Quick Thinking: It Really Isn't, Anymore

Dear Bill,

It appears our relationship has been splintered, yet again, by another playoff loss. These crossroads are all too familiar as of late, Bill. Eerily familiar, in fact.

One street sign reads "Heartache." The other reads "Anger."

And, while we stand at this corner trying to answer the unanswerable, I can't help but feel the only words of comfort you would offer are, "Cheer up, Patriot Nation. It is what it is."

Really, Bill? Really?

We've suffered through the perfect season near miss. We endured the Raven Train that rolled over us during last year's Wild Card Weekend. And now this? Losing to the fucking J-E-T-S, Jets, Jets, Jets after finishing the season 14-2?!?

Really?!?

Your team's effort on Sunday resonated with the same indifference you demonstrated towards Rex Ryan's media taunts. And, in both cases, you came out the loser. So, instead of replacing passion with professionalism this off-season please allow yourself, the team and the organization a chance to reflect on recent failures and realize that football, by definition, is an emotional game.

Just ask the last three defensive units who beat you in the playoffs with their fervor and passion.

But, hey, it is what it is, right?

Concerned,

Terrence Joyce
Spokesman, Patriot Nation

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Quick Thinking
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-- There's no truth to the rumor that the only thing the Patriots' offensive line successfully blocked on Sunday was my writing.

-- "Give Credit Where Credit is Due" Award of the Week goes to Rex Ryan's defensive scheme on Sunday for transforming our "Golden Boy" quarterback into nothing more than a "Supermodel's Wife."

-- Memo to All You Sports Radio Callers Out There: Never open a call by saying, "I'd like to start with a quick joke..."

-- Chances are, what you find funny, isn't.

-- Trust me. I try to make people laugh every week with this column.

-- And fail miserably at it.

-- See?

-- More importantly, while dissecting one of the biggest losses in New England Patriots' history, I don't want to hear your take on "Two rabbis walk into a bar..."

-- I need a little more "Rex Ryan" and a lot less "Bill Belichick" from the Patriots next season.

-- That's right. I said it.

-- More cowbell wouldn't hurt, either.

-- Oh, and thanks for introducing us to the wide-eyed, confused "Brady Face" on Sunday, Rex. I imagine it's the same look he gives Gisele when she straps one on and "gives him the business" in the bedroom.

-- We also need to retire your favorite little idiom, Bill. It doesn't come across as impartiality any more.

-- It comes across as apathy.

-- The reports of a broken Brady foot have been greatly exaggerated.

-- Those of his broken vagina, however, have not.

-- BLAMMO!

-- At least I'm not bitter about the loss or anything.

Quick Thinking: Above the Influence

This week's opening statement may be hard to believe, dear readers, so brace yourselves: I influence people.

That's right, I said it.

And I'm not talking about the peer-pressure-drink-this-drink kind of influence. I'm talking about the kind responsible for shaping individuals as the calendar transforms formative years into young adulthood.

Exhibit A comes in the form of my nephew. While getting his "writing on" in Journalism class Tyge, or TJ3, wrote the following about yours truly, "(Uncle) Terry is basically that older brother I always wanted and the man I can go to for any type of life question or problem that I have."

I'm not sure what's more flattering, the fact that he said he can come to me with any type of life question or that he referred to me as a "man." It's the proverbial coin flip situation if you ask me.

Exhibit B comes from, well, nowhere. There isn't an Exhibit B...yet. But one's influential footprint has to start somewhere.

Kool-Aid anyone?

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Quick Thinking
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-- I stumbled across Wedding Crashers on cable the other day and, simply put, that movie never gets old.

-- Ever, you motor boatin' son-of-a-bitch!

-- Here come Rex and the Jets, y'all. Please make sure your seat belts are fastened, your tray tables are in their upright and locked position and your carry-on, along with any open-toed shoes, are securely stored under the seat in front of you.

-- While informative, Ron Jaworski's The Games That Changed the Game: The Evolution of the NFL in Seven Sundays would be better served as an ESPN mini-series.

-- Was the Big Shamrock brought in to bolster our front court or to help Rondo with his foul shooting?

-- Sorry about the break-up, Macauley, but no man can compete with two weeks of Timberlake nakedness. It's like relationship kryptonite.

-- I can only assume you're prepared to be Home Alone.

-- But you know what they say happens when you assume.

-- Big ups to the infomercial world for convincing my nephew he couldn't unlock his body's full potential without the newest advancement in at-home fitness: Shake Weight.

-- I guess masturbating like every other teenager just wasn't good enough.

-- Sexual orientation is inconsequential when measuring the value of a person. Their behavior, however, is not. So if you're an asshole, gay or straight, stop being an asshole.

--Who dat. Who dat. Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?

