A big, hearty f*ck you...

In light of the Saints' improbable run to the Super Bowl and victory over the Minnesota Vikings in the NFC Championship Game, the following is a list of people that can go fuck themselves. I will add select commentary behind some entries, because sometimes it's important to know why a guy has to go fuck himself. (Note: This list is made in no particular order)

Joe Buck & Troy Aikman: These Brett Favre apologists were the wrong fuckers to be calling Sunday night's game. You could almost hear tears in their voices. Jesus Christ, Gus Johnson would've blown a fucking gasket over this game, could you PRETEND to be excited for five seconds!?!?

Adrian Peterson: Fuck you for having gloves covered in KY Jelly, you fumbling fuck! "I feel they didn't win the game but we lost it." You said that. Right after the game. Fuck you in the helmet, you purple-headed asshole. That Under Armor-wannabe shit you're wearing must be cutting off the circulation to your brain. As I remember it, the only fumble that the Saints didn't cause was when you and the Favre-meister couldn't get a goddamn handoff right in the backfield....WHEN YOU WERE DEEP IN SAINTS TERRITORY, you shit-eating fuck!

Marcellus Wiley: Fuck off for picking the Vikings! And a double fuck off for saying the Cardinals were in a better spot going into their game against the Saints!

Bill Simmons: Cause fuck him, that's why.

Brett Favre: For whining to the officials early on, like they owe you favors... And for getting one of them to help your jersey back over your pads after you got rocked AGAIN by the Saints' defense... And for stirring up the "will he or won't he retire?" crap already when all you should've said was "no comment," you hick fuck!

Vikings fans who believe the game was "gifted" to the Saints: fuck you, retards. the officials fucked things up on BOTH sides of the ball, so don't act like this was some set up. if anything, the officials gave your team MORE calls early on in the game. and you STILL couldn't beat the Saints!!!

Peter King: Fuck you for mourning the Vikings' loss (read: Brett Favre's loss) first and not giving the Saints their proper due, you bias mother fucker.

Sports media: Here's the thing about the media in general (and ESPECIALLY the sports media): they have a narrative in mind for how they'd like to cover a story or see things unfold AT ALL TIMES. That's everybody. Now, sadly, there are fewer professionals in both businesses who can taper down their thoughts and feelings on something and let the facts and details dictate what should be covered and talked about. Instead, you get assholes who start rooting for Favre, cause it's a "better story to see an old guy get one more run at a title." Bullshit. The truth is, these sports writers wanted to see a guy closer to their age make a run in a young man's game and it would've made them feel a little bit better about themselves.

And finally...My former boss: Yeah, you thought I'd forget, didn't you? Right? See, NOW you can go ahead with that "Black & Gold Super Bowl" ad campaign shit. Go on, dick head, you have my permission. Fuck you, you overweight prick.

Select photos from the game...

I'm still too blubbery to write something down, so I thought I'd go with hilarious pictures that have gone through the "i can haz cheezburger" wringer. (Note: The guys at KSK do a fantastic job on their site when they do this stuff.)

Cormac McCarthy likes the NFC action this weekend, thank you very much!

Think they'll give Vilma a cattle gun to take down Favre?



I know what you're thinking: "But Kevin, why'd you misspell Brett Favre's last name? Were you trying to be funny?" Well, yes and no.

I say "no," because I realized about 20 minutes into building this thing (during breaks at work, mind you) that I spelled the fucker's name wrong. And since I'm too lazy to fix this shit, I decided, fuck it, I'll make it like "Something About Mary." So there you go.

Of course, looking at it now...I probably SHOULD have either gone back and fixed it, or at least tried to match the misspelling on Favre's jersey. And then I probably could have maybe put another couple players on the poster to cover up the dead space...

Fuck, I need to sleep...

Payton and Whisenhunt in a battle of the minds!!!

('24'-style voice over: The following takes place between 7 p.m. and 7:10 p.m. on Friday, January 15.)

INT. GAME SHOW SET

(Coaches Sean Payton and Ken Whisenhunt are standing behind podiums, facing one another on a dimly lit stage. Pat Kiernan stands between them, wearing a dapper suit.)


PAT: And welcome back to the World Series of Pop Culture, folks! We are here for the final round of this epic contest between coaches Sean Payton and Ken Whisenhunt, to determine who truly has the right mojo leading their team into their upcoming Divisional Round playoff game!

(Crowd applauds.)

PAT: Now, here are the rules for this final round, in which all points are quadrupled, effectively rendering the previous six rounds meaningless...Okay, we're going to have a duel of pop culture awesomeness!!! Each coach will take turns saying something that he thinks has pop culture awesomeness. The other coach will then try to top him with something HE thinks is more awesome. Sounds easy, but it's quite difficult. First one to five points wins. Are you ready, Coach Whisenhunt?


KEN: Uh, yeah, sure.

