: Bread and water

The Conversation:

CG: Sorry about the skimpy meal, Mr. Rose. You know, economy’s not all too good these days.

Rose: Don’t mention it. Besides, it happens to be one of my favorites. I used to refer to it as the after-parlay special back in Cincy.

CG: Sounds, um, healthy. Speaking of health, what’s your take on the whole steroids scandal?

Rose: I’d be willing to bet more than half the league was doing them.

CG: Uh, are you sure you wouldn’t like to rephrase that last statement?

Rose: Why?

CG: Never mind….So how about those Phillies?

2. Ty Cobb

The Meal: Fried chicken, collards, biscuits, and gravy

The Conversation:

CG: It’s an honor to have you, Mr. Cobb. I’m a huge fan. I celebrate your entire body of work.

Ty: I don’t know where you think this dinner is headed, boy, but you best leave my body out of it.

CG: What?

Ty: You know what I’m gettin’ at, you yella-bellied pretty boy.

CG: Actually, I don’t.

Ty: Look, just eat your damn chicken and zip your lip.

CG: …

Ty: That’s better. Now finish all your vegetables before I sharpen my spikes on that big old nose of yourn.

CG: Mr. Cobb, it’s been real.

1. Yogi Berra

The Meal: A bowl of Cap’n Crunch

The Conversation:

CG: Boy am I glad to be sitting here with you, Yogi…a man known for his dialogue.

Yogi: Well, they say a man’s dialogue is his treasure.

CG: Who says that?
Yogi: Well, it ain’t us, so it must be them.

CG: Of course it ain’t us, but who is “them?”

Yogi: All the people who think a man’s dialogue is his treasure.

CG: But I never heard anyone ever say that.

Yogi: What do you mean? I just said it two minutes ago.

CG: Are you sure you weren’t just reading random stuff off the back of the cereal box?

Yogi: Uhhh….ummm…It ain’t over till it’s over!

CG: What the…? Oh, forget it. Where’s Ty Cobb when you need him?

Heart of the City: Pop's Water Ice

By: C.G. Morelli

Most of my love for the game of baseball can be traced back to a single, humid July evening in Philadelphia in 1982. That’s when my father showed me a pair of Phillies season tickets and explained we’d be going to Veteran’s Stadium for my first baseball game. From that very first walk down the heavy, concrete steps which led to section 325, peanut shells crackling beneath my Velcro sneakers, the smell of stale beer and shouts of “Hey Schmidty!” floating through the air, and a curious green mascot dancing around on the rooftop of the first base dugout, I was hooked.

Today, I can’t remember many details of the actual game. There was just so much for me to take in; I guess the game itself sort of molded together with the new and exciting surroundings of the Vet. But one thing I remember quite clearly is the moment the game ended. My father leaned over and said, “Now it’s time for the best part…we’re going to Pop’s.”

At that moment I couldn’t see anything redeeming about going to my grandfather’s row home at 10:30 at night, but I quickly realized my father was instead referring to a South Philadelphia mainstay known as Pop’s Water Ice.

For those of you who have no clue what I’m talking about when I say “water ice,” here’s a quick lesson. If you walk into a supermarket and head to the freezer section, you might find a box of Dixie cups with a rock hard concoction inside. People often like to call this stuff Italian Ice, but it’s actually just a cheap and somewhat embarrassing reproduction of real water ice.

A more authentic alternative to the supermarket stuff comes from a popular chain called Rita’s, which happens to be the leading rip off artist of the Pop’s tradition. Rita’s is decent, but it’s certainly not Pop’s. It often lacks the most satisfying characteristic of a good, refreshing cup of water ice: the fact that you should never need to bother yourself with the use of a spoon. At Pop’s you simply need to squeeze the sides of your cup and basically drink the semi-frozen slush that rises to the top.

It’s the same way people enjoyed the treat as far back as 1932, when Filippo “Pop” Italiano first started selling his water ice from a single push cart in South Philadelphia’s Marconi Plaza. Seventy-five years later his frozen treats are a staple along Oregon Avenue, in the shadows of Philadelphia’s major sporting venues. The Italiano family has continued Filippo’s tradition, sticking closely to his famously guarded recipe and building a reputation as the perennial winners of the South Philly Review’s Best of Philly Award.

If you don’t believe the hype, simply drive past the Pop’s storefront after a Phillies game and notice the line that routinely trails to the end of the city block and wraps around the corner. Or, try to park your ride anywhere in the vicinity of the famous stand and I guarantee you’ll be sitting in a pile-up of automobiles that runs three-deep to the curb.

In this case, your best bet is to partake in another South Philly tradition and simply park your car on the median. Don’t worry about getting a ticket, because there’s always a good chance the fuzz will be sitting in line waiting for a large cup of lemon water ice and a pretzel rod along with you. 