-- Oh, the 7-9 Seahawks did?

-- My bad. Tavel home safe, Saint Nation.

-- At least you'll have another week to start your off season mole-removing regimen, Mr. Brees.

-- Memo to All the Professional Athletes Out There Who Keep Sexting Their Junk to the "Official" & O.P.P. Ladies in Their Lives: Please stop. You're bringing unwanted attention to the greatest benefit of these silly cell phones we all can't seemingly live without.

-- No, seriously. Stop.

-- Idiot Award of the Week goes to an unnamed co-worker for saying the following while engaged in "locker room talk" about the NFL Playoffs during business hours, "The Pats are lucky. They only have the best record in the NFL because all the good team they beat played bad against them."

-- Um, what?

-- And he actually said it with a great deal of conviction.

-- Idiot Award of the Week II goes to that same unnamed co-worker for following the above nugget of idiocy with, "Don't be surprised when Kansas City beats them and goes on to win the Super Bowl."

-- The only thing that surprises me, dear co-worker, is the level of conviction in your voice when uttering such drivel.

-- And the fact that you have a college degree.

-- The void created by a Patriots' bye week was filled thanks to the familiar fictional exploits of Hank Moody.

-- Welcome back, Hank. I missed you and all the starlet nakedness surrounding you.

-- Success is best achieved, and measured, by group effort.

-- Not individual achievement.

-- We're putting the Morbid Fact of the Week noose around 16-year-old Thomas Granger for being the first reported hanging in Massachusetts in 1642 for the death penalty worthy offense of "buggery."

-- More specifically, buggery in the form of fornicating with a mare, a cow, two goats, a sheep, two calves and a turkey.

-- Good thing I went through puberty in the 1980's.

-- Ten years of dominance has made me eternally thankful for the "tuck" rule.

-- And I'm not talking about the Buffalo Bill kind.

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.

Quick Thanking: Gobble, Gobble, Bitches.

America's favorite Hangover Holiday provides the perfect opportunity for starting an annual practice of paying respect to some of the sights, sounds and events that, up to this point, have directly or indirectly shaped yours truly as a person and, in most cases, the psyche-molding magic was achieved unbeknownst even to those providing it.

Let us give thanks.

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Quick Thanking
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-- I'm thankful my Super Bowl kicker's name was Adam Vinatieri and not Scott Norwood.

-- Or Ray Finkle.

-- I'm thankful the judicial system is as imperfect as I am.

-- I'm thankful my nephews realize love is measured by interaction and not purchased gifts.

-- I'm thankful the Joyce Brothers Grimm have atoned for childhood wrongs by providing two sets of children who have kept hope alive in my heart since the day they were born.

-- I think Fencepost Roboto will provide more of the same.

-- Times a million.

-- I'm thankful my gut instinct is right most of the time.

-- I'm also thankful its wrong on occasion.

-- I'm thankful my journey is like no other I've ever heard off.

-- I'm thankful I can "go deep" better than Brett Favre ever will.

-- I'm thankful it wasn't 3 degrees colder the night of January 9th, 2004.

-- Or 3 degrees warmer, for that matter.

-- I'm pretty pumped I wasn't driving my Xterra that night as well.

-- I'm thankful my polarizing personality lets me know where I stand with people at all times.

-- Helps keeps me relaxed.

-- Doesn't do shit for my persistent pit stains, though.

-- I'm thankful my hometown is Central Falls, R.I.

-- Or, rather, The City of Dreams. (It's lesser known moniker.)

-- Based on the current governing body, corruption, cocaine and indictments should be in there somewhere.

-- I'm thankful Victoria has a secret.

-- Especially her "push up" ones.

-- I'm thankful the Zombie Renaissance is happening all around me.

-- I'm also thankful my stellar crossbow skills will keep me safe when the Renaissance evolves into the Apocalypse.

-- I'm thankful The Foundation allows me to be, well, me.

-- I'm thankful the demons in my closet don't visit as much.

-- I do miss "TJ" at times, though.

-- I'm thankful kdb was unapproachable.

-- I'm thankful Common's The Light provided me a musical personification of what love needs to be.

-- I'm thankful the Red Sox won a World Series Championship during my lifetime.

-- And then did it again.

-- I'm thankful v2.0 has challenged my views and sharpened my wits.

-- He also provided THE blueprint for behaviors I need to keep an eye out for when v3.0 arrives.

-- I'm thankful for every girl who broke my heart.

[Editor's Note: The resulting "rebounds" may not share that sentiment.]

-- I'm thankful for musical interludes.

-- If the second verse doesn't give you goosebumps on your goosebumps be sure to check your pulse.

-- I'm thankful the Team Chickenhawk triumvirate -- Yoda, Grandma JoJo & The Illegal Rudder -- took me under their collective wings in '99 and provided support as I discovered independence during my NYC years.

