The New Yorker on 'The Unbeautiful Game'

There aren't the 1-15 and 2-14 teams that there used to be, either. At least not as many.

People complain about inequity in baseball (or they did, before) and about parity in football.

I actually think the NBA seems to have it right, out of everybody. Getting good requires some good timing and some deft maneuvering, along with some dues paying. Teams feel like they follow some sort of arc.

 

Here's the thing.
Everybody bitches about TO and Chad Johnson and their ilk, and the ESPN-azation of today's superstars. Deion was all talk and no tackle. Vick needs to learn how to pass rather than run all wily-nily. And the '90s Cowboys/2006 Bengals set a tragic example to our youth with their constant appearances in the police logs.

And then, on the flip side, we complain that the rest of the league is too boring.

 

he lost me about halfway through

but if he's saying feinstein doesn't have roy blount's sense of humor or wit or playfulness, that's hardly news

pierce could if he'd get himself out of the way

i suspect players are just as eccentric and colorful as they ever were - they just don't allow writers to see it anymore - too many walls

 

Just not feelin your point.

 

Great start, sputtering finish.

 

Do you mean Joe Namath?

 

To nitpick, While I've never actually ripped Pierce, since I started hanging out here I've been trying to read what I can of him (mostly SI) and have yet to see what the big deal is.

 

Y'know, since I just had to re-read the whole thing while pasting it here...is it just a little high-falutin' for a story on football?

 

It'd be nice if we can all just pony up and admit that if sports wagering was never invented, pro football would not become the bloated overfed pustule of a sport that it is today.

The players we hear about are strictly cookie-cutter. Dancing after a touchdown? How original. There are only 1,487 of your ilk in that rarefied air. Want to truly break the mold? Flip the script? Run in, hand the ball to the ref and run back. The sporting community will take a collective shit in its collective pants. Promise.

Oh, gosh, what's this? A post-game press conference where even the winning coach looks suicidal? I'm shocked. In no way can I tell that these poor surly bastards are working 100 hour weeks and napping in their offices. Christ, what happened to Bum Phillips? These guys have all the charisma of oatmeal.

Wow, a loud fast-paced program packed to the ribs with ex jocks screaming about guys getting "jacked up?" Amazing. This makes me long for the subtle lilting voice of John Madden.

Look...the game sucks, the culture around it sucks, it all sucks. I'm usually not so over-the-top absolutist except to those close to me, but if this gets one person to never watch a pro football game again, it'll all be worth it. Gun to my head, I couldn't name last season's MVP. I can't name this year's MVP. And this is a point of pride.

Even if my "home team" ever makes the Super Bowl, I'm not watching it. First I'll go upstairs and masturbate. Then maybe I'll clean the magazines off my bedroom floor. I'll see if there's something good on TV, like a marathon of movies based on Danielle Steele novels. I'll empty the catbox and clean it, twice. Maybe I'll masturbate some more. We'll see. Then, for exercise, I'll go outside and hit myself in the nuts with a ball-peen hammer.

Anything but this present dreck.

 

Nothing takes the fun out of sports and sports writing like egghead analysis.

I picked up "Three Bricks" in college and have practically committed it to memory. I gave it to Chuck Bednarik's niece, who hates the Eagles with a passion, just so she could piss off her uncle.

 

Hmmm...lot to chew on there. A whole lot.

What do you think, 21?

 

Well, it was written for The New Yorker.