PAT: What say you, then?

KEN: Um...Courtney Cox's dance moves in the "Dancing in the Dark" video?



PAT: Coach Payton, your rebuttal?


SEAN: Let's see...I'll go with Bruce Springsteen's crotch slide during the Super Bowl 43 half time show.



PAT: Point for Coach Sean Payton!!!!

(Crowd applauds.)

PAT: Coach Payton, you're move?

SEAN: Okay. I'll go with Rex Ryan's bombastic locker room tirades.

PAT: Coach Whisenhunt, what say you?

KEN: Hmmm...I'll say Trying to prove that Mark Sanchez is a competent quarterback!

PAT: Point for Sean Payton! Sorry, Ken, but nobody's buying that Sanchez bullshit anytime soon. But hey, you're leading off Round 3, so here's your chance to play catch up!

KEN: I'll go with the big thing on the internet at the moment and say that old dude on American Idol singing "Pants On The Ground."



SEAN: Pat, this one's easy. I'll take Jimmy Fallon's nonsensical cover of "Pants On The Ground" as Neil Young.



PAT: Folks, that is a winner-winner chicken dinner for Coach Sean Payton!!! 3-0, Coach Payton! Come on, Coach Whisenhunt, you've gotta put up a better fight than this!

KEN: Um, look, I'm not sure this is such a good idea.

SEAN: Quit being a puss, Ken, it's a fun little diversion before the game. I mean, it's not the Saints are gonna smoke the Cards this bad. I mean, ALL THE ANALYSTS AND TALKING HEADS say you guys have the momentum coming into the SuperDome. Nevermind the fact that Kurt Warner's 0-2 here. You guys are gonna be near impossible to beat, according to the former players who now have fashionistas picking out their suits for television. Come on, let's keep playing.

KEN: Alright fine.

PAT: Coach Payton...you lead us off in Round 4.

SEAN: Simple. Jimmy Kimmel doing his entire late night show as Jay Leno, only to appear on Leno's prime time show the next night and absolutely crush him again....

PAT: Coach Whisenhunt, your response...?

KEN: Uh...Hmmm...let me think...Gimme a minute...

(Buzzer sounds.)

PAT: Oh, I'm sorry, Coach Ken, time's up. Coach Payton gets the point. You need to win this one to avoid the sweep. You need a good pop culture reference here to keep it competitive.

KEN: Okay, I'm busting out the big guns for this one: Kurt Warner drawing Jesus.

PAT: Coach Payton?

SEAN: Four words, Pat: WHERE. THE. LEPRECHAUN. AT.



PAT: CLEAN SWEEP for Sean Payton!!! 5-0 for the Saints' coach!

KEN: What?!? That clip is like three years old!!! I demand Coach Payton come up with something more recent!

SEAN: Okay, Ken, you asked for it. Three words: CAT. RAPING. PUNTER.

KEN: The fuck's a "cat raping punter?" Who's a cat raping punter? There's a punter in the league that rapes cats?!? The fuck is that, Sean?

SEAN: Pat?

PAT: Coach Ken, it's a perfectly acceptable pop culture reference. In fact, had Coach Payton gone with that one from the get go, the judges probably would have awarded him the contest then and there. I'm sorry, but you lost.

KEN: Dang it!

"There's no killing what can't be killed"

INT. SAINTS HEADQUARTERS, WAR ROOM - DAY

(Sean Payton is flipping through binders, looking at player profiles and consulting medical charts, and visiting WebMD on his computer.)


PAYTON: Blast it! I can't figure out why all our guys are getting and staying injured! Hip pointers, sports hernias, pulled groins, hamstring issues, knee trouble, foot trouble, finger sprains, if never freaking ends! There has GOT to be a reason for all of this!

(Drew Brees walks up and knocks on Payton's door frame.)

BREES: Mind if I come in, coach?

PAYTON: Damn right, I called you in here because I need to know if you've seen or heard anything from the guys about their injuries.

BREES: What do you mean, coach?

PAYTON: You know, if the guys are talking about any off field incidents involving horseplay or something. Those douchey media types are saying guys, well Jeremy in particular, are getting injured by playing grab-ass all the damn time. I want answers!

BREES: You sure you wanna know, coach? I don't know if you're ready for this...

PAYTON: (slams fist on desk) Dammit, I demand to know why my guys are falling by the wayside here! We've got ONE week to get healthy and I can't be fretting over more injuries!


BREES: Okay, coach. Follow me...

(Brees leads Coach Payton downstairs, into the hallways outside the Saints locker room.)

BREES: (Points.) There.

PAYTON: What?

BREES: There. Straight ahead...



PAYTON: What? It's behind the drink machine?

BREES: No, coach. It IS THE DRINK MACHINE.

