So Long Rod, You Suck

Who wants to make a bet? I'll give you 10,000:1 odds and I'll front you 50 bucks. I bet that Rod Marinelli gets canned tomorrow and you bet that he stays. Good deal right?

Well, the Lions finally carved their name in (tomb)stone for the worst team in the history of the NFL. Hell, I think they carved their name in stone as the worst team in the history of sports. No kidding.

At least for us Lions fans, there is some upside to being so terrible. The post season is almost as exciting as the regular season, because now we get to speculate about who will be the next coach. Plus, we now have the #1 draft pick, so we get to foreshadow what the next stupid decision will be for the "franchise QB of the future."

First, let's talk about the coaching situation (we‘ll get to the draft soon, I promise). Realistically, there is no chance in hell Rod Marinelli has a job tomorrow. Regardless of how dumb the Lions front office may be, the NFL is a competitive league and nobody keeps a job after an 0-16 season. In fact, it's getting to the point where the NFL is going to have to start imposing on the Lions to make some decent decisions. They really cannot allow this mismanagement to continue much longer. It's bad for the league and really bad for Detroit.

What I find interesting about the Lions coaching position is if you think about it, this should be the most coveted job in the NFL. If somebody could come in and right the ship, Parcells-style, they would go down in history as one of the greatest coaches and turnaround artists in sports. Hell, we named a blog after Wayne Fontes and still love him and all he did was win one lousy playoff game. And that was over 15 years ago.

So who is one our short list for possible replacements for Rod Marinelli? Well, initially I was on the Bill Cowher bandwagon, but sort of lost hope when it looked like he was headed to Cleveland. Now, he announced that the deal is off, but he doesn't seem to want much to do with the Lions. He is also being looked at more as a Matt Millen replacement rather than a Marinelli replacement. I tend to agree with Zaroo's take it with a grain of salt opinion on this though. Like the great AC/DC once said, "Listen to the money talk."

Next on the list would be Steve Spagnuolo from the G-Men. More than anything and consistent with the Cowher view, we need a defensive-minded coach with a track record. Detroit has been seriously lacking in the defensive line department, which if Tennessee and the Giants teach you anything, defensive lines win NFL games these days. For the record, this is just my opinion, but I haven't heard much about any real talks between the two parties.

There are a couple other defensive coordinators that would put a big smile on my face. Jim Schwartz would be another dream come true as he is the mastermind behind the ferocious Titans defense. Schwartz is one of the most aggressive defensive coordinators in the league and would be a welcome addition to put a little feist into the stuck-in-quicksand defense. The third choice amongst the defensive coordinator whispers would be Raven's DC, Rex Ryan. Anyone who plays fantasy football knows that Ryan's Ravens are turnover machines and they score points on big plays. Remember big plays? Me either.

Unfortunately, a lot of the trendy offensive coordinator names are floating around like Mike Mularkey from the Falcons, Mike Heimerdinger from the Titans, or Todd Haley from the Cards. Quite frankly, I feel like if Mike Martz couldn’t get it done on both sides of the ball, why would one of these guys. I really like these guys, but not for a head coaching gig.

I have no interest in Marty-ball (Marty Schottenheimer). Detroit is in no place to hire an old man with a short time horizon. It’s time to start really rebuilding, not re-patching. Everybody always says the Lions are forever rebuilding, but in truth, they are never rebuilding. They are forever trying to fill holes with quick fixes and they have consistently failed to build a foundation for a team. (Ahem, defensive line and linebackers). Think about Chicago for example. They have been struggling to sort out their offense for a few years, but with a strong defensive core, they can afford mistakes and injuries on offense and still compete.

Finally, the big rumor floating around is Brian Billick, previously of Ravens and Vikings fame. I tend to agree with my Fanhouse colleague, Ryan Wilson, here. Billick is another old guy who won’t be around long and really isn’t that hot of a commodity these days. Some are saying that Billick and former 49ers head coach, Mike Nolan, are being considered as a package deal. Two crappy head coaches for the price of one? No thanks.

Ultimately, my gut is saying put up what ever money it takes and get somebody like Spagnuolo who has a proven track record and can build a defense. The offense hasn’t really been the issue. They score points with Orlovsky. They score points with Culpepper. And they score points with whoever else they fill in there. It’s the defense that needs the most help. Get somebody who will focus on that first.

