As I read this article on ESPN.com, I was taken aback by the first sentence.  Go ahead, read for yourself and see what I mean.  “Warren Sapp is a very picky eater.”  If I am not mistaken, Warren Sapp goes about 6’2” and about 320 pounds, although he is listed at 300.  The man is a human bowling ball with arms.  For him, picky eating means deciding what trough to plop down in front of.  Charlie Weis actually contacted Warren recently to give him the name of a good stomach-staple guy. Sapp was the first person to not only sack the quarterback, but also fully digest him.  Look it up, do you know why Ryan Leaf is no longer in the league? It is not because of his complete lack of talent, intelligence, speed, or decision-making abilities.  It is because Warren Sapp ingested him. Yet, Jabba the Sapp is terrified to eat food that has not been thoroughly inspected or served to him by his team.  At least that was the case in Tampa, where this “unpopular figure,” according to the article, constantly lived in fear of his food being tampered with.  (By the way, wasn’t Sapp one of the league’s most well liked and popular players for the better part of the last decade, nice work AP.)  Well, Warren, despite your trials and tribulations, you still found time to eat a whole lot of food, because you maintained your weight of 300+ pounds, despite playing professional football.

I am just so tired of these athlete sob stories.  Just because your team is awful and no one wants to interview you anymore doesn’t mean you can make up garbage stories to complain.  You were making 8 million dollars a year, you could have had a chef prepare every meal for you if you wanted.  For 8 million a year, you could have bought your own livestock and fish farm and controlled your 36-ounce T-Bone from the farm to your plate.

I also love his story about room service and how he had to book two rooms to avoid tampering with his room service food.  Are you telling me that Sapp couldn’t have ordered from a take-out restaurant that delivered and avoided the whole two room business?  The last time I checked, Chang’s Kitchen does not ask for your most recent W-2 and social security number before it delivers. Or how about this, have a teammate order the food for you.  I am sure these food poisoners are an intelligent breed, but they certainly are no match for Robert Warren Oppenhiemer Sapp. I also think Warren could completely avoid this food poisoning business if he did not unhinge his jaw, swallow everything, including the plate and his dining companion every time he sat down to eat.

Memo to all people who used to be in the spotlight and no longer garner the attention that they once did:  Enjoy that fact that you are a has-been, rather than a never-was like myself.  There was a time when people liked you and I suggest you look fondly on that time rather than making up bullshit stories about your fear of eating when you weigh 300 pounds. However, buried in all of Warren’s posturing, there could be a sick truth.  The Raiders have been pretty awful since Warren was signed.  It could be that the poisoners were so frustrated by being outsmarted by wily Warren that they turned their attention to poisoning the rest of the team. The team can thank Warren Angela Lansbury Sapp for narrowing down the reasons for team’s poor play to bad personnel, coaching, discipline, talent and Art Shell to the much more obvious, food poisoning.  Warren, isn’t Oakland sort of close to Hollywood?  I am sure that Nicole Richie and that girl from Growing Pains would love to taste test and then throw up all of your food.  Problem solved, you are welcome.

Popularity: unranked [?]

While you were eating your Thanksgiving turkey this year, Matt Millen and the Ford Family were chocking down a heaping helping of crow, courtesy of everyone’s favorite alleged homosexual John Joseph Harrington.  Despite the fact that I am a Lions fan, I can state unequivocally that I was the happiest I have been during a Lions game in a long time.  While I disliked Harrington for his limp-wristed tosses while he was the Lions’ QB, I have a special place in my heart for Matt Millen, and Harrington sure did make Millen look like an idiot on Thursday.  I can only imagine what was going on under Millen’s sloped Neanderthal forehead during that game.  Pretty Boy Harrington throws 3 TDs in route to a total dismantling of Millen’s brainchild (term used very loosely), the Detroit Lions.  Harrington has now led the resurgent Dolphins to four straight wins, something he never came close to doing in Detroit.  While Harrington was very average in Detroit, this season’s Lions team is proving that Harrington played a relatively small part in the team’s disgraceful record during the Millen era.   

