Return of "Schmuck of the Week!"

Back when I used to write for a certain news station in the Greater New Orleans Metropolitan Area, I wanted to come up with a way bust people's balls for doing asinine things in the world of sports. Obviously, I didn't care enough to write 600 words on JUST Big Ben being an idiot for not wearing a helmet that time he got into a motorcycle accident. I wanted to get in, do my damage, and get out. Since there will never be a shortage of jackassery in sports, I figured I had a readymade column to turn in on a weekly basis. I even had a name for it: Schmuck of the Week.

Schmuck of the Week ran for only four or five entries, though. Why? I go to work one day and my supervisor/department head tells me, "Kevin, you can't call it 'Schmuck of the Week' anymore. (So-so) says 'schmuck' means 'penis' in Yiddish and we can't have that on our website."

I took it in stride.

"Are you fucking kidding me, (name redacted)?!? This is bullshit!"

I attempted to argue that schmuck had taken on other meanings in modern American society, like "fool," "idiot," "someone who is asinine," etc. That didn't work. I think I called it something else for one week and stopped it entirely. If I couldn't call it Schmuck of the Week, especially if it was due to some bullshit complaint by a coworker, then why bother writing it? There's principalities in this!!

So now that I've had this blog thing running for a couple years, it occurred to me, "why not dust off the old bit?" But Kevin, you're probably saying, you run a blog now. Why not call it something more vulgar, like "Fucking fuckhead of the Week?" No, that's not the point. Schmuck of the Week is what I was denied calling it, so Schmuck of the Week is what I WILL call it, now and forever.

Here's how it works: if somebody in the sports world acts like a jackass, says something asinine, does something that causes the rest of us to face palm, then they are eligible to be included in this group. Like the old column, I don't really decide on a winner, per say; all these jackasses are winners in their own right and deserve a fair share of the spite spotlight.

Here goes nothing....

Chris Berman's mustache


Super Mario called...what'd you do with Princess Toadstool?!?

Ines Sainz...and everyone else


I'm not saying this woman "had it coming" or "deserved it." Nope. That'd make ME the asshole. However, what Hottie McHotTits over here needs to understand (if she didn't before) is that you cannot legitimately claim to be a professional sports reporter and dress like that. Go work for Extra or E! or some shit if you want to dress like that. In the same breath, you don't need to wear a potato sack, either. You're a hot ass lady; you can wear many, many things without looking like you're about to hit up a singles bar in Miami Beach.

Oh well, at least we got an awesome Fake Rex Ryan post over at Kissing Suzy Kolber.

Reggie Bush


Reggie, I'll defend you when people say you're a bust. Hell, I'm even willing to overlook that goddamn "Bush Push" when you and Matt Leinart screwed Notre Dame out of a win back in 2005. All because you play for the Black and Gold. But I cannot abide you returning the Heisman Trophy and saying you didn't want to be a distraction to the team one day and another day say, "Now this isn't an admission of guilt." Really? Really, Reggie?!? I can maybe see where you're coming from when you first said you didn't want to be a distraction. But you really missed an opportunity to come clean and make a point about the NCAA's rules.

NFL referees



His hate is strong. If I were a Lions fan, you'd better believe I would have busted that out on some kind of internet radio postgame show. We've now at the point where some fools are starting to blame Calvin Johnson, even after admitting the rule itself needs revising (I'm looking at YOU, Bill Simmons). You know what? Megatron doesn't need to apologize for jack shit. And I heard the NFL was happy as a pig in shit when they heard about this, and they were pleased to come down in support oft the official for making the right call.

And all these goobers in the national sports media keep siting some rule about 'going to the ground' and say the officials were within their right to wave off the touchdown. Guess what, assholes? Jason Lisk over at The Big Lead cracked open the rule book, too. He found rules and bylaws RIGHT NEXT TO THE BULLSHIT RULE that says it could've been ruled a touchdown. So fuck you, the refs, the league and any Chicago Bears fan who doesn't man up and admit that they rightfully should have lost that game.

Saints 2010 Regular Season Prediction

I'm already on record with "11-5." Now's the part where I get specific on how they reach 11-5 and win the division. Reminder: I'm not doing playoff predictions. I'm only predicting that the Saints will make the postseason, like last year. What they do from there is totally lagniappe.