PAYTON: What? Dammit, Drew! You got me all worked up here!! I'm thinking Shockey screwed some mobster's wife or the wiring in Lynell Hamilton's head changed and he's set to "maim" or something. The fucking vending machine's the problem?

BREES: Coach, this is no ordinary vending machine...

PAYTON: Oh, come off it!

BREES: Coach, that vending machine has a mean streak a mile wide! It can leap about (stretches arms out) ... It can swallow five men's souls and cake them in corn syrup inside of ten minutes!

PAYTON: Fuck's sake, Drew, quit screwing around!

BREES: I'm not, coach! The guys are absolutely terrified of this thing! Look, they even hired a shaman to kill it...


KING WILLIE: "You can't see the eyes of the demon, until him come callin'."

PAYTON: What? Make sense, crazy black guy.

KING WILLIE: Dis ting be evil man. Dis is dread, Coach Payton. Truly DREAD!

PAYTON: Whatever...

(Coach Payton turns around and is surprised to see The Shockmeister standing by with torches and a chainsaw.)


SHOCKMEISTER: Oh, I hope this guy works out...Fucking vending machine broke my foot!

PAYTON: I knew it! You DID break your damn foot kicking this fucking thing!

SHOCKMEISTER: Damn right I kicked it, coach! Fucking thing tried to eat me! It spit out some rancid cola at me and it hit Fujita. Gave him staph infection.

PAYTON: That's bullshit, Jeremy.

BREES: No, it's true, coach. The thing fired a can at Jabari Greer's junk and gave him that groin pain. It lunged at him and gave Greer that sports hernia, too.

SHOCKMEISTER: Marvin Mitchell's hammy, Carl Nicks' back problems, Pierre Thomas' hip issues, Ellis' knee, McCray's back, Stinchcomb's knee...ALL OF IT connected to this fucking machine.

PAYTON: So unplug it, dickheads.

SHOCKMEISTER: Ain't you seen "Big," Coach Payton?!? These demonic things don't need to be plugged in!!!

PAYTON: Well then, who brought this ghastly fucking thing in here to begin with?!?

BREES: Remember this commercial, coach...?



PAYTON: Yeah. You're telling me that's the same machine?

BREES: No, it's his cousin. Reggie ran that other machine ragged and it dropped dead of a heart attack. This thing came here for revenge.

PAYTON: So have Reggie run this one ragged, too.

SHOCKMEISTER: We tried that, coach!! Remember last year when Reggie sucked ass?!?

PAYTON: ... Uh, okay...so what time frame again?

SHOCKMEISTER: Reggie couldn't tire this one out. This one is determined to destroy us! Reggie had to go into hiding in Kim Kardashian's massive cleavage.

BREES: Oh fuck!!

(Payton turns around to see KING WILLIE get his head cut off by the angry Pepsi machine.)

PAYTON: Holy fuck! Throw the torch, Jeremy! Throw the goddamn torch at it!

SHOCKMEISTER: Coach, fire doesn't do a goddamn thing to it! It only pisses it off more!

BREES: What are we gonna do? This thing has been bad luck ever since it came here! McCray said it got him drunk last week and wouldn't get him a designated driver. And now Brunell is saying the machine stole his talent.

PAYTON: Stole his talent?

SHOCKMEISTER: Yeah, like in "Space Jam." Jesus, don't you watch any fucking movies, coach?!?

PAYTON: Enough of this bullshit. Lemme make a phone call. I know a guy...

(CUT TO: One hour later...)

PAYTON: I'm glad you could come out and help us today.


THE DANE: Gid jer fik alarmeret mig i tidligere tider Coach. (I wish you had called me earlier, Coach.)

PAYTON: Sorry about that. I just learned of this problem today.

SHOCKMEISTER: He gonna fucking handle this?!? He's fucking 50!!

PAYTON: For the record he turned 49 last August...SO THERE!!

BREES: Whatever, Coach. But how's he going to kill this thing? He can't kick hard enough to dent the hull of this beast.

THE DANE: Lave ikke bekymre , Hævede mig bekendt. Jeg har den endelig våben. (Do not worry, Drew my friend. I have the ultimate weapon.)

(The Dane pulls a large hammer from his knapsack. He holds it in front of him and chants. Lightning flashes and everyone is temporarily blinded.)

SHOCKMEISTER: What. The. Fuck?

BREES: Damn. Is that...?


THE DANE: Holde sig tilbage samtidigt med at JEG drabsmand indeværende dyr. (Stand back whilst I slay this beast.)

THE DANE: JEG landsforvise thee af Midgard igen hen til den netherworld verily! (I banish thee from Midgard back to the netherworld, verily!)

(The Dane smashes his hammer against the Pepsi machine, which promptly explodes into a thousand pieces.)

SHOCKMEISTER: Dude, can I borrow that hammer? I wanna impress this chick at a bar...

NFL Power Rankings (Week 17)

I obviously don't have a formula for this, but it's some kind off half-assed "strength of schedule" meets "who would win on a neutral field?" discussion.



