Opening this weekend: "Shockey's Eleven"

They thought they could push him around without repercussion. They thought he was smart enough to realize he was outnumbered 6-to-1 and not get into a fight. They were wrong.


SHOCKEY: Alright! Fuck THESE assholes! We're going to war! They think I'm gonna let this shit slide? They don't even know! Hey, Rod, you down with getting some sexy vengeance?


COLEMAN: You know it, J-Shock! DeMeco Ryans can suck a fat one!

SHOCKEY: Damn, skippy, brosef. Now, we gotta get the odds back in our favor. I think we need some help.

COLEMAN: You want me to make a few phone calls? Maybe get the O-Line or D-Line together? Kick the shit outta this guy?

(Shockey considers the move, but ultimately shakes his head.)

SHOCKEY: No, we're gonna do it my way. I've had my eye on a few people for just this situation.

(Shockey picks up the phone.)

(JUMP CUT: Saints weight room.)

SHOCKEY: Drew, you want in?


BREES: Absolutely. I feel the need to destroy something. We shouldn't it be the Texans?

COLEMAN: We don't know which hotel they'll be staying at. Think you could get one of them to talk?

BREES: Oh yeah.

SHOCKEY: You certain?

BREES: I have my ways...I'm gonna fire Nerf footballs at the genitalia until they talk.

COLEMAN: That's a little harsh, ain't it?

BREES: Hey, they got it good right now. Wait 'til ole Drew Brees beats 'em with a Nerf Crotchbat.

SHOCKEY: Yikes.

(JUMP CUT: Fairgrounds Race Track.)

SHOCKEY: We need a guy who can front our revenge operation.

COLEMAN: You want in, old man?


BENSON: You want money, guys? I can provide you with my private jet, my private yacht, my own private idaho, you name it...

(JUMP CUT: An old folks home.)

COLEMAN: Heard you enjoy kicking the shit outta things.


THE CARNEY: What's that, sonny? I don't kick shit.

SHOCKEY: No, John, KICK THE SHIT OUT OF PEOPLE! Can you do that?

THE CARNEY: Me? Oh sure. I can also gum somebody to death if need be.

(JUMP CUT: A graveyard.)

SHOCKEY: So, Joe, you think you could scare the shit outta DeMeco Ryan and those Texan dickheads?


JOE: Sure, J-Shock! Not a problem. Who's the black fella?

COLEMAN: Does he know who the president is?

SHOCKEY: No. Might be too much of a shock.

COLEMAN: Fuck's sake. I gotta put up with an outta touch naked ghost for this?

SHOCKEY: Trust me, he'll come in handy. And if he throws his keys at you, just humor him, please?

COLEMAN: Fuck me...

(JUMP CUT: Inside a car. COLEMAN driving. SHOCKEY rides shotgun.)

COLEMAN: I think we need us a confidence man.

SHOCKEY: Huh?

COLEMAN: Con man. Somebody with the appearance of a pathetic loser, but has ice water in his veins. Somebody who can take all sorts of verbal and physical abuse and not crack. And he's gotta have a talent, something that can disarm our mark.

SHOCKEY: I know just the guy...

(JUMP CUT: Inside a dumpster.)

SHOCKEY: You want the gig?


JOEY THE PIANO MAN: Do I?!? I'll do whatever you need! Hey, you gonna eat that pizza crust?

(CUT TO: Back in the car. SHOCKEY drives this time.)

SHOCKEY: Okay, we should have the rest of the guys lined up.

COLEMAN: Who?

SHOCKEY: We need...


SHOCKEY: A distraction...


SHOCKEY: And a hooligan.

COLEMAN: Really? You want the guy who dresses like Master Chief from Halo? AND Ryan Perrilloux?

SHOCKEY: Perrilloux's a loose cannon. And pretty dim. We need somebody stupid enough to fuck up a perfect situation on our team.

COLEMAN: That doesn't make a lick of sense, J-Shock.

SHOCKEY: That's why it'll work. It's too stupid to fail!

COLEMAN: And Master Chief?

SHOCKEY: Dude, Master Chief is one of my 'Five Favorite People' on Facebook. He taught me the one important rule in life: I. NEED. A. WEAPON. Gotta stay ready and focused, Coleman.

COLEMAN: Are you drunk?

SHOCKEY: Not yet. Oh, and we'll have Kim Kardashian's ass running interference for us.

...
...
...
...

COLEMAN: Couldn't score a picture of it, J-Shock?

