I have been trying for the past few days to figure out why Brady Quinn could possibly be generating us so much traffic. I posted ONE picture of him a while back, an old one at that. But in tracking our traffic, searches for Brady Quinn have brought us more visits than any other search term out there. I didn’t understand it.
mmmm, leather
Now I do. Yeesh, Queeni- er, I mean Mr. Brady Quinn – I realize you’re, you know, comfortable. with yourself and all, but, you know….people are starting to talk.
We would have our resident legal expert break down this legal voodoo, but we think Lynch pulling this off makes him more of a master of the legal system. His tips for not cracking under the pressure are below.
now i’m gettin maseff ready fo da season. no mo stressin ova drama. no mo worryin bout what dey sayin in da media. mah boyz (jizzy) james hardy and (sizzlez) steve johnson both be gettin demselfs ready too. know why? cuz we boyz. we keep together. we keep our mouf shut. as jimmy conway (robert de nizzy fo sho) said, don’t be a rat.
Marshawn Lynch appears to be in a bit of a pickle today because a Porsche registered in his name was involved in a hit-and-run over the weekend. It’s been all over the blogosphere, including the Big Lead, whose best line on the topic was “My initial reaction was – Buffalo has an entertainment district?” Hahah, heyo! He obviously hasn’t seen the Chippewa Strips three blocks of fun packed with more fine eye candy on a given night than he sees in a year (that’s, like 3 chicks. It’s because he’s a blogger, who lives in his mother’s basement! HAHA! HoHo! /tugs collar. In mother’s basement.)
Anyway, we Dukes and Dukettes of Awesome refuse to believe Marshawn Lynch could be at the wheel of the Porsche. While we’re thankful the woman hit is OK, we still want to help Marshawn establish his alibi, and give Roger Goodell good reason to NOT suspend this budding young star.
Marshawn’s Alibis:
Marshawn wasn’t driving because he was at Jim’s Steakout getting his favorite sub: Jim’s Hot Bleu. The grease pit’s new valet service was simply parking his car, and the attendant freaked. What, your local drunk food joint doesn’t have valet? Come to Buffalo, man, it’s the jam.
Marshawn wasn’t driving – he was ghost ridin’.
There is no Applebee’s on Chippewa. Only a crappy-ass Friday’s. Riblets > Jack Daniel’s Chicken any day.
Marshawn was busy bein’ solid, baby. Ain’t nothin better than solid. (Meaning he’s a solid citizen, and cares for his mother. DON’T SUSPEND BEAST MODE, COMMISH!)
Okay, okay, Marshawn was in the car, but he wasn’t driving. He was in the backseat, with the three pieces of eye candy the Big Lead only dreams about, getting to, ah, know them. His buddy was driving. Not to blame anyone here, but have you ever tried to get to know someone in the backseat of a Porsche? Damn near impossible. So what this humble writer imagines is someone (and I’m not saying which one) involuntarily thrust out a leg, pushing the driver’s seat forward, in turn forcing the driver’s foot onto the gas pedal, which involuntarily launched the Porsche from zero to sixty in 3.4 seconds, creating a rip in the space time continuum which accidentally sucked the unfortunate woman into a vortex, which fortunately landed her at the foot of the hospital, with only minor scrapes, but also led her to believe she might have been hit by the car, but really, it was the vortex.
We followed the team for the rest of the night, as the rookies were shown some of Buffalo’s, well, adult pleasures:
Niagara Falls Reggie Corner: This truly is one of the great wonders of the world
Tour Guide: Alright Proust, back on the bus. You can write all your feelings in your journal on the way back to the hotel.
RC: That’s it? Not to sound unappreciative, but this is Canada. Aren’t you gonna show us around Buffalo.
TG: Where?
RC: Buffalo. The city we’ll be playing in?
TG: Oh! Right, Buffalo! No. Absolutely not. Now get on the bus.
RC: But coach, some of us will be spending a significant portion of our young adulthoods there.
TG: No. Most of you will be cut. Get on the bus. (The rest of the team, hearing the argument escalate, rally behind RC)
TG (to himself): Alright, stay cool. They’re forming a mob. Think about the one place you can bring young, black athletes where there is a zero percent chance of running into trouble…
An hour and a half later at Rick’s Tally Ho
Strip Club MC: All right! That was Doris, let hear some applause out there! Remember, these ladies make a living off your tipping, so let’s see those American and Canadian one dollar bills! Up next, Barb (music hits: He’s the one they call DR. FEELGOOD!) Leodis McKelvin: Now this is what I’m talkin’ bout!
RC: So, this is great and all, but…
TG: But what? If you’re not into the ladies, go sit on the bus and write your damn poems on your damned internet diary.
RC: Are those scars on those strippers? On their stomachs? Did they all have their appendix out or something? (ed. note: good god no) And what is that scrawled next to them?
TG: That’s Willis McGahee’s signature. He thought it would be funny, until the courts ruled it as an admission of fatherhood. It was the first ever class action paternity suit in Erie County.
RC: That’s horrifying
TG: I hear ya. You just can’t trust women these days.
RC: We better get out of here. Leodis just made it rain with bar napkins.
TG: EVERYBODY BACK ON THE BUS!!!
1 hour later at SoHo on Chippewa St. James Hardy: Now this is what I’m talkin’ bout!
TG: This is the premiere area in Buffalo for clubbing and meeting skanks. And by premiere, I mean this is literally the only street in Buffalo with clubs. So try to pace yourselves.
(Reggie wanders off and eventually meets an attractive young woman) Young Woman: Hi, my name is Barb. I’m a student.