1. Minnesota Vikings (W 30-24) (Ed. note: That's what I said on the radio show.)

2. @San Francisco 49ers (L 23-17)

3. Atlanta Falcons (W 28-17)

4. Carolina Panthers (W 30-20)

5. @Arizona Cardinals (W 24-13)

6. @Tampa Bay Bucs (W 27-14)

7. Cleveland Browns (W 45-24)

8. Pittsburgh Steelers (W 42-9) FUCK YOU BANDWAGON STEELERS FAN!!!!



9. @Carolina Panthers (L 20-17)

10. Seattle Seahawks (W 28-14)

11. @Dallas Cowboys (L 24-20)

12. @Cincinnati Bengals (W 20-9)

13. St. Louis Rams (W 34-15)

14. @Baltimore Ravens (L 17-14)

15. @Atlanta Falcons (L 27-24)

16. Tampa Bay Bucs (W 34-10)

NFL Predictions, Division by Division (2010)

Look, I'm not vetting this stuff like I used to, game-by-game, cross-referenced with every other schedule, to ensure that I'm getting all these numbers correct. So I'm just predicting what I think the following teams' records will be at the end of the (soon-to-be two games longer, God willing) regular season. I'll throw some notes down for some teams. And no, this is NOT the power rankings. Like years past, I will NOT do that until after week 3. I hate college preseason polls.

AFC EAST
1. New England Patriots (11-5)
2. Miami Dolphins* (9-7)
3. New York Jets (8-8) Look, these guys went 9-7 last year and were LUCKY to even be in the postseason. And they DIDN'T win the division, either! I don't buy these guys as world beaters with Mark Sanchez at quarterback. Sorry.
4. Toronto Buffalo Bills (5-11)

AFC WEST
1. San Diego Chargers (10-6) No Vincent Jackson? Rookie running back? Uh, no 11+ win season.
2. Denver Broncos (8-8)
3. Kansas City (6-10)
4. Oakland Raiders (5-11) I made this prediction on The Big Lead and I'll share it with you now: If the Raiders make the postseason, I will allow somebody to nail me in the head with a cookie sheet, tape it, and put it on the internet. Yes, this would be highly embarrassing and probably eliminate me from all future presidential contention. But the Raiders aren't making the playoffs, so I've got nothing to worry about.

AFC NORTH
1. Baltimore Ravens (11-5) Come on, Joe Flacco, you uni-browed bad ass! I've got you in my fantasy league!!
2. Pittsburgh Steelers (8-8) Pittsburgh is not making the postseason. Sorry, fat asshole who jumped on the bandwagon back in the 70s.
3. Cincinnati Bengals (7-9)
4. Cleveland Browns (6-10) Jon Gruden, line one...

AFC SOUTH
1. Indianapolis Colts (12-4) It's Peyton Manning. Of COURSE he's going to win 12 again. And Jim Caldwell will undoubtedly do something utterly stupid during the regular season. Guy's got the Kathleen Blanco "what am I gonna do?" look on the sidelines AT ALL TIMES.
2. Houston Texas* (9-7) These guys are going to make us all right someday...Like the Washington Generals are BOUND to win one, right?
3. Tennessee Titans (8-8) Vincent Young regresses. Jeff Fisher stays in place.
4. Jacksonville Jaguars (5-11)

NFC EAST
1. Dallas Cowboys (10-6) They're not as great as everyone is making them out to be. And yet I've got them going to the playoffs. Go figure.
2. New York Giants* (10-6)
3. Washington Redskins (8-8)
4. Philadelphia Eagles (7-9)

NFC WEST
1. San Francisco 49ers (8-8) This is just wishful thinking. I'm so rooting for a team to finish .500 and still WIN their division. This needs to happen.
2. Seattle Seahawks (7-9)
3. St. Louis Rams (5-11) I can't believe I'm saying this, but: if Sam Bradford doesn't die behind that crappy O-Line, he'll give a lot of hope to the forty-five football fans in town.
4. Arizona Cardinals (4-12) The year after Kurt Warner leaves, the wheels officially come off.

