Wednesday, November 9, 2011

6-2: A Poetic Retrospective Part Dos




Since part one of Haikuamania 2011 seemed to be a resounding success (And by “resounding success” I mean nobody laughed scornfully or told me to knock it off. I have such high standards.) I figured I’d continue with this delightful array of Haikus about the Lions defensive starters and key contributors. (And yes, again, “key contributors” is basically just an excuse to do Willie Young Haikus. Then again, there is about a 96% chance that this is also how my twilight years will be spent – in some crooked nursing home being abused by junky orderlies, dribbling applesauce on my twin, my brain turned to mush, while I obsessively create new Willie Young Haikus every day until a news crew finally shows up to document the weird old man who never speaks and doesn’t respond to any external stimuli but spends his days and nights crafting exquisite Willie Young Haikus. This is how I will eventually break through because that is just how the universe works. Oh God, I have just seen the future . . .)

Anyway . . . yeah. Let’s just do this thing. And, as before, feel free to leave your own Haikus in the comments, and, again, if you feel the need to count syllables, have a blast, but keep your fascist rules to yourself, because we are spirit warriors and sometimes spirit warriors need to cheat the ancient Japanese Haiku overlords a bit in order to make a salient point. Oh, and if these are shitty, you have only yourself to blame. Why? Must I always provide you with the answers? Now let this class project on acid commence!


Ndamukong Suh

Thunder warrior

Dread Lord of the House of Spears

The scourge of Goodell

OR . . .

Massive man mountain

The earth trembles in your wake

And so does Cutler

OR . . . (You had to know I’d get carried away with this thing sooner or later.)

The sun, moon and stars

Watch wide eyed and terrified

And bow at your feet

OR . . . (in orderly to properly reflect what’s gone on this season)

Rise, nature’s fury

The fell hand of death’s judgment

But don’t overrun


Corey Williams

Untameable beast

The heart of a savage tide

You jumped too early


Cliff Avril

Flies like a missile

Launched into the heart of hell

The spirit of pain


Kyle VandenBosch

Red eye, blood red heart

Frothing pit-bull from hell’s mouth

Leads with eyes of fire


Sammie Hill

Country strong beast heart

Takes a back seat to no man

You’re not forgotten


Lawrence Jackson

Lo-Jack folk hero

Your fans have become legion

And you have found home


Willie Young

The Great Willie Young

Warrior of my own heart

What more can I say?

OR . . .

Child of my visions

I feel like a proud father

Every time you roar

OR . . .

You rose from our need

For a hero in these times

Strange yet terrible

OR . . .

Fisherman of souls

Sailing the oceans of time

You have hooked the world

OR . . .

Blood soaked avatar

Of all that is good and pure

The whole world owes you

OR . . .

Blowing through the line

A jungle cat in its prime

You hunt the Cutler

OR . . .

The bear trembles

The jaguar bows its noble head

For you are a Lion

OR . . .

The Lion king who rules

Rodgers, Cutler and Ponder

You own their spirits

OR . . .

The Great Willie Young

Mere words are too meaningless

To explain my joy


Stephen Tulloch

Kill and mock Tebow

The whole world watched it happen

Call it Tulloching


Justin Durant

Gun really likes you

We missed you while you were gone

Never leave again


DeAndre Levy

Levy that won’t break

Answer to the heart’s sad cries

The future is now


Bobby Carpenter

Looks like a Viking

The good kind not the purple

Steal the fucking ball


Eric Wright

Much maligned by Browns

Their dumb mistake is our gift

Lock that fucker down


Chris Houston

Pick six magician

They said you had no ball skills

I guess they were wrong


Louis Delmas

Call you the missile

You fly with reckless fury

Please wrap up your kills


Amari Spievey

Cornerback convert

Prove that you’re not the weak link

And savage the world


Ryan Donahue

Better than Harris?

The jury has yet to say

Show me what you’ve got


Stefan Logan

Shake, rattle and roll

Shit, there goes another one

Fuck these dumb new rules


Gunther Cunningham

Old man watches as

His heart opens on the world

And proves him worthy


Scott Linehan

Throw more on first down

Last year I called you Wizard

Don’t make me look dumb


Jim Schwartz

Man of fire and ice

Passion and brilliance in one

A man after my own heart

OR . . .

Shake hands like a man

Or risk the wrath of the Schwartz

Leader of my dreams

OR . . .

