As linked by Deadspin weekend daddy Matt Sussman (more on him in an upcoming post), Woody Paige is back with his inimitable brand of bizarre, impenetrable quasi-prose. The latest topic? The Denver Nuggets.
No Artest, no Miller, no place to go and no way to get there for Sacramento.
I read this three times before understanding everything that was being said. This might be acceptable if the author was James Joyce. But since Woody Paige is not, to the best of my knowledge, a drunken, half-insane Irishman rocking a killer eyepatch, I'm afraid that excuse just isn't going to fly.
Hakuna matata.
Apparently, it's 1994 and no one told me. My god, think of all the things I can do, all the people I can now save! Like, um...I imagine I can stop that asteroid from destroying the Moon, as seen in the documentary Thundarr the Barbarian, or maybe even keep Godzilla from falling into that black hole like in the vintage newsreel series Godzilla vs. SpaceGodzilla. Or at least I think that's the stuff that happened in 1994.
It means "no worries" for the Nuggets.
It actually means "no worries" for everyone. Well, it actually means something closer to "no problem". Or, if you're being cynical, it means "give Disney your money, your precious, sweet money."
Worry.
That's an entire paragraph. I think that's meant to be the imperative ordering us to worry, but I much prefer the idea that Woody just thought of the abstract concept of worrying and felt like giving it a shout-out.
Kings beat Jokers Saturday night.
Would it be so hard to include a "the" or two in there? Or would the definite article just completely destroy the faux-rhyme scheme?
George Karl should have stolen his postgame speech from a former Indianapolis Colts coach: "Playoffs? Don't talk about playoffs. Are you kidding me? Playoffs. I'm just hoping we can win a game, another game."
There is actually something absurdly appealing about George Karl repeating by rote one of the most infamously off-the-cuff speeches in history, especially if he did it in a Kaufman-esque monotone. Look, I know I'm a little on the insane side, but if that's the first thing that comes to mind, I think that might hint at how weird Woody's idea is.
Instead, Karl said: "It was going to be one of those games where we tried to outscore them, and we didn't score enough. . . . This is not the time to point the blame on anyone."
I will. Blame all of them, including Karl and especially J.R. Smith.
Far be it for me to dispute the convention wisdom that it'd be a good idea to fire George Karl, but that's a pretty reasonable quote right there. Honestly, what kind of coach throws all his players under the bus and heaps blame, deserved or not? Not a good one, I'm pretty sure, although maybe Stan Van Gundy.
Playoffs?
Of the Nuggets' eight losses at home, this was the most dreadful and distressing — and unforgivable.
Stop right there and think for a second. Eight home losses? Dude, they're 31-8 at home. Admittedly, their 15-23 away mark is absolutely nothing to get excited about, but we're talking 46-31 overall. It bears pointing out again that they'd be the fourth seed in the east. Now, I'm not saying we should radically rewrite all the playoff rules or whatever just because of a crazy freak year where as many as nine teams in the west might win 50 games, but come on. This is not even a mediocre Nuggets team we're talking about by any absolute standard. This team is only mediocre relative to the ridiculously tough conference it plays in. Let's just keep that in mind before giving them too much shit.
With time and the Nuggets' chances of winning running out, Sacramento's Mikki Moore flopped.
It was not the worst flop of the game.
Honestly, why the fuck did that need two paragraphs? That barely needs two sentences. But wait...it gets worse!
The Nuggets didn't play because of brain drain.
No show.
That's barely two ideas, let alone sentences, let alone paragraphs. I'm not even sure there's a single discernible iota of meaning to be gleaned from that. And no, providing context wouldn't make it much clearer; it would just take longer to read.
Don't blame this one on the suspension of Kenyon Martin or the officials or the moon or the Rockies' game or the NCAA Final Four.
The hackiness of that is just astounding. I'm just going to single out my favorite part, which has to be that Woody calls it "the NCAA Final Four." As though we wouldn't know which Final Four he was talking about unless he gave it the NCAA label. Which, if you're being pedantic, actually applies to both Final Fours that conceivably could refer to.
They didn't act interested. The Nuggets turned an uninspired 11-point lead in the first quarter into a five-point deficit in the second quarter.
By now, the Kings, missing a couple of kings, became fascinated, and it helped them when the Nuggets went into their "What? Me Play D" mode.