NFC NORTH
1. Green Bay Packers (12- 4)
2. Minnesota Vikings (9-7)
3. Detroit Lions (6-10) Dude in my fantasy league paid out the ass for Jahvid Best. Like 30 bucks. Crazy. Then again, I paid $21 for Beanie Wells, so I have little room to talk.
4. Chicago Bears (5-10)

NFC SOUTH
1. New Orleans Saints (11-5)
2. Atlanta Falcons* (10-6) The Falcons will be decidedly friskier in 2010.
3. Carolina Panthers (7-9)
4. Tampa Bay Buccaneers (3-13)

Favre-aggedon, Part 7: INterCEPTION

Hey Vikings fans, was it a dream or reality? Did Favre really kill your season with a patented backbreaking interception and then hold the franchise hostage during the offseason? Or maybe this has been an illusion...nah, the ball falls over...IT'S REALITY.

Favre-aggedon, Part 6: You're gonna need a bigger D-Line

It's really a miracle of football evolution. All he does is retire, unretire, and make little Favres.

Favre-aggedon, Part 5: Favre-atar

For all its hype and awesome appearance, it's pretty simplistic when you really pay attention...



Seriously, unobtainium, James Cameron?!? That's the thing that's hard to get to and very rare? UNOBTAINIUM?!? GTFO, dude...

Favre-aggedon, Part 4: Lost In Croc-Texting

Brett, it's Deanna on line one...Shall I take a message?

Favre-aggedon, Part 3: Old Man and the D

Saints v. Vikings on September 9 is going to be epic. Ernest Hemingway EPIC.



Think after Tracy Porter ruins Brett Favre once again he'll have to wear Favre's jersey around his neck like the "Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner"?

Yes, I'm aware that Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote the poem, but I wanted to extend the maritime theme.

Favre-aggedon, Part 2: Favre Vader

This jag went to the dark side a long time ago, in a galaxy not far enough way...

Favre-aggedon, Part 1: "The Favre Side"

I don't think ol' #4 is getting the message:



You can expect more of these in the days leading up to the Saints' season opener against the Fightin' Favres.

Shockmeister! Puntmaster! The Return!!

EXT. French Quarter -- NIGHT

(Jeremy Shockey and Thomas Morstead are walking down Dauphine street, drinks in hand. Shockey's double fisting 'hurricanes' while Morstead sips on a Mike's Hard Lemonade.)


SHOCKMEISTER: Dude, you know fucking gheys drink that, right?


MORSTEAD: Come on, it's good stuff, Jerm!

SHOCKMEISTER: I told you not to call me that in public!!!

MORSTEAD: Sorry. Well, look, if this bothers you that much I can just get a Smirnoff Ice whenever we get where we're going.

(Shockey stops and glares at Morstead.)

SHOCKMEISTER: You go to USC...brah?

MORSTEAD: No.

SHOCKMEISTER: Unless the word "vodka" immediately follows it, I don't want to hear you say the word "Smirnoff" again, okay?

MORSTEAD: (sheepishly hangs his head) Yes, sir...

SHOCKMEISTER: How's the arm?

MORSTEAD: You mean shoulder.

SHOCKMEISTER: Arm. Shoulder. Whatever. You feeling better?

MORSTEAD: Yeah...

SHOCKMEISTER: Good. You're gonna need that shoulder to function.

MORSTEAD: Why?


SHOCKMEISTER: Cause we gonna be swimming in pussy TO-NIGHT!!!!

MORSTEAD: Sheesh...So is this place we're going to that awesome?

SHOCKMEISTER: Puntmaster, I already told you...the chicks in this place are fucking smoking! They got FDP's there!

MORSTEAD: (Pause.) Fast Double Penetration?

SHOCKMEISTER: Lay off the Naughty America account, man! Shit, you ever think THAT'S how you injured your shoulder?! FDP means Flaming Dr. Pepper. They pour liquor and Dr. Pepper in a glass and light it on fire. You drink it. It's fucking sweeeeet!

MORSTEAD: And you promised arcade games, right?

SHOCKMEISTER: (Face palms.) Yeah, Puntmaster, they got arcade machines. All your classics. Pac-Man, Galaga, RBI Baseball.

