Dweevus Fartsworth

Dweevus Fartsworth is the current Congressional representative for Idaho's 2nd district. He constantly pitches legislation authorizing research into the use of flatulence as a provider of clean, natural energy. He and Barney Frank are "just friends".

Softball Wrap Up by Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
15 June 2008
Vol. 42, Pg. 426-428

"Softball Wrap Up"
by Oscar McPhee

It's been a not so bloggy couple of weeks for yours truly, but the time is nigh to tell all my rabid fans what ever became of that scraggly softball team I was coaching.

Two weeks ago, my Attaquers played Shamika's team in an official game for the first time. For those of you who are confused, ACCION had two softball teams because of the huge amount of kids interested in playing. It's obviously been a source of huge rivalry between the kids all season, so this was a good chance to release that tension. The game was incredibly ugly, won by Shamika's Sasquatches 16-14. More errors were made than I can even count, especially in the last inning, which we came into up 12-10.

And the, the playoffs. Sasquatches vs. Attaquers for the right to play in the Championship game. This was much better played all around, and we came into the last inning down 4-3. My kids finally worked the count, drew walks, and drove the ball when it mattered. 5-4 Attaquers.

Championship vs. Anthony's Knuckleheads. This is the team that we lost to on the first day of the season when I almost fought with the coach, the team that demolished us 23-2 the following week, the team that survived us 9-8 on a bullshit call the week after that. And my kids played the game of their lives. Pitcher Marvin had something like seven strikeouts, Trevor made at least four good plays in his debut at second base. Coming into the last inning down 2-1, we had a shot. Coming into our last at bats down 6-1, not so much. Unfortunately, the last play of the game was controversial (as seems to often be the case with these officials, who will not be invited back next year): Treavis scored from third after an out at first, but the ump said he had not tagged up.

Bullshit.

After the game, I told my team that it's a Goddamn messed up world, and they will be cheated by it more often than they can imagine, but that all they have control over is themselves. And the way they played in that game was incredible, and I was so proud of them, and they had nothing to be ashamed of. Then we shook hands with the hated Knuckleheads. Then we got light. Then they dumped the cooler on me.

The Knuckleheads looked confused that we were the ones celebrating, probably wondering if they had, in fact, won. They had. But so had we.

Jizz Game

Jizz Game
The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
14 June 2008
Vol. 22, Annex 15 pp. 22-29

by Marty

Baseball, seen by many as a bastion of American Glory, fades from her consciousness to her subconsciousness to her subalternconsciousness until it is a relic of the past. Hotdogs on hot days a distant memory, teens across the providence U.S.A. are freaking for "Jizz Game." Easily the most extreme of a sporting culture now in the throws of a hypoxia of extremity, "Jizz Game," or JG, or The Magnificent Sporting Competition (its really just a matter of regional preference) has already claimed the lives of four of its younger players. What could be viewed as a tragedy though has brought increased interest to a phenomonen already viraling out of control on the internet.
At faculty dinner parties and speaking engagments, attempts to explain what goes on at a "Jizz Game "match"" always fall short of capturing the hysteria, the triumph, the pain of what transpires in schoolyards and schools and houses and apartments. Yeah though I walk down that road once again in the interest of setting description to page and page to the annals of history.
One participant, lets call him Geoffrey, stands astride and with his back aligned, perpindicular to the ground, he begins masturbating fervently. The other participant, again, for convenience sake, also named Geoffrey pours lead based paint of a pastel shade onto the torso and feet of masturbating Geoffrey. Geoffrey pours the paint slowly, but as soon as the paint has been fully dispatched, Geoffrey takes off like a fire cracker to track down a Toyota 4Runner model hybrid SUV and begs its owner to loan it to him. Once in posession of the vehicle, Geoffrey drives at a rapid pace to where Geoffrey is masturbating still. Both participants wait with the engine running until the paint is fully dry, at which point Geoffrey leaps, cock in hand into the open trunk of the Toyota. Still masturbating furiously, Geoffrey and Geoffrey speed down Highway 7 until they reach the New Mexico state line, at which point Geoffrey bails on the truck and runs out into the desert thinking about his greatest failures and crying. Geoffrey continuines masturbating in the trunk for thirty more minutes and then finds the town councilman of whatever pincipality he finds himself in at that point, probably Mesa Valley.

Lighters: The New Reefer Sport for Ladies and Gentleman

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
28 May 2008
Vol. 420, Pg. 420

"Lighters: The New Reefer Sport for Ladies and Gentleman"
by B. Bryant Rancier

A new sport of binge imbibery is on the horizon, and I invented it. Except it is not the liquid imbibery one would expect. And if imbibing is a liquid-specific term, then it still doesn’t matter because imbibery, according to Microsoft Word and its red squigglies, isn’t a word either, as isn’t squigglies. The sport is called Lighters. Think of it along the same lines of the drinking games Quarters, Flip Cup, and Beer Pong/Beirut, games whereby one’s physical skills are pitted against another’s physical skills, games where a competitor “scores” by accomplishing a task quicker or more frequently than his opponent, and the loser is punished by consuming alcohol, the crux being that as one gets drunker, he will continue to perform worse and worse, or for a lucky few, better and better. But Lighters brings the concept of drinking games into new and uncharted waters, the waters of pot smoking. Sure stoners have their whole let’s watch a movie and toke up every time Ernest says “Vern” or whatever, but they don’t have these skill games that the drinkers are so fond of. Not until now!