SHOCKEY: Dude, there ain't enough pixels on this fucking screen for it, brosef.

(CUT TO: Nightclub in the French Quarter. Both Shockey and Coleman are sitting at the bar, nursing daiquiris.)


SHOCKEY: Now that's what I call a team!

(Coleman, leaning against the bar, says nothing.)

SHOCKEY: You think we need one more?

(Coleman remains quiet.)

SHOCKEY: Yeah, we need one more.

(CUT TO: Shockey, Coleman and Brees are standing in a massive loft in the Warehouse District. Dozens of cats are crawling on the furniture and sitting on the shelves.)

SHOCKEY: So, you wanna help us?

BREES: You want a chance to sit at the cool kids' table? This is it.


MORSTEAD: ...

COLEMAN: Man, lets kick outta here, guys. This dude ain't gonna help us.

MORSTEAD: You don't know what real loss is, Roddie! Those Texan asshats messed with the wrong punter!

(The trio exchanges confused looks.)

BREES: Uh, what are you talking about, Tommy?

MORSTEAD: LOOK WHAT THEY DID TO JERMAINE!!!



(The three guys avert their eyes in ghastly horror.)

MORSTEAD: (Sobbing.) Look at him!! LOOK-AT-HIM!! My bloodlust has been stoked, gentlemen!

SHOCKEY: Hey, the fucking punter's onboard! Time to rock and roll, my bros!

MORSTEAD: Wait a second, I'm not ready.

SHOCKEY: Huh?

(Morstead pulls out a giant broadsword and holds it in front of him.)

COLEMAN: The fuck is he doing?

BREES & SHOCKEY: Shit. We know where this is going...

(Morstead dives in the air with the sword. Lightning flashes and a loud boom shatters the glass in the loft.)


MORSTEAD: THUNDERCATS, HO!!!!

(Brees buries his head in his hands. Shockey falls to the floor and laughs hysterically. Coleman is not amused.)

COLEMAN: Dude, what the fuck is wrong with white people?

SHOCKEY'S ELEVEN. A Spike Lee joint.

A letter to the Saints organization...

"Dear Mickey Loomis / Tom Benson / Sean Payton,

WHY did you cut Jason David?!? He was just beginning to find his stride in the secondary!

Sincerely,

Fred Thomas, Toi Cook, Tebucky Jones, and Johnnie Poe."

Well, hello...CARNEY! It's so nice to have you back where you belong!

(Sean Payton is in his office with Mickey Loomis. They are both waiting for someone.)

SEAN: Well, Mickey, I think we bought some goodwill from the fans with this one.


MICKEY: I don't know how much goodwill, per say, but it should make a few folks happy.

SEAN: Are you kidding, Mickey? This is a fantastic thing we're doing here! I already expressed regret to the public about letting him go, now we get to bring him back for the possibility of playing again! I dropped him for a guy who couldn't consistently make field goals for us.

MICKEY: You mean Taylor Mehlhaff?

SEAN: No, the other guy.

MICKEY: Oh, Martin Gramatica?

SEAN: No. The OTHER guy.

MICKEY: Wait, you mean Garrett?

SEAN: Shut up, Mickey. Can we not talk about him right now? I'm talking about Olindo Mare.

MICKEY: Hey, I'd almost forgotten all about him. Man, I can't believe we brought that guy onboard just for an extra five or ten yards on kickoffs.

SEAN: Tell me about it.

MICKEY: I mean, yeah, we had a Pro Bowl-caliber kicker on our roster who was getting up in age but could still make just about everything from inside 40, and we let him go.

SEAN: Yeah, yeah, yeah...thanks a bunch for reminding me, Mickey.

MICKEY: Still...it has been two years since he played with us. I hope he still has it...

SEAN: Oh, come on, this is a can't lose situation for us. He went to the Pro Bowl last year!

(The office phone rings. Sean Payton hits a button to answer it.)

SEAN: Yes?

VOICE: Mr. Payton, a Mr. John Carney is here to see you.

SEAN: Good, send him in.

(Sean Payton hits another button to hang the phone up.)

MICKEY: Do you want to do all the talking?

SEAN: No, feel free to jump in.

(Door opens. Creepy music flows in.)





THE CARNEY: Well, hello there, youngins! Mind if I set me on this chair a spell? My sacroiliac been acting up again...

SEAN: Uh, hi John...Um, how've you been?

THE CARNEY: Oh, don't get me started, Coach. I got the gout, the droopsies, I'm going to the bathroom four or five times a night, vision in my left eye is kinda blurry, I

SEAN: But...uh...your legs and feet are okay though?