MORSTEAD: Burger Time?

SHOCKMEISTER: (Double face palms.) Who the fuck plays Burger Time?

MORSTEAD: Hey, you want me to tell the guys you love playing Dance, Dance, Revolution?

SHOCKMEISTER: I was trying to get in a chick's panties! She wanted to play!!

MORSTEAD: They got Burger Time or not?

SHOCKMEISTER: Yeah.

MORSTEAD: Awesome!

(Morstead and Shockey continue walking along Dauphine until they come to a club at on St. Peters. There is a long line and a bouncer at the door. The two wait patiently in line and finish their drinks of choice. Shockey gets three phone numbers. Morstead opens up a roll of quarters. The two finally get to the front of the line.)


BOUNCER: Seven bucks apiece, gents.

SHOCKMEISTER: What the fuck? It used to be five.

BOUNCER: They changed it.

SHOCKMEISTER: Obviously. Why?

BOUNCER: Cause they wanted to? You wanna come in or not?

MORSTEAD: Let's just pay the man and get inside, I can hear Burger Time calling my name.

SHOCKMEISTER: Whatever...

BOUNCER: That's right.

(Shockey and Morstead each cough up the seven bucks to get in. The club is crawling with hot chicks and douche bags.)

SHOCKMEISTER: This place is douche-baggey-er than I remembered.

MORSTEAD: You haven't been here in a while?

SHOCKMEISTER: Not since early 2009. Used to be able to get in for five bucks.

MORSTEAD: Don't sweat it. Let's get a tab going and start playing some games!

SHOCKMEISTER: You can play your fruity Burger Time, I'm gonna try and get this DJ to quit playing everything just slightly faster than normal. It's fucking annoying and lame.

(Morstead walks up to the bar while Shockmeister goes to the DJ booth.)

MORSTEAD: Can I open a tab?

BARTENDER: WHAT?!?

MORSTEAD: CAN I OPEN A TAB?!?

BARTENDER: YEAH, SURE. $25 MINIMUM!!

MORSTEAD: WHY?!?

BARTENDER: CAUSE I SAID SO! THAT'S THE RULES!!

MORSTEAD: FINE.

(Morstead hands over his credit card with the kitties on it.)

MORSTEAD: I'D LIKE TO GET TWO FLAMING DR. PEPPERS!

BARTENDER: $20 BUCKS!

MORSTEAD: HAS IT ALWAYS BEEN THAT MUCH?!?

BARTENDER: YEAH.

MORSTEAD: OKAY...

(Bartender pours the FDPs. Morstead turns around and sees Shockmeister with a pissed off look on his face.)

MORSTEAD: What?

SHOCKMEISTER: Fucking DJ won't fix this shit. He said, "the chicks dig it, so I ain't changing it." Fuck sticks!


MORSTEAD: Did you know the Flaming Dr. Peppers are $10 a piece?

SHOCKMEISTER: No. They used to be like five or six bucks when I was last here.

MORSTEAD: Guy said it's always been like this.

SHOCKMEISTER: This is some serious fucking bullshit!

MORSTEAD: Hey, I'm gonna go find the Burger Time machine. You gonna be okay?

SHOCKMEISTER: Yeah, yeah.

(Morstead wanders off through the crowd while Shockey stews. The Shockmeister shakes his head in disgust as another Kanye West song is ruined. About two minutes later, Shockey hears a bloodcurdling scream from near the bathrooms. Shockey runs over and finds Morstead sobbing.)

SHOCKMEISTER: What? What?? WHAT???

MORSTEAD: (pointing) Look at the Burger Time machine!!!


SHOCKMEISTER: Oh, shit. They're all out.

MORSTEAD: Guy said they've been broke for months and the manager won't pay to get 'em fixed! Oh God...(sobs more) Where will I get my Excitebike fix now?!?

SHOCKMEISTER: I'm sorry, Puntmaster.

MORSTEAD: (wiping tears) Ugh, it's okay...let's just get outta here.

(The two walk back to their FDP's at the bar.)

MORSTEAD: I'd like to close out, please...

BARTENDER: 25 BUCKS, DUDE! I ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT!!