Lighters is a simple idea, but it’s pretty tough, not to mention very amusing. And that feeling of accomplishment when you actually score? Priceless. What is the game that’s “seconds to learn, a lifetime to master”? Anyway, it’s the same thing with Lighters. So here’s how it works, and I hope the pictures help.

Lighters is a one on one game. You need two regular size Bic lighters, prefereably white with no plastic outcroppings. Also, ask me and I can put the pretty logo on there with a Sharpie. Each player has one of these lighters. You also need a packed bowl of marihuana. Joints, bongs, blunts, hookahs, and vaporizers could also work, but might be a little more wasteful, since you are only taking one hit at a time, although you could double or triple the hit count for each score if you so choose, it really depends on how responsible you think that would be for your own marihuana threshold. Because I’m all about safety.

So anyway, each person lays their lighter on its side, whichever way is comfortable. Then, taking one finger, it doesn’t matter which one, but not the thumb, try to stand the lighter upright by tilting the lighter from the base. When the first person accomplishes this, his opponent must take a hit from the bowl. It is actually very hard to do, though some have had more success than others. Each time you stand up a lighter this way, you score a point and your opponent must smoke. Generally you will play to 5, but once again, it’s up to you how high you want to get, or how high you want to get someone else, I should say. And then it might all go to shit when you decide, as the winner, that you aren’t high enough and want to smoke as much as the loser did, but the game is still a lot of fun. And harder than you would expect. You can use the table for finger-leverage, but not the edge of the table, as it was determined that this is much easier, as the edge essentially gives your finger perfect perpendicularity with the table; this makes steadying the lighter way too easy. After all, this is a game of physical skill.


I hope this game really catches on with stoners everywhere, I’m pretty thrilled about it.

The Agony and the Agony By Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
28 May 2008
Vol. 37, Pg. 3,006-5,012

"The Agony and the Agony"
by Oscar McPhee

After going down 22-2 to the Knuckleheads last Monday, I vowed to not let my team get down on themselves enough to let it happen again. and they didn't; they discovered a whole different agonizing way to lose, 9-8 on a controversial play at the plate.

The game started just like every game against the Knuckleheads; we were down 5-0 after one inning. I reminded them how we worked the count and strung singles together last game, and we clawed back to 5-4. Our fielding woes returned in the 4th inning, getting us down 9-4 before I made some fielding changes that stabilized us. It was down to two outs in the 7th (last inning in middle school softball), score 9-7, Rafael on second.

I put in Treavis to pinch-run, and new team sensation Timmy is at the plate. Timmy hits a grounder off the mitt of the short stop and Treavis easily scores; I swear he's faster than my whole high school track team, and he's in the 7th grade. They try to get Timmy but he keeps chugging along. At third, it goes by the third baseman - Timmy is headed home! Maybe in retrospect he should have held, but right then, I knew it'd be close enough to take the chance. Throw comes in and the tag goes on at the same time Timmy crosses the plate (from my perspective). Called out by the ump. Game over.

Yea, I yelled a little, but it is just a game, and the kids have to learn to accept defeat even if they think it's unfair. I lined them up, we shook hands, and I said that at least now we know that we can beat the Knuckleheads.

Monday should be interesting.

Sweet Redemption By Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
24 May 2008
Vol 35, pg 57-62

"Sweet Redemption"
by Oscar McPhee

It has been a trying week for Austin's ACCION Attaquers. Monday saw them demolished by Anthony's Knuckleheads 22-2 in a tribute to every fielding mistake that could possibly be made. Tuesday practice was rained out, but I had a team meeting in which I got on them, not for losing by that much, but for some of them wanting to throw in the towel and quit. I care about building character more than I do about wins and losses, I said, and to give up after an embarrassment like that would show weak character. We then elected team captains (BJ and Rafael) and watched Rookie of the Year. They laughed.

Today started out on several sour notes. For one, team star Treavis had to sit out because I foolishly let him play for Shameeka's team last Saturday. He hit two homers, and the kids on the other team recognized his giant afro and complained that he shouldn't be allowed to play for both teams. That and after two innings we were down 6-0, and I could see the kids starting to have flashbacks to Monday's apocalypse. After a particularly bad inning, I yelled at them to "WAKE UP!", and Manny and I explained that they were going to be playing small ball the rest of the way - working the count, making the pitcher throw strikes, singling and doubling him to death when he did. Worked like a charm. Final score of game one, 9-7. Game two, 10-5.

Honestly, we got lucky when the other team made some major mistakes in the field. Our baserunning is shady at best, and we'll have our hats handed to us by Anthony again if we run the bases like we did today. But right now, the important thing is that Austin's Attaquers stand at 2 wins and 2 losses. And the emerging confidence of our team was noticeable - Rondel surprised me by smacking two doubles, Yennsee made an electrifying debut behind the plate, even Tyler made solid contact! Once we get Treavis' roid magic back, I hope the team's swagger can carry them into at least a competitive game vs. the Knuckleheads.

Onward!

Treavis' Roid Rampage By Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion

17 May 2008

Vol. 34, Pg. 76-95

"Treavis' Roid Rampage"

by Oscar McPhee

For all you ACCION softball fans who worried about the slow start of both teams on Wednesday, fear not! Shameeka's (purposely misspelled) team got off the schnide in a big way this afternoon at ACCION field.