The Ceiling Fans (a.k.a. The Dumbest Names For Fan Sections)

As we turn our attention to the college hoops season, it is high time we raise a longstanding issue. Why can't any of America's youth think of any good names for fan sections? Honestly, in running through the mental list and conducting a solid nine minutes of research, I have only come across one name for a hoops fan section that is even remotely good.

Exhibit A: The Best of the Worst

The L Raisers: I have to hand it to the Louisville kids; this is as good as it gets. Granted, it is still pretty bad, but considering the competition, consider this a victory. On the pizza equivalent scale, it's not quite Little Caesars, but it's also no Pizza Hut. In other words, it's still hot and delicious, but not the best, not the worst. Maybe about a Propa Johns.

Exhibit B: I Eat My Own Cooking.

The Maize Rage: As a proud Michigan graduate, I can honestly say, I wouldn't be caught anywhere near anything called the Maize Rage. I think this is just terrible. Couldn't we at least make it rhyme like the Maize Blaze. At least that way we get some street cred for the herb reference, right? A truly good name would include a reference to some sweet old throwback players like the Rice Pad (Glen Rice).

Exhibit C: Fortunately, our rivals down Interstate-96 suck just as bad.

The Izzone: With all due respect, Izzone makes nice use of Tom's name and all. I just think there are some great directions you could take this one. Like "the AmIZZOne," "the SchIZZOfrenics," or my personal favorite, "the Blake IZZOrs."

Exhibit D: When in doubt, speak Snoop.

The Zou - The Zou isn't awful or anything, but I can't help but think that the Tigers have forgone a terrific opportunity to utilize jive with something to the effect of the Mizzou Hizzou.

Exhibit E: Don't fix what ain't broke.

The Paint Crew (formerly the Gene Pool): This one is a shame, because Purdue's Gene Pool was a total keeper (meaning the Gene Keady pool), but as Keady moved on, so to did the once proud name of the fan section. Now Purdue opts for the Paint crew, which both sounds dumb and makes little sense. The Gene Pool was a clever double entendre, whereas the Paint Crew is pretty loose as it relates to the school, the team, and anything resembling creativity.

Exhibit F: You know it's bad, it's bad, you know it.

Orange Crush: Alright, this one actually ain't so bad. Orange Crush was a very solid beverage back in the day when sugary sodas didn't make my heart skip like a Michael Jackson record.

Exhibit G: When in Rome... Go on.

Crimson Crazies: Come on Indiana; this is robbery. As much as we all hate Duke, you can't just rip off their moniker and hope nobody notices. This the worst one of all.

Exhibit H: In their defense, at least they didn't make a Tuck reference.

Friar Fanatics: Here is another one from camp braindead. Why not just name the crew "fans of the home team?" I might suggest the Deep Friars.

Exhibit I: Rhyming may be the lowest form of poetry, but it sure does sounds nice.

Screamin' Demons - Screamin' Demons? More like Dreamin' Demons. Oops. Well, at least the Demons can rhyme. I'll give em that.

GoWF LOST: Episode 1

Editors Note: As we continue to wait in eager anticipation for Lost to recommence, we decided to concoct our own little island of castaways. This is the first installment of bizarro-world Lost starring some of our favorite characters from around the sports world. Before you dive in to Episode 1, it’s essential that you read the preamble from last week detailing the cast of characters and their Lost counterparts. Hope you enjoy!

The story begins on day 17, with the majority of the Losties huddled around a towering campfire. The group has long since fabricated their camps beachside and begun to resemble an island community. The survivors have started to realize that going home may not be an immediate option. Further, the group has explored the island in some detail – locating the first of the hatches as well as the wreckage from both an airplane and pirate ship. At this point, the tribe is getting restless and they don’t know where to throw themselves. After a long day of preparation, Tom Brady, the interim leader of the group, is set to address the assemblage.

Tom Brady (standing and animated in front of a group seated in a circle around the fire): Alright, is everybody here? Folks, it’s time we start thinking like a team. We’ve tried the short-term “help we’re stuck on an island” clichés and they simply have not worked. Writing messages in the sand and blowing smoke signals is for TV shows. It’s time we start thinking longer-term. I know that none of us want to admit to ourselves that we’re not going home, but it’s time to start thinking that way. The way I see it, we have three options. Number One: we can devote our collective energies to fixing up the old pirate ship and try to get ourselves off this island. Number Two: we can try to figure out what is really behind this whole “island” and why we all lived through the crash. Number Three: We can try to find the secret treasure that is inevitably hidden somewhere on this strange island.