(Morstead clutches at his glass until it shatters in his hand. He grabs Shockey's glass and flings it across the bar, spraying fire onto a wall and burning several arcade machines.)

MORSTEAD: I'VE HAD ALLS I CAN STANDS AND I CAN'T STANDS NO MORE!!!

(Morstead becomes a whirling dervish of kicking and screaming as he busts up the nightclub. Minutes later, Shockey and Morstead are walking up Dauphine as the part of the nightclub burns.)

SHOCKMEISTER: Tell me that did not just happen...

MORSTEAD: I left my credit card in there, didn't I?

Was it good for you, too?

I've wanted to write something like this ever since mid-February, but I've been a walking catharsis these last six months. Honestly, trying to write anything else about the Saints seemed more like an exercise or chore than something heartfelt. It's the feeling you get after sex: lazy, joyous and doing nothing but basking in the glow of what had just occurred. That's what this off-season has been for me; one long post-coitus sprawl.

Watching Drew Brees on Ellen? Great. Breesus on Letterman? #9 on Leno? Saints winning ESPYs? St. Drew on Oprah? Sure, I can handle all that.

You want me to dissect whether I think Al Woods is going to be an instant starter? Wihll Malcolm Jenkins break through in the secondary this training camp? How will Patrick Ramsey handle being number two on the depth chart behind Brees? Uh, don't kill my buzz, man?

That's not to say it was an uneventful set of months. I bought a house in May. I bring this up not to bore you with anecdotes of me taking advantage of a tax credit, but rather to transition into a story involving my folks that has nothing to do with the phrase "post-coitus sprawl."

Immediately following the NFC Championship Game, my dad said he'd collected several copies of the Times-Picayune for the family so we could frame them. I called him shortly after the Saints won the Super Bowl and told him to make sure he got me a copy to frame as well. It took him having to drive across the lake and wait in line, but the old man followed through and got enough copies for everybody. He'd get the two papers framed for me, but wanted to know if he should ship them to me right away. We agreed he'd bring them in June when he and my mother flew up for a visit. I was not about to trust the US Postal Service or UPS with handling this.

My parents arrived and after getting them settled, I ripped the thick, brown wrapping paper off the framed newspapers. Even though my girlfriend and I had far more pressing things to handle in the house, I grabbed the hammer and looked for a spot to hang them up, eventually settling on a spot in the living room so any visitors would see them right when they came in.

I see those framed newspapers every time I come home from work and it reminds me that the last year was not an illusion.

And as we begin the transition from that magical wondrous illuminating uplifting scrumtrulescent season to the 2010-2011 campaign, I've had time to reflect on what it's like to go from something so grand to, in essence, starting back from scratch. People often talk or joke about a movie being made for the Super Bowl season. And yeah, I'll participate in creating a dream cast, sure, but the reality of it is real life isn't a movie. Sure, we'd all love to still be riding off into the sunset with Indiana Jones and his father after grabbing the holy grail. Sadly, if life were like a movie, we'd be hanging out with some dude named "Mutt" and wondering why the hell are we dealing with aliens instead of some other religious artifacts.

It's not movies, it's television. Think about it: in a movie (in a basic sense), you get two hours and then the credits roll and you get the idea that everything has worked itself out and there will be no more complications on that issue because you just spent two hours seeing that get resolved. In TV, a problem sometimes gets solved in the half-hour or hour-long format, and yeah, things may be wrapped up for that particular week, but the character arcs remain. The cops have more cases to solve, Matlock has more people to put away, Dick Wolf's "Law & Order" noise still has more gongs to make, vampires are still fighting over some psychic bartender in northern Louisiana, some airplane crash victims are still trapped on the island, President Bartlett is still in charge, Baltimore is still a drug-infested shit hole, you get the idea.

Sure, some of these shows go off the air, but you get the idea that things just keep going on for these characters. There is no grand dénouement and suddenly everything just ends. We'll wake up at the start of every NFL season from this moment onward and know the Saints have Super Bowl 44. But there's still more seasons to be played, more adventures to be had, many more moments of exaltation and agony to behold. And we'll go forward, win or lose, like we always have. Only from now on, we've got a Lombardi Trophy.