THE CARNEY: Oh, sure, I'm just as viral as ever below the waist, coach.

SEAN: I think you meant "virile." John.

THE CARNEY: I'm sorry, what? Can't hear so good outta my ears these days.



MICKEY: (Shakes head) Fuck. Um, Coach Payton, could I have a word with you?

SEAN: Sure. John, would you mind giving us a minute of privacy?

THE CARNEY: Certainly. I'll just turn off my hearing aids. And if you can turn your backs if you're worried I might be lip reading.

MICKEY: Thanks, John.

(Mickey and Sean turn their backs to The Carney and have a private conversation.)

SEAN: Look, I still say it's a good PR move. I mean, we're gonna be dumping some dead weight soon anyway, this'll really get the fans on our side coming out of the gate.

MICKEY: This guy's 75-years-old! Man's got no tread left on his tires!

SEAN: You trying to make a cheap 'Cash for Clunker' joke, Mickey?

MICKEY: For fuck's sake, Sean, the guy's a walking pandemic. If he comes onboard and shanks an easy field goal, Jim Henderson might have an aneurysm live on the air!

(The Carney stands up and coughs.)



THE CARNEY: Oh guys, by the way, if you do want to sign me, I'm gonna need the following prescriptions filled immediately: Lexapro, Plavix, Fosamax, Flomax, Viagra, Lantus, Concerta, Glycolax, and Yaz.

SEAN: Jeez.

MICKEY: I stand by my previous statement of "Fuck," Coach. Your move.

(Ed. note: These little vignettes are inspired by the guys at KSK. Just wanted to make sure I'm covering my bases.)

J-Shock loves him some "Shark Week"

(Scene: Jeremy Shockey is sitting on his plush pleather couch watching Discovery Channel. He's got a few guests with him. As usual, Motley Crue is on in the background.)



SHOCKEY: Fuckin' Shark Week's on, people, look alive!

(Shockey proceeds to turn the volume up on his 90-inch HD television and switch on the surround sound.)

SHOCKEY: I swear, this is like the greatest week of the year, far as I'm concerned! Ain't that right, Malcolm?



MALCOLM: ...

SHOCKEY: Whatever, bro. Jon, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout, right?



GRUDEN: You're GODDAMN right Shark Week is awesome, J-Shock! My favorite part is when the sharks go "GAAAAA" with their mouths and they just "SPLOSH" on them seals and the seals are all like, "Don't eat me" but the sharks are like, "I'm gonna eat you anyway!!!" If I weren't doing Monday Night Football this year, I'd go work on Discovery so I could go uppercut some sharks in the taint!!!

SHOCKEY: Sweet, yo.

GRUDEN: By the way, thanks for inviting me over.

SHOCKEY: Don't mention it, Coach Chucky. What were you in town for anyways?

GRUDEN: Uh, I was at training camp.

SHOCKEY: ... Really?

GRUDEN: Yeah. Met with Coach Payton and everything.

SHOCKEY: Fuck, I must've missed it, dude.

GRUDEN: I shook your hand and everything. You said "hi, good to have you out here."

SHOCKEY: Oh, I was hung over, brosef. I was out getting ma drink on with a fine lady. Here, look...



GRUDEN: Well...I'm not your coach, so far be it from me to tell you what to do.

SHOCKEY: Hey, Malcolm, what-choo think about this chick, huh?

MALCOLM: ...

SHOCKEY: Ah, fuck off. Hey, Gregg, whatta you think?



MORSTEAD: Uh, it's Thomas, Mr. J-Shock. Not "Gregg." And that woman's showing her underpants in that picture. I don't think that's very lady like.

SHOCKEY: Christ, sake, punt-boy! You're coming off like some pussy ass blue shark. Know what a blue shark is, Tom? It combs the oceans lazily and is a tiny-ass little fish. Fucker looks like it's gonna cry all the damn time!



SHOCKEY: You wanna be that guy, Tom?

MORSTEAD: Golly, no, sir.



GRUDEN: Good, son, cause nobody likes a pussy. "Some" pussy, maybe; but "a" pussy. Got it?

MORSTEAD: I think so...

SHOCKEY: Shit, Coach Chucky, you're my kinda dude!

GRUDEN: Thanks, J-Shock. Hey, what's your favorite kinda shark, man?

SHOCKEY: Dude, you even HAVE to ASK? Motherfuckin' great white shark, dude!



