Brian Murphy

Football fans nationwide will be tuned in when the Washington Redskins take on the New York Jets this Saturday night at the Meadowlands, after the game was picked up by the NFL Network. That’s because Brett Favre will be making his debut, playing for a team other than the Green Bay Packers for the first time since the other George Bush was in office.

And while most fans will be watching to see how “Brett the Jet” fits in, I can’t help but think there’s a contingency of Redskins fans who wish Favre would have somehow ended up in D.C. Why? Because the district, more than anywhere else in America, loves a quarterback controversy. Whether we’re talking about Sonny versus Billy or even Brad Johnson versus Jeff George, this town simply cannot get enough of the QB drama.

When Jason Campbell went down with a dislocated his kneecap against the Chicago Bears last year, the coaching staff was forced to dust off “The Tasty Drink” Todd Collins, who hadn’t thrown a meaningful pass in a decade. The guy who had been brought into town to essentially be an extra coach on the field to teach Campbell and Mark Brunell Al Saunders’ vaunted 700-page playbook was asked to step in and lead a 5-7 team that was all but dead.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, the 36-year-old Collins found backup tight end Todd Yoder for a huge touchdown pass in that Bears game and never looks back. The team closed the season with a four-game winning streak when anything less would have sent them home for the holidays, and miraculously carried the ‘Skins into the playoffs. The team got sent home a week later after the offensive line failed to arrive in Seattle, but that was more than enough for some Redskins fans to call for an open competition between Campbell and Collins for the starting job this season.

Thankfully, The Danny, Vinny Cerrato and the newly hired Jim Zorn didn’t listen. They said the minute Campbell was healthy, he would again be the starter. If Collins was to come back to D.C., it would be as a backup.

When I asked Campbell earlier this month what he thought about some fans calling for a QB competition, he didn’t hesitate to speak his mind.

“I didn’t feel like I did anything to lose it,” Campbell said. “You’re talking about a young guy – I’m going into my fourth year. I didn’t feel like I did anything to lose my starting job last year. We started out the season real strong, you know. We lost to the Giants at the end of the game and we go to Green Bay, played a great game and lost a heartbreaker. Like I said, we lost a lot of heartbreakers – in Dallas and in Tampa. All those games, we were in. We were right there. I don’t think it’s fair for people to say that. We got everyone healthy back on defense and offense and Todd did a great job keeping the team going into the playoffs.”

Here’s where it gets funny. Those same fans who called for Campbell’s head during the offseason have changed their tune. Campbell has been lights out for most of training camp and the preseason (prompting Peter King of Sports Illustrated to say Campbell turned in one of the best training camp performances King has seen in more than 20 years covering the NFL). During the ‘Skins first two preseason games, J.C. has completed 80 percent of his passes with one touchdown and no interceptions and has a sparkling 125.6 passer rating. Even more encouraging, Jason isn’t holding the ball as much (Campbell had 12 fumbles a year ago). No one is calling for him to lose the job anymore.

“The thing that I really was impressed with Jason last night [was that] he had two pocket scrambles,” said Zorn after the Buffalo game. “He was in the pocket, scrambled in the pocket and bought time, then drilled the ball very accurately. Those are things I’m looking for. We’ve been drilling those things. He made a couple of plays that were big-league plays that way.”

And Collins? Well, he’s not functioning at the same level without Saunders calling the shots. What was once automatic now seems slow and clunky. Instead of closing his eyes and knowing where the receiver should be, Collins now seems tentative delivering the ball. Collins struggles have given the same group of fans an unprecedented opportunity – the chance to call for a backup quarterback controversy. The same fans who anointed Collins the future would now like him to hold the clipboard while The Savior … er … Colt Brennan waits in the wings behind Campbell. Thankfully, the Redskins front office continues to stick to the plan and ignore the uninformed masses. Can you imagine the circus in town if Favre had ended up in the maroon and black?

Brian Murphy is an award-winning sportswriter who also goes by the name Homer McFanboy. Contact him at murf@the5holes.com.

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Courtney Enlow

For one reason or another, I sometimes miss out on things. I often feel like my life is one big game of catch up. This can sometimes be a problem, and often keeps me from doing things.

Admission #1: I have not gotten around to getting into Radiohead because I do not want to be That Girl who suddenly discovers Radiohead like a million years after everyone else. So at this point, I’m just The Girl Who’s Not All That Into Radiohead. But no one knows my true identity of Girl Who Would Totally Be Into Radiohead Had She Started Getting Into Them Like 13 Years Ago Like Everyone Else And Now Can’t Because It’s Too Much Work, After All This Is The Girl Who Just Finally Got Around To Checking Out Wilco.

You may be confused. Allow me to explain further.

At a certain point, it is almost too late to get into a band, or a show, or any number of things. Because rarely is there ever the time or the energy to put forth that effort that comes with experiencing every album, or episode or what have you. As much as I love music, and television, and THINGS IN GENERAL, I’m kinda busy. Do you know the kind of life that comes with being an Internet columnist? Shit man. I’m BUSY. (Busy, as seen here, is short for “too busy re-watching all of Doctor Who like 60 trillion more times” or “quite busy secretly listening to the Backstreet Boys several times a day for ours is a forbidden love.”)

