Christmas Come Early

Dear Santa,

They say it takes a big man to apologize and a bigger man to accept that apology. Here's hoping you're the bigger man, Santa.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry your eternity is the most thankless job of all time. I'm sorry kids cry, pee and poop on you while their parents take pictures they'll never remember being in. I'm sorry Tim Allen played you in The Santa Clause. (I'm really sorry they made 3 of those awful movies.) I'm sorry for our one-way relationship over all these years. Finally, and more specifically, I'm sorry I stopped believing in you.

Regardless of my disbelief you've continued to nurture our relationship and, instead of defriending me, you simply embraced my doubt as an opportunity to flex those miracle muscles by granting my beloved sports teams an embarrassment of riches during this holiday season. (And not the shitty kind those wise men brought to baby Jesus. I mean, seriously, what the fuck is an infant going to to with Myrrh?)

You brought out the big reindeer and gave the Sox a penchant to use that checkbook they've had stashed in their back pockets the past few offseasons while their main opposition was slighted for using theirs. You transformed youth & arrogance into a coachable defense in Patriot Nation. You showed another hall-of-famer that chemistry is as important to winning a championship in Shamrock Land as hitting his free throws. And, if that wasn't enough, you put an end to the idiocy surrounding some old dude's desire to keep playing a game that passed him by.

Well played, Santa. Well. Played.

The age old adage, "When things seem too good to be true they usually are" speaks to the full-time conspiracy theorist in me but, considering what time of year it is, I think we both know there is no conspiracy here. There's just a fat man in a red suit with magical powers bringing all of us New England sports fans a little holiday cheer.

Again, I'm sorry about my past-disbelief-filled-discretions and, in all honesty, I'm really quite pleased we're beyond my "non-believing" phase. Rest assured, Kris, any speculation concerning your existence from this moment on will be dismissed as unsubstantiated gossip and hearsay.

Sincerely,
sports + thoughts

PS: Please tell Rudolph thanks again for his help. I haven't been that busy since Amsterdam in '03.

PPS: Oh, and stop stressing, it looks NOTHING like a bowlful of jelly when you laugh.

PPPS: Not even a little bit.

Quick Thinking: Let's Go Have a Goddamn Snack

I know one game does not a season make but, since HBO's Hard Knocks aired this summer, the Jets have been crowned as the class of the AFC and, by a majority of media outlets, as the "best team in football."

So where do they stand following a 45-3 drubbing at the hands of the Patriots on Monday Night Football? Were the wheels officially hammered off the hype machine or did a great team simply have a bad game?

I don't know.

What I do know, however, is that while I enjoyed the ass-kicking as much as any other in Patriot Nation, the victory - in and of itself - means very little. It wasn't a playoff win. It wasn't a championship win. It was one game. And, as we all know, one game does not a season make.

Unless it's the Super Bowl.

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Quick Thinking
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-- The signing of Carl Crawford means Jacoby Dreamboat just became Jacoby Tradebait.

-- It also means the age old adage, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em" is Theo's new battle cry.

-- Looks like you need some more milk to wash down all that humble pie you were served on Monday night, Rex.

-- I'd recommend sticking to the skim variety.

-- Hey, Brett, at least the interception fever that has ended your previous 3 seasons can't stop your egomaniacal run toward 300 consecutive games started.

-- You may have sustained some injuries but at least you haven't tarnished your legacy in the process or anything.

-- NOT!!!

-- The respective performances of Tom Brady and Peyton Manning over the past 3 weeks with both throwing to sub-par receivers should end the debate on who the better quarterback is.

-- Tom is so good right now he's even transforming "questionable post-game wardrobe decisions" into "trendy male fashions." Let's hope he can pull off wearing the Cement Shoes (-3) this weekend in Chi-town.

-- If you haven't seen Jimmy Fallon, JT & The Roots perform The History of Rap than you NEED to.

-- Now.

-- Randy Moss being traded has turned out to be the greatest example of addition by subtraction since J.R. was shot on Dallas.

-- I'm guessing Randy wishes it was all a dream, too.

-- Why are all the ladies screaming? Did Bradley Cooper just take his shirt off or something?

-- Shit. He did?

-- Ok, fine. I'll give this one up to all my female readers out there. Have fun soaking it in, ladies.



[EDITOR'S NOTE: Sorry, ladies. I tried. But photobucket is the law around these parts.]

-- But the sound I was referring to was the collective cheer heard from Woman Nation on Sunday following the sumo chop Haloti Ngata used to break Mr. Roethlisberger's nose.

-- The irony, of course, is after getting his nose broken, trapping drunk co-eds in bathrooms while his entourage stands guard is now officially Big Ben's only recourse when he feels like getting "lucky."

-- Too soon?

-- I mean, c'mon, if there was an "e" at the end of his "rap" BEFORE his nose looked like a right angle...

-- Obligatory photos of three incredibly hot women.









-- I know the above pictures were void of any witty introduction. But, as we all know, one shirtless man needs to be balanced out by three hot women.

-- Sorry, ladies, I don't make the rules. I simply try to follow them.