Meanwhile, the silhouettes of Dock Ellis and Bill Walton appear from out of the woods. They are laughing hard with their arms around one another as they stumble their way into the circle surrounding the campfire.

Tom Brady: Glad you too knucklefucks could join us. Do you mind me asking, what was so important that you could not make it to the assembly meeting? This is an important meeting in which we should all take part.

Dock Ellis is biting his lower lip trying to contain his laughter when Walton speaks up.

Bill Walton: We can’t find our car (bursts out laughing). We found this AMAZING Volkswagen van in the woods (hands waving in the air as he gets overexcited), got it running, and were jamming out to some good tunes – well at least in Doc’s opinion – but then we got out for some air and we lost the thing.

Brady: Maybe if you two would stop eating all these random plants and licking all the toads and lizards, you wouldn’t keep screwing shit up. Anyway, just sit there and be quiet. We have work to do. Where was I? Oh yeah, so we should take a vote. All those in favor of the boat, raise your hand?

Sasha Cohen raises her hand and immediately Mark Cuban follows suit and starts yapping.

Mark Cuban (nearly hyperventilating): Guys, we need to fix the ship! It’s the only way we can get Sasha Cohen off the island with her baby. She has a baby and the baby needs to be cared for like a… a baby.

Dock Ellis: Shit up, Cuban. You’re gonna die soon. Everybody knows it.

Bill Walton: It’s true, that dude sees the future. He told me about all it. You can try to stop it, but very much like the Grateful Dead in May ‘77, some things were just meant to be.

Tom Brady: OK, two votes for the ship. Who wants to focus on the mysteries of the island and how the hatch plays into this whole thing.

Brett Favre raises his hand.

Brett Favre: I’m old and my joints feel damn good on this island. I was gonna retire after this season anyway. I think we’re meant to be here. The island brought us here. Last night, I was trying to sleep and I heard voices. It was Aaron Rodgers and he told me to “GET LOST.” I think I was put on this island for a reason.

Jackie Christie slowly raises her hand as well.

Jackie Christie: Everyone, I’m really scared. It’s been 17 days I still haven’t found Doug. Normally, he wears a Taser bracelet that shocks him repeatedly whenever he gets outside of a 20 yard radius from me. I think he might be dead.

Tom Brady: Um, ok. So, that’s two votes for the solving the mystery of the island. Last but not least, who want to look for treasure?

The remaining Losties raise their hands, followed by some Ichiro fist pumps and a high five between Maglio Ordonez and Missy Gibson. Ray Lewis pinches Missy’s ass while she is busy giving the high five and turns around and slaps him.

Tom Brady: Ray Lewis, do you have something to say?

Ray Lewis: Shut the fuck up, pretty boy. I’ll make you my bitch. You too, freckles. You and me, my tent, after the meeting. Wear something sexy.

Missy Gibson: In your dreams Ray Lewis. And why do you keep calling me freckles? I don’t even have any freckles.

Tom Brady: Well, that settles it. I guess we’re looking for the secret treasure that we can only assume is on this island, because all deserted islands have a treasure, right? We’ll need to split into teams. Missy, Maglio, Bill Walton, Mark Cuban, and Brett Favre; you’re coming with me. We’ll head into the jungle tomorrow morning to start looking for clues. Everyone else, you’ll maintain the camp: fish, pick berries, and get rid of those horrible farmer’s tans. You people are so painfully ugly.

Ray Lewis: Nice try, eye black. You’re not running off into the forest with all the good poon. I’m coming with. Plus, I got the guns.

Tom Brady: What? Where did you get the guns?

Ray Lewis: None of your business, baby daddy. Just remember, Ray Lewis has two kinds. The ones attached to his shoulders and the ones that’ll blow your mutha fuckin’ head off.

RAY LEWIS FLASHBACK:

Ray Lewis: Dogg, I’m drunk as a mutherfucker. Let’s go get some Champ Burgers at Checkers and Hot Apple Nuggets. They got Checkers in Atlanta, right?

