I am the most NOW person of all time

Posted on July 21, 2007

This whole “Who’s Now” thing on ESPN is a complete joke. Yeah, some people think it’s a ridiculous, poorly conceived waste of time that reminds them of the kinds of celebrity gossip shows you would normally find on E!, but those guys are just jealous that they’re not as NOW as Shaun White or Kelly Slater. The idea of the tournament itself is awesome and might be the coolest thing TV has ever done, besides introducing me to Carlos Mencia and The Singing Bee. It’s at least the 3rd most NOW tournament in the world, behind the NCAA tournament and my fraternity’s daily beer pong tournament (two-time champs!). The problem is, the field is slanted, because they didn’t include me.

Look at some of the clowns they included– Ortiz, Manning, Sharapova. I’m more NOW than all of them combined. I’m more clutch than Ortiz (last week, I almost hit a game winning homer in the first round of my fraternity’s round-robin wiffle ball tournament, and last night, I won $20 playing online poker), have a better family than Manning (my dad is cooler and my brother isn’t autistic), and I’m like the male version of Sharapova when it comes to looking good (that’s why I go tanning as often as I do, and spend so much money on belt buckles). I should totally be in that tournament, and anyone who doesn’t think so is probably some kind of gaybo or a terrorist.

I still vote at least a dozen times every day, but it pisses me off because you can’t do write-in votes. Usually, I wake up around 7, do some push-ups, and then stand in front of the mirror for an hour checking out my awesome tattoos. I have one that spells my name out in Old English letters, and right below that I have barbed wire running around my bicep, kinda like Goldberg, except more NOW than his was. On my other arm, I wanted a Superman logo, but couldn’t afford the full thing yet, so it’s kinda just like an empty pentagon, and I tell people it’s there for America, because nothing is more NOW than loving America and being American. I’ll get the ‘S’ in there someday.

After that, I go and vote. By then I’ve already had 6 red bulls– it takes a ton of energy to be this NOW, you don’t even know how tiring it gets, so that’s why I wear clothes that are pre-ripped and wrinkled and stuff so you see just how tired I am from being so awesomely NOW– so I’m real hyped up, ya know? So every time my name’s not on there I rip my shirt off (I wear a lot of those old Hulkamania tank tops around the house) and go downstairs to kick my dog. My dog is not NOW, and I only have it because my mom made me take it to school with me. My dog is fat and stupid, and it craps everywhere. Things that are NOW don’t crap everywhere. That’s why Najeh Davenport isn’t in the tournament.

Last week, my girlfriend ditched me and called me a loser because I kept talking to her about how NOW I am. She said she didn’t even know what that meant, and I told her, hey, if you knew what it meant, then you’d be NOW too, but you’re not. Then I took some E and rubbed my face against the carpet for a few hours. It was awesome, and I only cried once.

It’s cool that she’s gone, because she’ll would never find anyone as NOW as I am, and when she comes crawling back, I’ll say “sorry, baby, but I’m NOW and you’re THEN.” Then I’ll go on youtube and post that video I secretly took of her when she was on the toilet. That’ll show her, and I’ll be ROTFLMAO’ing all the way to the bank, baby.

So I’m gonna start an online petition to include me in the next Who’s Now bracket (I’d like a bye too, but I guess I shouldn’t push my luck), so then we can settle once and for all that I’m definitely more NOW than Tiger Woods or that ugly swimmer that everyone pretends is hot just because she was in Maxim and FHM. Don’t get me wrong– Maxim and FHM are so NOW that if I were a magazine myself, they’d almost be as NOW as me (and that’s pretty damn NOW), but I just think they screwed that one up. Anyway, the point is, I’m starting a petition, and you should sign it, because it’ll make your TV viewing experience at least 75 percent more NOW effective immediately. And when I’m crowned the King of All Nowness, I’ll remember all the little people who helped me get there by giving you a 5% discount on autographed photos of me doing the most NOW-est things I can think of, like popping wheelies on my Ninja or attaching a nitrous tank to my Honda Civic.

The Day Harvey Masters Ran out of Things to Say About Sports

Posted on May 8, 2007

The studio lights burned into Harvey’s skin like a summer sun. His tie tightened around his corpulent neck and he felt the sweat dripping down his side and channeling into the folds around his hip. The back of his suit was soaked through and he was sure everyone on the set could smell his fear. And still they were only seconds away from switching onto camera 4 and demanding that he offer 150 seconds of profound insight on every sport in the world.