The game started innocently enough, the other team's tiny pitcher thowing a few more balls than strikes but generally keeping it together up there. But a few walks and line drives later, all was not right in "other team-ville". The first game of today's doubleheader took 3 and a half innings and had a final score of 15-3 (by rule, if one team is up by more than ten runs after the other team has come up to bat four times, the mercy rule is invoked). Game two saw mercy called much earlier, via a 17-0 2 inning romp. Other Team used just about every player they had to try to get the ball over the plate, and when they did our hitters rained terror on Other Team's fielders. It was just the kind of confidence boost those ACCION playas needed.

Player of the game I.M.O. was my team's stalwart, giant afro'd Treavis, who showed up on the off chance that Shameeka's team wouldn't have enough players. He had a solid outing in left field, but his true value was at the plate. With two men on in the first inning of game two, Treavis crushed a ball against a brick wall over the left field fence, easily a couple hundred feet from the plate. And it hit the wall high, at least twenty feet up I'd say, meaning his shot's "actual distance" was much further. He followed this by legging out an inside-the-park home run in the second inning, again with two men on base. I made him drink a Top Pop and give me a urine sample before he left, so we should know what sort of drugs are coursing through his wiry frame by Monday.

Now let's just hope my team can have the same success against the Saturday Other Team, but more importantly on Monday when Anthony's PS 246 Killer Killers come to town for second licks.

Composure Limited By Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
May 16, 2008
Vol. 37, Pg 42-57

"Composure Limited"
by Oscar McPhee

Well gois and goils, Wednesday's softball game did not go as planned, as Austin's ACCION ATTAQUERS fell to Anthony's PS 246 Knuckleheads 6 to 2. The game wasn't even that close really, the score pushed to 5-1 after one inning.

BUT there were several things I was happy with. For one, our defense was actually very good. We turned three double plays in a five inning game - pitcher Marvin caught a line drive to his left and adeptly threw to first on one, and center fielder Trevor made a diving underhand catch and throw to first on another. I don't remember the third, but it was surely equally as awesome.

We worked on hitting today, because as I told them, 2 runs ain't gonna cut it in THIS league, boyo (and girlo)! The tough part is that the kids who are good at hitting are the ones most willing to take my advice in improving their swing and not flying out constantly. The kids who choke up and stand up there like Lurch will keep doing it no matter what I say. And I've gotta play everybody every game, because we're good sports and all, but jeez!! Lemme coach y'all!!!

An unfortunate incident happened after the game where one of my players told the other coach that they were lucky to win and the coach responded by talking about the errors said player had made. I told the coach to not talk to my kids that way, and apparently the way I said it was fairly aggressive since the other teams' assistant coach stepped between me and Anthony to keep a brawl from breaking out. But it's all behind us now!!!! I self-disciplined by running five laps around the field today for poor sportsmanship, a move my kids applauded, some of them even joining me for a lap or two.

Our next game is Monday against the very same team. I'll be wearing a muzzle this time, despite some of my kids' advice that I should "deck" the other coach. I believe our league's "no decking" rules are fairly clear.

ACCION Softball Fever! By Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion

12 May 2008

Vol. 32, Pg. 456-5,012

"ACCION Softball Fever!"

by Oscar McPhee

Yes folks, it's that time of year again! Time to revel in the glories of ACCION Academy Softball's finest! From sweet swingin' Joshua to runnin and gunnin' Yensee! From Break-neck chargin' Treavis to "when do I bat? I'm bored!!" Kimberly! ACCION Academy is ready to bust up your pathetic softball party and treat you like a little homo.

For those of you in the dark, this year yours truly has taken on the unenviable task of taking a rag-tag, mop-top, flip-flop pack of scrabbly sixth seventh and eighth graders and turning them into softball champions of the world. Our first game is this Wednesday at four o clock if you wanna come watch us beat the living crap out of PS 246. For now though, let's talk about some of my predictions for the coming season.

Treavis (misspelled in case he ever searches for himself) is the early front-runner for team MVP. He's a classic five-tool player with heart to boot, and will easily charge around those base paths as soon as he brings me a note explaining why he was absent last Friday. Until then he'll be keepin' that bench BOILING HOT!

Yensee (same spelling explanation) thought it'd be fun to touch some broken glass a few weeks ago, and boy has he been keeping his team in stitches! He also better bring some sort of note explaining his absences, as he's the only person I trust to be able to make the long throw from 3rd to super reliable Joshua at first.

Basically there's no way we're ever going to lose. For more player bios and upcoming game results, be sure to visit us at 176th St. and Prospect Ave. dotcom. /softballchampions.

Motocross? More Like Scrotocross! By Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion

10 May 2008
Vol. 30, pg. 27-46

"Motocross! More like Scrotocross!"

by Oscar McPhee

Hey, I had to watch something for work tonight, and that thing was the AMF Supercross Lites somethingorother on Speedvision. Basically it's those little stupid motorcycles kids have been buzzing around Harlem on, except these guys are white and older and sound dumber in interviews and go over big dirt hills and fall a lot!

What was most funny was that everyone interviewed had a can of Monster energy drink. And between each question and comment of "Yea dude, I was just like tryin to run my race out there", they'd take a huge staged gulp. They also had dumb names like Ryan Villapoto, Trey Canard, and Oscar McPhee! Just kidding, it's Austin Stroupe, and he won his heat because he and his trainer have been so focused on this 2 o clock on a Saturday afternoon motocross bonanza it's making his head hurt! That is, until he has his codeine-riddled swig of MonsterrrrrR.