SHOCKEY: Yep, ol' number 88 is a regular sexual great white shark! What kinda shark you like, Coach?

GRUDEN: Oh, same thing as you; I'm a great white fan.

SHOCKEY: Wait, are we talking about the band or the shark?

GRUDEN: The shark.

SHOCKEY: Oh. Hey, Malcolm, what's your favorite shark?



MALCOLM: My agent has advised me not to say or do anything until he gives me the okay.

(Jeremy Shockey throws a couch pillow at Malcolm.)

SHOCKEY: Oh, for fuck's sake, man! You're allowed to function as a fucking person in the meantime, twat waffle! So quit fucking holdin' out here and get in the conversation!

MALCOLM: Uh...I like...I can't make up my mind. I dunno.

GRUDEN: Whatever, young gun. Hey, punt-boy, whatta you like?

MORSTEAD: Me? Oh, I like the cat shark.

GRUDEN: Oh, cat shark, like this?



SHOCKEY: Kinda small, ain't it?

MORSTEAD: No, guys. THIS is a cat shark....



GRUDEN: Holy fuck, my eyes!

SHOCKEY: Sonnuva bitch, punt-boy, I'm gonna have nightmares for a week! Malcolm, ain't that gross?

MALCOLM: ...

MORSTEAD: What? Oh, here comes another shark attack victims show!!

(Ed. note: These little vignettes are inspired by the guys at KSK. Just wanted to make sure I'm covering my bases.)

The Shockmeister knows how to get his "relax" on...

From the Twitter of one Jeremy Shockey:

just got back from Russian bath house in miami beach... going to eat then prob movie
6:34 PM Jul 8th from web

Here, now, a brief vignette from that visit...

(Scene: A Russian bath house along Miami Beach. 9 p.m. "The Shockmeister" is wearing a towel, seated in one corner of a large steam room with another similarly dressed Saints player.)



JEREMY: Dude, I wanna thank y'all for coming out and being a true dude. I wanted to get Reggie out here and celebrate his emancipation from that big-assed broad of his, but now I hear he's seeing some Spanish chick?



JEREMY: I mean, she's "kinda cute" I guess--J. Shock has had better and all--but this is supposed to be a "Bros before Hoes" sitch-e-ation, am I right, Gregg?



MORSTEAD: Actually, I'm Tom, Mr. Shockey. Thomas Morstead, to be more precise. I think you have me confused with someone else.

JEREMY: Quit fuckin' around, brosef, you're the punter! Ya sure as shit ain't big enough to be banging bodies on the field with the Shockmeister! What else could ya be?

MORSTEAD: Well, yes, sir, I'm the punter, but the guy you're talking about is Glenn Pakulak. "Glenn," sir, not "Gregg."

JEREMY: All right, fuck, I'm sorry. I gotta try and remember. It's "Glenn" and not "Gregg." Right. Sorry, bro-ham.

MORSTEAD: No, sir, it's, uh, "Tom." I'm "Tom."

JEREMY: Tom, Glenn, Gregg, whatever; point is, you came out to relax with the Shockmeister. That says a lot. Fuckin' Drew Brees gets invited to be part of some USO show for the troops. Fuck, ain't they seen my sweet tattoos of the bald eagle and American flag, Glenn? Shit, I even got a new one of Captain America fucking Hitler in the ass!! Literally. He's fucking Hitler in the ass.

(Morstead nods politely.)

MORSTEAD: Um, sounds pretty graphic, sir. How much did you spend on that?

JEREMY: Two grand. But it's worth it. Now e'ry time the Shockmeister takes off his pants in the club, them ladies know what I'm about.

(Morstead looks around nervously.)



MORSTEAD: Um, Mr. Shockey?

JEREMY: For shit's sake, Glenn, we bros. Call me "J. Shock."

MORSTEAD: Sorry. Um, J-Shock?



JEREMY: Yeah?

MORSTEAD: You don't think this place is a little strange for us, do you?

JEREMY: No. Why? You got a problem with it?

MORSTEAD: Well...



MORSTEAD: That man is touching the other's man, uh...penis.

SHOCKEY: Oh, fuck off, dude! He's just sudsing up his taint, man. Shit's normal. Ain't nothing "ghey" about this place. Just a bunch of dudes relaxing and chilling out and stuff. Nah, it's only ghey if you're doing it in the privacy of your own home and shit. If you're doing it in front of other people like this, it ain't ghey. It's like saying, "I'm so fucking awesome that I can totally let this dude rub ma junk and not be worried 'bout it." It's pretty fucking sweet if you ask me.