Ray’s Cronie: Hold on a minute. See this bitch rollin’ out right here. Nigga got up my mix – called my mama a semen vacuum. Watch this. I’m gonna bust him upside his head with this champagne bottle.

Ray’s Other Cronie: Do it, dogg. You finna fuck his shit UP.

Ray Lewis: If we just kill them, then can we get a Champ Burger?

Ray’s Cronie: Yes.

Crack. Pop. Pop. Cloud of Dust. Ray and his two buddies jump in the Escalade and peel out. Everyone disseminates.... Well, everyone except for the two dead guys.

Tom Brady: Ray… Ray?

Ray Lewis: Oh yeah, I’m here. I’m with you guys. Tomorrow morning, first thing. Right.

The fire trickles as we see the Losties part ways and head to their respective shelters. Meanwhile, we see two sets of yellow eyes peering from the woods through the darkness.

Gadooosh. LOST.

The Clicksy Awards

Head over to SI's Hot Clicks to vote on this 2008's Clicksy Awards. The Clicksy Awards will bequeath such precious honors as the Best Video of an Athlete Singing, Wackiest Minor League Promotion, and Most Embarrassing Fan Moment. Enjoy.

The 2008 Clicksy Awards (SI Extra Mustard)

All The News That's Fit To Print My Ass

In the span of a typical Monday through Friday workweek, I chalk up a total of about 15 hours of time riding the rails. In other words, I am afforded the daily pleasure of sitting on a train for an hour and a half each way to get to work. Yeah, it sucks; I know. Anyway, the usual routine is to read the newspaper on the way to work at least until I pass out and read a book or some work related goodness on the way home. My daily newspaper rundown – usually 2 NY Times, 2 USA Today, and 1 Wall Street Journal in a given week – keeps me pretty well covered in the world, in sports, in politics, and in finance. Anyway, this brings us to the point of this here ‘tribe. The New York Times Sports page just flat-out blows.

For starters, the biggest problem - and real oversight in my opinion - is that they are incredibly focused on the local teams from New York. The Yankees and Giants get the majority of the coverage, but Mets, Jets, and Knicks fans aren’t starving. The Nets are bastards for sure. I ask why is this extreme concentration necessary? New York consists of over 8 million occupants from over 8 million places, not only from all over the country, but also the world. Sure, the NYC teams deserve to have quality coverage, but couldn’t they at least make an effort to cover nationally. After all, this is the most famous newspaper in the world, yet the sports page has but a tiny roundup section of little paragraphs detailing the other games in the nation. To go a step further, shouldn’t they pay at least some attention to the international futbol leagues, most importantly the EPL? Anyone who has ever been to Nevada Smith’s can attest that the footy scene in NYC is huge. There are tons of tourists and ex-pats working and living in NYC, so the major news internationally seems totally underreported.

Another gaping hole in the New York Times sports page is their lack of a strong columnist. Again, this is the biggest, most famous newspaper in the world, yet they have no Mitch Albom, Rick Reilly, Bill Simmons, or Michael Wilbon. Shit, they don’t even have a Stephen A. Smith. Shouldn’t the best sports writer in the world want to be writing for the Times?

The problem with the NY Times is that there is an image conflict. By setting a certain standard for professionalism for it’s coverage of foreign affairs, politics, and the arts, the sports page follows suit. The astute sports fan appreciates a little more innovative approach – whether it be through complex statistical analysis, humorous slants to the writers, or even insider content, such as the surge of athlete blogging. These are just a few examples, but the evidence is mounting that New York Times is becoming irrelevant as a source for credible sports coverage. It’s just too objective, too mainstream, and too focused on the NY teams.

Another shortfall of the NY Times sports page is the emphasis on stats. A serious sports page understands that sports fans love stats. They dedicate a lousy half a page to the boxes and the majority of the data is just the standings. There have box scores for NFL and NCAA games, but nothing for college and very little in terms of league leaders and more detailed data. This is the difference of the sports page entertaining us for 10 minutes or an hour. I guess that real estate is just a little too precious.

Shall I keep going? OK, the next complaint is the layout. The Times typically crams 7 to 8 stories on the front page. Rather than featuring the two or three best stories and keeping the majority of it on the front page, the Times has a couple leader paragraphs on the front and then requires flipping through the pages back and forth to read the articles. This is really bush league. Anyone who has held a newspaper on train knows that the less have to turn those damn pages, the better.

