Who Needs Keith Bullock?

For the last several months - or at least since Ernie Sims was banished from the land - Lions fans have had their eye on Keith Bullock, the former Pro-Bowl linebacker for the Tennessee Titans. Like with Albert Haynesworth the year before, the reasons for this seem to be almost entirely related to Jim Schwartz. The idea goes that since he was the Titans Defensive Coordinator under whom both Haynesworth and Bullock and a host of others flourished, they would theoretically want to play for him again in Detroit. This of course ignores one obvious truth: this would require them to play for the Detroit Lions.

Indeed. No matter how much we don't want it to be true, not a lot of dudes are beating down our doors, begging to be a part of that noble Lions championship tradition. I know, I'm shocked too. I mean, shit, you would think one playoff win in over fifty years would have everyone clamoring to be a part of the magic. Unfortunately, no matter how good we think (or at least hope) Jim Schwartz is, his presence isn't enough to draw marquee players to the NFL's version of Siberia. Then again, at least Siberia was a part of a successful empire for a while, so maybe that isn't the best comparison. The NFL's version of Sierra Leone? Shit, I don't know. I'm just trying to avoid calling it hell.

Of course, Keith Bullock is a sensible man with actual options so instead of coming to a place where half the people walk around with missing arms and dazed looks on their scarred faces, noses missing from weird machete attacks and hair burned off by radioactive jelly or a six year old with a flamethrower, he decided to get on a plane to New York and become a member of the Giants family. You can't really blame the dude, but unfortunately that leaves the hopes and dreams of many Lions fans shredded and tossed in the dumpster. We should be used to it, but rejection is something you never truly get to used to.

But we still have to move on, without Keith Bullock, and that means that someone has to step in and fill that hole in the defense that so many were hoping that he would fill. Now, 2/3 of the linebacking corps is pretty much set, with Julian Peterson returning at his spot and DeAndre Levy set to step in for Larry Foote in the middle, so we won't worry about them in this post. What we will worry about is that third linebacker, the spot formerly filled by that great animal lover, the Lizard King, Cinnabon Sims. Who's going to start there?

Well, I have decided to do the right thing and step in with this list of potential replacements for the Lizard King. I will break down their pros and cons and using a complex points system derived through consultations with the foremost scientific minds in the world, men like Stephen Hawking, Harry Einstein and Dave Copernicus, we will then be able to determine the best man for the job. Some may question these methods, but once again, I am a scientist and science brooks no ugly dissent. If you wonder just how I (Or I should say we - who am I to deny the contributions of Stevie Hawking?) came to these conclusions, ask yourself instead why you must be a heretical asshole? I may be a man of science but even I cannot account for the hole in your soul that won't allow you to have faith and believe in The Good News.

I don't even know what it is that I'm blathering on about anymore, but then again I am a scientist and not a man of letters so let's just get to it.

ZACK FOLLETT

PROS:

- The dude hits like a fucking freight train. We've all seen the special teams highlights of Follett laying out some poor asshole and a lot of us have seen the highlights from when he was at Cal and would routinely disembowel those stupid enough not to just fall at his feet and pray for mercy. Obviously, for a linebacker, this is a good quality to have, one that's worth 75 points according to Science.

- He seems like a pretty genuinely awesome guy. Really, Zack Follett's worth as a player has been overshadowed by the fact that he has become the number one dude in the hearts of many Lions fans. He's hung out with real, live Lions and gone shopping for tampons for his opponents. Shit, in the tampon shopping video he basically looked like he just woke up from a nap on the beach, put on his helmet and stumbled into a drug store. I can't really root against that, you know? And according to Science, that's worth an additional 81 points.

- My boy AERose is a huge fan of Follett's, having followed him dating back to his days at Berkeley. From the moment he was drafted, he assured me that I would love Follett and I trust him. Perhaps that is a failing of mine, my willingness to listen to my friends, but without friendship and camaraderie, Old Ike Newton would have never discovered the apple and Jonas Salk would have never built Franklin Roosevelt a rocket powered wheelchair. As Galileo so famously said "Without friendship, you ain't got shit." So like Science often listens to his friend, Faith, I will listen to mine, the noble Master Rose and will believe in the power of one Zachry Jon Follett. And according to Science, that is worth 42 points.

CONS:

- There was a reason why Follett was drafted in the seventh round and not the first and that's because he probably isn't quite good enough to be an every down defender in the NFL. When he was drafted, this is what I forecast for him:

I think Follett will probably be the sort of guy who will make a couple of huge HOLY SHIT type hits, maybe a couple of sacks here and there and will bring a shit ton of energy to the game whenever he's in there - all valuable things to bring to a team. He will probably stand out the most on special teams, where he can just run down the field and murder people with reckless abandon, and then be tethered to the bench in between by a choke chain so he doesn't wander into the stands and start wailing on poor unsuspecting drunks. He's going to be a popular player. There's no doubt about that in my mind. He has fan favorite written all over him, but he's probably one of those players who is just a hair shy of being good enough to be a starter in the NFL. He kind of reminds me of a 4A player in baseball - prospects who are talented enough to dominate at the Triple A level but who aren't quite good enough to get it done with the big club.

I still think that's pretty much true. No matter how awesome we might think he is and no matter how many big hits he delivers as a special teams psychopath, he still hasn't proven that he can be a quality NFL linebacker. That's the harsh, naked truth here and no matter how many bells and whistles surround this dude, that's really the only thing that matters. And according to Science, it matters to the tune of -125 points. Science is harsh and there's nothing I can do to contain him. After all, I am only a man.

- For as awesome as Zack Follett seems, a part of me feels like this whole Zack Follett: Wild and Crazy Guy thing is just a bit too contrived, you know? I mean, obviously it's contrived, but that's cool. The fans wanted to see him that way and he's embraced it whole heartedly. I'm not gonna dog him out for that. Maybe I'm just a little cynical and maybe that really is Zack Follett. Either way, it's cool. But I think he's probably a bit like a pro wrestler. That probably is him but an amped up version of him if that makes sense. Still, he does run the risk of becoming that guy, and as much as we all love him now, we don't necessarily want to see him with a camera trying like hell to come up with some new ridiculous angle just because he wants fans to notice him. Anyway, Science deems this to be relatively trivial and says it's worth only -10 points.

POSSIBILITY THAT HE HAS, OR WILL OBTAIN, A PET MONKEY OR EQUIVALENT ANIMAL(ON A SCALE OF ONE TO TEN): 8. Look, in order to truly replace The Lizard King, you're going to have to embrace his kingdom, a kingdom filled with lizards, birds, spiders and of course, that noble monkey. But more importantly than that, that fucking monkey was a staple of my writing last season and I'll be damned if I'm just going to let that shit go now that Ernie Sims is gone. So someone is gonna have to step up here. And Zack Follett seems like the dude who probably is the most likely to get this shit done. We've already seen him frolicking with lions and it's not completely unrealistic to expect that one day he'll show up at practice with, like, a chimp on a leash wearing a diaper or with a python draped over his neck Jake "The Snake" Roberts style. If that happens, I say give him the job. In fact, someone should tell Follett that if he really wants the job, he'll do this. Make it happen.

FINAL SCIENTIFIC SCORE: 143 POINTS. Note: Science decided to multiply the Animal Ownership Possibility Score (In Follett's case, an 8) by 10 and then factored that into the final score. Why? Science doesn't have to explain himself to you.



LANDON JOHNSON

PROS:

- Landon Johnson has been a fairly serviceable linebacker in the NFL for several seasons. For four years he was a starting linebacker for the Bengals so he's done it before. Out of all the candidates for this position, he is the one with the most experience and the only one who has ever proven himself at all as an NFL caliber linebacker. Science says this is worth 100 points.

- I once picked up Landon Johnson when I was playing Madden in the franchise setting and he developed into a quality player for me. What does that mean in the real world? Not a damn thing, but what the hell, it's worth mentioning. And according to Science, it's worth 5 whole points.

CONS:

- Although he started for several years with the Bengals, he was eventually shown the door and ended up in Carolina for the last two seasons, where he has spent his time mostly as a backup on a not very good team. He did start three games last season, but he seems to have settled into a role as a quality backup who can do some good things for you on Special Teams. And hey, that's cool, you know? But we shouldn't have to settle because that is the hallmark of the beaten man and although we have been whipped for decades with chains made of fire and broken dreams, we are not beaten. This is a serious thing, according to Science, and he claims that it is serious enough to merit the loss of 75 points.

- During that same game of Madden, I eventually replaced Johnson with a nondescript rookie I drafted just because he was fast. That dude went on to be much better than Johnson. Again, this doesn't seem to have any bearing on reality. Then again, my team of scientists tell me that all video games are reflective of reality, like Resident Evil or Doom and who am I to argue? Therefore, Science claims that this is worth -5 points.

POSSIBILITY THAT HE HAS, OR WILL OBTAIN, A PET MONKEY OR EQUIVALENT ANIMAL(ON A SCALE OF ONE TO TEN): 6. I have no real, tangible reason for this score but the dude spent four years in Cincinnati and playing for the Bengals can have a strange effect on a man. It is not completely inconceivable that the only way Johnson was able to cope with Chad Ochocinco's bullshit or Chris Henry trying to pistol whip random whores or whatever the fuck was going on there was for Johnson to start tending to turtles or breeding pygmy goats in his backyard.

FINAL SCIENTIFIC SCORE: 85 points.


CALEB CAMPBELL

PROS:

- This would be a nice story. The army dude finally makes good. You all know the story. The dude got drafted, the army told him he couldn't play and everyone got all shook, but now he's out of the army and he finally has a chance to make it with the Lions. Naturally, this makes everyone's patriotism reflexes go wild and hey that's cool. It would get the Lions some positive attention and would be a good thing for a dude willing to sacrifice for the good of the country and honor and blah blah blah. Shit, I think I just kinda revealed how I really feel, didn't I? Anyway, Science thanks this dude for his sacrifices and grants him 200 points.

- He's a good athlete who likes to hit. It's exceedingly rare for a player from one of the service academies to wind up drafted by the NFL. (Note: I had a bit here playing on the word "drafted" and military service and I would like to say that I excised it out of good taste, but really it was because it wasn't as funny as I wanted it to be. But it's probably good that it got chopped out anyway or else I would have had incurred the wrath of the VFW or offended the last living World War I vet or something and I don't wanna be responsible for the last living World War I vet stroking out in an indignant rage. Also, please humor me and indulge my fantasy that the last living World War I vet would actually be reading this.) But Campbell was drafted by the Lions, meaning that he has to bring something fairly special to the table. (I mean, you could be cynical and say that the Lions drafted him as a PR stunt but that would be cynical as all hell and since we are optimists in our hearts and gentleman and lady gentleman we will not entertain such notions.) This means that there is at least a possibility that he can be a surprisingly effective NFL player. (I have nothing more to say here. I just wanted to see if I could get away with another parenthetical break. Shit. Should I start using footnotes like I'm some degenerate version of David Foster Wallace?) Oh yeah, Science says this is worth 40 points.

CONS:

- Look, no matter how nice a story the Caleb Campbell story is, there is a really big chance that if he makes it, it will get annoying FAST. I, uh, kinda sorta think I need to tread carefully here. I respect Caleb Campbell for having the balls to get involved in the armed forces. That takes guts no matter how you want to look at it. IT IS NOT HIM OR HIS MILITARY SERVICE I AM CRITICIZING. I put that in bold so Lee Greenwood doesn't freak the fuck out on me. All I am saying is that his story can very easily be co-opted and packaged into something reprehensible and incredibly obnoxious by the Glenn Beck crowd, a bunch of self serving bullshit with a glossy patriotic veneer, ugly vitriol hiding behind the American flag. I, uh, don't wanna see that, you know? Neither does Science and he is so frightened of that happening that he is docking Caleb Campbell 75 points because of it.