MORSTEAD: Okay, Mr. Shock--Oops, I mean, J. Shock.

SHOCKEY: Now let me tell you 'bout the time I got me a massage at this other place. I know what you're thinking: yeah, it was "with release," but hear me out...

MORSTEAD: Holy shit!!! What the fuck is going on there?!?!



JEREMY: Fuck's sake, Glenn! Act like you been here before or something! Don't tell me you never seen a dude get knifed in a bath house, huh?

MORSTEAD: Uh, no, J-Shock, sorry. That's not "how I roll." Holy crap, what's going on now?



JEREMY: Shit just got real, brosef. Come on, we better sneak outta here before they notice us.

(Morstead and the Shockmeister are in the locker room changing into their street clothes.)

MORSTEAD: Yeah, so thanks for inviting me out, J-Shock.

JEREMY: Hey, us bros gots to stick together, especially with training camp right around the corner. You look out for me...I look out for you.

MORSTEAD: Okay, well, I'm...holy living fuck!! What the fuck is that?!?!?



JEREMY: Dude, it's fucking Joe DiMaggio, what? Big deal? I fought a whole fucking army of zombies about a month ago. You worried about ghosts?

DIMAGGIO: Sorry to startle you, young man. Here, have a coffee maker.

MORSTEAD: Oh, God. Um...listen, I gotta go. I'll see you in a couple days, Jeremy. Bye...

(Morstead clears out his locker and hurries off, leaving the Shockmeister and the Ghost of Joe DiMaggio behind.)

JEREMY: So after I get dressed, you wanna hit up South Beach and tag team a broad?

DIMAGGIO: Only if I bat lead-off this time. I am NOT following your sloppy ass after what happened a few weeks ago.

(EPILOGUE: Morstead is back at his apartment in New Orleans the next day, seated on a pleather couch and listening to Andrew Lloyd Weber's soundtrack for "Cats." He opens up a bottle of Zima and sighs.)

MORSTEAD: Man, oh man...what am I going to do? If I can't hang out with Mr. Shockey, what's going to happen when training camp starts? What if he tells everybody that I can't handle some joshing around? And how can I possibly handle showering with the team NOW? I just saw Joe DiMaggio's dead wang not but three hours ago!! The guys are going to think something's funny with me for sure! Golly, I don't know what I'm gonna do?

(Morstead looks up at a massive 8' x 12' poster on his wall.)



MORSTEAD: Thanks, kitty. I think I will hang in there. Time for bed!

Jim Henderson, nooooooooooo!

What could have driven Hendu to such madness?



(Crosses fingers.) Please don't say it was this, Jim. Please don't say it was this, Jim. Please don't say it was this, Jim...

(Image from Kissing Suzy Kolber. Hat tip to Canal Street Chronicles.)

Return of the Shockmeister!

(Inside Saints HQ on Airline Highway.)



DREW: (on the phone) "Yeah, dear. I know it's aggravating. Well, just make something up. Tell Peter King I'm out riding with the Blue Angels or taping another Sports Science segment or something. Just say anything. Yeah. Thanks, babe. I love you, too. Bye."

(Hangs phone up.)

DREW: Now where's Coach Payton?

(Drew hears Motley Crue coming from the locker room.)

DREW: What the heck is that...?

(Drew walks in the locker room and finds Jeremy Shockey doing squats in the nude. He's only wearing his helmet -- backwards.)



SHOCKEY: (Making angry workout guy noises) Grrrrr, seven clits! Eight clits!! Nine clits!!! Ten clits!!!! Argh!! (Slams weights back on the rack and turns around.) What up, my Bro-mey!?

DREW: Son of a bitch, put some pants on, Jeremy!

SHOCKEY: Hey, dude, the Shockmeister likes to let the skin breathe when he's getting back into game shape! Besides, I gots to sweat out this Everclear, bro.

DREW: (Waving hand over face) God, is THAT what I'm smelling?



SHOCKEY: (Holds out index finger to Drew's face) Or is it THIS? Huh, you like that? Guess where I got that from?

DREW: I don't want to know. You're still getting hammered after what happened to you in Vegas?

SHOCKEY: Aw, come on, Drewster, I was dehydrated. Shit's, like, a hundred and fifty degrees outside in Vegas, dude!

DREW: Yeah, and it doesn't help when you're drinking like a damn fish out there, either!