Finally, the biggest gripe is the content. I’ve already stated my piece on the over concentration of New York team coverage, but there’s more. It’s the feel good stories, of Ron Bunyan, the high school volleyball coach, who helped increase participation in the volleyball program among young children. I just made that up, but this one is actually in a Sunday Times: “The Keeper of the Silks For Jockeys." Now that is a gripping headline. It’s literally a story about some guy who does the laundry for some horse racing jockeys. Can someone please explain what is interesting about that story?


As I mentioned, I try to plow through the NY Times about twice a week. As much as I appreciate the real news coverage and solid Op-Ed writing, it’s definitely to the point where I dread these mornings, because I know the sports articles are going to suck so royally. Thank goodness for USA Today (don’t laugh).

Why Is It So Easy To Hate These Guys?

A while back you may recall, we rolled out an installment of the very coolest of cool when it comes to white dudes that can play hoops. Well, today we are flipping the script just a tad and bringing you the very "un-coolest" of un-cool when it comes to white dudes that have attempted to play ball. Ironically enough, they all tend to share one common trait; they all played for Splinter himself at Duke. With College Hoops rolling right around the corner, what could be a more fitting time?

So, rally with me Duke haters and Duke defenders, but you're going to have a hard time arguing the list of the utmost in un-cool white dudes to ever lace 'em up. My apologies and regards go out to Dick Vitale for if he were to read this very piece his head would rotate in circles on a swivle that is his neck. Oh wait, it does that already. Anyhow...on to the list.

When compiling such a refined list as this it can be a pretty rigorous task. The problem isn’t necessarily figuring out who to add, but rather who not to add. With so many choices to be made, at times the whole process can flip into information overload. There are just so damn many of these nerdy fucking dookies aren't there? For obvious reasons, I had to leave Christian Laettner and Josh McRoberts off the list? Why you may ask? Well, for one Laettner has been known to pull some ass in his day, remember Duff? And McRoberts, well I read somebody told me he was seen in US Magazine with L.C from the "Hills." Hence, the omission.

Ok, moving right along...

Lee Melchionni – A recent addition to the ever growing list and he should very well be proud to have made the cut. Melchionni was the ultimate garbage player when at Duke. He was also the ultimate antagonist and ever so annoying douche bag that, go ahead and raise your hand and admit you wanted to punch.

Mike Dunleavy Jr.– The question I always used to ask about Jr. was “did somebody take a shop vac and suck the skin and muscle tissue out of his face?” He looks very creepy and kind of like Skeletor. However, not to be biased solely on his looks, but he was very easy to despise in his playing days at Duke.

I do have to give the man his due credit, he had game. He was a certified back breaker for any anti-Duke fan like myself, watching as he sank countless three balls from the corner. His ability to glide in the lane unscathed on a routine basis was enough for me to pull my hair out. The Larry Bird comparisons during his freshman season are what pushed me over the edge and made Jr. a feature in this column. Personally, I would trade all my basketball skill in the world to not have to walk through life with a sunken in cave-like structure of a face, but that’s just me.

Besides, after that last sentence…its official, I’m going to hell, see you there.

Bobby Hurley – Ok, I won’t be as harsh on little Boobsy for obvious reasons. The image of him racing for Coach K and raising his right arm, almost in Hitler-esque fashion when they finally one the National Championship, still stings me today. It’s like I was on that Kansas team that lost to Duke in the title game.

There were countless times I pounded my fist on a wall or asked myself “why” during Bobby Hurley’s career. Like many hated Duke players, he was notorious for that back breaking play that just left you gasping for air. Is that becoming a theme of this column? One side note on Bobby, I am pretty sure he played Hans Klopek in one of my favorite movies “The Burbs.”

Jon Scheyer - Only 3 more years of pleading with my television for him to please keep his mouth from hanging wide open when he makes any kind of attempt at a Basketball move. And for God sakes, hit the weight room kid.

