"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.