Lost in Translation - Vol. I

I shouldn't be saying this, but I often feel like sports reporters are obsolete. Not that they don't captivate us with random top ten lists, or intrigue us with up to the minute tweets from the smelly stall in the Cav's locker room, or boggle our minds with statistics that would numb the brain of Sir Ronald Aylmer Fisher. What? He's a famous statistician. Ok, so I had to look that one up. So what.

Something I never have to look up to be certain of the utter irrelevance is any quote...by any pro athlete...in any morning sports page. These guys never say a thing, yet today's reporters seem content to mop the mental vomit from these players' lips like creepy mama birds tending nest. Apparently regurgitation trumps follow-up questioning...but I digress.

I'm here to offer the miracle cure. I guess I'll call it Lost in Translation, an exercise many of us perform daily (not that, sicko) that I'll attempt to put in print from time to time. My goal is to cut through the crap for you guys. So, I scoured the sports pages for today's most lackluster quotables and put them through the old translation machine...screw you, Babel Fish.


Mark Sanchez on the looming battle to be the Jets' starting signal caller:  "I'm really having fun." 
Translation: "I'm really looking forward to carrying Geno's jock this season."

Michael Vick on his future in the NFL: 
"I have a couple more years left."
Translation: "I have a couple more years left before I'm flat broke and drunk in Newport News."

Judge Kathleen McHugh after handing down a 30-day sentence to Chad Johnson for violating probation: 
"You should thank your lawyer. He did a great job for you."
Translation: "You're a garden variety douche bag. Ever thought of a name change?"

Wes Welker on being able to speak his mind in Denver: 
"I feel like I can be myself a little more for sure."
Translation: "The Patriot way is for pansies."

Aaron Rogers on his future in the NFL: 
"I played eight (seasons), I think I can play eight more."
Translation: "Must...beat...Brett...at
everything...related...to...football...life...and...texting."

Matt Birk on boycotting the White House visit with the his Baltimore Ravens teammates: 
"I wasn't there. I am active in the Pro-Life movement and I felt I couldn't endorse that in any way."
Translation: "There's a clear connection between football and abortion. My publicist told me so."

The Sporting Scribe's Super Bowl Spread: Chicago Style Dogs

If the Jamaican Jerk Chicken recipe I gave you earlier wasn’t enough, don’t worry. I’m on your side. All week, while you’re busy surfing the internet behind your supervisor’s back and pretending to look busy whenever he walks by your cube, I’m dreaming up a deliciously artery-shattering meal for the big game.

Nothing is easier, more delicious, and less healthy than the classic Chicago-style hot dog. Just ask Jay Cutler. Dude probably eats scores of these things on his romantic strolls through the Windy City. In fact, now that I think about it, that mysterious leg injury shouldn’t be much of a mystery at all. Can you say, “I got gout?” At any rate, enjoy.

Chicago’s Hottest Dogs

Ingredients

1 tbs. grainy mustard

2 tsp. white-wine vinegar

Coarse salt and ground pepper to taste

½ of a Vidalia onion, thinly sliced into spears

½ of a hot house cucumber

1 large tomato, sliced

1/2 cup celery leaves

2 tablespoons hot banana peppers, chopped

4 hot dogs (I’ve used all-beef and turkey dogs; both have been delicious)

4 hot dog buns, grilled or toasted

1-2 pickle spears

Dill relish to taste

Directions

1. Combine the mustard and white-wine vinegar in a medium bowl and whisk until smooth.

2. Add salt and pepper to the mixture, to your taste.

3. Add the Vidalia onion, cucumber, tomato, celery leaves, and hot peppers to the mixture. Toss.

4. Throw the dogs on the grill over medium-high heat until browned and heated through, about six minutes.

5. Serve your Chicago-style dogs on grilled buns. Top each with a sliced pickle spear and some dill relish.

The Sporting Scribe's Super Bowl Spread: Jamaican Jerk Chicken

It’s that time of year again, folks. Time to throw caution to the wind. Time to stuff ourselves full of preservatives, processed meats, cholesterols, and fats. Time to drink beer after glorious beer until our livers scream out for mercy.

 It’s time to watch some football, people.

And while our favorite athletes are out on the field of battle abusing their bodies in the name of the game, shouldn’t we also put ourselves through an equal amount of abuse? I think so. That’s why I put a lot of thought into my Super Bowl spread this year. Who cares if I’ll be the only one around to eat it? I didn’t want to share anyway.

Today, I give you the main course…Jamaican Jerk Chicken. If you don’t mind putting in a little work ahead of the big game, you’ll be picking the bones on this spicy, sweet treat come half time. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.