-- I'm thankful "potential" is eternal.

-- Reflection is, too.

-- I'm thankful I've seen 2 different versions of "The Big Three."

-- I'm thankful Shannon protected my youth, Saydie stood post after college and Umi shines her light today.

-- I'm thankful the sins of my father passed along to me.

-- And, now identified, I won't allow my son to be victimized by them.

-- I'm thankful I know what it feels like to dunk a basketball.

-- I'm also thankful I made it through my "career" avoiding being dunk'd on. Had a few in-game scuffles, flagrant fouls and post-game confrontations to keep that streak alive.

-- You know what they say about making an omelet...

-- I'm thankful Big Nick provides a moral standard I'll never obtain.

-- Doesn't mean I can't keep trying.

-- I'm thankful this blog has provided the voice I need to make sense of it all.

-- I'm thankful you take a little time out of your day to read sportsandthoughts.com.

-- Yes, you.

Quick Thinking: Character Flaws

True character is displayed during the valleys - not the peaks - of life, dear readers. So, while I'm dusting myself off for the umteenth time, my focus will be on things I live for.

And writing this blog is one of those things.

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Quick Thinking
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-- The Boston Celtics will run away with the Eastern Conference Title this year.

-- Then roll over Los Angeles in 5 for the franchises' 18th championship.

-- When I eventually have children, I've decided I want to "cut the cord" with the follow caveat: I get to use those big novelty scissors politicians use when a new, upscale hotel is opened in the heart of their city.

-- Hope I make it through hospital security with 'em.

-- Michael Vick's reclamation project is officially complete.

-- Congratulations on debunking all those relationship stereotypes swirling around professional athletes, Mr. Parker. You've squandered the love of a beautiful woman in addition to the privilege that comes along with it.

-- But, on the bright side, at least you'll make Tiger's Christmas card list this year.

-- So you have that going for you...

-- The over/under in the Cowboys/Lions game is wearing the Cement Shoes this weekend.

-- If they don't, I'll be wearing a pair at the bottom of the Blackstone River by Monday morning.

-- I don't remember dating a girl name Karma. But, based on how much the bitch hates me, I must have.

-- She should have realized I wasn't a keeper.

-- Quote of the Week goes to my favorite co-worker who made the following observation while having a post work libation, "Terrence, that girl is special...well, for a Hooters' girl."

-- They're all special, mate.

-- They're all cukin' frazy, too.

-- Beyonce's new commercial supports the age old marketing adage that sex does, in fact, sell.

-- There's no truth to the rumor an assistant falling to his death from a video taping tower is a microcosm of Notre Dame's football program during the post Lou Holtz era.

-- Too soon?

-- Does remembering when microwave popcorn was invented make me old?

-- Really?

-- Next thing you know you'll be telling me eating that same bag of popcorn near the local grade school during recess makes me creepy.

-- Useless Information Award of the Week goes to the New England Patriots for having a player named Zoltan.

-- Don't mess with him.

-- -- Remember, y'all, if you've ever enjoyed a laugh while reading and you have a facebook account, PLEASE CLICK HERE to become a fan.

-- Big ups to Kansas State University professor Mark Haub for changing the perception of my love for Twinkies from a "guilty pleasure" to a "healthy diet option."

-- Emmy Rossum, following in the footsteps of Jennifer Aniston and Courtney Cox, is the latest starlet to fall for Adam Duritz.

-- This is Ms. Rossum.



-- And this is Mr. Duritz.



-- If his pimp prowess continues, Adam will overtake Justin Timberlake atop my "man crush" list.

-- As well as Wilt Chamberlain.

You Can Take the Boy Out of C.F. ...

This blog is a shout out to a childhood friend who, since kindergarten, has navigated the minefield known as friendship with Terrence Joyce. (Think Saving Private Ryan but, rather than having a bunch of Germans shooting at you while you storm the beaches, you have to dodge the mean-spirited quips of my multiple personalities. Oh, and we outnumber the German army by millions.)

My friend, one Mr. Jorge Betancourt, offered an eye opening observation when he said: "I just want to tell you you're slackin' on your blog."

He's right.

The fact of the matter is simple: I'm not writing solely for my own selfish, cathartic needs anymore. As incredible as it may seem I actually have fans. Sure, maybe not enough to fill a school bus to capacity but certainly enough to push that same school bus out of harm's way so long as it was down a steep hill. Either way, regardless of the real number, fans are the personification of accountability which means I need to be, well, more accountable.

If I "expect" friends, strangers and other cyberspace dwellers to consistently read my inane babble than I need to provide a more consistent stream of said babble.

Lesson learned.

Big ups for the reality check, brother. Never be afraid to keep 'em coming.