The words crept up the teleprompter. Now let’s whip it over to Harvey Masters, the SportsMaster, for his outrageous take on the day’s events! For the last three years, his daily segment had always started like this, except sometimes, instead of being outrageous, he was passionate, or intense, or in-your-face. Once, he was sassy, and for a few months last year, he was XTREME.

Maybe he could have thrust the chair backward and dived under his desk, huddling up there until everyone just left him alone; let the camera hold on his empty, spinning chair for the full two-and-a-half. Let the empty desk tell them everything they needed to know. But this was the wrong industry for that kind of stunt. Just two weeks ago, Harvey himself had called Gilbert Arenas a gutless punk for using torn knee ligaments as an excuse to skip the first round of the playoffs. “Everyone faces obstacles,” Harvey had shouted, “but most of us overcome them instead of using them as excuses! Only difference is, he gets paid millions while schlubs like us get peanuts.” He’d ended that segment with his trademark flourish— running his hands back through his thick curls and then pointing them at the camera like a pair of six-shooters. Because he was a straight-shooter and that’s what straight-shooters do.

No, he couldn’t hide. The bloggers would crucify him if he backed out now. But he had nothing to say. A man can only narrate a 6-4-3 double play so many times before he runs out of words. He can only discuss the moral implications of steroid use in baseball for so many days in a row before the dead horse has been beaten to an unrecognizable pulp. He can only analyze the facial expressions of a football coach so many times before he wants to throw himself in front of a train.
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Post-Draft Blues

Posted on May 3, 2007

Toby came downstairs and stepped right over me as I laid there, my face buried in the carpet like I was grazing. I heard ice cubes clatter into a glass, and then he opened the fridge to pour himself a drink. The fridge didn’t close, but his bare feet scraped slowly across the rug. I pictured him walking like a zombie, arms outstretched and eyes vacant, and then I felt a kick in my ribs.

He toppled over me, a knee driving into my kidney and his glass dropping onto the back of my head. It didn’t break, but it hurt like hell. I thought I might be bleeding, but the run-off on my cheeks tasted like orange juice, and I knew I was okay. I turned my head so that my right cheek was pressed against the floor, and I could see Toby, now lying across me so that we looked like a lowercase T.

“I’m laying here,” I said.

“Didn’t see you,” he said, his voice muffled by the carpet. “Did you catch my OJ?”

“Why don’t you look where you’re going?” I said, and tried to smack him on the back. I barely grazed him.

“What a terrible day.”

“You wanna get off me?”

“I will,” he said, but I knew he wouldn’t. He turned his head to look back at me over his shoulder. “What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

“Nothing to do.”

“Guess we could move.”

“Like that’ll help us get over this draft,” I said. I unleashed a showy sigh so that he could feel my disapproval in my breath on his cheek. “It’s too late, man. Everything’s already ruined.”

“How the hell could they draft a quarterback?” He slapped his palm on the floor. “They already have McNabb! Why not take a linebacker?”

“Could we not talk about it?” The Eagles had blown another draft just 6 hours before, and my season was ruined before it had even started. I wished I was dead, if only because it would keep me from having this same conversation for the fifth time today. “Just get offa me and leave me alone.”
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The NFL Countdown Crew Predicts the 2012 Super Bowl

Posted on March 28, 2007

Chris Berman: Welcome back to NFL Countdown everybody! As you know, it’s the off-season for the NFL, but we don’t get an off-season here.

Tom Jackson: That’s right, Boom!

Berman: Thanks, Tom.

Jackson: No problem, Boom!

Berman: I love this guy! Anyway, as you know, TJ, Steve, Mort, Mel Kiper, Bill Parcells, and I just started a new project for ESPN last week, in which we predict the outcomes of every Super Bowl for the rest of the century. Let’s get a recap from Steve “Only the Good Die” Young!