- Political landmines aside, the very simple fact is that Caleb Campbell probably isn't good enough to be a starting linebacker in the NFL. Realistically, he is probably only a fringe roster kind of guy, someone who can stick around on a team desperate for a Special Teams kamikaze. He was a seventh round draft pick and even though I don't want to be cynical, and even though I am an optimist and a gentleman, a part of me refuses to let go of the notion that the Lions drafted him because, let's face it, his is a ready made story and gets the team some easy good publicity. I don't want to think that way but I am a complicated beast, a man of Science and Faith, but I will allow myself to think that way nonetheless because in order to be a true Warrior of Light, one must occasionally allow himself to walk in the paths of the darkness. This is just the way of things, I'm afraid. But even if he was good enough to be drafted, he was drafted as a safety, meaning that he probably lacks the bulk necessary to be a quality NFL linebacker. Leaving aside all that other bullshit, Campbell's biggest problem may just be that he is a classic tweener, a player who doesn't quite fit at any position. Science deems this a serious thing, worth -50 points.

- Because of his commitment to the military, Campbell was forced to spend a year away from football. This is something that can be absolutely devastating to one's development as a player. Just ask Mike Williams. I know this can happen because as a kid, I was a pretty decent basketball player. I then took a year off for reasons I won't get into here. (Okay, fine, I spent a year studying lycanthropy in Romania until I was forced to flee a family of degenerate werewolves who were pissed off because I tried to seduce the daughter of their pack leader. I didn't know she was a werewolf. It was pure coincidence, but my professor, a Dr. Werner Ganz, advised me to flee. I later found out via letter that he was found mauled to death in his laboratory. Investigators found my name clawed into his chest, along with a warning to never come back unless I wanted to find out what werewolf justice was all about. But I will say no more, for fear that they might be reading. Also, Nadia, you might be a filthy wolf, but I haven't forgotten you, you hairy bitch.) Anyway, when I resumed my fledgling basketball career, I found that in that year off, I had become hopelessly shitty. It just happens. Everyone else passes you by and you just can't catch up. Now, obviously, Caleb Campbell can't really be compared to a teenaged basketball player, but you get the point, don't you? The dude's been away too long and isn't nearly good enough to overcome that kind of handicap. And according to Science, that's worth -75 points.

POSSIBILITY THAT HE HAS, OR WILL OBTAIN, A PET MONKEY OR EQUIVALENT ANIMAL(ON A SCALE OF ONE TO TEN): 3. The dude has spent the last several years drilling to be a soldier and then actually soldiering. He didn't have time to become the tamer of any exotic beasts. However, I will leave open the possibility that he has a pet rabbit or something mundane like that.

FINAL SCIENTIFIC SCORE: 70 points.


JORDON DIZON

PROS:

- Dizon was a second round draft pick and even though people almost universally agree that the Lions reached for him there, he was still a second round pick and that means something, you know? He was grabbed there because in college, at Colorado, he was a hell of a linebacker. So he's talented. And that's something that Science says is worth 75 points. (Science sure does seem to like the number 75, doesn't he?)

- Last year, when Ernie Sims went down with an injury, Dizon saw more playing time and he actually seemed be to not bad. I know that doesn't sound overly gushing, but given that just about every Lions fan had written him off after a dismal disaster of a rookie season, that's something. According to Science, it's something worth 50 points.

CONS:

- We can't forget that dismal disaster of a rookie season, one which saw Dizon buried and left for dead by Rod Marinelli and his gang of idiots and assholes. Now, okay, normally having Rod Marinelli hate you is enough to get on my good side. But, the Lions went 0-16 with linebackers who would get cut from a Pee-Wee team. If Dizon couldn't play on that team, well . . . you get the point. Science gets it and he says it's worth -74 points. (Ha! You thought Science was going to say 75 points again, didn't you? Well, Science is fucking smart and isn't going to fall for some shit like that. He is a scientist after all.)

- There's also a reason why everyone thinks that the Lions reached for Dizon in the second round. He's not really big enough to be an every down starting linebacker in the NFL. He can probably be an excellent special teams player and a quality backup, but I just don't see him holding up at 6'0" and 225 lbs. That's not tiny. (Honestly? That's a big dude.) But for an NFL linebacker, it's small - too small - and unless you possess otherworldly athleticism or are willing to eat your opponent's heart and gnaw on his fallen bones like, say, London Fletcher, you're probably going to find yourself getting driven back by blocker after blocker. Science says this is a problem worth -65 points.

POSSIBILITY THAT HE HAS, OR WILL OBTAIN, A PET MONKEY OR EQUIVALENT ANIMAL(ON A SCALE OF ONE TO TEN): 7. Dizon had a couple of years to hang out with Ernie Sims and learn the secrets of being a top animal shaman. It is not unrealistic to suspect that he has at least, like, a pet cockatoo or maybe even an eel or something. I'm not saying the dude has a giraffe or anything, but every kingdom has to start from somewhere and I'm willing to believe that Dizon knows this and has taken the necessary steps to secure his legacy.

FINAL SCIENTIFIC SCORE: 56 points.


Okay, there are other candidates, dudes like Isiah Ekejiuba and Vinny Ciurciu, but they are special teams aces and everyone knows that's what they're here for. They won't be starting. I mean, they could, but if they do, then this season will likely be spent with a shotgun on my lap and a glass full of paint thinner waiting to accompany me to the Great Gig in the Sky. But, since, again, we are optimists in our hearts we will not think that way. Therefore - and because I've already written 4,000 words on the subject (Okay, fine, 1,500 words and another 2,500 on weird bullshit about werewolves in Romania and bitching about Lee Greenwood and Glenn Beck.), we'll just wrap this shit up.

I guess it's time to declare a winner and looking at the point totals gleaned through the use of Science, my team of expert scientists and I have determined that the third starting linebacker for the Detroit Lions in 2010 should be none other than . . . ZACK FOLLETT. Congratulations, Zack. May you crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentation of their women.

Citizen Shaun Rogers

Notice that they had to have a buffer between Shaun and the girls.


Shaun Rogers is no longer a citizen of our noble province, but there was a time when Big Baby toiled under the same brutal hell sun that has tortured us all in Lions land. And since it's July and there still isn't a damn thing happening worth talking about, any news involving anyone or anything even tangentially related to the Detroit Lions is fair game. So, anyone wanting to complain that this isn't strictly about the Lions can kindly go to hell because these are the times that try men's souls and it's either this or a million words spent rambling on about hope again.

When I saw the story today that Shaun Rogers had done his duty as a citizen and ratted out some poor drunkard weaving all over the road, I knew I had to write about it. Some would paint this as a redemptive story of a man who has seen his own troubled days finally finding the grace to do the right thing. Others would decry Shaun Rogers for senseless snitchery. Tom Lewand would probably plead with Shaun to mind his fucking business. But the true story, I think, is not in whether Shaun Rogers did the right thing or not. No. I will leave that to the Mitch Alboms of the world, who will spin their saccharine little webs around Big Baby until the poor degenerate is barely recognizable anymore, just a soft cuddly do-gooder. You know, boring.

But reality is rarely so cut and dry. There has to be more to it than either a desire to finally do some good or a desire to get caught up in snitchery. After all, Shaun Rogers is a complicated man and we can only imagine the thoughts that raced through his mind as he sped down the highway and saw some poor fool Lewanding his way down the road. Did he feel fear? Sympathy? Perhaps an overwhelming rage stemming from that time a drunk killed his imaginary friend Dr. Gropesalot? We can never really know. All we can do is go by this transcript, which was put into my head by a voice from on high claiming to be either God or the ghost of Ulysses S. Grant or that ape at the zoo with the shifty eyes who pointed at me and then at his head, laughed and then picked his ass. That's right, I'm on to you ape! Whether it is by divine intervention, the whim of a dead alcoholic ex-President or through the infernal mind manipulations of a super intelligent ape, somehow, I believe I know what happened in that car during that fateful phone call between Shaun "Big Baby" Rogers and the dispatchers at 911.

Shaun Rogers(SR): Ayo, 911, there's some drunk ass motherfucker bobbing and weavin' all over the damn road!

Dispatcher: Relax, sir. Can you repeat that for me?

SR: Fuck that. He's too close! There's no time.

Dispatcher: Sir, can you calm down? Tell me your name.

SR: My name? You know who this is. This Big Baby! I got a motherfucker here swervin' all over the damn road. Oh shit! I can see him taking some pulls from a bottle of Nyquil. Mothafuckin' Nyquil!

Dispatcher: What's that? You have a baby with you? Sir, please don't give your baby Nyquil.

SR: Aw, hell naw, son. This is Big Baby, Shaun Rogers . . .

Dispatcher: Shaun Rogers? Oh God.

[rustling in the background, panicked voices]

Dispatcher: Where are you now, Mr. Rogers?

SR: The fuck? I told you. I'm in a car . . .

Dispatcher: Mr. Rogers, please pull over and stay right where you are. You don't want to hurt anyone, especially that baby.

SR: Naw, listen . . . I don't have a baby. This is Big Baby.

Dispatcher: I understand that you might have a large baby, Mr. Rogers, but you still can't give him Nyquil.

SR: What the fuck you talking about?

Dispatcher: Mr. Rogers, where are you coming from?

SR: Where am I coming from? What does that matter?

Dispatcher: We received reports that you were spotted fleeing from an establishment called The International House of Ass . . .

SR: [laughter] Aw, hell yeah, son. They let you put syrup right on them asses, and . . .

Dispatcher: Was your baby present with you at this establishment?

SR: Man, I told you, I ain't got no baby. This is Big Baby.

Dispatcher: Again, sir, the size of your baby is irrelevant to . . .

SR: Whatever. Whatever. Look, there's a drunk motherfucker weaving all over the road. I'm just trying to help here. Big Baby wants to do right.

Dispatcher: Mr. Rogers, how long has your baby been drunk?

SR: Man, just listen . . . I been dealing with this asshole ever since I left the House of Ass. I'd still be there too, but that bitch Trixie flipped the fuck out and dropped a dime on me to the bouncers. Motherfuckers said I had to leave just 'cause I tried to take a bite outta dat ass. Shit, they the ones that give you the syrup. What the fuck you supposed to think? All sending mixed messages and shit . . .

Dispatcher: Mr. Rogers, are you currently intoxicated and/or under the influence of drugs?

SR: Hell naw, son. They don't serve alcohol in the IHOA. Otherwise, that shit be topless only. If you wanna get the full nude, you can't have no liquor. It's the law. Shit, how the fuck you not know that?

Dispatcher: Mr. Rogers, please, put your clothes back on!

SR: The fuck? No, man, the bitches was the ones missing their clothes.

Dispatcher: Sir, did you just refer to me as a bitch?

SR: Naw, man, listen . . . please . . . I'm just trying to help. There's a motherfucker drunk driving down the highway. He nearly cut me off as I was leaving the parking lot of the International House of Ass . . .

Dispatcher: Sir, is your baby properly restrained?

SR: Man, come on now. You just fuckin' with me, right? You know this is Big Baby. You know who this is.

Dispatcher: Mr. Rogers, the police have been sent and they will be there shortly. Now, please, can you tell me if you have any weapons on you?

SR: Shit, I'm gonna hang up, man. Just look for my flashers. I'll be tailing the drunk and . . .

Dispatcher: [to people in background] All cars be on the lookout for one Shaun Rogers. Last seen driving an SUV with a drunk baby inside covered in syrup. Suspect is fully nude - not just topless - and just threatened to start flashing other drivers.