The Kings...became fascinated? Really? Did Mikki Moore put on his half-moon spectacles and, peering above his tome of astronomical data, say to Beni Udrih, "I say, old bean, do you see how those prospector-themed blaggards seem to be coming over all sluggish? Simply an astounding turn of eventualities that requires, nay demands, further inquiry." And then I imagine Beni got out his slide rule and scientifically measured just how dated Woody's Mad fucking Magazine reference was. The result? Pretty fucking dated.
The Nuggets also were busy watching the scoreboard — not for their own score, but for what was happening to North Carolina in the second game of the NCAA semifinals.
I have nothing to say other than this: I'm going to need at least a scrap of evidence to actually support that baseless allegation. Because that sounds completely ridiculous from where I'm standing. Absolutely and utterly ridiculous.
Then there's some stuff about how J.R. Smith sucks and Carmelo Anthony is awesome. But did Anthony get the ball at the end of the game? Well come on, Woody, I've set you up so obligingly...
So, does he get the ball for the tying shot? He couldn't take over at the end. Nobody gave him the ball.
Smith was busy hurling, if you get my drift.
No, Woody, I don't at all get your drift vis-a-vis Smith's "hurling." Was he...
1. Chucking the ball at the basket?
2. Playing a reasonably violent Irish sport?
3. Releasing a barrage of insults?
4. Vomiting, as described by a twelve-year-old?
I'm going to go with all except for 1. Because an unholy combination of 2-4 seems just crazy enough for Woody's mind.
If the Nuggets don't make the playoffs, this game will be why.
Hakuna blah.
Actually, that might be how a twelve-year-old describes vomiting. At least, that's how they should describe it.
I think that's as good a note to end on as any.
Showing posts with label woody paige. Show all posts
Showing posts with label woody paige. Show all posts
Monday, April 7, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Around the Horn punching bags are the best kind of punching bags...
Since I've already done Bill Plaschke, I might as well keep things moving and have some fun with Woody Paige. As much as I probably should, I don't exactly hate Woody Paige. Sure, he's an incompetent boob who gets paid plenty by ESPN to make an ass out of himself and gets paid what is probably quite a bit less by the Denver Post to write utter drivel, but...BUT...he doesn't seem to actually hate sports. Which is something I suspect of both Plaschke and Jay Mariotti, and which is something far more deserving of my undying scorn. I'm not saying I like the guy or anything - I'd turn in my sports journalism deconstruction blogging card right now if that were the case - but hey - I've only got so much scorn, and I'm not going to waste it on the sports equivalent of that crazy uncle babbling in the corner.
Anyway, Paige has written this piece about the Denver Broncos in the draft.
If I'm in charge of the Broncos, I offer the Cincinnati Bengals Travis Henry, Javon Walker and my first-round draft choice for Chad Johnson.
My first instinct here is that that trade doesn't work, if only because it NEVER seems like trades in the NFL work. I'm not just saying they're usually disastrous; I'm also saying I can't think of any legitimate trades other than Champ Bailey for Clinton Portis, and that was years ago. Oh yeah, and Moss to Oakland a few years ago. Oh, and Charlie Frye, but that really shouldn't be the third that I think of. Sorry, I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this. I think I'm trying to get into the Woody Paige mindset of babbling inanity. I'm a method blogger, you see.
If I'm in charge of the Bengals, I tell that fool in charge of the Broncos to seek psychiatric counseling.
Oh. OK then. Thanks for wasting roughly three seconds of my time. (I'm a very fast reader, although I've got nothing on Jimmy Carter - dude can read 2000 words a minute! That's like one post by me about Bill Plaschke! President's Day fever - it don't end until I go to sleep!)
You know, if I was a certain local New England sportswriter for some reason on retainer from ESPN as a national columnist, I'd probably reference some crazy trades I once proposed in Madden right about now and how my wacky friends were dumb enough to accept some of them. But since I'm not, and since I don't really give a shit about Madden, I won't. (Of course, if I was Curt Schilling, I'd be waxing lyrical about Everquest. If only we all had that sort of gaming wisdom at our disposal, the world would be a better place. I think that's been scientifically proven as a fact.)
OK, so that idea doesn't work. I've got a million more, some somewhat compos mentis.
Admittedly, I'm a sucker for self-referential humor. (Oh? You'd noticed? This is getting so meta my keyboard might explode.) But I should probably remind myself that just because you admit to being a terrible writer doesn't excuse the fact that you're a terrible writer. For the record, my excuse is that I don't get paid. I'm not sure what Woody's is, although maybe it has something to do with that time he ate dog food on national TV.