Steve Young: Well, in 2007, the Lombardi Trophy was returned to its rightful owners when the New England Patriots beat the Dallas Cowboys by a score of 23-16. Adalius Thomas would have won the MVP trophy if not for Tom Brady’s heroics, as he threw for nearly 200 yards and would have thrown at least 2 touchdown passes if they hadn’t been scored by other players. The game effectively ended when Terrell Owens dropped a pass, then fell to the turf in tears and was called for consecutive delay of game penalties while he pounded his fists against the turf. Then, in 2008, the Patriots dominated the regular season, only to struggle in the playoffs, where they barely won all of their games, but still won the Super Bowl, thanks to Bill Belichick’s superhuman intelligence—

Berman: You’re going too slow! Faster, faster!
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Coach Tim Krumrie Tittyfights Michigan Standout DT Alan Branch: The Real Story

Posted on March 21, 2007

From ProFootballTalk.com/rumormill.htm: KRUMRIE BEATS UP BRANCH

Word trickling out of the Michigan Pro Day is that Chiefs defensive line coach Tim Krumrie roughed up defensive tackle Alan Branch in one of Krumrie’s one-on-one slap fights.
Per a league source, Branch looked winded before he even got to the patented Krumrie spanking machine. At one point during his session with Krumrie, Branch appeared to be ready to quit.

Gil Brandt of NFL.com corroborates this in his Pro Day updates: “Tim Krumrie worked Branch hard during the position drills, and the scouts there said Branch did not look like he was in very good shape.”

Krumrie, better known to most fans as the guy who got Theismanned during Super Bowl XXIII, is a legend in league circles for the no-pads hand-fighting test, to which he subjects many of the linemen he is scouting.

“It’s Gladiator stuff,” said one league source.

For Branch, who is projected by many as a top-ten pick, the end result apparently was thumbs down.

Rumors may be trickling at the Rumor Mill, but here at Sportfiction there’s a virtual torrent of speculation at what actually happened. One extremely well placed source described the incident for us in intricate, immediate detail. His account follows.

Coach Tim Krumrie and top defensive tackle prospect Alan Branch stand alone in a gymnasium.

Coach Tim Krumrie: Slap me, big fella!
Alan Branch: Huh?
Coach Tim Krumrie: I said slap me!
Alan Branch: Why?
Coach Tim Krumrie: You want to get drafted, slap me!!
Alan Branch: Okay.
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A Transcript of the Press Conference Announcing David Beckham’s Decision to Play Football in America

Posted on March 16, 2007

(Begin transcript. For a proper understanding of the goings-on, imagine David Beckham talking like an “English” person.)

David Beckham: You there, the George Wendt-looking fellow.

Peter King: David, David, Peter King of SI here. As you know, I’ve covered the NFL beat for Sports Illustrated for quite some time, and am featured on HBO’s Inside the NFL. I have a regular column on SI.com called Mundane Morning Quarterback in which I assiduously detail my airport and coffee experiences and my daughters’ softball games. From what I am given to understand, it looks like I’m in denial that my daughter Mary Beth is a lesbian, a fate she in fact could never avoid because of a distressingly close resemblance to me.

David Beckham: And what’s your question?

Peter King: Oh. Right. Well, do you think you will be playing kicker, and for what team?
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Sports Are VERY Important!

Posted on February 5, 2007

ALIEN ASCHBERGER: WELCOME TO “SPORTS ARE VERY IMPORTANT!” A SPORTS COMMENTARY SHOW ABOUT THE CONTINUING IMPORTANCE OF HOW IMPORTANT SPORTS ARE!

CORNELL CORNLICKER: THAT’S RIGHT! SPORTS ARE VERY IMPORTANT. NOW MORE THAN EVER THEY ARE VERY IMPORTANT.

AA: SO, CORNELL, I ASK YOU . . . NOW THAT THE SUPER BOWL IS OVER, ARE SPORTS MORE IMPORTANT THAN THEY WERE WHEN THEY WERE ONLY VERY IMPORTANT A FEW DAYS AGO?

CC: ONE WORD, BABY: PITCHERS AND CATCHERS. PITCHERS AND CATCHERS, BABY!

AA: THAT’S TWO WORDS, YOU DUMB IDIOT!!!

CC: SUCK YOURSELF, ALIEN!

AA: KNOW WHO CAN SUCK HIMSELF NOW? PEYTON MANNING!

CC: AND THAT COACH, TOO, HE CAN SUCK HIMSELF, AS WELL. AN ALL-NIGHT-LONG SUCK HE CAN DO IT NOW HE IS SO IMPORTANT.

AA: THE IMPORTANCE OF SPORTS MAKES SUCH SUCKING POSSIBLE NOW MORE THAN IT EVER HAD BEEN POSSIBLE BEFORE WHEN SPORTS WERE ONLY RATHER IMPORTANT!