32. St. Louis Rams (1-15)
31. Detroit Lions (2-14): I kinda wish Detroit would have beaten the Rams this season. I mean, how fucking sad are the Detroit Lions that the Rams' only win of the year came against the team that went 0-16 last year? Fucking Detroit...
30. Washington Redskins (4-12): Mike Shanahan is fucked.
29. Kansas City Chiefs (4-12)
28. Tampa Bay Buccaneers (3-13)
27. Seattle Seahawks (5-11)
26. Oakland Raiders (5-11)
25. Buffalo Bills (6-10)
24. Jacksonville Jaguars (7-9)
23. Cleveland Browns (5-11): Holmgren will get these guys back in the playoffs within the next three years.
22. Chicago Bears (7-9)
21. New York Giants (8-8): Sorry, but you get outscored 85-16 in the last two games, you're falling this far. And for the record: the Giants went 3-7 AFTER getting their asses handed to them by the Saints.



20. Denver Broncos (8-8)
19. Miami Dolphins (7-9)
18. San Francisco 49ers (8-8)
17. Carolina Panthers (8-8)
16. Atlanta Falcons (9-7)
15. Tennessee Titans (8-8)
14. Houston Texans (9-7)
13. Pittsburgh Steelers (9-7)
12. New York Jets (9-7)
11. Baltimore Ravens (9-7)



10. New England Patriots (10-6): I would like to taste Bill Simmons' tears right now.
9. Cincinnati Bengals (10-6)
8. Philadelphia Eagles (11-5)
7. Arizona Cardinals (10-6)
6. Green Bay Packers (11-5)
5. New Orleans Saints (13-3): Yeah, they fall despite playing Mark "Metamucil" Brunell for the whole game. I don't like it, either. And I fucking hate having the Cowboys ahead of us.
4. Dallas Cowboys (11-5)
3. Minnesota Vikings (12-4): The Vikings righted the ship heading into the playoffs. FUCK.
2. Indianapolis Colts (14-2)
1. San Diego Chargers (12-4): They have more momentum heading into the postseason then any other team.

NFL Power Rankings (Week 16)

I obviously don't have a formula for this, but it's some kind off half-assed "strength of schedule" meets "who would win on a neutral field?" discussion.



32. St. Louis Rams (1-14)
31. Kansas City Chiefs (3-12)
30. Detroit Lions (2-13)
29. Washington Redskins (4-11)
28. Tampa Bay Buccaneers (3-12)
27. Seattle Seahawks (5-10)
26. Buffalo Bills (5-10)
25. Cleveland Browns (4-11)
24. Oakland Raiders (6-9)
23. Jacksonville Jaguars (7-8)
22. Chicago Bears (6-9)
21. San Francisco 49ers (7-8)



20. Miami Dolphins (7-8)
19. New York Giants (8-7)
18. Tennessee Titans (7-8)
17. Carolina Panthers (7-8)
16. Atlanta Falcons (8-7)
15. New York Jets (8-7)
14. Denver Broncos (8-7)
13. Houston Texans (8-7)
12. Pittsburgh Steelers (8-7): The referees would like to thank the Steelers management for the wonderful gift baskets.
11. Baltimore Ravens (8-7)



10. Cincinnati Bengals (10-5)
9. New England Patriots (10-5)
8. Dallas Cowboys (10-5)
7. Arizona Cardinals (10-5)
6. Green Bay Packers (10-5)
5. Minnesota Vikings (11-4)
4. New Orleans Saints (13-2)
3. Philadelphia Eagles (11-4)
2. Indianapolis Colts (14-1)
1. San Diego Chargers (12-3)

Return of the 'Magnificent Seven' (Verily.)

EXT. Saints headquarters on Airline Hwy in Metairie -- NIGHT

(Dozens of Saints fans are outside, brandishing torches and pitchforks. Somewhere, Ralph Malbrough is sharpening the guillotine.)



ANGRY MOB: grumble-grumble-grumble-blah-blah-blah! We demand blood!!! BLOOD!!!

(Inside the Saints' practice facility, Head Coach Sean Payton and kicker Garrett Hartley watch from a third floor window as the crowd gets restless.)

PAYTON: Well look at 'em, Garrett.


GARRETT: Coach, I'm sorry. I said I was sorry. I even wept to Peter Finney hoping he might be able to buy me some time, but what can I do?

PAYTON: Well, for starters we've got to take some of the fire out of that crowd. (Pushes intercom button.) Uh, Doris? Could you please dispatch 'The Shockmeister' into the crowd to sex up a bunch of the women? Thank you. (Lets go of intercom button.) That should take a lot out of them.

GARRETT: But what about the guys in the crowd?

PAYTON: Jeremy's told me he's sexed up countless married women in the Crescent City and for whatever reason, the husbands seem content to be in the room watching while it happens. Can't figure it out for the life of me. Must be those "high society" types.