In regard to the NFL draft, I possess the 12th and 42nd picks for the Broncos. I trade down in the first round and up in the second round.
I use my late first-round selection for 280-pound Clemson defensive end Phillip Merling and my early second-round selection for athletic Oklahoma inside linebacker Curtis Lofton. Each is an early junior opt-out. Both will play in their first season and become serious players by their second season.
I'm utterly perplexed here. Is this supposed to be hard-hitting analysis or a creative writing exercise in speculative fiction? Is this his appraisal of Merling and Lofton's pro prospects or just authorial omnipotence? I mean, I have a suspicion since it's Woody Paige we're talking about, but seriously...I feel like I'm looking at the sportswriting equivalent of one of those optical illusions where it's a general one way and a bunch of people under an arch the other way.
Now I have kids Jarvis Moss, Tim Crowder, Marcus Thomas and Merling on my defensive line with third-year Pro Bowl type Elvis Dumervil and assorted veterans, and my linebacking corps has D.J. Williams and Nate Webster (Ian Gold will be gone), bolstered by Lofton. And I've already got in my secondary all-world Champ Bailey, Dre Bly, Domonique Foxworth, Karl Paymah, Hamza Abdullah and (most likely) John Lynch.
Most likely John Lynch, Woody? I would have thought you wouldn't have left a single detail to chance in this little novella of yours. All I know is, if it turns out the mysterious jewel thief was John Lynch all along, I'm going to feel cheated. I'd like to think you're above such cheap twists, Woody, but this forced ambiguity is a red flag. Also, I'm apparently a tenth grade creative writing teacher.
I feel like Ron Popeil, the infomercial king. I'm not finished.
Quick analogy: if Woody Paige is Ron Popeil, does that make Skip Bayless the "Ding King" guy? You know, Billy Mays?
Judge for yourself:
I think you've got to agree - the evidence is piling up.
I draft in the fourth round Colorado linebacker Jordon Dizon. I'll never regret the decision.
The fact that he'll never regret the decision is the only reason Woody gives for why, you know, he'll never regret the decision. He's either the world's worst sportswriter or just a fairly hacky novelist. I mean, at least "I'll never regret the decision" is sort of like foreshadowing, I guess, so maybe that's supposed to sow the seeds for how Jordan Dizon teaches Woody how to live again or something a la Finding Forrester. I'm not sure which of those is preferable, although I think I'd be up for Woody Paige shouting "You're the man now, dawg!" Actually, I'm willing to bet anything he did that on Around the Horn at one point or another. Or at least he wrote it on that stupid chalkboard. The fact that I know even this much about Around the Horn is making me seriously consider giving up my current life and joining some form of non-religious monastery. They have those, right?
I've got myself and the Broncos a defense — young enough, mean enough, talented enough, with enough leaders. They'll deny you; I defy you.
Woody Paige sure loves parallelism, but he also apparently doesn't have the slightest clue how it works. As much as "with enough leaders" is probably preferable to the horribly forced and clumsy alternative "with leaders enough" - and if Woody Paige didn't seriously consider that possibility, then I'm founding that non-religious monastery right here and now - the sentence only really sounds even remotely clever if all the words are arranged the same way.
Also, as much as "They'll deny you" and "I defy you" rhyme and complement each other and everything...well, I defy anyone to explain what the hell those mean in this context. Is he addressing opposing offenses in the sense that the Denver defense will deny them points? And is he talking to me personally with that second part, telling me he defies my attempts to understand what he's saying? Is he talking to me? Dear lord, I'm hallucinating. I think Woody Paige articles might be a hallucinogenic substance, so that raises the question...should they be banned? This concerned citizen says yes.
First, I bring in Henry and tell him he owes me big time for everything that happened in the past season. He already has admitted such publicly.
Woody Paige: armchair GM, armchair psychologist. And by psychologist, I mean "dude who desperately wants to give Travis Henry shit with or without mentioning the words 'paternity suit.'" Also, would a team with Paige as general manager be the first in sports history to suffer an actual, Bounty-style mutiny? I'm not sure, but I'm nominating Jay Cutler for the part of Fletcher Christian, if only because they both seem a bit overhyped.
Second, I bring in Walker and tell him I know he wants out of here, but he's going nowhere until 2009, so he should just embrace the situation as the No. 2 receiver (behind Brandon Marshall and ahead of Brandon Stokley) and catch as catch can.