At last a real coach

A leader sent from heaven

To slay the demons


And there you have it, dudes and lady dudes. There is a part of me that just wants to do Haikus for a while, like some fucked up version of Rainman that counts syllables instead of matchsticks, but I know that I would just end up descending into indecipherable madness (too late?) and so I’ll stop now. I hope these weren’t too assy, but if they were, hey, what the hell, you know? Sometimes the world loves you and sometimes you do weird Haikus that amuse only yourself and then you end up in a padded room laughing to yourself while a team of doctors stands around shaking their heads and your loved ones cry and wonder where everything went wrong. But that’s life, you know? That’s life.

Monday, November 7, 2011

6-2: A Poetic Retrospective




The Lions didn’t play on Sunday, which means that if I want to write about something Lions related, I’d have to talk about the team cutting fourth string running backs and resurrecting the corpse of Kevin Smith or about Matthew Stafford’s belly-button lint or openly speculating about the various dick sizes of the offensive linemen, and frankly, I just don’t want to do that to myself. Or to you. It’s also the midway point in the season, which means that everyone is handing out made up grades and wistfully looking back at the time that The Great Willie Young murdered Jay Cutler or the time that Tim Tebow turned the other cheek after Stephen Tulloch got done bitch slapping the other one.

So, rather than write about the various intrigues and hijinks taking place at Ford Field (although I will admit, I did consider writing a love story involving Leonard Davis and a ham sandwich) I thought I’d also take a look back at the first half of this beautiful season. But rather than handing out grades like some psychotic 9th grade shop teacher with a drug habit (Some would call it a problem, but I am an optimist and therefore like to think of them as “drug habits”) I thought I’d instead do the right thing and rip off Brian Cook of mgoblog, the venerable and beyond excellent Michigan sports blog. Every year, Brian writes haikus to commemorate the Michigan careers of each graduating senior on the football team. I thought I’d do the same for our boys.

Now, I’ll admit that it’s unseemly for me to jack Brian’s swagger like this, but I invented the Haiku in a previous life so, really, what you’ve got to ask yourself here is who is swagger jacking who? Think about it.

Anyway, let’s just get on with it before I end up accidentally writing a whole post devoted to utter nonsense. (Then again, why should this one be any different than any of the others?) Today, I figured I’d just do the offensive starters and maybe some key contributors and then in a couple of days I’ll do the defensive starters and key contributors (And yes, the “key contributors” addendum was created solely as an excuse to do Willie Young Haikus. Thank you for asking.) Oh, one thing you should probably know: I am just making these up off of the top of my head so if they are shitty, don’t blame me, blame my refusal to put any more thought into this beyond a shrug and thinking “Well, shit, let’s just start this fucking thing and see what happens.” Preparation is the tool of the devil after all. I mean, you know who really prepared? That’s right, Hitler. I rest my case. Also, if you are one of those Aspergery types who feels the need to count syllables like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man or some shit, hey, have a blast. Just don’t get all weird and throw a fit if there is an extra syllable tossed in here or there. We are better than that.

Okay, fine, I’ll stop gibbering and start, well . . . gibbering. But it will be meaningful gibberish. You understand the difference, right? RIGHT??? Anyway, here they are – the official Armchair Linebacker Midway Point in the Season Celebratory Haikus, or the ALMPITSCH, which I’ll admit sounds like the name of a German whore house catering to degenerate Nazi politicians or something, but . . . okay fine, I’m going to start now, I promise.

Matthew Stafford

Rocket-arm savior

So many questions remain

We all hold our breath


Jahvid Best

Tender egg-shell head

The ghost of Barry whispers

Such a tragedy


Calvin Johnson

Gift from the heavens

The soaring heart of my dreams

Fuck you Pereira


Nate Burleson

Promise unfulfilled

Where did you disappear to?

Come back to me now


Titus Young

The hubris of youth

A thunderstorm of promise

Yet unrealized


Brandon Pettigrew

Giant buffalo

Schwartz says he’s the running game

Six yards at a time

OR . . .

Giant steel traps for hands

Yet slick with oiled malice

Please don’t drop that pass


Tony Scheffler

White trash thunder-heart

Soul of a drunken dragon

Dance my sweet prince dance


Dominic Raiola

Too small and too weak

Can’t run block to save his life

But there’s no one else


Stephen Peterman

Big, fat, dumb, but tough

Blue collar nameless shadow

Please stop fucking up


Rob Sims

Not flashy, not good

Mere competence is enough

Depressing yet true


Gosder Cherilus

Gosder the man-child

The stench of Millen remains

Clinging to your soul


Jeff Backus

Wounded warrior

A mirror to our dark hearts

Human punching bag


Mikael LeShoure

Dead before you lived

Curse your goddamn Achilles

Why me, Lord? Why me?