GARRETT: But what if those aren't "high society" types?

PAYTON: J-Shock will sell them his used chewing tobacco, which they can turn around and sell on eBay.

GARRETT: He's got enough?


PAYTON: Did you SEE him on the sidelines during the Bucs game? The guy was stuffing it in his mouth like it was titties or something!!!

GARRETT: Okay...well then what do we do?

PAYTON: (Pushes intercom button.) Send him in, Doris. (Lets go of button.) Well, I'm sorry to have to do this to you, Garrett, but we've got put you on IR.

GARRETT: What? I'm fine! I'm healthy!!

PAYTON: Look, I'm trying to save our asses here! Do you have ANY idea how fucking frustrating it is to be haunted by a kicking problem? I've had SEVEN different guys kick for me in four years!! That shouldn't be my legacy, Garrett!

GARRETT: Seven? Really? Who'd you have?

PAYTON: John Carney, Billy Cundiff, Olindo Mare, Martin Grammatica, Taylor Mehlhaff, and you.

GARRETT: Yeah, but coach that's only six guys. Who's number seven?

(In walks a VERY old man.)


THE DANE: Hilsener, bus! (Greetings, Coach!)

GARRETT: Really?!? You're bringing back fuckin' Morten Andersen?!? Dude's gotta be in his 50s!!

PAYTON: Wrong! He turned 49 this past August, so there!

THE DANE: Jeg er bedrøvelig hen til høre om jeres skade. (I am sorry to hear about your injury.)

GARRETT: Again...WHAT injury?

PAYTON: I'm having it leaked that you ruptured something in your foot during that first field goal attempt. Since it was the last time anybody saw you kick prior to the shank, I think some people will buy it, especially when I refuse comment for a week and a half.

GARRETT: You can't do this to me!! I was 21 of 21 on field goals under 50 yards, for Christ's sake! And you're gonna replace me with the fucking Dutchman?

PAYTON: Hey, I need people to not freak out and come down and hang us all from the I-10 overpass, okay? From here on out, Morten will handle everything under 40 yards. You can do that, right Morten?

THE DANE: JEG forsikre jer mig spark ben er kraftig. (I assure you my kicking leg is strong.)

GARRETT: And who handles the ones over 40?!?


MORSTEAD: Greetings! Garrett, I'm so sorry to hear about your foot injury. You seem to be getting around on it quite nicely, though.

GARRETT: For the last FUCKING TIME, I AM NOT INJURED! My foot is fine!!!

PAYTON: Oh really? Uh, Morten you wanna take care of this...?


THE DANE: JEG skal knase jeres fod verily! (I shall crush your foot, verily!)

(Morten Andersen slams the mighty hammer down on Garrett's kicking foot.)

GARRETT: Fuck, you've broken my goddamn foot, you asshole!!

MORSTEAD: Oh, sweet, you like to dress up, too? Hang on a second...


MORSTEAD: We are going to KICK SO MUCH ASS together!!

THE DANE: Verily.

GARRETT: Can somebody call a fucking medic for me?!? Jesus Christ...!

Was the Unknown Who Dat really born in the 16th Century?

Once again, the boys at Kissing Suzy Kolber have unknowingly given the few of us Saints fans not swept up in this "Unknown Who Dat" crap the perfect counter move.



He is Unknown Who Dat!! You are like the buzzing of flies to him!!

...

Know what the sad thing is? I've really got no personal beef with this guy (Bill whateverthehellhisnameis). My problem is that his incoherent, obnoxious rambling and stomping about has been foisted upon all of us as some sort of representation of the best we Saints fans have to offer the football world. It's pathetic.

Shit, if you wanna anoint a fan...how bout this guy:



At least this guy has the sense to be a "character" if he's gonna act ridiculous for stadium cameras.

NFL Power Rankings (Week 15)

I obviously don't have a formula for this, but it's some kind off half-assed "strength of schedule" meets "who would win on a neutral field?" discussion. I've decided to add select comments to a few teams. We all know who's at the top of the list, but hey let's go through the motions until we get there, all right? Know what sucked about these rankings in particular this week? Most teams just feel right into place, making it look a little too easy for everyone. There weren't many instances of a team with fewer wins ranked ahead of a team with more wins, etc.

And your pictures for today are of "adult film actress" (thanks Sports Night!) Lisa Ann. She's got, uh, nice eyes.