[The scene: the office of Woody Paige, general manager of the Denver Broncos.]
Javon Walker: You wanted to see me, Mr. Paige?
Woody Paige: Yes, son. Now, I know you want out of here.
Walker: I just don't think this is the right fit for me.
Paige: I understand. Well, we both know what happened last time you were unhappy.
Walker: Believe me, I certainly don't want a repeat of the whole Packers situation.
Paige: Of course. For now, we can't really move you, so I'd just advise you to make the best of this situation and hopefully you'll be where you want to be in 2009.
Walker: I'm a professional, Mr. Paige, and you can expect nothing less.
Paige: Thank you Javon, that means a lot. And remember: catch as catch can!
Walker: Wait, what did you just say?
Paige: Catch as catch can!
Walker: I'm sorry, I'm just not processing the words coming out of your mouth.
Paige: Catch as catch can!
Walker: Seriously, what the fuck does that even mean?
[Scene.]
I'm with that fictional representation of Javon Walker I just created: "catch as catch can" is utter gibberish.
Third, I draft an offensive lineman third.
I'm past the point of asking do people edit these articles. Seriously, is there even a point where a first-day intern so much as glances at what Woody has written? I mean, I suppose there's nothing absolutely wrong about that last sentence...but hell, how can someone paid to write for a living ever construct a sentence like that?
Fourth, I sign free-agent wide receiver Justin Gage of the Titans, who had an impressive game (six receptions, 66 yards) in Denver on "Monday Night Football," or Bryant Johnson, who hasn't gotten his due, time or cash with the Cardinals.
The secret of Woody Paige's new player evaluation:
1. Did potential acquisition ever play against Denver?
2. Did potential acquisition actually play in Denver?
3. Did it happen when that strange Kornheiser fella was talking to Christian Slater?
If so, there's at least a thirty percent chance Woody Paige has seen you play. Also, call me hard to impress, but six receptions for sixty-six yards? That's apparently your entire basis for wanting this dude? I mean, it's better than just saying the reason you want Justin Gage is because you want Justin Gage (which would actually be pretty creepy if you wrote that), but it's really frightening just how low I have had to set the bar for you, Woody. I'm pretty sure a cockroach couldn't limbo under that. Of course, cockroaches are infamously poor at limboing, but I digress.
Fifth, and most important on offense, I put the hard rush on Steelers free-agent linemen Alan Faneca and Max Starks. Faneca is a seven-time Pro Bowler (think Hall of Famer Gary Zimmerman as a guard), and Starks is a — get this — 6-foot-8, 337-pound tackle. He's coming off a knee injury, but Starks is only 26, and he would be the future replacement for the retiring Matt Lepsis. Try to get past The Great Wall of Starks.
Does "Great Wall of Starks" really count as a play on the Great Wall of China? Shouldn't the replacement word have to sound at least slightly like the word "China"? Maybe? Although this does make me thing of some sort of Great Wall of Sharks, and although I haven't worked out all the logistics it is almost certainly unbelievably awesome.
If I'm in charge of the Broncos and I can do all that, I'm feeling pretty good on Feb. 18, 2008, even without a trade with Cincinnati for Johnson.
Call me crazy.
Sorry Woody - I'm not giving you the satisfaction. Although the nice men in the white coats should be arriving shortly to take you on a little trip. You'll probably want to go quietly; they tell me it's so much easier if you do.
Anyway, Paige has written this piece about the Denver Broncos in the draft.
If I'm in charge of the Broncos, I offer the Cincinnati Bengals Travis Henry, Javon Walker and my first-round draft choice for Chad Johnson.
My first instinct here is that that trade doesn't work, if only because it NEVER seems like trades in the NFL work. I'm not just saying they're usually disastrous; I'm also saying I can't think of any legitimate trades other than Champ Bailey for Clinton Portis, and that was years ago. Oh yeah, and Moss to Oakland a few years ago. Oh, and Charlie Frye, but that really shouldn't be the third that I think of. Sorry, I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this. I think I'm trying to get into the Woody Paige mindset of babbling inanity. I'm a method blogger, you see.
If I'm in charge of the Bengals, I tell that fool in charge of the Broncos to seek psychiatric counseling.
Oh. OK then. Thanks for wasting roughly three seconds of my time. (I'm a very fast reader, although I've got nothing on Jimmy Carter - dude can read 2000 words a minute! That's like one post by me about Bill Plaschke! President's Day fever - it don't end until I go to sleep!)