Loyal reader(s) (plural? who am I kidding?), I know the tone of this blogg has taken a dive, but I've been up since 7:30 this morning and it's 1:15 AM and I'm still at work. SO LEMME BE!

Anything else to say about Motocross? Text your comments now to 1-900-MOTOANDMONSTER4EVA. You might have to dial 9 first.

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion by Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion

7 May 2008

Vol. 27, Pg. 27-30

"The American Journal of Sporting Opinion"

by Oscar McPhee

Over the past several weeks, we here at the American Journal of Sporting Opinion (more like I here - look at the last seven posts!) have been happy to bring you into the cutting edge worlds of sports you've never heard of or ever wanted to hear of. Well, today is a new day with an edge more razor sharp than ever, because now we're (I'm) not only covering sports, but introducing a new one all our (my) own. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you:

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion - The Sport!

Commissioner Hank "Tex" Bourbon heads up a league filled with promising young candidates eager to prove themselves Kings of the Leisure Class. Unemployed, semi-employed, nightly-employed - when it comes to the Journal, anything goes! Let's meet our competitors!

Peter I. Willumsen-Friedman is eager to get started with his sports writing career! In addition to being known as Peter W. Smythe, Peter's other interests include tennis, poker, wearing glasses, and editing the masterpiece of an article he's been working on all these weeks and waiting to wow the internet with. Go get' em Peter!

Daniel J. Friedman is the fearless vice-leader of the zine as well as it's second-most frequent contributor. When he's not walking Rosie and writing musicals and blogs, Daniel is sure to entertain with his beard and flannel shirt! Tear us a new one, Danno!

B. Bryant Rancier enjoys hot sauce, long hair, and tagging his name all over the Grand Canyon. His favorite activities include stepping on little children and starting dance parties among disinterested strangers. Whip it, Friendo!

Benjamin P. Sozanski. The very name conjures great confusion among our competitors, as he almost never seems to write under it. Anytime you see a barely intelligible article written by a half-drunk former newsman or misspelled professional athlete, you know P is in da hoouuuuseee!! We got dicks like Jesus, P.!

And what of our humble narrator? Well, I put it to you, fellow sports bloggians! Step up yo blog-writing game and show me wat u got!!

"Leave Us Alone, Athletes!" by Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
2 May 2008
Vol. 20, pg. 20

"Leave Us Alone, Athletes!"
by Oscar McPhee
Hey sports fan! Like boxing? Well how about I send Felix Trinidad to your house to beat the shit out of you??

No good? Alright, how about football? Great! Dwight Freeney will be by in a bit to sack you before you get to the microwave with that Hot Pocket®.

We like sports for a reason. They show us the kind of fast-paced, rough-and-tumble lifestyle we crave while allowing us to experience it from a safe distance. We're content to see Albert Pujols hit the game-winning home run while we clean dried saliva off our cheek. It's a win-win!

But lately, advertisers and athletes are not content to let a sleeping fat-ass lie. A new batch of commercials has popped up featuring athletes yelling at us about how much better than us they are. There's one where Michael Jordan talks about how much freakin' basketball he had to play to get good, and how stupid we are for thinking he was just born that way. In another, athletes such as football player LaDanian Tomlinson stare directly into the camera and boast about how much faster and stronger than us they are. In a third, Peyton Manning mocks our dreams of six-pack abs; "Unless you're a professional athlete, it's probably not gonna happen. My advice to you is to get bigger shirts."

Is it supposed to be news that athletes are better than me in every conceivable way except for intelligence? Can't you just take your millions of dollars, my blind devotion, all your groupies and blow and just leave me alone??

When I start my ad agency, I'm gonna have white guys with glasses talk about their SAT scores and trust fund. That'll show those millionaire game players!

"Hurling: Not Just Slang for Ralphing" By Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
24 April 2008
Vol. 20, pg. 672-1,046

"Hurling: Not Just Slang for Ralphing"
by Oscar McPhee

When a typical American slob hears the world "hurling", they likely think of that Outback Steakhouse Blooming Onion they had last night, or perhaps the six beers they had this morning before telling Unemployment about all the jobs they've been interviewing for (in this economy?? puhleaze!). But to typical Irish slobs, hurling is something else entirely. Namely, the greatest sport invented in the history of mankind.

Hurling teams compete with 15 players on the field at a time, and score by putting the sliotar (possibly Gaelic for "ball") (More like Gay-lick!) (Booyah!) between the oppositions goal posts. As if having thirty guys on the field at once isn't confusing enough, there are two ways to score - either put the ball over the crossbar (1 point) or under (3 points). I guess this is not necessarily more confusing than American football with field goals and safeties and extra points and whatnot, but try reading a hurling score: Clare 0-20 Tipperary 2-13. Apparently Clare won this match by "twenty points to two thirteen", which is actually 20-19. I guess I'm happy because my family happens to be from County Clare, but I'm also baffled as to how one 20 beats two 13's (13x2=26, for all you math whizzes out there). Well, whatever. Fuck Tipperary!

Hurling is great because not only is it terribly confusing; it's violent too!! Think of hurling as field hockey (kinda gay) but full contact (kinda awesome!). Awesome gayness abounds! Players use their sticks to smash each other into submission, bloodying up the field and themselves. It's also kind of like lacrosse, but let's not get too white about this. Hurling is awesome, and anyone not watching it, take heed; the American Journal of Sporting Opinion will beat you into submission*.