32. St. Louis Rams (1-13)
31. Kansas City Chiefs (3-11): Congrats to Missouri, which has the two worst teams in football. Seems like the "Gateway to the West" is more like the "Gateway to Suck." Thanks, I'm here all week. Try the veal!
30. Washington Redskins (4-10): Sorry, but this franchise is a God damn embarrassment to organized sports. And the how f*ck do they just roll over for the Giants but try and do their best Buster Douglas impression against the Saints?
29. Tampa Bay Buccaneers (2-12)
28. Detroit Lions (2-12): Yep, I'm ranking the Lions ahead of teams with better records and a team that won last week while they (the Lions) lost. The Lions played the Arizona "Divisional Round Upset" Cardinals down to the wire. That gets you cred.
27. Cleveland Browns (3-11): Really? I have to rank Cleveland this high?
26. Seattle Seahawks (5-9)
25. Chicago Bears (5-9): The guys at Kissing Suzy Kolber have been having a field day with Jay Cutler all year long.
24. Buffalo Bills (5-9): They played the Patriots tough, so I'll rank them ahead of Chicago.
23. San Francisco 49ers (6-8)
22. Oakland Raiders (5-9): Can the Raiders climb out of this...wait for it..."Black Hole" and into the second tier of teams in my rankings? HAR-HAR-HAR-HAR!
21. New York Jets (7-7): Way to hold a visiting team to 10 points and STILL find a way to lose. Fucking idiots...



20. Carolina Panthers (6-8): The check is in the mail, John Fox.
19. Miami Dolphins (7-7)
18. Atlanta Falcons (7-7)
17. Jacksonville Jaguars (7-7): Playing at a neutral site might be beneficial to the Jaguars.
16. Houston Texans (7-7)
15. Pittsburgh Steelers (7-7): Congrats, Super Bowl Champs: you're back to .500, now sit down and shut the fuck up.
14. Denver Broncos (8-6)
13. Tennessee Titans (7-7): AFC teams better hope these guys don't sneak into the playoffs.
12. Baltimore Ravens (8-6)
11. Green Bay Packers (9-5): Couldn't you have beaten those ass hat Steelers, for fuck's sake?



10. New York Giants (8-5)
9. New England Patriots (9-5)
8. Dallas Cowboys (9-5): Beating an undefeated team moves you up a few spots in the rankings, I don't care who you are. Sincerely, Mark Schlareth.
7. Cincinnati Bengals (9-5): Tough road loss.
6. Arizona Cardinals (9-5)
5. Philadelphia Eagles (10-4)
4. Minnesota Vikings (11-3): Dear Brad Childress, Thanks for getting into a pissing contest with Brett Favre and blowing the Panthers game. Signed, New Orleans Saints fans. (Do I owe Jim Rome a dollar for this?)
3. New Orleans Saints (13-1): That's right, I'm ranking them below the Chargers. If the Saints win they can get back into 2nd place. Hell, if they blow out Tampa and the Colts either lose or escape with an ugly win, I might even bring them back to the top.
2. San Diego Chargers (11-3): This team is flying under the radar it seems. And they're a two-seed in the AFC.
1. Indianapolis Colts (14-0)

NFL Power Rankings (Week 14)

You got not power rankings last week. Rather than give you a litany of reasons why, let's just forge ahead with the understanding that I was extraordinarily burdened with shit.

32. St. Louis Rams (1-12): This franchise has two options come draft time. Either get that DT from Nebraska or trade down for more picks, cause this team needs a fuck ton of help defensively. Of course, the guy who drafted Ryan Leaf over Peyton Manning is running the franchise, so I guess that means it's Jimmy Clausen, right?

31. Tampa Bay Buccaneers (1-12)

30. Detroit Lions (2-11)

29. Kansas City Chiefs (3-10)

28. Cleveland Browns (2-10): Fun times in Cleveland again!!

27. Washington Redskins (4-9)

26. Buffalo Bills (5-8)

25. Oakland Raiders (4-9): I'm hoping this is the highest I will rank the Raiders this year.

24. Chicago Bears (5-8): Yeah, I guess the Bears would beat all these teams below them...(shrugs shoulders)

23. Carolina Panthers (5-8)

22. Seattle Seahawks (5-8)

21. Pittsburgh Steelers (6-7): Fuck you guys. No, seriously. Fuck all y'all. If this were any other team that lost five in a row, real power ranking folks would put that team in the 20s without question. Shit, I wish I had enough confidence to think these other guys below in the rankings could beat them.

20. Jacksonville Jaguars (7-6)

19. Atlanta Falcons (6-7)

18. San Francisco 49ers (6-7)

17. Houston Texans (6-7): Andre Johnson = Man.

16. New York Jets (7-6)

15. Miami Dolphins (7-6)

14. Tennessee Titans (6-7)

13. New York Giants (7-6)

12. Dallas Cowboys (8-5): America's Team vs. God's Team this Saturday night. Winner gets the rights to Shreveport.

11. Baltimore Ravens (7-6)

10. Arizona Cardinals (8-5): Two words for Gregg Williams...BLUE PRINT. The 49ers just showed you how to skull fuck the Cardinals on national television. Hope you DVR'd this one and not that lame singing show on NBC, Gregg.