You know, if I was a certain local New England sportswriter for some reason on retainer from ESPN as a national columnist, I'd probably reference some crazy trades I once proposed in Madden right about now and how my wacky friends were dumb enough to accept some of them. But since I'm not, and since I don't really give a shit about Madden, I won't. (Of course, if I was Curt Schilling, I'd be waxing lyrical about Everquest. If only we all had that sort of gaming wisdom at our disposal, the world would be a better place. I think that's been scientifically proven as a fact.)
OK, so that idea doesn't work. I've got a million more, some somewhat compos mentis.
Admittedly, I'm a sucker for self-referential humor. (Oh? You'd noticed? This is getting so meta my keyboard might explode.) But I should probably remind myself that just because you admit to being a terrible writer doesn't excuse the fact that you're a terrible writer. For the record, my excuse is that I don't get paid. I'm not sure what Woody's is, although maybe it has something to do with that time he ate dog food on national TV.
In regard to the NFL draft, I possess the 12th and 42nd picks for the Broncos. I trade down in the first round and up in the second round.
I use my late first-round selection for 280-pound Clemson defensive end Phillip Merling and my early second-round selection for athletic Oklahoma inside linebacker Curtis Lofton. Each is an early junior opt-out. Both will play in their first season and become serious players by their second season.
I'm utterly perplexed here. Is this supposed to be hard-hitting analysis or a creative writing exercise in speculative fiction? Is this his appraisal of Merling and Lofton's pro prospects or just authorial omnipotence? I mean, I have a suspicion since it's Woody Paige we're talking about, but seriously...I feel like I'm looking at the sportswriting equivalent of one of those optical illusions where it's a general one way and a bunch of people under an arch the other way.
Now I have kids Jarvis Moss, Tim Crowder, Marcus Thomas and Merling on my defensive line with third-year Pro Bowl type Elvis Dumervil and assorted veterans, and my linebacking corps has D.J. Williams and Nate Webster (Ian Gold will be gone), bolstered by Lofton. And I've already got in my secondary all-world Champ Bailey, Dre Bly, Domonique Foxworth, Karl Paymah, Hamza Abdullah and (most likely) John Lynch.
Most likely John Lynch, Woody? I would have thought you wouldn't have left a single detail to chance in this little novella of yours. All I know is, if it turns out the mysterious jewel thief was John Lynch all along, I'm going to feel cheated. I'd like to think you're above such cheap twists, Woody, but this forced ambiguity is a red flag. Also, I'm apparently a tenth grade creative writing teacher.
I feel like Ron Popeil, the infomercial king. I'm not finished.
Quick analogy: if Woody Paige is Ron Popeil, does that make Skip Bayless the "Ding King" guy? You know, Billy Mays?
Judge for yourself:
I think you've got to agree - the evidence is piling up.
I draft in the fourth round Colorado linebacker Jordon Dizon. I'll never regret the decision.
The fact that he'll never regret the decision is the only reason Woody gives for why, you know, he'll never regret the decision. He's either the world's worst sportswriter or just a fairly hacky novelist. I mean, at least "I'll never regret the decision" is sort of like foreshadowing, I guess, so maybe that's supposed to sow the seeds for how Jordan Dizon teaches Woody how to live again or something a la Finding Forrester. I'm not sure which of those is preferable, although I think I'd be up for Woody Paige shouting "You're the man now, dawg!" Actually, I'm willing to bet anything he did that on Around the Horn at one point or another. Or at least he wrote it on that stupid chalkboard. The fact that I know even this much about Around the Horn is making me seriously consider giving up my current life and joining some form of non-religious monastery. They have those, right?
I've got myself and the Broncos a defense — young enough, mean enough, talented enough, with enough leaders. They'll deny you; I defy you.
Woody Paige sure loves parallelism, but he also apparently doesn't have the slightest clue how it works. As much as "with enough leaders" is probably preferable to the horribly forced and clumsy alternative "with leaders enough" - and if Woody Paige didn't seriously consider that possibility, then I'm founding that non-religious monastery right here and now - the sentence only really sounds even remotely clever if all the words are arranged the same way.