So hop on board, sports fans! The future has been going on since the 13th century apparently, and it's time to give Hurling it's Yankee Doodle Due!


*with opinion pieces concerning why you are not cool.

"Time In!" By Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
19 April 2008
Vol. 18, pg. 76-80

Time In!
by Oscar McPhee
Hey basketball fans! How familiar is this scenario? Team A scores a basket, team B takes it up court and doesn't score, team A scores again on their next trip down, Team B calls time out? It happens like eight dozen times every basketball game, so if your answer was "not all that familiar", you're just being unnecessarily contrary, and I don't appreciate your attitude. Apologize now so we can move on.

I'm waiting.

Thank you. That was big of you.

Today's NBA playoff action saw no shortage of white men in suits demanding their big black basketballers come over and watch them draw squigglies on a clipboard and pretend to not be watching them fiiiine cheerleaders shaking that ass ten feet away. The Suns-Spurs double overtime thriller took about 18 hours with all the hemming and hawing and scheming by these overseers. And guess how the deciding play happened? Steve Nash nailed a 3 with seconds to go, and instead of taking a timeout, Manu Ginobli brought the ball up the floor, made a move, and hit a tough shot. Game over.

Cause guess what? All that time you're spending preparing your team for the greatest play in history? The other team is scheming up some sort of retardedly impossible defense to counteract it! All you're doing is wasting time the players could be using to do their job, i.e. play some baskers!

And aren't these guys paid to play basketball? Shouldn't people who make millions of dollars for doing something be able to do it without stopping every 3 minutes or so to be yelled at by an old man? I'm pretty sure Donald Trump doesn't get constant phone calls from Andrew Carnegie's ghost about how to fuck over another small business. He just whips out his big businessman's dick and gets it done.

If only people like Kobe Bryant could do their raping on a basketball court instead of a Colorado hotel room, we'd all be a lot happier with our perverted, disgusting, depraved NBA action.

"Listen Up, Knucklehead!" By Charles W. Barkley

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
16 April 2008
Vol. 20, pg. 42-47

"Listen Up, Knucklehead!"
by Charles W. Barkley

Who you think you talkin to? Nah really, this is sick, Absolutely sick. Playoffs startin' and you wanna talk bout some jive turkey over there. NoeVitski? Ridickolous. He needs some get up and go, some fire under the ole chassy. You know what I mean?

And what's with Obama? Tellin them white folk they got guns cause they bitter. Ain't you remember the 60's, Barry? Gee Lawdy, what a knucklehead! Them honkeys turn the hose on you 'f you ain't careful. Ernie you know you would. Don't look at me like that.

Seriously though, I definitely definitely gotta say, to my man D-Wade, you need to get out more. Your game's weak bro. I saw him chattin w'this chickenhead the other night, look like she was 19 goin on 65, and my man D can't close the deal! Just standin there knucklehead eyes down on the floor, useless! Ain't no ladies man! Man up, man!

And Michael Jordam? PLEAZE! That grampa got no first step! He nearer his last step than his first! Only first step he's takin is towards the bathroom. Redickolous. Y'all print him? Whats this amateur night at the blog? Thaz terrible. Just terrrible.

Time to eat the donut!

Save Our Sonics By Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
15 April 2008
Vol. 13, pg. 13

"Save Our Sonics"
by Oscar McPhee

Last night the Seattle SuperSonics defeated the Dallas Mavericks 99-95. Seattle started the night 32 games behind Dallas. What, other than freak luck, propelled these vagabonds to what would normally be a stunning victory?

After 41 years, it was likely the very last basketball game to be played by the Sonics in Seattle.

Owner Clay Bennett, an Oklahoma yahoo who's almost certainly a rival of our dear zine's owner and proprietor, bought the team a few years back with the sole purpose of moving it to Oklahoma City. He pretended to work with Seattle to build a new stadium or make whatever other crazy demands owners make of cities (luxury boxes?? How about Lunchable boxes for all the players' kids!). But all along, Bennett was e-mailing all over the place about how cool it will be to move to a place where his whole team will probably get lynched.

Non-sports fan may wonder why this could possibly matter. After all, aren't we still playing shoot-em-up with the Osama Iraqis and all? My answer to that is; wake up! Sports is people too!

I don't know how the rest of you feel, but this writer believes very strongly that in order to be a well-rounded, well-adjusted, well-butrin individual, a person needs to go through certain emotional experiences, such as anger, fear, disgust, denial, acceptance, and tuna on toast. No matter how many tomatoes you put on that tuna, you can't hide from real human feeling; it is the stuff of dreams, the stuff that keeps us up at night and makes us realize our flaws and makes us change and become better people! And sports is a good way to go through all this shit.

Come on, wouldn't you rather be crying your little eyes out because A-Rod choked away another playoff game than because your girlfriend is a lying whore who said it's not you it's me but really she just met some other guy who's probably just like you and it's like she's just jumping from rock to rock and when is she gonna get a clue? How about the choice between a crucial missed field goal or your best friend's murder-suicide? Sports makes it easier to go through all that emotional stuff! Because even though it doesn't matter as much, it sometimes feels like it does! And then you realize it doesn't and you feel happy!