SR: Awww, shit . . . Yo man, nevermind.

Dispatcher: Suspect has ceased to be cooperative. Officers are authorized to use whatever force necessary in the apprehension of suspect.

And . . . scene.

There are those who tell you that this is not what happened, but this is because the media is filled with racists paid to sweep this kind of shit under the rug. Not me, though. I'm still not sure why I was chosen to be the vessel of this particular truth or how I ended up with this knowledge, but just be thankful that somehow, someway, I have been able to get the truth to you. We may not understand the ways of the Lord or of that superintelligent ape at the zoo but such are the mysteries of faith my friends.

I'm just happy that everything worked out in the end for Big Baby and that he is getting his long overdue recognition as a solid citizen and an agent for justice in these dark and troubled times. Sure, he may have traveled a strange and terrible road to salvation, filled with comical missteps and the occasional groping, and sure he had to spend several hours convincing the police that he didn't have a baby with him in the car, but Shaun Rogers was trying to do the right thing. And okay, it turned him into a shameful snitch in the process, which should be a lesson to all future Big Baby's out there: don't ever try to do the right thing, but at least Mitch Albom will deign to make eye contact with him now and really, isn't that what all professional athletes want at the end of the day?

Vaya con dios, Big Baby. You may not be a Detroit Lion anymore, but I still remember you staggering down the field against the Broncos and I still remember you saying fuck it and quitting on that one play. You know the one I'm talking about, right? Just pick a random play and you'll probably be right. But you were hated by Rod Marinelli and that's a point in your favor and although you may have been exiled from our terrible realm, you are still a son of Detroit. So, vaya con dios you King of the Jungle(And by The Jungle, I am of course talking about the strip club located in Amarillo, Texas.)

QB Intelligence: Does It Matter?

Not that long ago, some dude on Twitter declared, with all of the authority given to him by God or The Pope or the ghost of Abraham Lincoln who lives in a trunk in his basement, that from now on, blogs should only concentrate on news and analysis. I believe his exact words were "It's time to grow up." Well, okay then. Who am I to deny the authority of such words, heaven sent as they are?

It's true. I've been irresponsible, falling deeply into a seedy world of self-referential nonsense, parading my own staggering incompetence around as if it were something to be proud of and not the failing of an incredibly weak man. But, fear not, gentle friends, for I have seen the light! Indeed.

I have decided to finally grow up, put on my big boy pants and join in the sacred world of sports blogging. No longer will I sit, naked and gibbering before those great halls of illumination. No longer will I beat upon those noble doors, howling in both pain and fear, confused and wretched while such noble and dignified men solemnly discuss the news of the day and then analyze it, meticulously parsing mountains of data before appearing at a high window of the fortress, futuristic priests delivering the Truth to the illiterate rabble down below. No longer will I stare up at the frightening data with confusion and fear in my heart. No longer will I throw my poop at such noble men as they hide inside of a secure room in their Fortress of Light. No longer will I shit in my hand and then smear it on the door as a message for . . . okay, you get the point.

Indeed. Today, I take my step into the future, into a brave new world governed by Science and Reason. My initial foray into this wonderland will focus on the correlation between quarterback intelligence and success. Yes. I will take the starting and losing quarterbacks of every Super Bowl and average out their IQ so that we can determine whether or not QB intelligence really matters. This is very scientific and as such my methods are far too complex to be understood by the simple rabble. I don't have to explain myself to you, you ignorant shit heads. Wait . . . I apologize. It's just that this is all so new to me and I'm not sure how to deal with my newfound position of Power and Influence. Don't blame me if you don't understand what it is I'm trying to do. Blame Sir Isaac Newton. Blame Enrico Fermi. Blame Doc Brown. This is science and I am a Goddamn scientist.

Anyway, I have managed to obtain the exact IQ for each quarterback in this study. I am sure that the more ignorant among you will claim that this study is flawed and therefore worthless but I would advise you to shut your fucking mouths about shit that you do not understand. After all, I am a man of science and therefore must be universally feared and respected. Kneel before me before I hurl a lightning bolt at you from above. I can do this. Again, I'm a scientist.

First, let's take a look at each quarterback and their respective IQs, but before we do, a quick note: If a quarterback played in multiple Super Bowls, then he will be counted multiple times. For instance, Terry Bradshaw won four Super Bowls. Therefore his IQ will be counted four times for the winners when I average it all together. By the way, things already don't look too good for the winners, do they?

THE SUPER BOWL WINNERS

BART STARR - Bart Starr had a shitty crew cut and looked like an angry and confused baby much of the time. This is on account of the fact that he suffered from what we in the scientific community call Water on the Brain. His IQ? 77

JOE NAMATH - Joe Namath understood that football was only a stepping stone to getting laid. He parlayed his ability to throw a ball great distances into having a personal harem of showgirls, actresses and various housewives and probably even a dude or two. After all, it was the Age of Love. His IQ? 168

LEN DAWSON - Len Dawson looked like he just fell off of a turnip truck and then had to run from the law after petting some rabbits too hard. His IQ? 63

JOHNNY UNITAS - Speaking of shitty crew cuts, Johnny Unitas looked like the retarded son of a farm couple. You know, the one that is kept in the basement so he doesn't scare the shit out of all the neighbors. That one. But, on the plus side, his name is suspiciously close to that of All-American quarterback and world champion surfer and crack FBI agent Johnny Utah. That alone boosts his IQ by ten whole points. The final number? 74

ROGER STAUBACH - Roger Staubach was a Navy man, which means that he had to go through one of the most academically rigorous course loads in the country in order to graduate from college. On the other hand, he is worshipped by dudes named Jim-Bob and he looks suspiciously like Darrell Waltrip, who is basically an escapee from the set of Hee-Haw. Truly, Staubach is a man of great contradictions. His IQ? 101

BOB GRIESE - Bob Griese wore glasses which automatically leads one to assume that he was a nerd and therefore intelligent. But, since I am a scientist, I can tell you that this only means that his eyes were legally retarded. Also, he has trouble completing a thought without stumbling over his words. The English language, which he has spoken for 65 years, is too much for him to handle. His IQ? 56

TERRY BRADSHAW - Oh, Jesus. Look, do I really need to say anything about this fucking hick? His IQ? 28. Yes, I am aware that this means that he cannot even feed himself.

KEN STABLER - A great man. Like Joe Namath, he recognized that playing football was merely a doorway to crushing ass. Also, he spent most of his career shitfaced and still managed to be successful. Also also, it would not surprise me to see him make a cameo as a power boat racer with bikini girls draped all over him in the Gulf of Mexico in a Girls Gone Wild flick. What does that have to do with his intelligence? Who fucking cares? Besides, I'm a scientist and these things are beyond your mortal comprehension. His IQ? 212

JIM PLUNKETT - Jim Plunkett graduated from Stanford, which - apologies to my friend and Berkeley man Mr. Rose - means that he has to be at least fairly intelligent. On the other hand, he once appeared on the cover of Sports Illustrated looking like a retarded seven year old who just saw a red balloon at the circus so we'll assume he just had really good tutors. His IQ? 63

JOE MONTANA - It was pointed out to me by reader, commenter and my fellow Man of True Genius, Scott aka UpHere, that Joe Montana has the mien of a serial killer. This is true. He has the dull, vacant eyes of a man who wouldn't think twice about wearing your head for a hat on a cross country trip. But don't be fooled! Most serial killers are psychopaths who are actually incredibly intelligent. His IQ? 151

JOE THEISMANN - lololol His IQ? 17

JIM MCMAHON - Jim McMahon convinced everyone that he wore sunglasses because he had some sort of fucked up eye condition. This made him a celebrity. Which means that Jim McMahon managed to parlay football and a pair of sunglasses into fame. It didn't matter that he actually kind of sucked and was a shitty rapper. He was like Superman. No, I'm not sure how that makes sense either, but fuck it, sometimes science is baffling even to me and I'm a scientist. His IQ? 128

PHIL SIMMS - Phil Simms looked like he should have been standing behind Stan Gable while he taunted Lewis Skolnick and Ogre beat the shit out of Takashi. Of course, those fucking Alpha Betas ended up living in the gym while the nerds banged the holy hell out of Betty Grable. That's right. Betty Grable was Community Property. I know, I don't like it either, but those nerds were fucking autocrats, man. They ruled Adams University with an iron fist. They brooked no dissent and they took what - and who - they wanted. Fucking despicable, but they won those Greek Games so what can you do? What does this have to do with Phil Simms? I don't know. Science is a mystery. His IQ? 61

DOUG WILLIAMS - Doug Williams once appeared on the cover of Sports Illustrated with the word WOW! next to him. This is because the people at Sports Illustrated were racist and couldn't believe that a black man could win the Super Bowl. Well, fuck you, Sports Illustrated, you bunch of Goddamn bigots. Doug Williams actually spent his offseasons teaching astrophysics at Oxford. Legend has it that he once beat Stephen Hawking at a home game of Jeopardy. Hawking became so incensed that he flopped out of his chair and tried crawling after a laughing Williams. Everyone thought it was hilarious and after they finally made up thanks to a handful of pills and a bottle of Wild Turkey, the two giants of science reportedly double teamed a stripper named Tits Q. Einstein that Stephen Hawking kept as a personal "escort". Doug Williams' IQ? 218.

JEFF HOSTETLER - Jeff Hostetler looked like a cross between a Nascar driver and a '70s porn star. His IQ? 73

MARK RYPIEN - Our very own Raven Mack recently admitted that he doesn't like Mark Rypien much and I trust his judgment completely. Therefore, fuck Mark Rypien. His IQ? Fuck, I don't know . . . 82.

TROY AIKMAN - I don't even know how Troy Aikman clothes and feeds himself. Today, his many concussions have rendered him a human vegetable whose body is operated like a puppet by Joe Buck. It's fucking obscene and inhumane but we live in strange and terrible times. As a player, Troy Aikman was shook by a man of true dignity and genius, a fellow scientist named Barry Switzer. Aikman both ran away from Switzer in college and got all pissy about playing for him in the pros. This is because Aikman was intimidated by Switzer's vast intellect. After all, Barry Switzer knew how to brew some quality moonshine using only an ear of corn and a hot plate. Could Troy Aikman do that shit? Hell no. Troy Aikman's IQ? 57

STEVE YOUNG - Like Aikman, Young has been rendered severely retarded by numerous concussions. Young is a renowned milk drinker, aka a Mormon and because he has forever shunned alcohol, his brain never developed the way that it should have which probably made him more susceptible to those concussions. It's a complicated deal involving the bonding of alcohol atoms with brain atoms and I wouldn't expect you to understand, but I was assured by a man claiming to be in possession of Albert Einstein's brain that this was the case. The man wore a diaper and he had no teeth, but he carried around a jar with what looked to be a brain floating in it and so I believe him. Steve Young's IQ? 69(heh . . .)

BRETT FAVRE - Brett Favre is from Mississippi. His IQ? 53.

JOHN ELWAY - John Elway looked like he was the product of a drunken one night stand between a man and a horse. Even if it was an exceptionally intelligent horse, it was still a horse, you know? His IQ? 46.