RC: I’m Reggie. I play football. Where do you go to school? UB, Canisius…
YW: Holy Angels. Listen, I’m a big fan of Cox and…
RC: Oh, Kennard is right over there. You want me to introduce you?
YW: What the hell is a Kennard? Buy me a drink!
RC: What would you like?
YW: Don’t care. Just put this in it (hands RC a small white pill)
RC: Is this a roofie!?!?!
YW: No. It’s prescription medication for guilt and regret. I got from this frat guy, but it’s ok because he’s pre-med.
RC: Damn, that’s cold. Anyway, you look good. It’s sexy when girls show their stomachs at the club. Wait… what is THAT?
YM: Oh, that’s an elective scar. I’ve never been pregnant, but all the popular girls at school have. I did it to fit in. It’s the same reason I got the Japanese symbols for hope and respect tattooed on the small of my back.
RC: Oh, uh, listen, it was great to meet you. I gotta run.
TG (at the exit): Reggie, where are you running to?
RC: This place is tragic! Let’s just get some food and go home
TG: Ok team, gather round. Does anyone remember if Mighty Taco closes at 2 or 3? Eh, let’s just go and find out.
50 minutes later at the closest Mighty Taco:
Leodis McKelvin & James Hardy: (In unison) Now this is what I’m talkin’ bout! (jump high five)
Cashier: Welcome to Mighty Taco, my name is Barb. How can I help youse guys?
TG: Due to the organizational dietary restrictions of the Bills, you will all be able to order off of this modified menu. Come grab a copy.
RC: There’s nothing on this except bottled water.
TG: Kennard! What’s in your mouth? Is that a Super Mighty? Spit it out! (Grabs Kennard by the loose skin on the back of his neck) Give it! I said give it! Ahhhh dammit! He swallowed it. Someone call in the medical team. Standard operating procedure for this is an ipecac enema.
RC: Is that medically sound?
TG: Are you questioning us? We rebuilt Kevin Everett’s spine with a bag of Happy Ice and prayer. We’re on the cutting edge!
Cashier: Hey there colored fellas! You ever seen pink nipples before? (Barb proceeds to lift her purple company polo shirt over her head)
RC: Oh God. It’s like to two Cyclops sock puppets attacking a wading hippopotamus. And is that what I think it is?
TG: That’s a do-it-yourself C-section scar. Probably the worst I’ve ever seen.
RC: Seriously, just cut me.
In case you didn’t know, Buffalo’s most successful sports franchise plays for its 4th World Title on this weekend. Thats right – on Saturday the faithful will put on their orange, fill Banditland, and cheer nearly non-stop for two hours. It’s the Portland Lumberjax vs. the Buffalo Bandits for the NLL’s Champion’s Cup.
To try to put this game in perspective, Channel 4 Sportscaster Paul Peck asks, are the “Bandits – Real Champions?”
If [the Bandits] win, will it be a “real” championship for Buffalo?
Peck seems to think not.
In the big picture of sports, lacrosse is a minor player. Bigger here than most places, but still minor. It has no national following, no national TV and no nationally recognized stars. Its a niche sport, big in the few regions of North America that follow lacrosse….it shouldn’t be considered a championship for this title-starved town
Peck didn’t dismiss the passion of Bandits fans. And with good reason: this post quickly became, by FAR, the most commented post in the blog. In fact, the total number of comments from all posts he made on the Bills don’t even equal the responses he got from this single Bandits piece.
So you can guess that the respondents didn’t agree with him. And it gets ugly.
Peck tried to clarify his point in later posts – mainly that a NLL title holds less weight on a national level then an NFL or NHL crown. Well obviously – I don’t think anyone would argue Saturday’s game will have a Super Bowl-esque media circus. The problem with Peck’s post, and what angered fans so much, was his asking if Saturday’s game was a “real” championship. This isn’t the WWE, Peck. There are no scripted fake titles. People have followed this team for years – investing both time and money – and to tell Bandits fans that “it shouldn’t be considered a championship” is a slap in the face that reeks of arrogance. And its insulting to the players who sweat and bleed for 4 months for the city of Buffalo.
The funny thing is that Peck mentions that a Sabres title would count as a real championship. Outside of a handful of major hockey markets nobody cares about the NHL in the US. Yes, more people care about hockey then lacrosse, but the vast majority of Americans don’t care about the NHL – there are entire regions of the country who can’t name who won the Cup last year. But would that have made a Stanley Cup any less meaningful? Would it have made it any less celebrated? Of course not. Nor should it have.
The truth is, ANY title is a title… so who’s the jury on what titles matter? Paul Peck? ESPN? The media hoopla? The “blogsphere”? It’s fine that Paul Peck doesn’t think that the title is real. But I don’t care what Peck thinks, nor do lacrosse fans. To each their own – I couldn’t care less who wins the English Premiere League, but that doesn’t diminish the significance for whoever wins it this year. And nor should I tell EPL fans that their title isn’t “real” because we don’t care about it in America. Because that would just be ignorant, right Paul?
So decide for yourself if an NLL title has any meaning. But for me, I’ll be downtown with 18,000 orange painted fans, hopefully toasting a championship team. And even if the only people who care are the 18,000 people in the stands, that won’t make it any less special. This world championship means something to me, and really that’s all I care about.
Interestingly enough, Saturday’s title game is 52 weeks to the day of that awful Game 5 vs Ottawa that ended our Cup dreams last year. Hopefully we’ll all have a better feeling exiting the arena this time around.
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