So I hope for Seattle's sake that they can save their Sonics. I hope that Seattleans are able to grow into mature adults because Kevin Durant breaks his scrawny little femur rather than some kind of apocalyptic race riot. Leave that kind of nonsense to Oklahoma. They're bored anyway!

Why We Must Take Stock By Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
14 April 2008
Vol. 12, pg. 586-589

"Why We Must Take Stock"
by Oscar McPhee

Friends, readers, sporting enthusiasts. Thank you for taking your busy time on the toilet to hear us opine on our greatest passion, the world of sports. I believe that I can speak for all of our authors when I say that it is a wonderful pleasure to bring you cutting-edge sports opinion from the arenas of Denver to the ironing boards of the Amazon jungle.

But my mind turns precipitously when I consider the opinion piece posted by Michael Jordam in last week's issue. Therein, Jordam claimed that we had forgotten him, that the glories of the sporting greats were going unnoticed in this new zine. Sure, Jordam's article was barely intelligible, laughably short, and formatted ridiculously. But these errors did not dull the pinpoint accuracy of his criticism. I agree with Jordam.

In trying to carve out a niche in today's over-loaded sporting news market, The American Journal of Sporting Opinion has done an admirable job of covering sports overlooked by the press at large. Indeed, where else is one to find the latest greatest news about field hockey websites and competitive ironing all under one glorious, line-drawing filled roof? But I feel that this steadfast devotion to utter obscurity and, at times, total nonsense, has left readers wondering; where is the majesty? Where are the mythical greats of the sporting world, the legends that my children will love more than me, the men who, for three hours at a time, transport me out of the deadly tedium of my horrendous life? In short, Where is the Love?

All writers for the American Journal of Sporting Opinion: it's time to take stock. Time to consider our passion for sports and explode that passion onto the page, even if it means sometimes overlapping sports coverage with the giants. It's OK; the giants have accurate information, but we have the intensity and zeal and zany hilarity to put these great sporting moments in their proper context. It's time to stop hiding behind our line drawings, to see the real world as one of excitement, allure, and occasionally an actual photograph. Time to grow up, and be Men.

ME By Michael Jordam

American Journal of Sporting Opinion
Vol 1, pp. 76-77
12 April 2008

"ME"
by Michael Jordam

What, did you all forget about me? I'm Michael Jordam for God's sake. I'm the best at sports of all time. When people try to say I'm good at sports I get mad because I'm great at sports. And I try really hard too. And I'm a good sport. And I'm endorsed by Tyco.

I'm great.

The Best Sports You've Never Heard Of, Part I By Daniel J. Friedman

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
12 April 2008
Vol. 10, pp. 5-64

"The Best Sports You've Never Heard Of, Part I"
by Daniel J. Friedman

Extreme ironing is perhaps the greatest sport you've never heard of. Why haven't you heard of it? Good question! You're welcome.

The Extreme Ironing Bureau claims to be the home and promotional hub of extreme ironing, in all it's glory. And yet, despite the Bureau's "best" efforts, extreme ironing remains mired in obscurity. If it's so extreme, then why isn't it in the Extreme Games, or X-Games? Another good question!

One answer, of course, is that extreme ironing isn't actually extreme. Seeing as the definition of "extreme" is "utmost or exceedingly great in degree," I think that there is no denying that extreme ironing takes the sport of ironing to its greatest degree. Ironing on top of mountains, trees, the Arctic, and under water are, in my opinion, among the most extreme places to even consider ironing.

So, if extreme ironing is definitively extreme, why isn't it featured in the Extreme Games? Lack of proper marketing, that's why! When was the last time you saw an extreme ironing poster or TV ad? Do you know the extreme ironing jingle? No? Of course not! There is none!

This is just like what FOX did to Arrested Development, but fans of X-Sports shouldn't sit idly by and watch extreme ironing get prematurely cancelled! Open your window, stick your head out, and yell, "I'm mad as hell, and I'd like to see some extreme ironing coverage on ESPN2 or maybe the Outdoor Life Network; they don't have anything else to air anyway!"

Interesting Teams Fall to Whitest Schools Ever By Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
11 April 2008
Vol. 9, pg. 342-346

"Interesting Teams Fall to Whitest Schools Ever"
by Oscar McPhee

This year's NCAA Men's Ice Hockey Championship in Denver, colloquially known as the Frozen Four, had a chance to be a teeny bit interesting. Certainly this viewer, who didn't even realize that the Frozen Four was happening, would have at least stopped channel flipping briefly to check out the Michigan vs. North Dakota championship action. If I had ESPN. Which I do not.

But in keeping with its whitey roots, the hockey Gods allowed Notre Dame to stun top-seeded Michigan 5-4 in OT and Boston College to run over North Dakota with the Zamboni, 6-1. Apparently this is the third straight year that North Dakota has lost in the national semifinals to Boston College, but I wasn't paying attention, so I still have every right to be shocked, hurt, hungry, and sleepy about the whole thing.

Michigan vs. North Dakota would have had some juice! Think of it - the state everyone's forgotten because all the the jobs are gone vs. the state everyone's forgotten because nothing has ever happened there ever! It would be like two junkyard dogs going at it, except one of them used to live in a loving home with a fireplace and 2.3 children and had to learn the hard way how to play dirty.