Jason Hanson

Old Methusela

The beating heart of our pride

Please, never leave us


Okay, so that’s that. A failed experiment? Probably, but fuck it, cowardice is the way to the death of the soul and sometimes we need to reach into weird places in order to jump-start the stupid electric energies of our hearts. I have no regrets. Feel free to add your own Lions Haikus in the comments. Come on, it will be fun, like a class project on acid.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

The Bad Boys Cometh




By now, everyone’s heard about the Lions being referred to as the “Evil” in the Good vs. Evil article put up on the NFL’s own website last week, right? I won’t link to it both because I am lazy and because, well, fuck them. Basically, the article’s premise is that the Broncos, led by the Tebow Child represent all that is good about the NFL, America and the general human condition while the Lions are headbanging to old Slayer albums with Satan down in hell because Ndamukong Suh and the boys are all awful people who sacrifice goats and steal virgins from castles and bark at the moon on their off-days. At least that seems to be the general consensus. And you know what? Cool. Bring it the fuck on.

The Lions have been cast as bad guys, by the sensationalistic media, by the lying devil tongue of Roddy White, even by the NFL. If that’s the storyline those assholes wants to weave, then fine by me. You see, I grew up loving a certain basketball team that everyone called the Bad Boys. I worshipped a Michigan basketball team that dangled its collective nutsack on the foreheads and chins of bewildered white bread opponents. I read Ken Stabler’s autobiography – which I have talked about so many times here that I feel like the motherfucker should start paying me to be his new publicist – over and over and over again, and every time I developed more and more love for those old Raiders teams of the ‘70s. I was fascinated by them. They made their own rules and in the process scared the shit out of the entire league. They intimidated everyone and they won all the damn time. How could I not love that?

Therefore, my formative years were spent worshipping teams that everyone else hated. They were spent sitting in the stands at the Palace of Auburn Hills, watching the Pistons beat the shit out of Michael Jordan while some crazy asshole ran around the court with a fucking pirate flag and the crowd went wild. Shit, for a 10 year old boy, that was like heaven. If Isiah Thomas would have jumped a dirtbike over a T-Rex while Metallica played For Whom the Bell Tolls, I probably would have chained myself to the seat and refused to leave. I watched in slack-jawed glee as Jalen Rose tried to fight the entirety of Duke University and everything it culturally represents. I was raised on rebels and thugs, on Bad Boys and modern day Robin Hoods. This was the soul of Detroit. This was the soul of a people, my people. Fuck you, Prince John. Fuck you, Sheriff of Nottingham. Fuck you, Coach K.

I’m getting carried away, but goddammit, I need everyone to feel this, to understand just where it is that I am coming from when I say that not only should the Lions be okay with this whole Good vs. Evil thing, they should embrace it. Screw it, Al Davis is dead. He’s not gonna complain. Give Roary a fucking pirate flag and have him run around Ford Field. Shit, he already mugged Jamaal Charles and ruined his season. Have Ndamukong Suh and the boys run out onto the field looking like extras from Mad Max or from Tupac’s California Love video. You want us to be the bad guys? Well say hello to the fucking bad guys.

After the Lions win over the Broncos last week, I heard some bullshit complaining, some finger wagging hysterical OH GOD THINK OF THE CHILDREN nonsense from the Maud Flanders wing of the fanbase, saying that they were sad and disgusted because the Lions reminded them of those old Raiders teams. All I could think was yeah, you’re goddamn right, and then I laughed and cackled with manic glee. That’s exactly what I want my team to look like. That’s the attitude I want them to have.

And really, that’s what this is all about. Attitude. Swagger. Whatever you want to call it, that’s what this is about. It’s not about playing dirty or even talking a steady stream of trash. It’s about a state of mind. I’ll give you an example of what I’m talking about. Against the Broncos, after sacking Tim Tebow, Stephen Tulloch mocked the shit out of him, right in front of his own teammates, his own fans, in his own stadium and nobody did shit about it. Everyone just took a picture and then laughed at Tebow. That’s attitude. But what’s even more, uh, attitudinal, is that this would never happen if you reversed the circumstances. If someone sacked Matthew Stafford and then egregiously mocked him in front of the whole world, one of the Lions would have punched that motherfucker right in the face. Tebow’s Broncos teammates just hung their heads low and slinked off the field. That’s the difference right there. That’s why attitude is important. The Lions will mock you and they’ll fucking fight you because they’ve got that attitude, that swagger, that passion that separates the good teams from the hopeless shitbags like the Broncos. Are the Lions more talented? Yeah. But they didn’t beat the Broncos just because they were more talented. They beat the Broncos because they fucking beat them down, because they wanted to mug them, because they had to, because that’s what attitude is – it’s snarling at anyone who fucks with you, it’s you against the world, it’s smashing some poor fool just because he gets in your way. It’s raw, naked primal hunger.