That doesn’t mean that at some point I won’t find a way to work through all of a certain band’s albums. But it will take a long time, that is for certain.

Now, sometimes things I miss out on are events, or trends, or other big deal things that people will talk about for a long time after. With that, the top five things I’ve missed/am missing out on that no one will shut the fuck up about:

5. The Wire

There are two kinds of people in this world: people who watch The Wire, and people who have been meaning to watch The Wire for years but keep getting distracted by shiny things and snacks. And the latter? There’s about two billion of them. And I am one of them.

4. My high school reunion

My five year high school reunion was two weekends ago. I did not attend. I was “on a deadline.” Now while this was actually really very true (three deadlines actually), I had to put it in quotations because in all honesty, I totally would have said it either way.

The fact of the matter is, I have fairly decent memories of high school. It’s where I met two of my best friends in the world (here’s where I’d say a sappy “Hi Erin and Kenzie!” but the bitches don’t read my column. Shun.) as well as my boyfriend (yes, I’m still with my high school sweetheart. My name is Cliché Von Steretypekins.) who is actually the one that suggested this week’s column, so without him it would probably have been yet another 1000 words dedicated to how badass MST3K was. But while I had a pretty okay high school experience, it isn’t something I’d really like to repeat.

A fair chunk of my graduating class all stayed super BFF forevskies, and see each other all the time. For a lot of them, this was pretty much another Saturday night. And good for them. But for me, it would have been a night of A) being asked nothing but “are you and John still together? WOW!” all night, B) trying to prevent drama (to be said DRAHHMAAAH! while throwing yourself to the ground, obviously) between my friend and a douchey boy (and believe me, this is a story I totally want to tell but can’t because my friend would be pretty pissed at me. But it was drama. DRAHHMAAH!), and C) trying to explain whatever the hell it is I do on here, which is difficult to do eight beers in, let me tell you.

3. The Illinois State Fair

This saddens me to no end. Backstory: I am originally from Springfield, Illinois. A city entirely filled with sites devoted to Abraham Lincoln, the most phallic looking hotel maybe ever and completely surrounded by fields, farms and towns that have not been updated since 1963, Springfield is my home and I love is to bits. The fair is one reason why.

Every year, I have my rituals. I hit up the shake-up stand and get a lemon-orange shake-up. This is always delicious. Then I get a corndog. Preferably a really big one. This is always delicious. THEN I head to a small stand with a sign reading “Fried What!” (which I always read “fried WHAAAAT! * raise the roof, bitches *) and get a fried fucking Snickers bar. Oh it is good. It is a full on mouthgasm. You guys. For serious. It’s so good.

Literally moments after typing the above, I Googled “Fried What!” for a picture, and holy buckets Charlie, they have a website:
http://www.friedwhat.com/

I’ll take seven bags of the Batter for Sweet Treats. Frying in my apartment kitchen What! * raise the roof *

* ahem * Anyway, the fair is part of being a Springfieldian. It’s what always signified the end of summer, it was like a yellow light before the red light of going back to school came on. This is the first year I haven’t gone. I’m a snarky bitch, but that’s pretty bittersweet and makes me homesick. I really need to make a mean joke about Paris Hilton to get my groove back now. Um … Paris Hilton has herpes. HA! Back.

2.

I’m missing out on a second place. ZING.

Aaannd that kind of witty banter is why I’m getting the big bucks (* shakes head no *)

1. The Olympics

Thank Christ for Michael Phelps. Without him, I wouldn’t be able to respond at all when people approach me.

Typical day at my office:

Co-Worker: So are you watching the Olympics?

Me: Omigah, Michael Phelps, amirite?

[we high five]

[repeats 12 more times until I leave for the day]

It’s not that I don’t care. I do care. I really want to watch the Olympics! I just got … ya know … busy. And that’s true of all this stuff. But for one reason or another, whether it be laziness, busy-ness, location, whatever, I just haven’t gotten around to it. So enjoy them for me. I’ll be off somewhere being “busy.” And this time by busy, I mean deep frying fucking Snickers bars. * raises roof *

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

Ned Bitters

This week’s inductee into the “Overrated Hall of Fame” is … the Little League World Series.

Here, here, you cranky old bastard. I hated organized kids baseball even when I was a kid playing organized baseball, and I hate it even more now. I could barely sit through the seven innings of walk-filled, error-filled little league games when my nephews were making all-star teams. I could barely sit through high school baseball games when I was one of the coaches.

Yet every August, some network – who knows which one – finds time to air a slew of boring-assed games from Williamsport, Pennsylvania, home of the annual Little League World Series. Perhaps, when you were confined to a wheelchair or held hostage in a room with only one TV station, you have watched some of these games. Congratulations for not gouging your eyes out with a pencil. (Well, if you were in a wheelchair, I guess your useless arms couldn’t pull of the feat. So congratulations for not convincing a friend to de-eye you.)