9. Denver Broncos (8-5)

8. Cincinnati Bengals (9-4): The Bengals just don't look threatening right now.

7. New England Patriots (8-5)

6. Green Bay Packers (9-4): Wish I could put these guys higher, but everyone above them is playing excellent football.

5. Philadelphia Eagles (9-4): Hey, I'm in awe of DeSean Jackson, sure, but the prospect of Andy Reid in the playoffs...on the road...(Licks lips, salivates.)

4. San Diego Chargers (10-3): The Chargers are flying under the damn radar. I like that. Phillip Rivers deserves to be in the MVP discussion.

3. The Minnesota Vikings (11-2)

2. New Orleans Saints (13-0): I may catch shit for this, but I don't care. The Colts are setting records and doing their thing and the Saints are giving me heart palpitations. My medication is a home game on (semi) national television against the Cowboys.

1. Indianapolis Colts (13-0): Seriously. Neutral field, who you taking? The Saints and that banged up secondary with the D-line that can't get pressure on a fucking insurance salesman? I think not.

...Paved with good intentions

(INT. Shockmeister's house -- Evening, Saturday before the Monday Night Football game against the Patriots.)

Scene: Jeremy Shockey is having an informal get together the day after Black Friday. No chicks allowed, though. Time for man business, etc.

SHOCKMEISTER: Drew-seph! Glad you could make it out, man!!

BREESUS: Yeah, no problem, Jeremy. What's the deal with the party? We kinda got a big game in a couple days.

SHOCKMEISTER: Relax, 9! This ain't a "party" party, per say. This is a "let me try and do something nice for my main man, Drew Brees," kinda party!

BREESUS: Oooookay. Well who else is here?


TOMMY: Me, sir! I got here first!

SHOCKMEISTER: Fucker was here twenty minutes before the party was "scheduled" to start. Kinda prevented me from "opening up the playbook" if you know what I mean...

BREESUS: You masturbate before a party?

SHOCKMEISTER: Dude, why wouldn't I? Shit, I do that almost anytime before a potentially big pressure situation. I picked up that nugget from "There's Something About Mary."

BREESUS: So you're gonna do that before the Monday Night Football game?

SHOCKMEISTER: Fuck yeah, Drew! Maybe not twenty minutes before kickoff, but I'll definitely be doing it in the building.

(Brees shakes his head.)

BREESUS: Okay, well, uh, who else is here?

(Shockey leads Brees into his living room area, where a few other players are gathered.)


BREESUS: Hey, guys!

(John Carney wakes up after dozing off earlier. Devery Henderson springs up from the couch and catches two footballs with both hands while blindfolded.)

DEVERY: What's up, Drew Dat?


THE CARNEY: Hey! Where am I? Who are you people!? How did I get here?!?

BREESUS: Is he okay?

TOMMY: Yeah, he's been like this since he got here. I hope he's not having one of his episodes again...

SHOCKMEISTER: Yeah, the old fucker needs to be drinking his Metamucil and shit so he don't shank field goals or something. We're gonna need every point and every advantage this Monday to beat the Fag-triots!

BREESUS: Well, I'm feeling pretty good. I usually get these vibes before a good game.

SHOCKMEISTER: Good? No, Drew, we need GREAT from you on Monday! We can't afford to just be "good," we gotta kick the shit outta these chowder munching ass clowns! I never got to really enjoy that Super Bowl win with the Giants, so this is the next best thing!

TOMMY: Weren't you liquored up in a booth and not with your teammates?

SHOCKMEISTER: You're out of your element, Tommy!!! Look, Drew, I've got something here that is going to guarantee a victory for us on Monday.

(Shockmeister leads Breesus, Tommy and Devery into his bedroom. The Carney falls back asleep, mumbling something about Ray Guy.)

SHOCKMEISTER: It's up here somewhere...

(Shockmeister digs in his closet and pulls a game from the top shelf.)

SHOCKMEISTER: So? Whatta you think???



BREESUS: ...

SHOCKMEISTER: Well? Say something!

BREESUS: ...

DEVERY: Oh, you must be out-chore damn mind, fool!

SHOCKMEISTER: What? What'd I do?

BREESUS: ...

TOMMY: Uh, do you have ANY idea how offensive something like is for Drew? To even HINT or try and JOKE that Drew could communicate with his dead mother is definitely NOT COOL, dude.

SHOCKMEISTER: Communicate!? Fuck, I want her to tell us what the God damn Patriots are gonna run on offense and defense!!!

BREESUS: ...

(Breesus walks out of the Shockmeister's apartment without saying a word. The Shockmeister is dumbfounded.)

SHOCKMEISTER: What?!? I'm trying to give Drew a chance to say "hi" to his mom AND help the team out and suddenly I'M THE ASSHOLE???

TOMMY: Really not cool, Jeremy. You know about Drew's mother! Why are you being an insensitive prick?