KURT WARNER - Kurt Warner is a good, moral man. His IQ? 63

TRENT DILFER - Trent Dilfer always looked like he just got woken up by the cops after being found passed out on the beach. I can respect this. He also managed, like Jim McMahon, to piggyback his way to glory, riding in the sidecar of Ray Lewis' death cycle. Who was going to talk shit about Trent Dilfer with Ray Lewis and his crazy eyes(and knife)staring back at them? Shit, Trent Dilfer was smart enough to make the right friends. His IQ? 117

TOM BRADY - Tom Brady is the Ideal American Man(After me, of course.) He knocked up a hot actress, dumped her and then knocked up a hot supermodel. I know a lot of you probably hate him, but to quote another True Genius, my friend Andrew, hatred stems from jealous thoughts. Science conspired with God to create Tom Brady as the avatar of the ideal human condition. No, I don't have an erection right now. Why do you ask? His IQ? 268

BRAD JOHNSON - Who cares? His IQ? 96

BEN ROETHLISBERGER - The man can't even keep his dick in his pants. He's like the retarded kid in school who takes his pants off for no reason and then starts playing with himself while the teacher hustles everyone out of the room. He later ends up in a "special" school, where he is forced to wear pants that are padlocked on and mittens so he can't even work the zipper. His IQ? 32

PEYTON MANNING - From Mississippi. His IQ? 65

ELI MANNING - From Mississippi. Also, his eyes looked fucked up. Possibly inbred. His IQ? 42

DREW BREES - Drew Brees seems to be reasonably intelligent, but then again, he has a huge birthmark on the side of his face, which I am told by the grandson of L. Ron Hubbard, author of Dianetics and founder of Scientology which has science right in the name, signifies that Brees has been marked by God as defective. His IQ? 87


THE SUPER BOWL LOSERS

Note: Some of these will be duplicates from the winners section. Therefore, we will skip the explanations for those ones here but their numbers will still be calculated in the losers' average. I'm on this shit!

DARYLE LAMONICA - Daryle Lamonica was beloved by Al Davis because he could throw a ball really far and therefore is kind of the Godfather of all Raiders quarterbacks. This means something. I'm not sure what, but it means something, you know? On the other hand, he spells his name "Daryle". Sure, that's on his parents, but intelligence is hereditary(science!)and so this does not speak well for him. His IQ? 72

EARL MORRALL - He was named Earl and also had that Unitas crew cut that made him look like one of the Munsters or something. His IQ? 52

JOE KAPP - Joe Kapp was on a cover of Sports Illustrated that made him look like a cross between Sloth from Goonies and Mongo from Blazing Saddles. His IQ? 51

CRAIG MORTON - Shit, I don't know. What do you assholes want from me? Science wouldn't give me a valid reason for this one, but who are any of us to argue with Science? His IQ? 75

BILLY KILMER - I - I mean Science - found a picture of Billy Kilmer wearing a Hawaiian shirt. This means he probably likes to drink. And thanks to the Atom Bonding theory between alcohol and the brain that was discussed earlier, this means that his brain developed at a rate ahead of the average brain. Again, this is straight science. His IQ? 156

FRAN TARKENTON - His name is Fran and he looks like a shitty motivational speaker. Then again, motivational speakers are experts at fleecing idiots out of the gold bricks they have buried in their backyard. He might be a complete asshole, but he's probably not a moron. His IQ? 123

VINCE FERRAGAMO - This dude looked like he was dragged off of a Hollywood sound stage. He probably could have made a living shooting commercials and banging the entire population of Malibu. I would have respected that. Instead, he decided to become a mediocre football player, which means that by the time he was 30, his brain probably looked like that of an 87 year old with Alzheimer's.(Hey, isn't football fun?) His IQ? 67

RON JAWORSKI - I feel bad for Ron Jaworski. He actually seems way too intelligent for the rest of the mongs at ESPN. He's kinda treated like a nerd by everyone else, presumably because he's not a dumb meathead, but shit, this dude was an NFL player. Fuck you, Merril Hoge. Jaworksi's IQ? 137

KEN ANDERSON - Ken Anderson looked like the most average human being who ever lived. He looked more like a dude who would end up getting pistol whipped by his ex-wife's new boyfriend because he refused to give up their trailer in the divorce settlement than an NFL quarterback. That kind of took a weird turn, didn't it? Oh well. His IQ? 84

DAVID WOODLEY - Jesus, aren't we done yet? Anyway, Science couldn't really find a good picture of this dude. Then again, Science didn't really look too hard. Fuck it, even Science has its limits. I asked Science what it thought and it just shrugged and said 94, so David Woodley's IQ? 94

DAN MARINO - Dan Marino used to have a hilarious looking perm. Plus, he just seems like the sort of guy who tries really, really hard, but you end up feeling bad when you're out playing golf and he struggles to add up the scores and you suggest that maybe you should just go get some beers and figure it out later and he gets all mad and says "I can do this!" and then it gets all quiet and awkward and he finally finishes adding it up and he seems so proud of himself and then you go back and add it up later and realize he made a mistake but you don't want to hurt his feelings and so you keep on pretending that he shot a 72 even though he really shot a 76 until two weeks later when he's still bragging and you just lose it and embarrass him in front of everyone and then you never really hang out again except for in groups and he won't make eye contact with you. His IQ? 56

TONY EASON - Whose idea was it to write this damn thing? Science? Fuck you, Science. Asshole. Tony Eason's IQ? 78

BOOMER ESIASON - Come on now, the guy willingly goes by the name Boomer. His IQ? 68

JIM KELLY - Jim Kelly looks like he spends half of his time hiding in a barn, scared that George will punish him for petting rabbits too hard. What, I already used the rabbits thing? Wait, who am I talking to? Is that you, Science? I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier. Jim Kelly's IQ? 52

STAN HUMPHRIES - Stan Humphries is from Louisiana, which means that there is a good chance he is descended - at least partially - from Willie Young, who reportedly impregnated as many as 10,000 women when he was ruling over the Bayou. Therefore, if he is blessed with even a portion of the intellect of the Great Willie Young, then he is a man of True Genius. Stan Humphries' IQ? 167

NEIL O'DONNELL - Is named Neil. His IQ? 317

DREW BLEDSOE - Dared to stand in the way of the Golden Child, Tom Brady. This shows a remarkable lack of intellect. His IQ? 47

CHRIS CHANDLER - May be the most average man who ever lived. His IQ? 100.

STEVE MCNAIR - Couldn't keep his whores in line. Harsh? Perhaps, but Science is merciless. Steve McNair's IQ? 64.

KERRY COLLINS - Kerry Collins was run out of Carolina because he was a possible racist. That's right. Kerry Collins was too racist for North Carolina. Also, how dumb do you have to be to straight up use a racial slur to the face of a dude named Muhsin Muhammad? I mean, what the fuck? His IQ? 9

RICH GANNON - Rich Gannon imploded in the Super Bowl, which leads me to believe that the pressure was too much for his simple brain to take. His IQ? 67

JAKE DELHOMME - From Louisiana. Specifically, from the bayou. Therefore, almost certainly a descendant of the Great Willie Young. His IQ? 185

DONOVAN MCNABB - Puked during the Super Bowl. Seemingly overwhelmed at the end of games. May be legitimately kind of dumb. Best known to a non-football following audience as the dude whose mom makes him look like an idiot in soup commercials. His IQ? 62

MATT HASSELBECK - Shares DNA with brother Tim, who married Elizabeth Hasselbeck. Therefore, Science can only conclude that he is a bit of a simpleton. Also, he is prematurely bald, which according to my high school biology teacher means that his brain is tiny and has eaten all his hair in an effort to sustain itself. Science is fucked up! His IQ? 54

REX GROSSMAN - HAHAHAHA! The Sex Cannon's IQ? 53


Okay, well shit. Let's see what these numbers mean, now shall we? Upon careful examination of the numbers, we find that the average IQ of a Super Bowl winning QB is 93.84, which according to my research and also the insistence of my assistant, a chimpanzee I "rescued" from the zoo, means that the average Super Bowl winning quarterback's intelligence is slightly below average.

Meanwhile, the average IQ of the Super Bowl losing QB is a mere 85.43, which, again according to my meticulous research, means that the average Super Bowl losing quarterback is "dull." Another way to put this is that they are fucking dumb. Science is kind of an asshole, but what can you do? He defeated Faith in a bloody cage match during the Age of Reason. The two later patched things up but most people still mistakenly believe they are enemies and so they often conform to people's base stereotypes. I try to get them to change this but usually Faith scolds me for jacking off and tells me that I'm going to Hell while Science insists that if I sit on my left hand, it will go numb and then it will feel like I'm not jacking off at all but instead am getting a handie. Science tells me if I just close my eyes and pretend, then it really does work. Science calls this "The Stranger" and one time I mentioned that pretending seems to run counter to the idea of reason but Science just slapped the shit out of me and when I complained to Faith he just told me that I should have known better and not to cry to him about "spilled milk" so to speak. The two will then go out drinking together and leave me chained to the radiator so I can "think about what I did wrong."

Ahem. Anyway, we have conclusively proven that the intelligence of a quarterback does indeed make a difference when it comes to winning or losing on the grandest stage of them all. This is inarguable and anyone who disagrees with my findings is a heretic and should be burned at the stake. I'm sorry, but this is just the way it is.

But what does this mean for Matthew Stafford, our golden boy quarterback? Well, Matthew seems to understand the lessons of Joe Namath and Ken Stabler, which tell us that the smart quarterbacks parlay their success into crushing ass. Matthew Stafford is well known for hanging out with random pieces of tail and we can only assume that as his fame grows, so will his harem. This is a good sign. On the other hand, he vaguely looks like a rabbit petter, which as we known from the exploits of Lennie Small(My term for George Foster. By the way, I might have to come up with a FAQ some day for all the newer readers in order to explain all the assorted weird shit/pet names.)is not a good thing.

However, young Matthew has also drawn praise from his coaches for his ability to both study film and read a defense. This is a good sign, which, when taken with his willingness to learn from the greats, men such as Namath and Stabler, means that we can estimate his IQ at 154, which means that he is considerably smarter than the average Super Bowl winning quarterback and that we can look forward to no less that seven Super Bowl championships while he is here with us in Detroit. Again, this is the conclusion of Science and Science doesn't lie. Unless it's to get laid.

There. How's that for some fuckin' analysis? I hope this pleases that Lord of the Blogosphere, that champion of News and Analysis, whose Twitter pronouncement shook the very nature of the blogging world to its foundations. I hope I have now earned my place in your great halls, even if it is to clean the floors with rags while you and your mighty peers sit at your Round Table of Knowledge and shape the world for generations to come. I humbly beseech you to look upon me with kindness and with great mercy and remember my name, even if it is only as a whisper in the back of your Great Brain, when you stand before the Halls of Enlightenment and accept the thanks and praises of a world that would be lost without you.

Eternally, your humble acolyte,

Neil

PS: Anyone who isn't already can embrace Science with me on twitter: twitter.com/armchairlb

Tim Toone

Well, finally. Tim Toone. I meant to do this yesterday, but I was busy writing an article about Lance Armstrong and being berated by bicycle enthusiasts. Apparently, cycling is SERIOUS BUSINESS and Lance Armstrong is THE MOST COURAGEOUS MAN WHO EVER LIVED. Cycling Nazis, I apologize for my hubris. Anyway, even after all that, I still meant to do the Tim Toone breakdown. But . . . I didn't.

Okay. The thing is, is that I just haven't wanted to do it. I mean, really, what is there to say? The dude was the last pick in the draft. There's not a lot there to work with. But, since I am a gentleman and a warrior of light in these dark and troubled times, I feel compelled to do it anyway. After all, that is what separates us from the barbarians.

When Tim Toone was drafted, two things went through my mind.(Well, three, if you count "Who?") The first was that I was disappointed the Lions didn't draft Donovan Warren, a player who will make it in the NFL even if he wasn't drafted and who plays a position of need. Honestly, from a quality standpoint, there's not that much difference between Warren and Amari Spievey. It wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world to grab them both, you know? But that is all so much crying over so much spilled, rancid milk and we have more important things to attend to. My next thought, after I had exiled Warren from the wild halls of my brain, was something like "Oh shit. Maybe Al Toon had an illegitimate son." Never mind that Tim is white and that his name is spelled differently, I wanted to believe this. Why? Who fucking knows. Maybe I just liked the idea of someone with Al Toon's genes slipping to us late in the draft.