One thing I’ll tell you is Pop’s Water Ice is not a flashy place, nor is it a huge entertainment complex where you can unload the kids in front of a row of arcade games. The place has really changed little since Pop himself was pushing his cart through Marconi Plaza. But one thing’s for sure, this place has always been a respite for battle-weary Phillies fans to heal their wounds after a tough loss or celebrate the glory of an unlikely victory.

Stan the Man

By: C.G. Morelli

Throughout his career, Stan Musial was a man's man. It's no surprise the nickname stuck. In addition to compiling a cartoon-like career stats line (475 dingers, 3,630 hits, a lifetime .331 average, and three MVP awards), serving in the Navy during WWII, and being elected to the Hall of Fame with over 93 percent of the votes in 1969, Stan the Man touched the lives of so many of his fellow players, coaches, and fans that you'd need at least twenty Busch Stadiums to contain them all.

On Tuesday, President Obama honored Musial with the highest honor a civilian in the United States could possibly receive: the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

Congratulations, Stan, the honor was long overdue. Here's a recap of the all time Cardinals great accepting the honor:

Rube Waddell: A Real Piece of Work

By: C.G. Morelli

Charles Edward Waddell was a small town Pennsylvania farm boy when minor league scouts recognized his ability to throw lightning. Before long, he’d attracted a nickname (“the Rube”) and he was hurling fastballs in the minors. He found immediate success and, by 1902, he was wearing a Pittsburgh Pirates uniform.

In Pittsburgh, however, the Rube found success a little more fleeting. Sure, the kid had great stuff.  But he also had a bit of a strange side to him to say the least. Waddell quickly gained more notoriety for his wild antics than for his ball playing. The man was known to actually leave the playing field during games to chase fire engines, and his unpredictable drinking binges caused him to be chronically and excessively late to games and practices.  Frustrated with his odd behavior, the Pirates cut him loose…and who was there to scoop him up but the old baseball gentleman himself, Connie Mack.

Mack signed Waddell in 1902 to compliment his already burgeoning roster of solid players. Waddell joined the likes of Eddie Plank, Lave Cross, and Nap Lajoie. But the Rube immediately shot to the top of the list, leading the league in strikeouts every year from 1902 through 1907. He led the Athletics in team ERA four times during this span.

For a while, with Mack acting as his surrogate father, Waddell kept his strange behavior at bay, and when he couldn’t restrain himself the citizens of Philadelphia ate him up anyway. Fans especially loved him because he would hang out at local bars in Philly and end up bartending by closing time. He was also known for playing random pickup games in the streets with local kids and for volunteering his services to the fire department.

But eventually, Rube lost his way once more and his erratic, sometimes personally endangering, behavior began to wear on Papa Mack. Waddell was beginning to wear out his welcome. A breaking point appeared to have occurred at the conclusion of the 1905 season. He had led the Athletics to the World Series that year, but couldn’t pitch against the Giants because he’d supposedly injured his elbow in a bizarre incident that culminated in a barroom brawl. It didn’t take long for the public to suspect gamblers were pulling Rube’s strings and rumors began to fly. Nothing was ever proven, but the scandal haunted the Pennsylvania hayseed for the rest of his career.

The scandal, his increasingly flaky attitude towards the game, and his strong taste for drinking, led Mack (who was at the end of his rope) to sell Waddell to the hapless St. Louis Cardinals for $5,000 before the start of the 1908 season. Mack’s Athletics, who had finished a hopeful 2^nd with an 88-57 record the season before, could not recover. Without Rube’s services they skidded through the 1908 season, finishing a pitiful and disappointing 6^th in the American League with a 68-85 record.

Many Philadelphians, who had almost unilaterally exalted the venerable Connie Mack, lost some respect for their beloved manager who, in the end, could not control his wayward “son.”  The city eventually learned to live without their loveable idiot, but it never found anyone unique enough to replace him in their hearts.

Ten Pro Records We May Never See Broken

By: C.G. Morelli

Many will tell you that a record is the highest personal honor that can be obtained by any athlete. Others contend that records set new standards and push athletes to reach higher, to run faster, and to push harder. As spectators, we relish in seeing these feats accomplished, and we thrive on seeing them broken a short time later. In fact, it’s no secret that many of us live and die by the age-old axiom, “records are made to be broken.” 

But some feats are just so unbelievable they stretch the viability of such a saying to its breaking point. Here is a list of the top ten records in professional sports that may never be matched.

10. Secretariat’s Belmont Time

On his way to perhaps the most impressive Triple Crown in horse racing history, Secretariat shattered track records that still stand today. Set in 1973, his time at the Kentucky Derby of 1:59 is a lengthy half-second better than any other horse that’s run the track.  But that’s not the amazing feat. Big Red’s blazing Belmont mark of 2:24, is a full two seconds better than his next closest competition (A.P. Indy, 2:26, 1992), making it a run that may never be matched no matter how many geneticists they put on the job.