Little League baseball on television is about as bad as TV sports can get, and yes, I even considered NASCAR and Ultimate Fighting before making this assertion. (No, golf did not get consideration. I said “sport,” not “game.” Oh, golf sucks bigtime on TV, but it’s not a sport.) Why anyone would waste a perfectly good end-of-summer day or evening watching limp-limbed, pre-pubsescent spoiled brats play a shitty version of baseball when a Major League game is just a click of the remote away stuns me. (Unless you’re a pedophile, in which case I can see why you’d wallow in this two-hour party of hairless boy porn. You sick fucks.)

While I have no pedophiliac urges (my Jonas Brothers posters notwithstanding), I have to admit that I do try to catch just a few innings of the LLWS every year, mainly because I’m a guy who just loves to hate, and I can work up a good, ulcer-inducing lather while watching and listening to the Little League World Series. The parents in the crowd might nauseate me the most. I know they’re proud, and the trip to Pennsylvania will probably provide the family with an unforgettable summer memory, but these pathetic devotees of the Cult of the Child invest way too much emotion into the fate of sons who can hit and catch a baseball a little better than other kids their age. They paint their faces, carry signs, scream, cry and even engage in those scripted chants that girls’ softball teams do. These pricks, under the guise of being involved, supportive parents, are just sucking on the intoxicating fumes of their children’s modest baseball success in a desperate grasp at some vicarious glory that will help stave off some of the terrifying emptiness they must feel in their daily lives.

I’m also shocked at how the networks waste the talents of their best announcers on this bonanza of boredom. For the last eight years or so, the great Brent Musburger has been forced into calling the big huge stupendous momentous “holy shit, I can’t stand the tension” final game. Even the best baseball analyst in the country, Joe Morgan, has done hard time providing expert analysis of how Chin Wang Dong’s curveball will no doubt give the poor American kids fits. Maybe these announcers cut a deal with the networks at contract time, something like, “… and the party of the first part, Mr. Musburger, having agreed to announce the next five Little League World Series, will be allowed to bang pussy parties Suzie Kolber and Hannah Storm a total of six times before the end of our fiscal year.” If that were the case, I’d love to see the perks they give those two pieces of ass for agreeing to a Musburger muff mauling. He’s a superb announcer, but c’mon, he’s been calling games since Babe Ruth was banging strippers between games of a doubleheader.

I always have to laugh at how these announcers feed us what are supposed to be compelling storylines to make us, the bored senseless viewer, more invested in the game. “And here’s Bobby Blonde-American from one of the three California or Connecticut cities that always seem to win this damn thing. You might recall us talking yesterday about all the travails this scrappy little fireplug has had to overcome in his life, what with his dog Fluffy suffering a bit of distemper this past spring and the fact that he got the first C of his life last winter in pre-algebra. Yet here he is today, having triumphed over his troubles, trying to knock in Stevie Overachiever to tie up this game for the ages. And remember, Stevie is here despite a devastating case of fallen arches. Boy, what an inspiration these two young fella are, huh Joe! Joe? Damn it, Joe! Stop texting Hannah. We’re only in the third inning.”

The networks also turn the LLWS into another disgusting display of jingoistic, red-white-and-blue ugliness, with repeated shots of face-painted yahoos waving American flags at a game played by kids who just recently discovered the joys of jerking off. Yes, there are people in this country who use the exploits of little league baseball players to help stir up a sense of national pride, as if American kids outhitting a team of Taiwanese kids in some way validates the “America Is Number One In Everything, Motherfucker!” mindset they have. It makes me sick and always makes me root for Japan, or Taiwan, or Cuba. I’ll be damned if some 13-year-old kid from Texas is going to be my patriotic prop. The “USA!” chant in Williamsport makes me more embarrassed about this country than the double election of George W. Bush.

I also get depressed thinking about the lives of the local people who attend these games despite having no blood relative on the field. Are things so dreary in Williamsport and central Pennsylvania that a viable entertainment option is paying to watch Little League baseball? As a former Pennsylvanian, I can say that they are.

Finally, what kind of sadistic, kid-hating prick do you have to be to tune into a televised sport in which there exists a great chance of seeing a real kid cry real tears after his team loses the big game thanks to his fielding gaffe or strike out? Some of these kids actually sob, and the networks make sure that they show prolonged close-ups of the kids’ bawling faces for the entire nation to see. I pretty much hate kids, but I don’t want to see them be any more miserable than the rest of us.

But I guess that, once again, I’m in the minority. ABC and ESPN wouldn’t keep showing this every year if they didn’t make a profit, so someone must be watching. But who? I would guess the networks would need several million viewers to justify the expense of the coverage, but are there really that many people who enjoy watching little kids play a sport on TV? The only Americans I can see watching this are other similarly over-involved parents and coaches whose lives are so empty that they are pathetically forced to find purpose and happiness through the just-a-notch-above-mediocre athletic pursuits of their children, and how many of these people do we really have in this country?

Oh wait, nevermind.

Ned Bitters is, in fact, overrated. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.

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(Click to enlarge.)

Jeremiah was raised in the deepest part of the darkest jungle. That’s why he smells like adventure. He currently lives in Elkins, WV with his wife, Becky, and son, Isaiah, who is epic and destined to rule the world one day. You can contact him at jeremiahwentz@hobotrashcan.com.