But again, in the end, that is entirely irrelevant since it is grounded in nothing but my own absurd fantasies. So what we're left with is a collection of thoughts that are utterly irrelevant to the matter at hand. Not the best way to start, I'll admit, but it does raise a crucial point: when Tim Toone was drafted, he was such a non-entity to me that my brain immediately began searching for things that actually did make sense to me. Tim Toone was just a name. Connecting him with something tangible was, for the moment, impossible, and so I did what I had to do in order to make him something beyond a name.

Perhaps that doesn't make much sense, but fuck it, nothing about me makes much sense. You should know that by now. However, in the months since the draft, those initial thoughts have slid into the rubbish bin of history and have been replaced by the rudimentary outline of an actual human being and potentially useful football player.

As a football player, the picture I'm left with when it comes to Tim Toone is of an undersized slot receiver who showed decent speed at Weber St. and was very, very productive. That's not a bad picture. However, the knock on Toone is that he really doesn't have a second gear, meaning that while his speed was good for Weber St., for the NFL, it's actually probably fairly substandard. So the picture now becomes undersized slot receiver who was highly productive in college. Not quite as nice, but still, not horrible.

Look, the simple fact is that Tim Toone really doesn't have much of an upside. He is what he is, which is a not quite talented enough receiver who will work hard and give you everything he's got. That's nice and all, but not exactly inspiring. Toone will probably never be a starter in the NFL. He could stick as a fifth receiver and provide help on special teams, and I think that's probably all the Lions are hoping for here.

The thing about Toone that I think the Lions probably liked is that he is a high character guy who will bust his ass for them. If he doesn't work out, well, at least they gave a dude like that a shot. If he does, then hell, that's a dude you can feel good about having on your team.

That's nice and all, but as most of your probably know, I tend to cringe at that high character MADE OF SPUNK AND GRIT bullshit. I think it's pointless, a ridiculous platitude that occasionally smacks of latent racism, the whole LOOK AT THE WHITE BOY WORK HE'S NOT LAZY LIKE THOSE COLORED FELLAS. It's incredibly distasteful and unfortunately all too prevalent in virtually every fanbase.

Still, there might actually be something to the whole TIM TOONE IS A GOOD MAN stuff that has risen up since he was drafted. But before we get to that, I think I need to comment on Tim Toone's appearance. The dude has those goofy white boy dreads, and if I can bring this thing full circle, he kind of looks like a dreadlocked Lance Armstrong. This is not really a judgment or anything. On the one hand, the dreads make it pretty clear that he's not the uptight farm boy type, which is a plus. On the other, he looks like Lance Armstrong with dreads. That's hard for someone like me - a man who pounces on anything with even the faintest hint of comedy potential like some sort of ghoulish vampire werewolf - to look beyond. I'll admit it. I'm going to have a tough time with this.

Okay, moving on. Tim Toone does indeed seem to be a good dude. He's a Bible reader, which a lot of the time will not endear you to me. It's nothing against religious people. Believe it or not, I consider myself a fairly spiritual dude. I just tend to have a real problem with the idea of organized religion. But I really, really don't want to get into a religious debate here and have some sort of blogger holy war erupt. So I'll just leave it at this: I have absolutely no problem with someone who has strong faith. There are a lot of good people out there who believe strongly, people who read the Bible every day and who consider themselves very, very Christian. These are often the very first people to lend you a helping hand, smile at you, say a few kind words and actually, you know, behave like Christians. I love those people. Some of them can be a bit goofy and I'm always worried that I'm going to offend them, but those are people you want in your corner.

Most "Christians" are not like that. They are assholes who pervert and hide behind religion in order to throw around their own small minded bullshit. This is not a problem unique to Christianity by the way, so don't freak out and think that I'm somehow persecuting those poor, disadvantaged white people who have never gotten a fair shake in America's long history. I know you fellas have never had anyone to speak for you and so you're pretty sensitive. Ahem. Shit, this is threatening to turn really political, which is something I have consciously tried to avoid here. But all this needed to be mentioned if I was going to talk about Tim Toone, and if I was going to mention it, well then I needed to make some things clear, and if I was going to make some things clear, then I was almost certainly going to start making fun of puritanical assholes who have an incredibly undeserved persecution complex. It's just the way it is.

But moving on, Tim Toone really seems to be the sort of Christian dude who backs it up. He's that first sort, the ultra-helpful dude who actually puts that shit into practice. He doesn't yammer on about it. He just lives it, and that's an admirable thing. You see, while he was at Weber St., Toone left on a Mormon mission to West Africa.

Look, Mormons take a lot of shit, on account that they are both uber-white and uber-conservative. A Mormon and I probably wouldn't get very far before one of us punched the other one. It's just the way it is. Some of those dudes and lady dudes are just hella-goofy, you know? But I will at least give them a chance to prove that they aren't uptight assholes. And, shit, Tim Toone spent two years in fucking West Africa. That place is hardcore as hell. I am not about to shit talk someone for their beliefs when their beliefs landed them in the middle of an apocalyptic war zone where toddlers carjack you with UZIs and dudes with no arms chase after you with grenades tucked in their toes. If you are the type of Christian who is willing to put yourself in that environment just because you want to help people, then you're okay with me.

I mean, shit, Tim Toone has probably seen things, you know? I'm talking some wild shit. He's probably had to watch little babies knife fighting in the streets, or had to run from a pack of machete wielding gorillas. And no, that wasn't a typo. I didn't mean guerillas. I meant actual gorillas, giant monkeys with crude machetes, heads full of hatred and with malice in their dark hearts. That part of Africa is a fucked up place. Tim Toone spent two years there. This is no college boy, no goofy white dude with dreads because he thinks it might get him laid. No, Tim Toone is a man. And he has my utmost respect, for whatever little that's worth.

Will Tim Toone ever be a star in the NFL. No. He's already 25, thanks to that tour of duty in Africa, and physically he's just not quite good enough. But he's a man, and sometimes what a man brings to the table can't quite be quantified. I would have liked to have seen the Lions go for somebody with that pick with a little more upside, but I'm not going to complain about them giving a chance to someone like Tim Toone either. After what he's seen, nothing in the NFL is going to intimidate him, and that just might be his greatest asset, and the thing that will give him a chance to make it after all.

HOW HE FITS WITH THE LIONS

The Lions needed another body to compete for the fifth receiver spot and Tim Toone gives them one. Aside from that, he might have enough skills to help in the return game and even if he isn't quite good enough to either stick as strictly a receiver or a return man, his toughness could lend itself well to being a special teams ace. It's this versatility which gives Toone a chance to succeed where other similarly talented players would fail.

WHAT IT MEANS FOR THIS SEASON

Not much. Let's face it. For as much as I have saluted Tim Toone in this post, the bottom line is that in the NFL, on that field, no one gives a shit if you spent two years cradling dying orphans while bullets flew around you or if you spent two years running drugs and whores out of your dorm room. You can either play or you can't. It may be harsh, but that is the nature of sport. It is naked, it is ugly, it is brutal and it is primal. There is no room for human interest stories. There is just winning and losing. The Lions know this. We know this. Tim Toone knows this. If he can help the team win, then great. If he can't, then he and Lt. Campbell will have a nice time touring America, giving speeches in high school gyms together.

At best, Tim Toone can make the team as a fifth receiver who can also get down the field and cover kickoffs. More likely, Tim Toone won't ever be mentioned again by me or anyone else who writes about the Lions.

WHAT IT MEANS FOR THE FUTURE

Again, not much. If Tim Toone manages to somehow stick with the Lions, he'll probably become a fan favorite, both on account of his African safari and because of the fact that, well, I hate to say it but let's be blunt here, his overwhelming whiteness. But this will no doubt be all out of proportion with his actual contributions on the field. If anything, we'll hear a bunch of gibberish about his contributions in the locker room and I will eventually grow to despise him. It sucks, but that's just the way it is. It's probably a good thing for all of us then that he probably won't even make the team. Good luck, Tim Toone. You are probably a hell of a dude and I salute you. Now, I kinda hope I never have to talk about you again. Vaya con dios.

The Odyssey of Tom Lewand

The big news this past week(well, other than the dreaded Willie Young signing his first contract) was Tom Lewand's drunken drive to oblivion. Yes, as soon as the story broke, I knew that I had to say something about it. You see, it's my responsibility as a Lions blogger to show you these things. It's not like I want to do it. I have to. It's in the Constitution. You can check. John Adams didn't think we needed it, but Thomas Jefferson was all "Oh no, motherfucker. That shit is the bedrock of freedom." Then they went whoring. Ben wrecked some plain old French lady, but old Tommy went buck wild on a Burundian whore named Sha'Quilla. But that is all a story for another time. Anyway, back to Tom Lewand.

Today, the dashboard video from the cop car was released and man, to be honest with you, it's pretty great. When I first heard about the arrest, I figured the dude was barely over the limit. You know, the whole "Well, officer, I had a couple of beers, but I feel fine . . . oh shit, I blew a .09? That's like four beers, officer. Come on, now, this is bullshit," kind of thing. Then I heard the dude blew a .21 and I knew this shit was wild. I mean, .21 is college drunk, you know? That's "Fuck it, just give me the whole bottle," kind of drunk, the kind of drunk that leads you to do stupid things like flicking on a lighter, taking a swig of Everclear and then accidentally burning your house down with a giant fireball Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat style. That kind of drunk.

So when I watched the video today, I think I was expecting some hilarious shit, like poor Tom Lewand stumbling all over himself, falling down, maybe puking on a cop. There are those who will tell you that that shit isn't hilarious at all, but tragic and sad, and well . . . sure, yeah. But those people need to lighten the fuck up. For our purposes, they are hilarious, and like I said, I have a responsibility as a blogger to dissect and point and laugh at this shit. It is my duty as an Ambassador of Truth and as a Defender of Freedom. I do not take it lightly. I mean, I could join the parade of sad sacks shaking their heads and scolding poor Tom for his unfortunate life choices, but that is the way of the average man, the way of the square. It is boring as hell and my chief responsibility as a blogger, even more than my responsibility to truth and freedom, is to be interesting.

Anyway, that is all spinning in a different direction than I meant to go and I apologize. Back to the Tom Lewand America's Funniest Home Video entry. Like I said, I was expecting some crazy hijinks with that level of drunk, but instead I was surprised by what I saw.

I mean, the tape starts up as you would expect, with Tommy Boy swerving all over the damn place and in my mind, I was thinking "Well shit, here we go." I admit, it was ghoulish, but I felt a sort of gleeful anticipation. It's wrong and shameful as all hell, but fuck it, there's no time for self reflection here, there's a drunk exec on the loose. Anyway, things continue in a hilarious direction when the cop comes to his door and is all WHOA. I mean, it probably smells like a brewery in there, you know? And things perhaps reach their peak when Tommy reasons that the officer must be smelling A BREATH MINT because he hasn't had anything to drink in a year and a half. Well, Goddamn. I mean, a breath mint, Tom? A FUCKING BREATH MINT?

Indeed. Apparently, Tom Lewand enjoys sucking on Jack Daniels flavored breath mints and hey, why not, you know? But really, come on now. The cop then asks him what he's been up to and Tom stammers some incoherent bullshit, some gibberish about picking some other chump up from a bar or hotel or restaurant or from the zoo or from who the fuck knows where. The cop of course then asks him to get out of the car and Tommy complies like the good citizen he is, and then things take a bit of a turn.