Also, as much as "They'll deny you" and "I defy you" rhyme and complement each other and everything...well, I defy anyone to explain what the hell those mean in this context. Is he addressing opposing offenses in the sense that the Denver defense will deny them points? And is he talking to me personally with that second part, telling me he defies my attempts to understand what he's saying? Is he talking to me? Dear lord, I'm hallucinating. I think Woody Paige articles might be a hallucinogenic substance, so that raises the question...should they be banned? This concerned citizen says yes.
First, I bring in Henry and tell him he owes me big time for everything that happened in the past season. He already has admitted such publicly.
Woody Paige: armchair GM, armchair psychologist. And by psychologist, I mean "dude who desperately wants to give Travis Henry shit with or without mentioning the words 'paternity suit.'" Also, would a team with Paige as general manager be the first in sports history to suffer an actual, Bounty-style mutiny? I'm not sure, but I'm nominating Jay Cutler for the part of Fletcher Christian, if only because they both seem a bit overhyped.
Second, I bring in Walker and tell him I know he wants out of here, but he's going nowhere until 2009, so he should just embrace the situation as the No. 2 receiver (behind Brandon Marshall and ahead of Brandon Stokley) and catch as catch can.
[The scene: the office of Woody Paige, general manager of the Denver Broncos.]
Javon Walker: You wanted to see me, Mr. Paige?
Woody Paige: Yes, son. Now, I know you want out of here.
Walker: I just don't think this is the right fit for me.
Paige: I understand. Well, we both know what happened last time you were unhappy.
Walker: Believe me, I certainly don't want a repeat of the whole Packers situation.
Paige: Of course. For now, we can't really move you, so I'd just advise you to make the best of this situation and hopefully you'll be where you want to be in 2009.
Walker: I'm a professional, Mr. Paige, and you can expect nothing less.
Paige: Thank you Javon, that means a lot. And remember: catch as catch can!
Walker: Wait, what did you just say?
Paige: Catch as catch can!
Walker: I'm sorry, I'm just not processing the words coming out of your mouth.
Paige: Catch as catch can!
Walker: Seriously, what the fuck does that even mean?
[Scene.]
I'm with that fictional representation of Javon Walker I just created: "catch as catch can" is utter gibberish.
Third, I draft an offensive lineman third.
I'm past the point of asking do people edit these articles. Seriously, is there even a point where a first-day intern so much as glances at what Woody has written? I mean, I suppose there's nothing absolutely wrong about that last sentence...but hell, how can someone paid to write for a living ever construct a sentence like that?
Fourth, I sign free-agent wide receiver Justin Gage of the Titans, who had an impressive game (six receptions, 66 yards) in Denver on "Monday Night Football," or Bryant Johnson, who hasn't gotten his due, time or cash with the Cardinals.
The secret of Woody Paige's new player evaluation:
1. Did potential acquisition ever play against Denver?
2. Did potential acquisition actually play in Denver?
3. Did it happen when that strange Kornheiser fella was talking to Christian Slater?
If so, there's at least a thirty percent chance Woody Paige has seen you play. Also, call me hard to impress, but six receptions for sixty-six yards? That's apparently your entire basis for wanting this dude? I mean, it's better than just saying the reason you want Justin Gage is because you want Justin Gage (which would actually be pretty creepy if you wrote that), but it's really frightening just how low I have had to set the bar for you, Woody. I'm pretty sure a cockroach couldn't limbo under that. Of course, cockroaches are infamously poor at limboing, but I digress.
Fifth, and most important on offense, I put the hard rush on Steelers free-agent linemen Alan Faneca and Max Starks. Faneca is a seven-time Pro Bowler (think Hall of Famer Gary Zimmerman as a guard), and Starks is a — get this — 6-foot-8, 337-pound tackle. He's coming off a knee injury, but Starks is only 26, and he would be the future replacement for the retiring Matt Lepsis. Try to get past The Great Wall of Starks.
Does "Great Wall of Starks" really count as a play on the Great Wall of China? Shouldn't the replacement word have to sound at least slightly like the word "China"? Maybe? Although this does make me thing of some sort of Great Wall of Sharks, and although I haven't worked out all the logistics it is almost certainly unbelievably awesome.
If I'm in charge of the Broncos and I can do all that, I'm feeling pretty good on Feb. 18, 2008, even without a trade with Cincinnati for Johnson.
Call me crazy.
Sorry Woody - I'm not giving you the satisfaction. Although the nice men in the white coats should be arriving shortly to take you on a little trip. You'll probably want to go quietly; they tell me it's so much easier if you do.
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