Of course, the downside to getting a reputation like this is that everyone hates you. But so what? If everyone hates you, it just means that you’re doing something right, you know? It makes me happy to see people spitting with venom when they talk about the Lions now. It sure beats the hell out of having to be patted on the head like some poor stray mongrel that everybody feels bad for. I’m sick of being a mongrel. I want to be a pitbull from hell, a demon beast with swords for teeth and chainsaws for claws. Pat us on the head now and we’ll eat that fucking hand.

So, really, that’s not much of a downside for me. I love that Us Against the World kind of mentality, that backed into the corner no choice but to rip your throat out and then gnaw on your bones mentality. I want my dudes to be bloodsoaked beasts, terrible wraiths from hell, riding Pale Horses bringing death with them as they ride out of the haze and all the villagers scream and run, panicked, looking for a hole to hide in like the cowards that they are.

The true downside to getting this sort of reputation is that the shitheaded refs start to pick on you. They start to use your reputation against you and then Sheriff Goodell starts fining and suspending dudes and pretty soon that Lizard Pereira is on TV talking about how Ndamukong Suh should be exiled to hell for giving Jay Cutler a piledriver or, you know, just pushing him to the ground. But that’s the price you pay, you know?

The truth is – and this is something that a lot of people don’t seem to realize – is that your greatest strength is also often your biggest vulnerability. I know, I know, that sounds like some cheap dimestore fortune cookie wisdom, but I think that it’s true. At least it is in this case. The Lions swagger, their attitude, their Bad Boy aggressiveness is what sets them apart from other teams. It’s what makes them special. Like I said, they didn’t beat the shit out of Tebow and the Broncos just because they were more talented. No, they fucking mauled Tebow and the Broncos because of that swagger, that attitude, because of everything that makes them Detroit’s newest Bad Boys. But that’s also why they give up big plays from time to time, because they have a single minded Terminator like goal: Kill the Quarterback. It’s why they get called for all manner of bullshit penalties, from The Great Willie Young taking a hatchet to Jay Cutler’s skull to Ndamukong Suh getting called for palming the skull of some helpless offensive lineman.

But the Lions are smart too. They aren’t just waving their dicks in everyone’s faces and then whining when people try to slice them off. Ndamukong Suh just met with Sheriff Goodell in what was basically a preemptive move. It was as much about letting everyone know that he’s being unfairly targeted as it was about coddling the Sheriff. It was about letting everyone see that he was taking steps to make sure that everyone was on the same page. The media seems to want to frame it as Suh asking for help, trying to find ways to clean up his game, but that’s all bullshit. This was done so that Suh could basically let the Sheriff and his posse know that this was what he was all about and they better get on board because if they fuck with him after this then everyone will know that, hey, Suh tried to talk with them, tried to reason with them, to get them to understand that he’s not a dirty player, he’s just a bad motherfucker and the NFL is sadly no place for a bad motherfucker these days.

It’s true. The NFL is a soft league. I will not call the NFL’s officials and players and coaches and assorted Pereiras (Pereirii?) pussies because that is an insult to pussies which are wonderful and which have made this world a better place to live in. These soft idiots have instead tried to ruin the game that I love. They don’t provide me with any pleasure or happiness at all. But weird semantic digressions aside, the point is that in today’s soft environment, a true bad motherfucker like Suh has to be proactive. He has to take the fight to the man, put that shifty Sheriff of Nottingham on his heels. Don’t give that asshole room to maneuver against you. Ndamukong Suh did to Roger Goodell just what he does to opposing quarterbacks. He closed the distance between them in a terrifying heartbeat and left the rat bastard no room to move. Just take your sack Sheriff Goodell and beg for mercy.