CC: SPORTS ARE VERY MUCH MORE IMPORTANT NOW!

AA: THE SUPER BOWL THIS YEAR WAS MORE IMPORTANT THAN VETERAN’S DAY, IN FACT.

CC: BUT WITHOUT VETERAN’S DAY WE WOULD HAVE NO SPORTS TO TALK ABOUT BECAUSE SPORTSMEN WOULD BE KILLED DEFENDING OUR RIGHTS TO PLAY SPORTS WITHOUT BEING KILLED.

AA: A VERY IMPORTANT POINT!

CC: WHEN I WAS YOUNG, I LEARNED IMPORTANT LESSONS PLAYING SPORTS. VERY IMPORTANT LESSIONS WITHOUT WHICH I WOULDN’T HAVE LEARNED THESE LESSONS PLAYING SPORTS BUT DOING SOMETHING ELSE THAT WAS NOT AS IMPORTANT.

AA: WHEN MY SON WATCHES US YELL HE LEARNS IMPORTANT LESSONS NOW MORE THAN WE EVER DID LEARN PLAYING SPORTS. ALL WE HAD WAS “THIS WEEK IN BASEBALL”.

CC: BUT IF WE DIDN’T YELL HOW WOULD PEOPLE KNOW THAT SPORTS ARE NOW VERY IMPORTANT?

AA: THEY WOULD THINK SPORTS WERE A SECRET!

CC: BUT SPORTS ARE THE OPPOSITE OF A SECRET!

AA: THEY ARE SUPPORTED BY ADVERTISERS WHO FEED OUR OBSESSION WITH ANIMALS AND HUMOR AND CELEBRITIES!

AA: A CAVEMAN ACCIDENTALLY ELECTROCUTED BY A CELEBRITY TO HELP SELL CAR INSURANCE TO SPORTS FANS SHOULD NOT BE A SECRET BECAUSE IT IS A VERY IMPORTANT LESSON, BUT NOT AS IMPORTANT AS SPORTS ARE. AT LEAST NOT NOW THAT SPORTS ARE MUCH MORE IMPORTANT THAN SPORTS EVER WERE IMPORTANT.

CC: WITHOUT SPORTS, YOU WOULD NOT BE SITTING THERE DRESSED AS A SPANISH INQUISTOR BUT WOULD BE DRESSED AS A MAN OF IMPORTANCE STOPPING KIDS FROM KILLING EACH OTHER OVER IVERSON JERSEYS AND THE JERSEYS OF OTHER BASKETBALL PLAYERS AS IMPORTANT AS IVERSON AND ATHLETES WHO DON’T EVEN PLAY BASKETBALL!

AA: HA HA HA. BUT BECAUSE OF SPORTS I SIT HERE WEARING THIS WOLFMAN MASK YELLING AT YOU ABOUT HOW SPORTS ARE IMPORTANT UNLESS WE ARE ATTACKED OR BOMBED OR A BIG STORM COMES WHEREUPON WE SAY THAT SPORTS ARE MOMENTARILY UNIMPORTANT.

CC: BUT OTHERWISE SPORTS ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN CITIES ENJOYING THE SLOW PROCESS OF BEING DESTROYED BY OUR IMPORTANT FASCINATION WITH SPORTS. FOR EXAMPLE OUR GOVERNOR ON TELEVISION TALKING ABOUT SPORTS WHEN HALF OUR CITY IS DESTROYED!!!

AA: IF IT WEREN’T FOR URBAN DECAY, WE WOULDN’T EVEN HAVE SPORTS BECAUSE THERE WOULD BE NOTHING TO DISTRACT OUR GOVERNOR FROM!

CC: HA HA HA! THAT IS VERY FUNNY! I KNOW WE KEEP SAYING IT OVER AND OVER BUT IF WE STOPPED SAYING IT IN A VERY LOUD VOICE FOR A MOMENT MAYBE WE WOULD FORGET HOW IMPORTANT SPORTS WERE AND MAYBE WE MIGHT START YELLING ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE.

AA: HA HA HA! TOO FUNNY!

CC: HA HA! FUNNY, YES!

AA: HA! HA!

CC: THAT IS VERY FUNNY!

AA: BUT NOW WE MOVE ON TO IMPORTANT SPECULATION ABOUT NEXT YEAR’S SUPER BOWL WINNER!

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