9. Pete Rose’s Career Hits

When you shatter Ty Cobb’s mark by 65 hits, you know you’ve done something special.  Still, some believe Rose’s career mark of 4,256 hits does seem reachable. Ichiro Suzuki now has 1,592 hits. That means he only needs 2,655 more to eclipse Charlie Hustle. But let’s remember, Ichiro is 34 years old. That means he probably needs to average 270 hits or more for the next decade. A-Rod is currently 2,007 hits shy of Rose’s mark. That means he needs to average 200 hits every year for the next decade. He’s only reached the 200-hit plateau once in his career. Doesn’t seem so reachable now, does it?

8. Tiger Woods’ Cuts Made Streak

Does this guy ever have a bad round?  From 1998 to 2005, Tiger pretty much answered that question with a big, fat NO. Any thoughts of possibly not making a cut clearly didn’t cross his mind during this time because he was automatic. Tiger made a mind-boggling 142 tournament cuts in a row, leaving him in the money more times than Richie Rich. Ironically, the only golfer who seems to have a shot at breaking this streak any time soon is Tiger Woods himself.  But even that seems unlikely.

7. Cal Ripken Jr. / Brett Favre Consecutive Games

The iron men of baseball and football are both testaments to a hard-nose era in sports. Cal’s streak of 2,632 straight games bested Lou Gehrig in 1995. You know you’re tough when you outlast a dude whose nickname was the Iron Horse. Maybe more impressive, because of the position he plays, was Brett Favre’s recent streak of 297 straight starts as the Packers/Jets/Vikings' quarterback. This record is especially amazing in the current hospital ward version of the NFL, where it sometimes feels like the injured lists are longer than most of the active rosters in the league.

6. Wayne Gretzky’s Single Season Goals

The Great One plugged the net 92 times in 1981 on his way to a 212 point season. His mark bests the next player on the list, Brett Hull, by six goals. Even though the NHL has changed rules to increase overall scoring, there’s just not one single player who dominates the game the way Gretzky did for so long. I simply don’t see another player capable of matching the Great One’s mark. And yes, that includes you too, Mr. Crosby.

5. Lance Armstrong’s Tour de “Lance”

Scandal or no scandal, Armstrong’s domination of the Tour de France for nearly a decade is perhaps the most significant act ever performed in the sport of cycling. From 1999 to 2005, Lance won the hallowed event seven straight times. What’s even more amazing is he ran his gauntlet just three years after battling cancer. I don’t care what people want to accuse this guy of doing, his feat is simply unmatchable.

4. Nolan Ryan’s No-Hitters

We may never see a pitcher like Nolan Ryan again, let alone see his record of seven career no-hitters ever beaten. What’s even more mind-numbing is the Ryan Express tallied his first no-no in 1973 at the tender age of 26, and his last one in 1991 at a slightly more ripened 44. Talk about standing up to the test of time. The only thing that’ll last longer than Ryan himself is an almost surreal record. Did I mention he also boasts 5,714 career strikeouts?

3. Bill Russell’s Rings

Perhaps no sports figure has been as fortunate as the legendary Bill Russell, especially when it comes to winning championships. From 1956 to 1969 Russell collected a ring for every finger, and even one for his toes. That’s right, an outrageous 11 championships.  Not even Vince Lombardi or Michael Jordan can match that total. Want your jaw to drop a little lower? He won two of those titles as a player/coach. Maybe we give him a few extra rings for that.

2. Wilt Chamberlain’s Points in a Game

Everyone knows about Wilt the Stilt’s 100 points in a single game, but do they realize just how unreachable this standard seems to be? There hasn’t been a single player to even come within shouting distance of this mark. Kobe Bryant’s became the Stilt’s second fiddle when he dropped 81 points on the Raptors in 2006.  But even that ridiculous performance was 19 points shy of Wilt’s total. Nineteen points? Most guys never reach that total in a single game in the course of an entire season, but that’s the gap between Chamberlain and his nearest competitor. Amazing.

1. Joe DiMaggio’s Hitting Streak

There’s just no way to deny the Yankee Clipper his rightful spot at the top of this list. On May 15, 1941 Joe DiMaggio slapped a single off Eddie Smith, and for the next 61days this country ate, slept, and dreamed nothing but Joe. He thrust the insurmountable weight of the City of New York on his shoulders and carried it through 56 straight games of steady hitting. Then he took just a single day off before feasting on American League pitching for another 16 straight. His 56-game hitting streak has only been approached once, that by Pete Rose, whose measly 44-game streak seems like a distant cloud of dust in DiMaggio’s rear-view mirror. Every year we see another player run a hitting streak to 25, maybe even 30 games before fizzling out. And every year it becomes clear that Joltin’ Joe’s streak will stand as long as there is baseball.