Of course, I recognize that there is a portion of the fanbase who are preconditioned to root for someone like the Tebow Child instead of a Pirate Warrior King like Ndamukong Suh, and there’s not a whole lot I can say to them here. If you disapprove of the way that the Lions carry themselves – if you don’t like Chris Houston dancing like Deion or Calvin Johnson walking the last five yards to the endzone or Tony Scheffler’s awe-inspiring touchdown dances (Seriously, in the celebration against the Broncos he managed to mock both Tebow and the Broncos stupid Mile High Salute at the same time. It was amazing.) or Stephen Tulloch mocking Tebow while Tebow writhed in pain on the turf – well . . . shit, I don’t know what to tell you. That’s your team right there. That’s what will make them great and if you want to settle for less than that simply to appease some bullshit childish sense of morality, then you are just in the way and if you would be so kind as to just shut up and let the rest of us have our fun, I’d be forever grateful.

You see, the thing is, is this is football. This is sport. If you are upset because you’re worried that your children aren’t getting good role models, then you need to do a couple of things: first, drown the child in the bathtub because clearly he or she is a waterbrained idiot if they are incapable of separating what happens on the football field from what happens in real life and need to take their cues from a fucking football player (also, perhaps you should be asking yourself why your child needs to look beyond his own home for worthwhile role models. I’m just saying.) and second, if you do have faith that one day your child will be able to function like an actual adult, someone who will be able to appreciate the nuances that permeate every aspect of day to day life, sit down and talk to them and explain that it’s okay to have fun in certain aspects of life, like on the football field, but that maybe they should chill and be a little more respectful in school. Sit down with them and explain to them the differences. Explain to them that life is filled with different circumstances and that each circumstance requires its own set of rules, its own behavioral standards. Explain this to them. Teach them. In short, be a parent instead of lazily foisting that responsibility off on a bunch of young millionaire football players. If this is too hard for you, then feel free to drown yourself in that same bathtub because you’re a fucking terrible parent and you’re just making the world a shittier place for everyone else.

Whoa. Not sure where that came from, but I feel like it needed to be said. The heart of all of that wild real talk is this: football is a game. It is not real. It has no consequences beyond its own inherent consequences. If Stephen Tulloch mocks Tim Tebow a tiny island in the Pacific isn’t going to be struck by a Tsunami. If Tony Scheffler does an obscene touchdown dance the stock market isn’t going to plunge 1,000 points in a single day. If The Great Willie Young eats Jay Cutler’s soul . . . okay, fine, bad example. The point is this: there is absolutely no reason to emulate the sort of meek humility of Tim Tebow on the football field. After all, let’s not forget, Jesus died. I want my players to be the Romans, spearing everyone to death and crucifying Tebow. I don’t want them to be the ones hanging from the cross. Before you get all offended, just remember that I am talking about what happens on the football field. Football is fake, man. It’s a fucking game and if you’re not playing the game to win, then get the fuck out of here. After the game, if you want the Lions to be good little Christian Soldiers then hey, that’s great. But, shit, on the field, I don’t want them to be Daniel. I want them to be, well, the Lions.

And, in the end, that’s what this is really all about. Football, and sport in general, is a fantasy, a place of simulated warfare, a place where the human spirit is allowed – shit, encouraged – to be savage and barbaric and primal. It is ritualized savagery, the embracing of the dark heart of the human condition, of everything that we suppress within ourselves on a day to day basis. Root for Ndamukong Suh ripping his coworkers head off because you can’t. Root for the Lions to be, deep down, what you wish you could be.

This is threatening to carom into the world of the Philosophical and the Abstract and while that shit is kind of my wheelhouse, I don’t want it to take away from the fundamental truth, which is that the Detroit Lions are at their best when they are the Bad Boys. Deep down, everybody knows it. Shit, Jim Schwartz knows it. Yeah, he bitched and was all HEY COME ON NOW THIS IS BULLSHIT when that article came out but that’s because that’s what he’s supposed to do. If he didn’t then the fine line between passionate ass-kickery and anarchic barbarism would be obliterated. The Lions are doing a savage dance, but a dance which is surprisingly delicate, two-stepping on a tightrope, reaching one hand into chaos while keeping a foot tethered to civilization. They are tapping into the primal, into the savage, into the chaotic, a place of frightening power and they are using it to get that razor fine edge over other teams. Understand that. Above all, understand that. See it for what it is and encourage it. The Lions haven’t stepped over any lines. Jim Schwartz gets this. Hell, he’s the one leading the charge, fighting with other coaches, dropping countless F Bombs during games. He’s the one setting the tone for his players and he knows what he’s doing. Trust in that and have no fear, the motherfucking Bad Boys are here. Maybe that was a bit corny, but I don’t give a shit. I am out of my head and corniness is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is this: it’s us against the world and frankly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.