SHOCKEY: Hey, don't be hating on the Shockmeister's ability to chase Jagerbombs and wine coolers with the best of 'em, Drew-nelious! Besides, I ain't here to talk about the past. Do you like that line? I'm gonna use it on the media later today. Nobody's EVER been clever enough to use that line before!

DREW: Uh...

SHOCKEY: And if they still push me on that, I'm gonna say, "Hey, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas!" I'm a fucking genius, right?!

DREW: Does Coach Payton know you like to eat paint chips with your protein shakes?

SHOCKEY: Why? That Valspar really helps take the edge off that whey taste, ya heard?

DREW: Good God, I'm surprised nobody's even made a fake Twitter account for you yet. You know that's been going around lately, huh? I can't imagine what kinda crazy shit they'd put on your fake account, goofball...

SHOCKEY: Aw, quit being such a old lady! You're just jealous cause you know if somebody made a fake Twitter account for you it'd say something like, "9:50 a.m. -- Went to dermatologist today. Again."

DREW: Listen to me, you bleach blonde bastard! I've gotta be up early tomorrow morning to hit 18 holes of golf for some Audubon Nature Institute benefit, then I promised Big Brothers I'd take a group of kids to see 'Land of the Lost,' and then I've gotta help paint walls at some refurbished high school, then it's off to the Army Corps headquarters to go over some design specs with those stupid fucks. And that's all before my appointment at Children's Hospital to donate bone marrow at 12:15, you fuckwad! I do not need your lazy, drunken antics slowing me down this off-season!

I was THIS FUCKING CLOSE to breaking the single season passing record last season and was supposed to count on you to help get me short yardage, but you blew that for me real nice last year, didn't you?!? Shit, a couple fucking passes for eight yards a pop would've done the fucking trick, and I managed to do it all while heaving the ball to Devery "stone hands" Henderson too, you drunken shithead! I am NOT gonna let you fuck me over again this year, boy-o! I got a small window to try and do something for this town before management inevitably fucks up and signs 41-year-old Brett Favre or some such stupid shit two years from now.

SHOCKEY: Relax, Brosef. E'rything's under control, yo!

(Coach Payton walks up.)



PAYTON: Gentlemen.

DREW: Hey, Coach.

SHOCKEY: What up, O Visor'd One?

PAYTON: Ah, not much. How many twats you doin' today, Jeremy?

SHOCKEY: I'm keeping the twats low and the clits high, Coach. Just trying to slowly acclimate myself back, ya heard?

PAYTON: Sure, sure, whatever works best for now.

DREW: Wait a sec. Twats? Clits? What the hell's going on?

PAYTON: Drew, that's what Jeremy calls "sets" and "reps." You had to have heard him counting it out, didn't you?

DREW: (puts hand on forehead) You gotta be kidding me...

PAYTON: Nope. (Grabs playbook) Oh, I wanted you to go over these new plays tonight. (Hands sheets to Drew)

DREW: Sure thing. When'd you come up with these?

PAYTON: Oh, it wasn't me. My son came up with a slew of plays for us last night on his XBox 360. He's like a 'XBox Kid' or something, huh?

SHOCKEY: Oh, that's fucking funny, Coach!!!

PAYTON: Anyways, I gotta get back to the film room. See you guys later. (Coach Payton exits, stage left.)

SHOCKEY: (Wrapping up in a towel) Hey, wanna hang out later? Bang some broads?

DREW: Ah, no...I'll pass.

SHOCKEY: Suit yourself. (Shockey walks off to the showers, singing Linkin Park to himself.)

DREW: Jesus tap-dancing Christ, can this day possibly get any worse?



TOMMY: Hey Drew! Wanna come over after practice and meet my cats? I trained them to mew in unison two days ago. It's soooo cute!

DREW: Ah, fuck me...

(Ed. note: These little vignettes are inspired by the guys at KSK. Just wanted to make sure I'm covering my bases.)

In for the long haul!

Seems I can look forward to making more trips back home for many falls and winters to come, as the Saints and the state are ready to announce a deal keeping the team in the Superdome through 2025. This not only thrills the fans, who were growing tired with the, "they're going to leave you in two years" talk, but must also make local businesses rejoice, as New Orleans is now back on the map to host another Super Bowl. Millions of tourism dollars in the coffers; job well done.

And whether you think Gov. Jindal looks like Kenneth the Page or not, the man deserves a lot of credit for untangling a large mess first created by Gov. Mike Foster and further exacerbated by Gov. Kathleen Blanco.