The “Fire Millen” column has been written so many times over the past year that I will spare you the time of reading another.  However, I will offer up this question: Can you think of someone who has done his job more poorly than Matt Millen has done as GM of the Detroit Lions?  A few people immediately come to mind. The captain of the Exxon Valdez who dumped all that oil on those cute seals in Alaska is one.  Ron Artest is another. Rons’s debut album, My World, was pretty disappointing ( 343 copies sold in the first week) and based on that, I would say he did a pretty poor job.  Despite awe-inspiring work in Blue Chips, big Shaq Diesel turned in a couple critically un-acclaimed performances in Kazaam and Steel.  Bryant “Big Country” Reeves did a great job of collecting $50 million for his “play” with the Vancouver Grizzles.  Unfortunately, the team expected him to actually get on the court for that money, so depending on whose side you take in the issue; Bryant may have done a pretty terrible job in that situation.  I watched about 6 seconds of the movie Anaconda this weekend and Ice Cube did a poor job of making me believe that the guy from NWA would be anywhere near the Amazon, much less looking for snakes (“They got snakes out there this big?”)  Finally, Zeke has done a pretty bad job managing the New York Knicks.  In fact, have you ever seen Thomas and Millen in the same place at the same time?  I know I haven’t.  Plus, don’t they kind of look alike?  Just something to think about.  But alas, none of these people have done their job as poorly as Millen has done his.

There is only one man whose blatant mistakes reach a Millen-like level of futility.  His countless errors have played out in front of millions yet management refuses to replace this man.  His gross miscalculations and mismanagement of key situations has led to decisions that affected or even ended the careers of some great athletes. 

Earl Hebnor is one of the longest tenured referees in the history of professional wrestling.  He has presided over hundred of title matches over a few decades.  Despite his longevity, this guy has been screwing things up almost since day one.  I mean, how many times is he going to miss the outside interference from the managers?  And Earl, would you mind checking Stephen Regal’s tights for brass knuckles? Also, check Mr. Fuji’s pockets for the salt that he will inevitably throw in someone’s eyes.  Everyone in the arena, except you, knows these guys bring foreign objects to the ring.  It is pathetic how many times you have screwed up.  If you had any dignity you would have retired on your own accord by this point.  Let me give you another little tip Earl; keep an eye out for the steel chair.  You miss about 80 percent of illegal steel chair use in a given match.  Finally Earl, get in position and stop getting knocked unconscious.  It seems whenever my favorite WWE superstar is about to win the title, you get knocked out and are unable to complete the 1-2-3 count. But seriously, I have probably seen you knocked unconscious like 15 times and that could mean a lot of concussions.  You really might want to find a good neurologist and get that checked out. 

So Lions fans, leave the “Fire Millen” signs home this week, and make sure to wear, for the reasons above and countless other gaffes in this man’s career, a “Fire Hebnor” sandwich board.

Popularity: unranked [?]

J.D. Drew is the gold standard of the modern-day professional athlete.  He can hit the ball a country mile, he has a ‘shark with a frickin’ laser beam attached to its forehead’ for an arm, and he can run like Charlie Weis to the ‘2 Taquitos for 99c’ special at 7-11.  And to top it all off, he has the competitive drive and heart of the average Frenchman.  But does it really matter?  His next contract is set to pay him somewhere in the neighborhood of 56 million dollars over the next four years.  All this for a guy who has persevered and fought through injury and sickness to average about 110 games a season in his eight-year career.

There is no doubt that this guy can play ball when he is not injured, lactating, menstruating, faking, or just flat our uninterested.  But when the hell has this been the case in his entire career?  Of course we remember this is the same guy who refused to sign with the Phillies out of Florida State because they wouldn’t offer him the guaranteed 10 million that he and his agent Scott Boras thought he deserved.  So he went back to school and was drafted #1 the next year by the Cardinals, and of course they paid him.  They paid him that money for him be often injured and even more often uninterested.  After he wore out his welcome as the prototypical spoiled, silver-spoon athlete in St. Louis, he bounced around and made about $8 million a year to be the same player he always was. Now he is up for a new contract and again he will walk (or limp) to the bank with a smile on his face knowing that he is the modern-day Jesse James with a batting helmet instead of a bandana.  Drew did have a good season last year, with 100 RBIs and a .280 average, but guess what idiots, it was a contract year. 