Danny Ferry – The original most hated Dookie of all-time on my list. I have a more vivid recollection of Danny Ferry hitting a game winning free throw in Chapel Hill in 1988, then what I did last weekend. I guess you could consider it a battle scar. Do I take things too personal at times? Probably, but who cares. Ferry, single handily killed it in virtually every big stage of his Duke career, sans the Final Four. From Ferry, I learned the phrase, “you love him if he’s on your team, you hate him if he’s not”, as it applied to him. Fuck, end it now.

It all made perfect sense back then and no such phrase is more applicable to Danny Ferry. He was a nuisance, but nonetheless, he was a hell of college basketball player. I love stressing the word “college” with every player I profile. It has a nice ring to it.

Cherokee Parks – He's probably much better suited for the all-Duke goon team, because I really don’t have a strong hatred for him. However, I do like to laugh at him at times. He was dubbed as the savior of Duke Basketball in the post-Laettner era. Yet, he really never amounted to much of anything. He was a team captain and leading scorer of the 1994 team that went 2-14 in the ACC. That should give you a pretty good measuring stick of his importance. How'd that NBA Career turn out?

Matt Christiansen - (King Goon) A picture is often worth a thousand or a million words.

Shavlik Randolph - The Next Larry Bird? Inside/outside game with strong hands, great length, tremendous upside potential. Very, very long. Was that the Jay Bilas scouting report? Yup, it was.

Nick Hovrath - Wasn't he an extra in Deliverance?

Erik Meek - (King Gump) He was actually a regular in Coach K's rotation in the mid 90's. Of course, you may recall Rasheed Wallace consistently dunking on him and making a constant mockery of MEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!

Marty Clark - Loved the Buzz cut buddy. Why did you ever lose it?

Chris Collins – He is like the Rudy of Duke Basketball, although he was not a walk on, he still had that feel to him. Somehow, I could just picture Coach K giving him that famous Rudy speech. “Your five feet nothing, without an ounce of athletic ability.” After Collins worked his ass off for three seasons, he finally had arrived by his senior year. And Coach K was able to have one of those special tear filled senior nights when he graduated. It was as if Coach K had created this amazing “college” basketball player from rubble.

Steve Wojciechowski (a.k.a WoJo) – I don’t mind little WoJo so much anymore, even though he wipes Coach K’s butt on the sidelines as an assistant with Chris Collins. However, that will never relinquish the years of torment he brought me when he was a player. To this day his nickname is the all-time favorite of Dick Vitale. He would actively seek out opportunities just to rattle of his name.

Disturbing to say the least, but not as disturbing as the “floor slap.” Anyone, who is a diehard College basketball fan, will never forget the floor slapping days of WoJo in the mid to late 90’s. It was more agonizing than hands screeching down a chalkboard. No matter if Duke was up by 20 or down by 20, after any big play WoJo was pounding that floor. He was a tenacious little fucker in that regard. How someone didn’t just turn and punch him in the heat of the moment, I will never know.

J.J Redick – Ok, I'm doing lay-up drills now. Welcome to the obvious section of the post. J.J's balls still hurt from Dickie V's 4 year rim job. And the tears of abandonment the day he left
Duke, still sting Coach K more intensely than the battle scars of Redick's poetry.

"No bandage can cover my scars. It's hard living a life behind invisible bars"

"My hopes and dreams shattered by the miscalculation of my own situation"

Is that Eminem? Where did he come up with that stuff? Correct me if I am wrong, but does his tough life consist of having grown up middle class in Virginia? Being given the opportunity to attend one of the most prestigious academic schools in the country on a scholarship to compete and excel in athletics?

"I went blow for blow, I went face to face"

Do you think he's talking about Coach K...or when Shane Battier came down for Alumni weekend and stayed in his dorm room one night?

“A sharp thorn once cut my soul. The blood flowed, but no bandage would cover the wound. I couldn't help but stare at the distant moon. Waiting for a resolution to come at an instant soon.”

How does Redick's mom respond when she reads that shit? "J.J I don't understand, I thought we pampered you and kept you away from drugs and Slayer."

Shane Battier – The consummate leader and professional, so I'll spare from taking any cheap shots at the All-American kid. However, I ask you this…doesn’t he look kind of like a Shar Pei Dog?

Well, that's enough from me...my feet feel really warm and I think the Demons from the eternal fires of hell are calling my name. So, if you'd do me the honors in the comment section, tell me I'm right or tell me you'd like to beat the shit out of me. I'm cool either way.