You see, Tom Lewand was drunk off his ass. You don't blow a .21 without being legitimately hammered. I mean, there's no mistake there. There's no "Gee, officer, I guess I must have had one too many." At that point, you are fucked up and you know it. But good ol' Tom gets out of the car anyway, knowing he's doomed and gets ready for all the dreaded field tests that half the population would fail stone cold sober. He takes them and it's still pretty obvious that the dude has been drinking, but damn it all, I was impressed by Tom's ability to maintain. He held his shit together the best that he could and didn't really do anything all that embarrassing. There were a few fuck ups but nothing so egregious as to suggest that this dude's piss could probably be set on fire.

That's where the story turned for me. I felt a strange sort of admiration for Tom Lewand. Look, I know that's wrong and irresponsible of me to say and a bad example for all of the kids who read this blog.(I'm sure you all sit around and read this blog as a family, don't you? Like back in the '30's, how they used to sit around and listen to the radio as a family. Sure, why not? I mean, you've got Dad sitting in front of the computer, reading this out loud to the wife and kids, trying his damnedest to approximate my voice, or whatever he imagines it to sound like - maybe Frank Booth after huffing a bunch of ether, I don't know - and the kids all laugh and clap and get excited whenever I bring up monkeys or werewolves and shit. It happens. I'm sure of it.) But even though it's irresponsible and wrong according to the accepted standards of this Great Society to admit something like that, I can't help it. It's the wild rebel in me. He doesn't come out all the time, and I can even reasonably pass for human most days, but he's in there and he can't help it.

By the time the field tests were all wrapped up, I was actively rooting for Tom. Fuck yeah, man, you're gonna do it! I knew it was ridiculous and wrong, but to hell with all that, I couldn't help myself. And then the cops had to go and haul the breathalyzer out. Game over, Tommy Boy. Shit.

Of course, this then leads into a comical "Oh shit, if I take it, I'm fucked," bit of legendary stalling from Tom, who even invokes the old "But what if I get a false positive?" That last desperate gamble of the doomed drunkard is brought into play, along with shit like "I'm just trying to figure out my options. I'm a lawyer." It just keeps going and going and going and the cops just keep getting more and more pissed off until Tom is finally all "Okay, shit, let's do it," and the cops are all "Man, you better. If you even hesitate, we're hauling your ass to jail and getting a warrant to test your blood." The moment of truth arrives and they get out the breathalyzer, stick it in his mouth and then Tom, my hero, is all "Well, I don't know guys." I laugh, and the cops say fuck it and arrest him. And that's it.

That was the twenty minute scene. But what led to that? I mean, it's pretty obvious that Tom Lewand probably has a drinking problem. First of all, there was the whole "I haven't had a drink in a year and a half." That sounds like the proud ravings of the recovering alcoholic. Then there is the fact that he decided to drive with a .21 hanging over his head. I mean, shit, you don't do that unless you've probably done it before, you know? You just don't get that level of drunk and think that you can pull it out without some experience. That was no rookie drunk on that tape. His ability to semi-maintain was near Jedi like. Only a dude who has spent great portions of time as a functioning drunkard can pull that off. I mean, again, .21. That's seriously fucked up. Dude is lucky he could even speak English by that point.

So, what we seem to have here is the case of a recovering alcoholic who slipped up and went for a joy ride. It happens. But as it so often happens, this wasn't a case of a dude having a drink or two and thinking "What the hell am I doing?" before heading out into the night. No, when a drunk falls off the wagon, he fucking falls forever. The wagon rolls over his besotted ass and then backs up and rolls over him again. The horses even kick him a few times for good measure. By the time he's finished, he's broken into a million pieces, dirty, wrecked, and in no condition to do anything other than lay there and hope someone scrapes his ass off the road and tosses him back onto the wagon.

But still, how does a dude who's managed to stay clear of the demon juice for a year and a half find himself blowing a .21 on the side of the road while cops search his car? Well, here, for the first time, I present to you a possible scenario:

[Open on a suburban bar. A neatly dressed middle aged man peaks his head into the door. He seems nervous.]

Bartender: Can I help you?

Nervous man: Uh, well, I'm supposed to meet some people here. I think I'm supposed to give them a ride home.

Bartender: Playing designated driver tonight?

[The nervous man chuckles uneasily.]

Nervous man: Uh, I guess so. I don't see them anywhere, though.

Bartender: What do they look like? Maybe I can tell you if they were here.

Nervous Man: Uh, well, they look like . . . ah, um . . . maybe I should just come inside and check around.

[The bartender shrugs.]

Bartender: Okay, sure, whatever you want.

[The nervous man enters the bar. He runs a hand through his hair. He's starting to sweat. He shouldn't be in here. He needs to leave. He doesn't, though. For some reason, he finds himself moving closer to the bar. He rationalizes that his friends might still be there, that he just needs to wait it out. He's tired though. He needs to sit down. He's had a long day and it shouldn't be a big deal just to sit at the bar for a while and wait. I mean, it's not like he's going to be drinking or anything. He nods to himself and then resolutely sits down at the bar.]

Bartender: Can I get you something?

[Oh shit, the nervous man thinks. He wasn't expecting this.]

Nervous Man: Uh, I'll . . . uh . . . [Get a grip, he thinks to himself. Shit. Just order something. It will be a test. Yeah. That's it. A test. If he can sit here and stare at a full glass without touching it, he'll prove, once and for all that he's beaten this thing.]

Bartender: Sir?

Nervous Man: I'll have a vodka tonic. Go easy on the tonic. [Shit. Why did you say that? Relax. It's just force of habit. It doesn't mean that you'll actually be drinking it.]

Bartender: Alright man, here you go.

Nervous Man: Thanks. [Jesus. This was a mistake. God, my heart is pounding. I'm so nervous. My finger tips are tingling. I just need to calm down. Relax. You're fine. Shit. It's not working. I just need to get it together. What if . . . no. That would be a huge mistake. But . . . no. I can't do it. That would just defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? Then again, I'm not doing anyone any good this nervous. I'm a wreck. Isn't that why you stopped drinking in the first place? Maybe just a sip. Maybe just something to calm the nerves. Okay, here goes . . . damn. I missed you, baby.]

Bartender: You got a name?

Nervous Man: Tom . . . Tom Lewand.

Bartender: Huh. That name sounds kind of familiar.

Tom: Yeah, I work for the Lions . . . you know, the Detroit Lions. Team President.

Bartender: The Lions?

[A flash of disgust crosses his face. He tries to hide it, but can't help himself. Both men realize it and each looks away. Tom looks down and takes another drink. His life is tough. I mean, he should be able to feel proud of himself, but he gets that same damn reaction every time he tells people he works for the Lions.]

Bartender: Can I get you another one?

[Tom looks down and is shocked when he realizes that he's finished the drink. Wow. He needs to leave. Now. This isn't good. But without even thinking about it he motions for another one. The bartender is already pouring it and . . . shit, just drink it man. Just finish it and get the fuck out. You've already crossed the line. Don't be weird. Just maintain and then get home. You can deal with this in the morning.]

Tom: Thanks.

[Tom takes a drink. He just wants to finish this one and leave. He pounds it. Goddamn. Feel that burn. It's so familiar, like an old friend. I remember you. Feels good too. Oh, this is nice. Fuck it, what's the difference between two and three . . .]

[Several drinks later, Tom staggers off of his stool. He's finally willed himself to leave. It's too late and he knows it. He's fucked up. He shouldn't drive but he can't call a taxi. That would be admitting, both to himself and to the rest of the world, that he made a mistake. He's a public figure, a prominent executive, an important man. He's famous. He can't admit something like that. Shit. He's only a couple of miles from home. He can do this. He's done it before. It's been a while, but what the hell, it's like riding a bike.]

[Tom takes a deep breath as he starts his car. Shit, he thinks. Maintain. You can do this. He pops a breath mint. He belches and then exhales, slow and long. He turns the radio off. It's a distraction. You have got to focus, Tom. Maintain.]

[You're doing it, Tom! You're gonna make it. Shit, this isn't so hard. Tom starts to relax. He laughs. He just remembered the time Ernie Sims brought his monkey to the team Christmas party and it went wild and attacked Old Man Ford's wife. That shit was hilarious. The little guy shit on the floor and everyone got worried when Jason Hanson slipped in it because it looked like he pulled his groin but he came up laughing and so everyone else started laughing and the monkey started hooting and then tried to fuck Matthew Stafford's date. She looked horrified and Matt just laughed and said it wasn't like she hadn't done worse and she got all offended and stormed out and Dominic laughed at Matt and said it looked like it was "a night of self reflection" and then made a jacking off motion with his hand. Everyone laughed and Matt pretended to scold the monkey and . . . oh shit, oh fuck. Sirens. Maintain, motherfucker. Maintain.]

Okay. Maybe it didn't happen exactly like that, but then again, maybe it did. Who's to say? The only one who knows for sure is Tom Lewand. All I know is that it's June and thank God something happened. I know it's cruel and ghoulish of me to think like that, but these are strange and terrible times and we must find salvation wherever we can. If that is at the bottom of a bottle or in the story of a Lions exec run amok then oh well. I'm not proud of it, and I'm sure many of you think that I have behaved irresponsibly in this post, but this is the cross that I must bear as a Warrior of Light, an Ambassador of Truth and as a Defender of Freedom. I am a blogger, damn it, and as such I have a responsibility to provide both news and analysis. Some dude on Twitter said so. It may be ugly, but this is just the way of things. Vaya con dios, Tom Lewand. Vaya con dios.

My 5 Favorite Lions Teams

As Lions fans, there is precious little in our immediate past that can make us smile. That is a hysterical understatement. Really, for the last 50 years, Lions football has been a barren and uninhabitable wasteland. Only the truly insane and the masochistic would choose to live in such a world. Unfortunately, I - and many of you - did not choose to live in this wasteland. We were born here, and we have been forced to survive on a diet of shit and the bones of unsuspecting travelers. Wait . . . what? Never mind that last part.

But occasionally - very, very occasionally, we are allowed a modicum of joy on these hellish plains. They are not moments that would pass for joy in any other land, but we are like the child who has nothing and if he is given a couple of sticks and a marble, he gets embarrassingly excited. Everyone else has video games and iPods and concubines and all we have are a bunch of sticks wrapped in hay that we call a doll. Horrible, just horrible.

But they are our sticks and we love them for reasons that no one on the outside can understand. It is with that in mind that I have chosen my five favorite sticks, or to take this beyond the realm of dumb and tortured metaphor, my five favorite Lions seasons. Naturally, this will only cover the last 20 years or so. It wouldn't make much sense for me to rave about the 1983 team since I was three when that shit went down. And, strange and mystical as I am, the powerful Lions teams of the '50s are well before my time. No, this is about my own personal journey through this terrible world, and therefore, these are the five seasons that mean the most to me as a Lions fan. It is kinda sad - very, actually - and as usual, whenever I do something like this, it ends up strangely making me more depressed than when I discuss the bad shit, but what the hell, I am a warrior of light and a champion in my heart and I can take it. And besides, this is easy content, and there is nothing else to write about.(Well, there is Tim Toone, but even though he is by all accounts a very good guy, my procrastination when it comes to discussing him is so epic that it has given me a complex, and that complex has caused me to loathe him before he even gets a chance. So sad, but this is our reality and, after all, these are strange and terrible times and these things happen.) Okay, Jesus, enough rambling, let's just get on with this shit.

5. 2008

RECORD: 0-16

PLAYOFFS? UH . . .