There is definitely something to be said for the contract year in sports, especially when speaking of J.D. “Al Capone” Drew.  Before you get pissed about this reference, understand that this is organized crime.  J.D. Drew and many other athletes are giving about 75% of their effort for the first years of their contracts and then making up for it with Herculean efforts right before they have to negotiate for a new contract. Well why don’t we do the same thing in the real world. So, if you are a construction worker and someone bitches at you for leaning on your shovel all day, tell him it’s not a contract year.  If you are a doctor and a patient is unhappy with the anti-depressants you prescribed their child for asthma, tell them you are sorry Timmy shot up the school and then tell them it’s not a contract year.  If you are white police officer and the chief tells you that you haven’t reached your racial profiling quota this quarter, tell him it’s not a contract year.  If you are a pedophile by trade and the neighborhood kids feel safe playing kickball in street, don’t worry, it isn’t a contract year. Refer your supervisors or patients or parole officer to J.D. Drew.  If Drew sandbags for a contract year and athletes are role models, what else could you be expected to do?  J.D is a pioneer, inspiring thousands, including Chris Henry, who already has four arrests in this contract year alone.

The message for the kids from J.D. Drew’s career is this: with enough talent at anything, whether it is baseball, playing the violin, or singing (even Taylor Hanson, of “Hanson” fame, phoned-in a couple verses of Mmm Bop) you can give about 50% effort and still be pretty successful.

Angry T

Popularity: unranked [?]

Floyd Little is a little bitter.

Popularity: unranked [?]

I hate Ohio State. I have since I was a very young person. In fact, my very first hateful thought was most likely directed at those terrible people who live five hours south in Columbus. All those despicable people, whose highest level of education is six credits at the local community college, will be rooting for Ohio State this weekend at the Shoe. Legendary Michigan announcer Bob Ufer (please listen to the video on the left side of the screen) put it best when he called the clientele at the Horseshoe

Popularity: 1% [?]

This has gone on long enough. Frankly I am disgusted almost daily by the abomination that American athletics has become. It all came to a head, for me anyway, on Saturday night when undefeated Heavyweight challenger Calvin Brock got the hell beat out of him by Wlaimir Klitchsko. Calvin Brock even has God on his side, and he still lost. I am sure, if you are a boxing fan, that you are saying,

Popularity: unranked [?]

I am Joe fricking Paterno. I have been the head coach of the Penn State Nittany Lions for more than 40 years. I have coached at Penn State for over 56 years.  I was coaching long before Oliver Miller Weis and the rest of these young punks started to steal my headlines. I have over 360 wins as a head coach, many of those came when I still wore a headset and actually coached. Last year, despite everyone’s best efforts to bury me, I led my team to the Orange Bowl and beat Bobby Bowden’s Florida State Seminoles. So here is my question: why the hell do they have a video of me of breaking my leg on espn.com? Just look at this garbage. Look at the frame they start with, are they serious? How would you like it if I came into Stu Scott’s locker room and took a picture of him putting in his glass eye? Or how about I take a video of Shelley Smith showering? Finally, what if I had a picture of that bulge in Robin Roberts’ pants that crops up every once in a while? My point is: why do you have to kick a guy when he is down? I was sitting on the pot this morning and half-expected Jim Gray to bust in and try to conduct an interview.

“Isn’t it time to admit Pete, I mean Joe, that you are pooping.”

I mean give me a break, no pun intended. I am old. Great, you made your point. My bones are brittle. Would I be around if I didn’t have so much tradition attached to my name? Probably not. But you know what, you sanctimonious clowns who think you are the beacons of everything sport, I want to coach. My players love me, the school loves me, and I can still recruit. So take note, when Charlie Weis goes in for the quintuple bypass, I want cameras filming the surgery. When Dick Vitale’s head eventually explodes, I want the video featured prominently on your site. When Chris Henry commits a double homicide, I want the ESPN chopper following the high speed police chase that ensues. Either do those things, or give me (and them), dignity in situations like these. I know I have earned it. So you have your choice, take the video down, or Kerry Collins and I will drunk drive all the way to Bristol, Connecticut and take our car right through the front of the building, inevitably killing Grant Hill while he plays piano in the lobby. I don’t think you want the death of such a class act on your hands. You have your terms.

Sincerely,

JoePa

Popularity: 1% [?]