Who gives a crap about Notre Dame vs. Boston College? A bunch of red-headed backwards-cap wearing dipshits, that's who. Sully, McGilicuddy, O'Brien, and Shanahan will spend Saturday night cheering on their lame whitey universities, scarfing down Buffalo Wild Wings and thinking they're sophisticated because they're drinking Heineken. The rest of us will be wondering how long we have to wait for the Frozen Four to return to the hyper-interesting dogfight we remember from the good old days.

Field Hockey Website Gaffe Damages Game's Reputation by Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion

9 April 2008
Vol. 6, pg. 46-52

"Field Hockey Website Gaffe Damages Game's Reputation"
by Oscar McPhee

Web surfers are usually delighted by the wealth and quality of information found on fieldhockey.com. It is not overstating things to say that it is the first site that comes up on a google search for "field hockey news".

Yet visitors today were treated to a horse of a different color, and it wasn't a color that most of them liked. "Bizarre look to the site", today's top story, explained that the site uses Cascading Style Sheets (CSS), a thingy on which there are International standards on how to deal with it.

But Apparently, Bill Gates didn't get that memo in his CASTLE! "Microsoft don't believe they have to follow International Standards and just do their own thing," claims fieldhockey.com. The site appears normal to all browsers that are not "rubbish" like Microsoft.

"This should surprise no one," said renowned field hockey hooligan Mierto Jovanovich. "Leave it to the Imperialist Fatcats at Microsoft to put the muzzle of improper CSS reading on an underground upstart like international field hockey news."

Microsoft responded to requests for a statement with that video they made a couple years ago with Ricky Gervais and Steve Merchant. Fieldhockey.com shot back with amused chuckles and guffaws.

Laughter is always the best medicine.

Why I Did It By B. Bryant Rancier

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
9 April 2008
Vol. 8, pp. 10-12

"Why I Did It"
by B. Bryant Rancier

Much has been suggested about my motives in both the original ranking of friends in the year of our Lord 2007, and the consequent friendout tournament in the year of our Lord 2008. I would like to respond with some input of my own, however meandering it may very well be. But Brendan, you ask, is this not the American Journal of Sporting Opinion? Would offering your explanation for a contest that you yourself organized and conducted under any circumstances be considered an opinion rather than straight fact? Well, my good man, facts are tangible commidities which one can prove through reasoned assumption. Is the Holstien black and white? Why, I've never seen a bovine of that persuasion that is not those colors, so I'd say that yes, that is a "fact". That you may not have witnessed this creature in all of it's splendor before changes nothing, for there are agriculturists, veterinarians, biologists, milkmaids and encyclopedias which can confirm the animal's color for you.

I cannot prove the intangibles, those persistent nuggets of inclination that flitter about my weary transcem. Not only are my thoughts and feelings by their very nature subjective, but what truely makes the following explanation opinion rather than fact, is that I often-and this case is no exception-have a difficult time identifying emotions, rationales, motives, and intuitions within my own mental capacity. That is to say, what I offer is an "opinion" on why I did what I did, because I do not know for certain. As it has been aforeto acknowledged, alcohol and marihuana abuse has ravaged my mind to the precarious brink of madness, so to expect a logical, fact-filled report on what exactly was behind the friendout would be wishful thinking.

My first opinion-driven suggestion is boredom. I am bored. I am bored sitting at a computer all day, I am bored being in the same city all the time, I am bored because I am so broke I can't go out anymore, aye, I am bored with life. The next thing, which oft goes part and parcel with boredom, is distraction. I need to find things to distract me or my boredom will be spent in a toxic state of misery, anxiety, and loneliness.

Why did I choose a tournament of friends to distract me? Simply put, I love my friends... and I love competition. I thought it would be more amusing to pit my friends against eachother in a game of chance than just watch a sporting event or bother my friends, most of which have jobs and are a lot busier than me. As we all witnessed, in this fantasy world of the tournament, anything could, and sometimes did, happen. Not only was it strangely exciting for the fans, but in a very personal way, the seemingly miraculous achievements, the unexpected twists and turns, served as a source of inspiration for me. Success against all odds, e pluibus unum, these sentiments, expressed through sport, took on a profound resonance for the realities I face daily.

The tournament, not just the games themselves, but the drama off the courts, gave me something to be excited about, something to get all wrapped up in, something to forget or postpone all of the crap that I have grown tired of thinking about. I know I've offended some people by the bold notion of ranking or seeding friends, by choosing an ultimate friend, etc, but the fact of the matter is that the contest was not about my friends, and their ranks or seedings did not neccessarily reflect my feelings about them as human beings, or even as friends. I think I made these points clear the first time around. What the tournament was about was ME, an arguably selfish, attention-hungry shadow of his former self, hopelessly desperate for an excuse to welcome each new day. That may be why I did it.

A Bridge to Scandal By Daniel J. Friedman

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
9 April 2008
Vol. 6, pp. 24-28

"A Bridge to Scandal"
by Daniel J. Friedman

This July's North American Bridge Championship (NABC) hosted by the American Contract Bridge League (ACBL) will be in Las Vegas, Nevada. Now Las Vegas is known, on the one hand, as "The Entertainment Capital of the World," and on the other hand, as "Sin City." I suppose these two nicknames are not mutual exclusive, as many people seem to find a great deal of entertainment in the practice of sin, but how will this affect the Evangelical Puritan Christian Base of the ACBL? Not favorably, one can imagine.