KEY PLAYERS: DAN ORLOVSKY, DAUNTE CULPEPPER, KEVIN SMITH, CALVIN JOHNSON, THE FAILURE DEMON, THE HOUNDS OF HELL, LENNIE SMALL

HEAD COACH: ROD MARINELLI

Wait, what the fuck? I know this doesn't make any sense. This was 0-16, the Year of Unnumbered Tears, Hell on Earth. What the fuck am I talking about?

Okay. There is really no way that I can justify this, and it is a dark and shameful thing to admit, but 0-16 was indeed my fifth favorite season as a Lions fan. I will wait for you to stop rioting and throwing shit at your screen before I explain why.

Okay, done? Good. Also, you shouldn't throw shit at your screen. It just marks you as a barbarian, and besides, that is your monitor. Unless you are reading this at a friend's house or at the library or whatever. In that case, go nuts. Piss on the keyboard while you're at it. Fuck it.

But after you're done with all that, sit down, shut up and listen to me. 0-16 was not a good feeling. Let's just get that out of the way. Really, it was also my least favorite season as a Lions fan. So what the hell is it doing on this list? Well, you see, 2008 was when I began this absurd little adventure in blogging. The first game that I wrote about was the epic and terrible shitkicking the Lions received from the Falcons to start that season. Go back and look. My first post on this site came in August, on the eve of that terrible and savage season. And now, here I am, almost two years later, and I'm still writing about the Lions despite all reason.

In a way it was fun. That may sound heretical, but what the fuck, the rules are different for Lions fans. That is where everything began for me here, where all the weirdness, the fucked up imagery, the stupid nicknames, the irrational love for certain players, the unreasonable hatred for others, began. Through writing about the Lions, I became almost obsessed with them. They became a dragon I had to chase and then slay. I'm still chasing that fucking dragon and I'm still trying to drag it down and kill it. It opened up a whole world for me to explore, a whole story that is absurd and terrible and strange and fascinating and heart wrenching and complex and simple all at the same time. I love telling it, even as painful as it is to actually live it.

Perhaps that doesn't make sense to anyone else but me, but that's because I'm the one wrapped up inside of it. I make no apologies. Throughout the 2008 season, I felt like Slim Pickens riding the A-Bomb like a bucking bronco in Dr. Strangelove. If I had to sum up what that season felt like, that would be it. It was strange and dark and terrible and also bizarrely fun. It was a hell of a ride, and even though I knew we were all just hurtling towards certain and terrible doom, I rode that fucker to the bitter end and I am both proud and mortified by that fact.

Not only did I live through 0-16, but I feel like I comprehensively told the story of that season better than anyone else out there. That is a powerful statement to make, bold and egotistical as all hell, but fuck it, I don't pat myself on the back often, and I feel like it's true and I don't mind saying it. 0-16 was unique, singular in its notoriety, and I told that story while the world burned. If you were here then and you came along with me on the journey, then you know. If you didn't - and most of you probably weren't here yet - you missed out on something that was both terrible and oddly enjoyable. I was on fire. Again, this probably all sounds like the ravings of an ego driven asshole, but fuck, I never do this so hopefully you'll indulge me here a bit. 0-16 was unique and strange and terrible and utterly without redemption. And somehow, someway, in the midst of all of that, whatever this is that I do here was born. And that's not nothing, you know?


4. 1999

RECORD: 8-8

PLAYOFFS? YES

KEY PLAYERS: GUS FREROTTE, CHARLIE BATCH, GREG HILL, GERMANE CROWELL, JOHNNIE MORTON, DAVID SLOAN, STEPHEN BOYD, ROBERT PORCHER, LUTHER ELLIS, JEFF HARTINGS, RON RICE

HEAD COACH: BOBBY ROSS

The 1999 season was a strange one, an oddly noble last stand before the world collapsed. The Lions had gone 5-11 the season before, and St. Barry floated out of town on a river of tears, riding a raft made of broken dreams. The mood was decidedly grim. On top of St. Barry's untimely demise, Herman Moore also chose the 1999 season to fall apart. With the Lions two iconic weapons of the '90s dead and dying respectively, it seemed fitting that the decade would come to a close with a funeral for the team that never quite made it over the hump.

But then a funny thing happened. The Lions went out and they fought their asses off. They played hard all season, despite a lack of star talent, and they didn't stop fighting until they were finally dropped by the Redskins in the first round of the playoffs. It wasn't a great season - hell, it was very, very average - but everyone involved with the Lions knew that death was at hand, that the day was coming, and coming soon, the day when the world would cave in on itself and the only thing that would remain would be the stench of death and the buzzards picking the scraps of the corpses of the fallen. It was unavoidable. It was going to happen, but these dudes stood up anyway, and every week they marched onto the field and in the twilight of hope, they stood on the precipice of doom and they lived another day.

Gus Frerotte and Charlie Batch were both adequate at quarterback. Neither was spectacular but they survived, and that was all anybody on the team could do that season. Germane Crowell came out of nowhere to replace Herman Moore and for a brief moment, he stood proud and tall in the sun before he was dragged into the shadows and forgotten once again. The few blue chip talents still on the team, like Robert Porcher and Luther Elliss, helped will the team to remain relevant against all odds, while Stephen Boyd played like an absolute warrior in the middle of the defense. He was overmatched and undertalented, a shadow of the great he replaced, Chris Spielman, but that made him the perfect avatar for this team. He managed to overcome all of that, and in the face of overwhelming darkness, a darkness which would finally descend two years later, an inevitability which could have paralyzed the entire Lions world, which could have - which should have - beaten everyone, he and the Lions survived, and with that survival came a grim sort of pride. And that's something that we can look at today, and although it won't make us smile, it will let us lift our heads high and remember that there is worth in fighting, even when there is no hope.

3. 1989

RECORD: 7-9

PLAYOFFS? NO.

KEY PLAYERS: BARRY SANDERS, BOB GAGLIANO, BARRY SANDERS, RODNEY PEETE, BARRY SANDERS, RICHARD JOHNSON, BARRY SANDERS, CHRIS SPIELMAN, BARRY SANDERS, JERRY BALL, BARRY SANDERS, BENNIE BLADES, BARRY SANDERS, LOMAS BROWN, BARRY SANDERS, KEVIN GLOVER, BARRY SANDERS, ERIK ANDOLSEK, BARRY SANDERS, HOPE, BARRY SANDERS

HEAD COACH: WAYNE FONTES

From the end of an era to the beginning. The Lions only finished 7-9 in the 1989 season, but it was the first season where I really started to understand the bigger picture, where I started to pay attention to how the Lions fit into the overall picture of the NFL. This was also Barry Sanders' first season, and with him came a knew emotion: hope. It was the first time, as a young Lions fan, where I felt that twinge, that "maybe we can do this" feeling. It was the first time that I really invested myself emotionally in the team, a time when I stopped being a fan of the Lions simply because I was born into it and started being a fan of the Lions because my heart made me.

It was a bad season, really. The Lions started an atrocious 2-9, but behind St. Barry, they won their last five games of the season to finish 7-9. I remember thinking that they were on their way, that no one could stop my favorite team and that the next year they would surely kill everyone and become the best team in the league. After all, they were my team, and so they had to win, right? And they had the most exciting player in football, Barry Sanders, St. Barry, the player who was so good that he almost seemed like an alien. He was quiet, humble, so outrageously good that as a rookie he had to pull himself out of the last game of the season so he wouldn't win the rushing title, which would have embarrassed him. Who does that? I mean, really? In a way, Barry's humility only made him seem even more badass. He was the gunfighter who would draw before his opponent could even move his hand. And then Barry would stalk his opponent down, stick the gun in his face and then turn around and walk off while his opponent stood there with piss running down his legs. In a way, Barry's humility was almost arrogant. He was so good that he embarrassed other people by letting up. He beat them, made them think they were going to die and then just walked away, leaving them to live with their own shame. That shit is fucking cold.

It was with that in mind that I thought the next season was ours for the taking. Hope was born in my heart. Of course, the Lions ended up going 6-10 the next season and the young me learned my first lesson in Lions fandom and the nature of hope. But the seeds were planted, and for the next decade, it always seemed like it was possible, it always felt like we were so close to turning the corner. That's what made the 1999 season so grim and yet so noble - that hope had finally died - but in 1989 that hope was born, and it sustained me for a full decade as a Lions fan.

2. 1995

RECORD: 10-6

PLAYOFFS? YES.

KEY PLAYERS: BARRY SANDERS, SCOTT MITCHELL, HERMAN MOORE, BRETT PERRIMAN, CHRIS SPIELMAN, BENNIE BLADES, WILLIAM CLAY, LOMAS BROWN, KEVIN GLOVER

HEAD COACH: WAYNE FONTES

1995 was arguably the height of the Barry Sanders era, a season where the Lions, for the first time, emerged as legitimate Super Bowl contenders, a season where the promise of the past had finally ripened into present possibility.

The season actually started off kind of shitty. The Lions lost their first three games. But then, on Monday night, against the badass 49ers, the Lions won 27-24, hinting at what was to come. The 49ers managed to shut down St. Barry, but for the first time since Barry had been in Detroit, the Lions were able to respond. Scott Mitchell threw the ball all over the field, to a receiving corps led by Herman Moore, who set the NFL's all time single season reception record with 123, and Brett Perriman, who caught 108 passes of his own. It was the first time that the Lions made people pay for ganging up on Barry Sanders.

The Lions continued to stumble after that game though, and after nine games were only 3-6. It seemed like a typically frustrating Lions season under Wayne Fontes. But then the Lions went crazy, winning their final seven games, and winning them in a way that made them suddenly seem like they were destroyers of the world. They just started whipping on everyone. They weren't just winning, they were beating teams. There's a difference. The last two games of the season, the Lions combined for 84 points and gave up only 10. They beat Jacksonville 44-0, a game that was so lopsided that Fontes ordered his team to start taking a knee with several minutes left to go in the game so that the score wouldn't be even worse. It humiliated the Jaguars. They bitched after the game, saying that what Fontes did was even more embarrassing to them than if he had run up the score. I loved it. This was my team, just playing with people.

It was our moment. We were there. We had arrived and now it was time for us to kick down the door and finally ascend to the throne that had been waiting for us from the day that St. Barry arrived. The playoffs started, the Lions played the Eagles, and . . . lost, 58-37. Whoops. Well, shit. It turns out that Scott Mitchell was, well, Scott Mitchell. His implosion in the first round was spectacular, and so utterly Lionsesque, that it has become a part of the team's legend. It is ingrained in our collective psyche, imprinted on our brains forever. Scott Mitchell is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to believe.

Still, after the playoffs were over, and the Cowboys had won the Super Bowl, I remember an analyst on ESPN talking about how the Cowboys had gotten lucky, about how some were questioning whether they really were the best team in the league. After all, in the playoffs, that didn't have to play the 49ers and they didn't have to play the Lions. Wait . . . what? The Detroit Lions? Indeed. It is the only time, in my entire life as a fan, that the Lions were put in that category, the one time that they were treated as anything other than a punch line to a bad joke. I'll never, ever, forget that moment. It didn't happen on the football field, and really, it was just a throwaway line by some dude in a studio in Connecticut, but for the briefest of moments, a moment so brief that it never even translated to the actual field of play, the Lions lived in that world, that strange and beautiful place that has always seemed so unreachable, so unknowable. The Lions were winners in spirit, were winners for a moment so ephemeral that it barely existed, a moment that sparked to life, flickered and then died before even a second had passed. And yet, it existed. There is both a lingering sense of pride and a terrible sort of wrenching pain caused by that moment, and it is in that, that mixture of pride and pain, of hope and sorrow, that the story of the Detroit Lions in my lifetime becomes all too clear.