Jamaica’s Best Jerk Chicken

INGREDIENTS:

1 tbs. ground allspice

1 tbs. dried thyme

1 1/2 tsp. cayenne pepper

1 1/2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper

1 1/2 tsp. ground sage

3/4 tsp. ground nutmeg

3/4 tsp. ground cinnamon

1 tbs. salt

2 tbs. garlic powder

1 tbs. sugar

1/4 cup olive oil

1/4 cup soy sauce

3/4 cup white vinegar

1/2 cup orange juice

Juice of 1 lime

2 Habanero peppers, finely chopped

1 cup chopped white onion

3 green onions, finely chopped

1 whole chicken cut in pieces trimmed of fat

DIRECTIONS:

1. Combine the allspice, thyme, cayenne pepper, black pepper, sage, nutmeg, cinnamon, salt, garlic powder and sugar in a large bowl.

2. Slowly add the olive oil, soy sauce, vinegar, orange juice, and lime juice. Stir it together with a wire whisk.

3. Add the Habanero peppers, onion, green onions, and mix well.

4. Put the chicken pieces in the mixture, cover with plastic wrap, and marinate for six to 24 hours (the longer the better).

5. Preheat an outdoor grill to medium high heat. Remove the chicken from the marinade and grill for 8 minutes on each side, or until fully cooked. Baste the chicken with the marinade every two or three minutes to keep it moist. Enjoy.

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.”

If the Playoff Teams Were...Beers?

By: C.G. Morelli

So, I’m sacked out on the couch with a mountain of pork rinds to rival Kilimanjaro in front of me and one of a plethora of Divisional Playoff games blaring from the tube. I reach for my beer and take a long swig. Then I give a quick sip to my boy Mike Schmidt, my dog, who’s lazily watching every snap along with me.

I think to myself, “This is what life’s all about.” Playoff football, beer, little or no physical exertion…things can’t possibly get much better.

But then my mind begins to wander. The beer, the football, and the playoffs start mixing together, bouncing randomly off the inside walls of my skull, whipping around at warp speed, dredging up ideas I never knew I had. Then suddenly they all collide in one violent crash, molding them together as one.

That’s when it happens. A deep and earth shattering question arises from the darkest recesses of my mind:

What if the playoff teams were, uh, beers?

It’s an interesting path that could eventually end up both tasting great and being less filling. So I decided to take that trip.

Seattle Seahawks

America’s sweethearts hail from a crappy little tin can known as Qwest Field. For the Hawks, in their rainy weather hell, the regular season and training camp usually meld together as one in a typical year. But this is clearly not your typical year.

After slaying the also-rans of the NFC West to take home the division crown, a formidable lineup led by warhorse quarterback Matt Hasselbeck and journeyman runner Marshawn Lynch ousted the defending champs in memorable fashion. Fans are all too ready to watch another upset unfold this weekend at Soldier Field

But, in reality, this team is nothing more than the Corona Light of the playoff field. They’re tropical and even a little bubbly at first glance. A casual fan might get lost in the excitement of drinking in something new. However, all we’re really getting is the same old Cinderella story with a slightly more watered-down finish.

And let’s not forget the Seahawks’ inexperience, which will prove to be even worse than a big old piece of fruit in your beer.

New England Patriots

The Pats are the class of this year’s playoff field. They’ve been here before. They’ve gotten the job done on more than one occasion and, quite frankly, you know what you’re getting when it comes to this team.

All things considered, from a heavy hitting offense stocked with feared playmakers like Danny Woodhead and Benjarvus Green-Ellis, to a grizzled, veteran quarterback who’s simply on fire right now, to a battle-tested coach with a fistful of rings, it’s clear the Pats will be a tough out.

Like a good old-fashioned bottle of Sam Adam’s Lager, you know you’ll see a full bodied, complex, refreshing team at Foxboro this weekend. Only question is, will we get one of those nasty, skunky bottles of Sam that somehow inexplicably makes it into the six pack? Or will we get the real thing?

Atlanta Falcons

When Mike Smith brings his laid back coaching style to the table and Roddy White brings the dreds, there’s no better comparison in my mind than a bottle of Red Stripe.

Simple geography makes the Falcons a little bit different than the rest of the playoff field. Being the only team from the Dirty South gives them the feel of the squatty, brown bottle filled with a Rastafarian’s delight.

With a solid offense boasting Pro Bowlers Matt Ryan, Michael Turner, and Roddy White, the Falcons, like a bottle of Red Stripe, give you the illusion of silky smoothness going down.

But will Matty’s crispness suddenly turn to a bitter Jamaican-style after taste if the NFL gets its ultimate wish: an all NFC North championship game?

Pittsburgh Steelers

Now that’s enjoying the High Life, ladies and gentlemen…Miller High Life, that is.