And let's not forget the other party in this: Tom Benson. In less than four years, he's gone from being the most hated person in the state of Louisiana (and that's saying A LOT), to, well he's not totally beloved, but at least the fans aren't booing him and making him fear for his safety following games, right? I mean, that's a step up for us! Last year during one of our shows on 'Forecast Radio,' I told Ralph I believed a deal would be done if for no other reason than for Benson to secure his legacy in the city and state that have made him a very wealthy man.

Something kept telling me that Benson, who's getting up there in age, would not want to go out and be remembered as the guy who tried, and then successfully, moved the team out of the region after Hurricane Katrina. Maybe his wife and daughter have softened him up behind the scenes, who knows? What IS fact, however, is that Benson deserves his share of credit for keeping the team in town for another fifteen years.

Now, the real pressing question is: how many Super Bowls can we win in that time, huh? Three? Nine? Twelve? I'll settle for one. Nah, maybe two; just two.

"Oh, you didn't know...?" Part 2

Here are the Saints' last two picks in the draft, complete with five factoids about each player that might surprise you:



Stanley Arnoux, ILB, Wake Forest

-Only watches "The Jimmy Fallon Show" in the hopes of seeing The Roots 'Slow Jam the News'.
-Uses the metric system. Religiously. (In the huddle: "Okay guys, it's third and a little over 82 centimeters! We can stop these guys!!" Players stare blankly. "Okay, fine. It's third and less than a yard. Assholes.")
-Believes George Washington not only invented cocaine, but was "six foot twenty, fucking killing for fun."
-Was once part of a bar brawl off campus. He didn't throw a single punch, but killed a guy with a merely a steely-eyed gaze.
-Wishes Chip Vaughn would take him to shop at Men's Warehouse.

And the final guy the Saints have selected in the 2009 NFL Draft...(handed note)...uh, you're fucking kidding me, right? WHAT?!? A fucking punter?!? In the FIFTH ROUND?!? Did these fuckos in the front office learn nothing from last year??? Fuck! (Regains composure.) Oh well. Okay. I'm cool. Let's do this.



Thomas Morstead, P, Southern Methodist University

-Used to shop at Hot Topic while in junior high school.
-Lauds the career of one Billy Zabka.
-Has 'Stuff White People Like' as his personal home page.
-His first Facebook status update read, "Working too hard can give you a heart attack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack!"
-Despite attending SMU, is, in fact, a Unitarian.

"Oh, you didn't know...?"

Rather than call it, 'Better Know a Draft Prospect,' or something similar, I went with the old WWF reference. Think I made the right call...

Anywho, here's who the Saints have with their two selections, along with five things you probably did not already know about them:



Malcolm Jenkins, Cornerback, Ohio State

-Likes to sing 'Down with the Sickness' at karaoke night.
-Favorite 'SNL' alum? Oddly enough, a toss-up between Melanie Hutsell and Victoria Jackson.
-Once killed a man in a knife fight. Slit the poor bastard from "neck to nuts." Was inspired to do so by endlessly watching "City Slickers" last summer. Although, he absolutely loathes "City Slickers 2: The Legend of Curly's Gold."
-Wanted to join the tea party protests a couple weeks back, until he learned that his preconceived notion of "tea bagging" was WAY different than theirs.
-Joined a midnight dodgeball league back at OSU, where he set a record for 'most induced nosebleeds'.



Chip Vaughn, Safety, Wake Forest

-Would be more than happy to give you directions, even if he's not entirely sure how to get there.
-Can't decide whether to write fan fiction based on either the novel 'World War Z' or the television series 'Eureka.'
-Favorite word: 'apoplectic' (for reasons unknown)
-Spends his off-days at Men's Warehouse.
-The critic who said one of Vaughn's weaknesses was, "Surrounded by a great deal of talent at Wake Forest," failed to realize that THIS was the talent:

And the Saints are interested in...

According to the 'Guy Who Knows A Guy,' the Saints are interested in the following players, either via the draft or free agency:

QB - Drew WIlly, U of Buffalo

RB - Wells, Moreno, Greene (Iowa), Jennings (Liberty), Brown (NC ST), and Fenroy (ULL)

WR - Nick Moore (Toledo), Eron Riley (Duke), Dudley Guice (NW St), and Jason Chery (ULL)

P - Kevin HUber (U of Cincy)

K - Merf Trout (Graceland U)

C - Rob Bruggemann (Iowa)

OG - Roger Allen (Mizzou Western), Andy Levitre (Oregon St)

DT - Jarron Gilbert (San Jose St.), Senderick Marks (Auburn), Fili Moala (USC), BJ Raji and Ron Brace (BC), Peria Jerry (Ole Miss), Trevor Jenkins (Middle Tenn), John Gill (N'western), King (Iowa), Scott (Clemson).