SHOCKMEISTER: Don't get yer panties in a bunch, Puntmaster Flex! Shockmeister is gonna make this thing work!

DEVERY: Fuck that shit, man! I am getting outta here. Whenever there's weird freaky shit like this, it's ALWAYS the black guy who gets it first. And I don't need no "other worldly" help to catch shit blindfolded!

(Devery leaves the apartment.)

TOMMY: And how were you gonna ask his mom? The game hasn't happened yet!

SHOCKMEISTER: Dude, everything is known up in Heaven. Ain't you read the Bible?!?

TOMMY: Uh, I did go to SMU.

SHOCKMEISTER: Whatever. Besides, you saying she won't know? God and e'rybody knows what's gonna happen before it happens!

TOMMY: What are you, Calvinist?

SHOCKMEISTER: Nah, I was always a Hobbes fan myself.

TOMMY: Shit...

ONE HOUR LATER...

(Shockmeister and Tommy are hunched over the Ouija board, moving that weird pointy piece.)

SHOCKMEISTER: Brah, I'm not touching it!!

TOMMY: Me neither!!

SHOCKMEISTER: This is fuckin' insane, brah!

TOMMY: You feel a chill running up your spine, Shockmeister?

SHOCKMEISTER: Fuck-ing right on.

(The lights begin flickering in Shockmeister's apartment. The room begins vibrating.)

TOMMY: What the fuck is going on, Jeremy?

SHOCKMEISTER: Fucking place hadn't shaken like this since I bagged Vida Guerra's ass about a year ago!!

(Suddenly, Jeremy's closet doors rip off and fly into the walls, a large beam of light comes shooting out, pouring over the room. Jeremy's room is now lily white. Shockey and Tommy are blinded by the light, but begin to see a figure walking out of the closet toward them.)

SHOCKMEISTER: Alright, now remember: I'll ask the questions, okay?

TOMMY: Right...


GOD: Can I help you gentlemen?

TOMMY: Oh, dang, it's Morgan Freeman! Wow, it's a thrill to meet you, Mr. Freeman!!

GOD: I'm not really Morgan Freeman. I Am Who Am.

SHOCKMEISTER: You're Popeye?

GOD: (rubs eyes.) No Jeremy. I am the one called Yaweh. The God of Abraham, Issac, David, Muhammad, I AM the Host of Hosts. The Alpha and The Omega. The Life and The Light.

SHOCKMEISTER: So you're really Morgan Freeman?

GOD: No. So many people love the idea of Morgan Freeman as Me that I figure, 'Hey, why not oblige some of them?'

SHOCKMEISTER: Oh.

TOMMY: Uh, Mr. Yaweh, sir?

GOD: Yes, Thomas?

TOMMY: Uh, why'd you respond to our Ouija board game?

GOD: Well, I needed to come down and tell you two guys to knock it off with the Ouija board. And, Jeremy, what in the sam hell were you thinking by bringing that thing out in front of Breesus?

SHOCKMEISTER: Yeah, I'm sorry, I just wasn't thinking straight...wait a second? YOU call him Breesus?

GOD: Oh yeah, my son gets a big kick out of it. He's got Drew's Fathead on a wall in his room. Now listen, you boys can't be whipping out a Ouija board in front of Drew, okay? He's a special man and he needs to have his mind at ease before Monday's game.

SHOCKMEISTER: But I wanted to try and help him out...

GOD: But not like this, Jeremy. You have to be a friend to Drew and be ready to block and catch for him on that field. That's what you can do for him.

SHOCKMEISTER: Okay.

GOD: And Tommy, you can help Drew by blasting the devil out of those footballs every time you get to kickoff our punt, okay?

TOMMY: Yes, sir! Can do!

GOD: Oh, and could one of you, probably Tommy since Drew won't talk to you Jeremy for a while, please give Drew this card for me?



TOMMY: A credit card?

GOD: Not just any credit card. Give it to Drew, if he spends anything for charity's sake, he'll have a monster game.

SHOCKMEISTER: How come the numbers aren't there?

GOD: Drew will see them. Don't worry about that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go appear in bathroom fixture in Laramie, Wyoming. (The number Drew will see is: 3817 1823 3715 1583)

(God walks back into the closet. Jeremy's apartment goes back to normal.)

GOD: Oh, and don't tell anybody I came to see you. Otherwise I'll have to give Devery leprosy.

TOMMY: No problem.

SHOCKMEISTER: Yeah, later, God.

ONE HOUR LATER

(God is on the phone.)

GOD: Yeah, this is the Bellagio? Hey, what's the odds on Drew Brees throwing for five touchdowns and no picks, more than 370 yards, completing more than 75 percent of his passes, and....Oh, getting a perfect QB rating? What's that? Wow. Sounds incalculable. Well, let's only wager a few hundred on it then, okay?