This blue collar team comes from the quintessential blue collar town. It goes without saying that many of the fans in Da Burg will be loud, raucous, obnoxious, and with a belly full of the High Life throughout the playoffs. That alone should make the Stillers a formidable contender.

But that’s not the only reason I’ve likened them to the High Life. Just like the beer, they’re an every man’s team. They’ve won six Super Bowls already, and they did it on their own terms: by pounding the football. Look for Rashard Mendenhall to continue this fine tradition.

Don’t forget, the Steel-city crew boasts one of the grittiest defensive lineups in football, with Troy Polamalu cleaning clocks up the middle, and they can put up points in a hurry when Big Ben and Mr. Wallace are clicking.

If you love meat, potatoes, beer, and hard hitting, you’re a lock to be cheering for the Black and Gold this weekend.

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

By: C.G. Morelli

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 holiday 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.”

The Most Miserable Fans on Earth

By: C.G. Morelli

Being a fan of any professional sports team is hard work.  You take the ups and downs of a grueling season just like the players, only without any of the control.  You obsess over waiver moves, trade deadlines, and salary caps.  Your eyes are trained to periodically glance from game to sports ticker and back to game without missing a second of the action.  But, I assure you, being a sports fan in any of the following cities is a whole different animal.  There’s no doubt that these are the homes of some of today’s most miserable fans.  

Seattle, Washington

From the days of Steve Largent to the current Hasselbeck-led version, the Seahawks have always been a tough out.  But they’ve always been out of the winner’s circle.  Seattle fans have seen their football team make it to the Super Bowl only once since the franchise was founded in 1976, and they lost in tear-your-heart-from-your-chest fashion to Tom Brady and the Patriots.

The M’s have also had their moments.  They won the AL Wildcard in 2000 and advanced to the ALCS where they lost to the Yankees.  Then, they put together a record 116-win season en route to another ALCS against the Yankees.  It was a punch to the gut for all Seattle residents when the Bombers trounced their Mariners in five games.  I’m sure the original departure of Ken Griffey, Jr. and the loss of A-Rod didn’t feel so great either. 

Oh, and the Sonics? I don't have the heart to go there.

Kansas City, Missouri

Marty Schottenheimer basically built his legacy as the biggest playoff loser during his tenure as head coach of the Chiefs.  He’s long since left the post, but the team has continued to disappoint under the last two coaching regimes despite having one of the most dominating rushing attacks the NFL has seen in the past decade. 

In a city that loves its football, the Chiefs’ plummet into NFL mediocrity is intolerable.  But at least the Kansas City faithful get some relief once summer rolls around, right?  Wrong.  Two words: Royals suck.  Five more words for the road: Not much relief in sight.

Buffalo, New York

If it’s not bad enough digging yourself from beneath three feet of snow every other day, imagine losing the Super Bowl every year…for four straight years.  It’s no secret that the Bills accomplished this feat from 1990 through 1993.  Things have only gotten worse since then.  Buffalo fans paint their chests and endure arctic temperatures every Sunday as they continue to wait for their first playoff berth since 1999.

But don’t despair Buffalonians, you still have the Sabres…although they’ve never won the Stanley Cup and seem to be doing their best impression of the city’s football team.  How many times is this team going to come up just short?  Even the Dominek the Dominator couldn’t get the Sabres over the hump.  Antacid shortages have been reported in upstate New York.

Cleveland, Ohio

Sweet misery has a penthouse apartment in downtown Cleveland.  Ladies and gentleman, we can ignore it no longer.  The fans in this city have had it rough.  Just think about it.

The Indians haven’t won the series since 1948.  And let’s just highlight a few of the more recent collapses this team has suffered during that span.  In Game 7 of the 1997 World Series, Jose Mesa blew a 2-1 Indian lead in the bottom of the ninth, which allowed the Marlins to win the series two innings later on a clutch hit by Edgar Renteria.   This past season, the Tribe held a 3-1 ALCS lead, only to watch it slip away to the Red Sox.  Let’s face it, the best thing to happen to this franchise in the past 50 years was the movie Major League.

What’s worse is that there’s not a Clevelander around who can remember the last time the Cavaliers won an NBA title.  That’s because it never happened.  Since the team’s founding in 1970, the Cavs have only made a single appearance in the Finals.  It came in 2007 and ended in a four game drubbing at the hands of the San Antonio Spurs…and that was with Lebron.

Let's not
 forget the Browns of the late 80’s.  Bernie Kosar led the team to three AFC Championships between 1986 and 1989.  Unfortunately, on all three occasions, a man named John Elway was there to greet the Browns at the door and send them all home crying to their mommies.

A final slap-shot to the face of all Cleveland fans, is the simple fact that a town like Columbus was found more attractive to hold an NHL franchise.  Columbus??  Really?? Wow. I guess you could always replace the hockey games with some Drew Carey re-runs.