S - Louis Delmas (W Mich), Johnson (Bama), Mitchell (Ohio U), Hamlin (Clemson), Vaugh (Wake)

CB - Francies (San Jose St), Fletcher (Iowa), Davis (Illinois), Jenkins (OSU), Washington (OSU), Alphonso Smith (Wake), Butler (UConn)

DE - English (No. Ill), Everette Pedesclaux (No. Iowa), Lawrence Sidbury (Richmond), Tyson jackson (LSU), Desmond Bryant (Harvard)

LB - Matthews, Maulauga, Cushing (USC), Gerald McRath (USM), Laurinaitis (OSU), Felder and Follett (Cal), Russell Allen (San Diego St), DeAndre Levy (Wisc.), Jonathan Casillas (Wisc.), Tyrone McKenzie (South Fla), Stanley Arnoux (Wake)

We now return to our regularly scheduled program...

I last posted on about 10 weeks ago. Not that you care, but that feels like half a lifetime. I've enjoyed the time off -- lots of reading, pretending like I'm really gonna get cracking on that novel, etc. But I digress.

For your listening pleasure:



With the draft coming up tomorrow, I just wanted to commit my opinion to the ether. Are you ready for it? Are you sure? Huh? I'll bet you been waiting a long, looong time for this, haven't you? Yeah, you been wanting it, I know. Begging for it, I bet, hmm?

Ah, fuck it, here goes: TRADE. THE. FUCK. DOWN.

The team has just four picks (a first rounder, two fourths and a seventh, if I remember my Jeff Duncan updates correctly, meaning the franchise has little room for error here. Even though the front office has been quite adroit at acquiring quality from the fifth round and on (e.g. Marques Colston, Zach Strief and Carl Nicks), we need as many bodies as possible to fill defensive gaps.

So let me go on record as saying that if the Saints don't trade that pick away and opt to select Beanie Wells or some other offensive weapon we don't need this early, I am going to go to my pantry, grab a paper bag, take it into the bathroom, shit in it, staple it shut, go down to the FedEx store and put it in one of their overnight shipments, and mail it to Saints HQ on Airline Highway.

I don't care what Mel Kiper, Todd McShay, or even my beloved compadre the 'Ralpha Dog' thinks about this -- I cannot be shaken from my position that drafting a running back in the first round would be a waste.

The Saints already had the best offense in the league. Obviously there's nowhere else to go but down. No, I'm not trying to be a Debbie Downer, but if Drew Brees remains upright and the receivers can catch the ball, this offense will not slip by much. Adding another high-priced running back, albeit one with a foot injury on the docket, to the fold does not shore up the team's ability to successfully operate the Cover 2 or whatever the fuck scheme Gregg Williams is going to install for the defense.

This team has serious needs on defense: corner, safety, linebacker and run blocker (in no particular order). I'm crazy to think the Saints will use all their picks on defense. I just want this year's draft to focus on the defensive side of the ball.

However, I do agree with Ralph on one big thing: why would you take Malcolm Jenkins as a safety if he's supposed to be a corner, but isn't good enough to play that position? Another reason why the team should try and trade down.

With that said, here are my draft notes from my 'Guy Who Knows A Guy':

1. The Saints are high on Ole Miss defensive tackle Peria Jerry. However, it seems that the discussion keeps falling back between taking either Jenkins, Beanie Wells and Knowshawn Moreno. (Ed. note - TRADE THE FUCK DOWN!)

2. The Saints have scouted so many linebackers recently, they believe there is enough depth at the position and can afford to take one in the later rounds.

3. Team likes QB Drew Willy out of the University of Buffalo. They're hoping he goes to the free agent market. If he's still available in round six and they think somebody might take him, Sean Payton may get on the phone.

4. Payton, GM Mickey Loomis, DC Gregg Williams and the director of college scouting Rick Reiprish are examining ways to get an extra pick or two for the weekend. (Ed. note - THANK CHRIST!)

5. Rumor floating around that Jammal Brown could be on the "under the radar trade market." Also, other teams have asked about Darren Sharper, Charles Grant and Devery Henderson for possible draft weekend trades.