1. 1991

RECORD: 12-4

PLAYOFFS? YES. THEY EVEN WON A GAME!

KEY PLAYERS: BARRY SANDERS, ERIK KRAMER, RODNEY PEETE, BRETT PERRIMAN, ROBERT CLARK, WILLIE GREEN, MEL GRAY, CHRIS SPIELMAN, BENNIE BLADES, JERRY BALL, RAY CROCKETT, LOMAS BROWN, ERIK ANDOLSEK, KEVIN GLOVER, MIKE UTLEY, MIKE UTLEY'S WHEELCHAIR, MIKE UTLEY'S THUMB

HEAD COACH: WAYNE FONTES

Well, here it is, my favorite season as a Lions fan. 1991. The Lions had finished 6-10 the year before, but this was only Barry's third season, and hope was still young and still fresh. The Lions lost their first game 45-0 to the Redskins, which foreshadowed the disappointing end to the season, but in between, the Lions won and they won often, finishing 12-4 thanks to both the amazing grace of Barry Sanders and the emotion spawned by the crippling of Mike Utley and his famous thumbs up from the stretcher. That grace and that emotion combined into one overwhelming wave, a wave which crested with the Lions winning the NFC Central division and serving notice that they planned to be the new lords of the league, the team of the '90s.

Of course, that all turned out to be wishful thinking, an illusion spawned by that cruel trickster known as Hope, but for a season at least, anything and everything seemed possible. There wasn't rampant cynicism, no feeling that death was imminent, no lingering suspicion that the whole thing was a fraud. Even in that 1995 season, people were well aware that Scott Mitchell was in fact Scott Mitchell and we had already been burned by hope enough times by then to not fully trust it. But in 1991, hope was a new thing, a beautiful and pure and innocent and wonderful thing and we embraced it wholeheartedly.

It all culminated on January 5, 1992, in Pontiac Michigan, at the fabled Silverdome, where the Lions dismantled the young Dallas Cowboys, 38-6, in the NFC playoffs. The Lions had earned a bye thanks to their record, which was the second best in the NFC. They awaited the winner of the Wildcard game in the second round, which turned out to be the Cowboys. It was a match-up of young teams, of two teams with star running backs, Barry and Emmitt Smith, It was the battle for the future of the NFL, a battle which promised to tell us, once it was over, who was for real and who was just a pretender.

It was an awesome game, a game which is the apex of my fandom. I was there. I was at the game, and I remember the unbridled excitement in the crowd, the feeling that we had arrived, that the future was ours, that our fandom in the Detroit Lions had finally paid off. I remember watching Barry disappear completely into a pile, only to reemerge like some sort of magician on the other side. He was stopped, the play was over, and then there he was, running wild and free towards the endzone. He was amazing, and he was ours. Fuck Emmitt Smith. That grinder wasn't special. He wasn't a magician like our Barry. Barry was mystical. Barry was on loan from heaven. He wasn't a football player, he was St. Barry, our patron saint, our savior.

That is how we felt, watching him and the Lions on that day. The question was answered. The Lions were the real deal, the Cowboys were the pretenders. The future was ours. As always, reality ended up laughing at us and then punting us in the balls over and over and over again. A week later, the Lions went into Washington for the NFC Championship game and were annihilated, losing 41-10. At the time, it just seemed like a blip, a stumble on a long and beautiful road to glory. After all, we were young, we were good and our time would still come.

Of course, it never did, but such is the tragedy of the Lions in my lifetime. The story is long and complex, but these five seasons were all important chapters in that story, necessary to understand if anyone has any hope of comprehending the larger story. They are seasons that all affected me deeply as a fan, seasons that are burned into my brain, for good or for bad. I called this my five favorite seasons, but in retrospect, perhaps I should have called this the five most important seasons in my Lions fandom.

This post ended up being long, full of heartache and pain, and in many ways, like I said at the outset, it is infinitely more depressing to do something like this than it is to point out all the bad. The sheer mediocrity of the so called good does a better job of anything else of telling the story, of explaining just why things have been so horrible for us over the years. I mean, the combined record of the five teams above is 37-43. That's fucking horrible. True, the 0-16 season does skew things a bit, but two of my other favorite seasons include an 8-8 campaign and a 7-9 season. That means that there are only two winning seasons in my entire lifetime that stand out to me as memorable. That's depressing as all hell, right?

In any event, I actually enjoyed writing this post. Once it got going anyway. It was meant to be a filler post, something to throw up here in lieu of anything substantive. But, I think, in its own way, it ended up being an important post to write. That may sound absurd, but to hell with all that, being a fan is in itself an absurd thing most of the time. Really, this post explains a lot of what it means to be a Lions fan. I am surprised by this. But as this post has shown, I am often surprised by the Lions, in ways both good and bad. Maybe what we should take away from all of this is that sometimes, when it seems like the future is shining bright, there is a horde of failure demons waiting just over the horizon to ambush us. And sometimes, when the world seems utterly black, light can emerge from the strangest of places.

Oh well. Vaya con dios, mi amigos. The journey is still ongoing, and while it may be strange and terrible, at least we are all in it together.

This Post is Meta as All Hell

Before I do anything, I should apologize for having not posted anything here in the last two weeks. That is the longest I've gone without writing something Lions related in the two years I've been doing this, which is a sad and terrifying statement now that I see it in front of me. The truth is, is that I was feeling a bit burned out. I love writing about the Lions - when there is something to write about. But there is nothing going on right now. I mean it. There is jack and shit to write about right now. I think it seemed more interesting last year because everything was new, Matthew Stafford was a rookie, we were coming off of 0-16 and everyone was desperate to see how things would shake out. This year, it is just the usual pap about players being hungry and quotes about how people are going to be surprised and blah blah blah.

Frankly, I think twitter has started to get to me. The mind numbing repetition of boring ass quotes and anecdotes has caused a sort of resentful fuck this attitude in me. I don't want to write about this shit because I'm sick of hearing about it. That doesn't mean that I don't like writing about the Lions, because God help me, for some fucked up reason I do. It just means that I don't want to get dragged into writing a bunch of stupid empty bullshit because there's nothing else to write about. I could have probably written another "And that's why I'm a fan, folks" posts, but fuck, I can't just whip those out assembly line style or else they just end up fake and processed. The reason I enjoy writing those kind of posts from time to time is because I feel like the things said in them are worth being said, not because I have nothing else to write about. I also have a Tim Toone breakdown to do, but following that weird piece of business with Willie Young, I have no idea how to approach that shit. I mean, I think I need to play this one fairly straight. The Willie Young thing should stand on its own, you know? The only problem with that is I'm just not all that interested in doing a straight breakdown of Tim Toone.

That's the thing. I'm not interested in reporting/breaking the news. That's Sean at Pride of Detroit's thing. I'm not even that interested in doing analytical work. Ty at The Lions in Winter does that better than anyone else writing about the Lions.(Yeah, yeah, I know, get a room.) I'm still not sure exactly what it is that I do, but I don't want to become a slave to convention. I don't want to fall in line and start writing about the Lions the same way everyone else does. I mean, why bother? If I can't bring something original to the table, then I should just stay the fuck out of it all together. The good news, I think, is that I do bring something original and fun and compelling to the table. It might not be all that reputable and people might think of me as the drunken asshole of an uncle of the Lions family or the half-mad cousin who lives in the attic and nobody talks about, but to hell with all that. Basically, I don't want to do this just because I feel like I'm compelled to do it by anything other than my own desire to write and I don't want to write about certain things just because I'm supposed to write about them. I want to write about what interests me, and only when I think I have something worth saying.

Okay, that's a lot of bullshit, but I think the air needs to be cleared from time to time if we are to have a healthy relationship. The good news(or bad news depending on your point of view)is that soon, things will ramp up and I will start writing more and more about the Lions. During the actual season, I plan(probably somewhat ambitiously and insanely but what the hell) to have something up here every day of the week. I almost pulled that off last season, but I would usually fall a day or two short every week. But fuck it, if it's not there, it's not there. I think that, this season, I'll have enough to talk about and enough original and regular features that I can make it work. Hell, I'm hoping and praying that Willie Young makes the team so I can do a weekly serial following his adventures through time.

This has been meta as all hell, but like I said, sometimes these things need to be discussed. Just as an aside, even if I don't put up anything new for a couple of days(or weeks I suppose)here, I'm still around. I post on twitter. You can follow me there. My user name is armchairlb. Sometimes it's about football. Other times it's about weird nonsense, which shouldn't be all that surprising. I have noticed that I tend to go on weird runs that span anywhere from 5-10 tweets(Jesus . . . tweets. I feel like a fucking goon writing that word, but this is what society has come to.) Anyway, follow me and we will conquer that world together.

I also get paid real, legitimate currency to write regularly for heavy.com, so you can check me out there. I have several articles up each week there, about a variety of subjects. Seriously, I have written about everything from Brian Cushing getting nailed for being, well, Brian Cushing to shit about Betty White to stories about British Parliament to stuff about the Continental/United merger. They are all vaguely ridiculous, all pretty funny, and, well, basically everything you would expect an article written by me to be.

Okay, okay, okay. I didn't mean for this to turn into a public attempt at self fellatio and if you are annoyed, I don't blame you. I hate self promotion. I'm not comfortable with it and I'm not good at it. Unfortunately, for a blogger this is not a good thing. I much prefer to just put my shit out there and let it speak for itself. So when I do hype my shit, it often ends up coming out in a vomitous fountain of drivel rather than as anything smooth and/or relevant. I just close my eyes and start bellowing. It's unseemly and I apologize.

On to slightly more relevant shit. As I said before, the season is fast approaching. Keeping with the meta nature of this post, I though I would take this time to ask anyone reading to please feel free to e-mail me if you want to write for this here site. There is no reward, monetary or otherwise as we are a tiny little thing. We are a gang of heathens, a small pirate ship floating along, scaring the hell out of proper folk, raising hell and having a good time as we careen towards oblivion. If you would like to be a part of that, hit me up at neilabfree@gmail.com. I'm pretty much open to anything. I mean, obviously we don't want ten people all writing about the same team, but a duplicate here and there isn't going to hurt anything.

We're pretty laid back here, despite all appearances to the contrary. I mean, I'm not sure if we need another dude ranting and raving about the Lions, but what the hell, you know? I'm not territorial and if you can bring something different to the table that you think people might want to read, then shit, say something. Of course, if you are a fan of a team that is not covered by anyone here then fuck, send me an e-mail ASAP. I don't care if you just want to post the occasional paragraph bitching about or celebrating your team. It doesn't need to be some grandiose expression of your fandom or whatever. It just needs to be words about your favorite team. That's it. Say how you feel. Don't worry about what anyone else is doing and just do your thing.

Well shit. I originally set out to write about the Lions in this post and never quite got there, did I? But there were some things that needed to be said, some air to be cleared and some site business to attend to and I'm glad we got that out of the way. The Tim Toone breakdown, whatever I decide to do with it, should be coming soon, and then I'll probably come up with a couple of different things, some quick top five type posts that I kinda want to do(My 5 favorite Lions seasons, 5 favorite players, etc.), and then the season will be upon us and there will be a flurry of bullshit every day.

If you take away anything from this mess of a post, I suppose it is that I want this upcoming season to be a fucking blast, and part of that is getting more people to holler about shit. So, yeah, if you want to write about your favorite team, e-mail me at neilabfree@gmail.com. Hell, e-mail me if you just want to tell me that I suck. I don't care. This whole thing is about community and about getting each other through our own tortured relationships with our teams. E-mail me, comment on the posts, write your own damn posts. Armchair Linebacker is a pretty laid back place. We're just dudes who like football and like writing about that football from time to time. Join us.