And yet, the concerns of a bridge-playing moral majority are nothing compared to the devastating fallout of a potential gambling scandal associated with this Summer's NABC. CEO Jay Baum apparently couldn't care less, seeking only to increase revenues and not at all concerned about a repeat of the 1920s gambling scandals that crippled bridge's popularity for a generation. Is Mr. Baum on the take? I'm not going to suggest anything that might get me sued, but yes.

Women Do It Too! By Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
9 April 2008
Vol. 7, pg. 123-125

"Women Do It Too!"
by Oscar McPhee
Last night in Tampa, some chicks played basketball. It was on TV for some reason. The chicks in the orange and white won. BIG DEAL. Right?

Wrong!

Sexism in sports is as embedded as racism was back when racism was cool. Sexism even touched this year's Great Brendanian Friendout Tournament, with Rachel H.'s victories turned into a sex scandal. What makes us think that Josh B. didn't give the Commisar's meat a tug on his way to the top, huh?

Sexism, that's what.

Turning this around won't be easy, but as usual, Salon.com's King Kaufman has the inside track on progress. This morning he wrote a summary of last night's NCAA Women's Championship Game without one reference to broken nails, bouncing titties, or "that time of the month", even though the championship always takes place in the same month! That's untouched Gold, King!

King Kaufman presented the contest with dignity and class, and even mentioned how women's basketball games are shorter because the coaches don't take a million time-outs like in men's games. It's possible that the refs just don't hear the coaches' little shrill girl voices, but it's also possible that women are more trusting of their female players to get the job done. I know I wouldn't trust my boys to play a full game without making passes at the cheerleaders and having a dick measuring contest against the other team. Boys will be boys, right?

Wrong!

Why We Must Do Without It By Daniel J. Friedman

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
8 April 2008
Vol. 4, pp. 118-134

"Why We Must Do Without It"
by Daniel J. Friedman

The Tournament has ended, with the universally hated Josh B. defeating much-ballyhooed favorite Ben S. in the finals, leaving behind a trail of carnage that exemplifies how violent this blood-sport can be. But whither the Great Brendanian Friendout? In my opinion: no.

The fans of the GBFT, who stuck with the league throughout racial controversy, a perpetually intoxicated Commissioner, and the infamous Redogate and its alleged coverup, were holding on with the hope of a winner who was worth rooting for. The field was filled with potential heroes: Carrie C., Little Robby S., Brian L., Beth A., Austin M., Dan F., and, of course, the man who almost made it to the end, Ben S. But those fans were surely disappointed to learn that the dastardly Josh B. has been crowned the champion, and will be so for the rest of the offseason. Who will watch as the Commissioner gives the contemptible Josh B. his grand prize? Will anyone tune in to see diabolical Josh B.'s visit to the White House? And will anyone still be interested when the tournament resumes next year? Of course not.

As if that were not bad enough, Commissioner Brendan has broken with GBFT standard format by refraining from ranking his friends. Apparently, only the top four will be ranked: The degenerate Josh B., Ben S. Forrest K., and Lindsay M., in that order. What does that mean for everyone else? Are we no longer Brendan's friends? It appears so.

Whatever the case, the hopelessly long offseason of the GBFT will be an excellent time for an up-and-coming young Friendout to oust the old stalwart. Who will attempt this challenge? Ben S., perhaps, as an act of glorious revenge? Or is the sweetest revenge doing nothing at all? Whatever the result, I believe that with the GBFT crippled by scandal after scandal and now with the villainous Josh B. as its champion, it is time for a challenger to strike while the iron is hot.

Certainly, there will be those who remain desperately loyal to the GBFT and its supremely alcoholic Commissioner, but many others might start to question just what the whole point of this spectacle was. Should we even care? In the ensuing months, the public will answer that question, but Commissioner Brendan will have to hope he's got more than just slips of paper in his hat--he needs to pull a miracle out of there if he hopes to survive.

Why We Can't Do Without It By Daniel J. Friedman

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
4 April 2008
Vol. 1, pp. 212-223

"Why We Can't Do Without It"
by Daniel J. Friedman

As the Great Brendanian Friendout finds itself in troubled times, battered on the one side by countless, almost innumerable redos, on the other side by shakily-sourced allegations of match-fixing, and on yet a third, heretofore unknown front by concerns over a lack of racial heterogeneity, it rumbles on, never ceasing.

Why does the Friendout survive, even as other sports institutions mired in controversy have floundered and died? Remember the Xtreme Football League? The World Wrestling Federation? The National Hockey League? Those leagues, seemingly built on solid foundations that we thought would last forever, sputtered out and died. Yet the GBFT continues to thrive, fueled by an endless supply of paper slips in a hat, even as its very world seems to crumble around.

What is the Friendout's secret? How can it persevere even as the Commissioner's perpetual drunkenness and limitless supply of controversy continue to rule the print and the airwaves?

One word: tradition.

As much as the press may clamor for blood, and the public may wonder why there are no other Friendout options on their computer screens (isn't Congress' anti-trust exemption for the GBFT hopelessly outdated?), there is one straightforward fact that no amount of criminally intoxicated behavior could ever destroy: it is simply impossible to imagine a world without the GBFT.

What if you showed up to the living room one evening, and there were no tiny slips of paper to greet you? Would you cry? Would your capacity to stand leave you? Would you crumble into a helpless, quivering lump of jelly? Yes. You would.

Whatever has happened, whatever is now, whatever may be, the Great Brendanian Friendout will be there. Like it or not.