John Madden Hates Me

I'm typically not a superstitious person. I do step on cracks in pavement, I don't knock on wood, but when it comes to sports, I have a few. I hadn't worn my purple Huskies visor since the Rose Bowl season and the Huskies had never lost a game I'd been at when I wore it. I decided to take it out of retirement this year, simply because I had a feeling.

The result? A 3-1 record and that feeling has been rewarded with the visor remaining undefeated. I now have it under armed guard and insured by Lloyd's of London. How else can you explain a 2-9 team rebounding this way? Good coaching and a productive offseason? Please. This has everything to do with Husky mojo settling directly on the salt stain on the bill of my Nike visor. You're welcome.

This same "feeling" I had right before my fantasy draft. It was as certain as Jack Bauer. So, I knew that if I pulled the first pick in the draft, there was no way I would draft Shaun Alexander.

Dammit.

Against all logic, common sense, and tarot card readings, I went with my heart and picked the 2005 NFL MVP and gave myself a Seahawk to root for all year long. Alexander has, before last year, been dogged by questions about his work ethic, running style, blocking, and pass receiving. However, after last year's epic season, all those questions seemly evaporated like so many tears after the Super Bowl. It's like how everyone wants to welcome Whitney back with open arms now that she's divorcing Bobby, and we've just decided not to bring up the whole Crack thing. The pardon Alexander got from all those questions were in respect for his accomplishments and a silent, ominous cloud on the horizon.

The loser of the last five Super Bowls has failed to make the playoffs the following season. It seemed to many that continuing to raise these pertinent questions would just add fuel to what looked like an inescapable fire. There is also the question of how Alexander would respond after signing his record long-term contract. He played like a man possessed last year, but was it just for the contract? Steve Hutchinson is gone and how would the O-line respond? However, the bad signs are easily mitigated.

The Hawks play in possibly the worst division in the NFL and could possibly make the playoffs with an 8-8 record. Qwest Field is the toughest place to play in the NFL and the Hawks have only lost one regular season game ever in the building. Alexander no longer has the distraction of worrying about the contract, so he can focus solely on getting back to the Super Bowl. Hutch was replaced by a guy who was going to be last year's starting right tackle before he got injured and has a first-rounder as a backup. These are all great reasons why Alexander, while he might not break records, will still be one of the elite players in the league.

However, I ignored the one real truth of the NFL. More than the Texans will suck, and Fred Taylor will get injured, the Madden Curse will kill you.

Shaun Alexander is on this year's edition of the Madden NFL video game, the virtual bible for dorks everywhere. The Madden Curse has made its cover boys the most disappointing stars of the league for that year. This goes back to 1999 when Barry Sanders retired out of nowhere and continued to last year when Donovan McNabb got a hernia and had to watch as the Eagles finished 6-10. It hasn't skipped a year since '99 and it devours anyone within six degrees of it. You have a better chance of cooking Tony Soprano johnnycakes in leather chaps and coming out alive than of escaping the Madden Curse.

I chose to go with my gut and not my head, and as Lloyd Dobler would say, "You know what? My guts have shit for brains." My fantasy season is essentially done, which really pisses me off, because now I have to hear it from all my buddies for the rest of the year, including the inevitable, "Oh Graden, I've been meaning to tell you... I've got Shaun's foot in my trunk. Do you want it?"

Alexander was already off to a bad start and Mo Morris looked better when he was in anyway, so I think the Seahawks will be fine. Perhaps better. Obiviously, the offense will be much more reliant on Hasselbeck and the passing game, but he's beginning to resemble Joe Montana. Crisp timing passes, superb field management, strong leadership, and an uncanny feel for the game. I still like the Hawks to go 12-4.

Now, Shaun will be back in a month and will play most of the season. That is unless the Madden Curse decides it hasn't gotten enough blood. I mean, a cracked bone in the foot really isn't as sexy as total leg break a la Michael Vick. In Week 13 at Denver, look for Alexander to break his shoulder when frogs begin falling from the sky. I'm just saying, I wouldn't be surprised.

Now, I've got a cold that could choke a donkey and I have no one to start in Shaun's place in fantasy. If the Huskies blow it in Tucson, I'm going stingray hunting. Happy trails.

Oklahoma and Other Tantrums

Ya know, I get that getting a game taken away by bad officiating hurts. I understand that being an elite program means demanding standards. However, the folks out in Norman are losing their damn minds. After two heartbreakingly bad calls, Oklahoma lost a barnburner (Whoa, Nellie) to WhOregon on Saturday and they are taking the Terminator 2 approach to dealing with it.

Remember that scene, when cute little Eddie Furlong (My how times have changed) discovers Linda Hamilton's carving in the table at the Mexican Armory campsight? "No fate... There's no fate except what we make for ourselves.. SHE'S GONNA BLOW HIM AWAY!"

School President David Boren has demanded that the game's result be stricken from the record. Seriously, he wants the record books to show the game never happened. Look, the history of sports is riddled with obvious bad calls that changed the outcome of games and this has never happened. The two calls hurt, and hurt bad, but Oklahoma still had time to turn back the Ducks. However, they folded like a fortune cookie and WhOregon scored to win.

The Pac-10 has suspended the replay official and apologized, but that hasn't taken care of Oklahoma's rage and they have now moved to another tactic, threatening to cancel next year's game at Husky Stadium unless the Pac-10 allows a third conference's refs to officiate the game. Seriously, Colonial Kurtz's paranoia looks downright folksy compared to this.

Sooners, if you're that scared of officials sandbagging to reward the Huskies, remember this: The Huskies have long been the most punished and least liked team in the Pac-10. Meg Griffin is The Golden Child comparatively. Pac-10 officials will, if anything, err on the side of Oklahoma in next year's game. So, unless it's Husky Stadium and a revived program that you're scared of, shut up and stop the fire sale of your dignity.

Extraneous Thoughts:

-Washington Football received a major shot in the arm Saturday, beating a somewhat down Fresno State team. The game just felt better. It was a return to Husky Football in the pre-Weasel era. The teams just hit each other in the mouth for four quarters, athlete versus athlete, physical football. The crowd, 58,000 plus, was loud, real loud, all game. It was interesting to see that Defensive Coordinator Kent Baer seemed to employ something Madden 97 taught me: If you blitz and pressure the quarterback, he'll be less effective. Weird. The pass D still showed gaping holes at times, but they tackled well and because the quarterback had less time to throw, receivers couldn't get separation. 21-20, but a win is a win is a win.

-A couple of interesting subplots to the game this Saturday vs. UCLA.

#1. UCLA has a habit of winning games against UW, no matter how good or bad either team is. The Bruins flat have the Huskies number. The last four years in a row, the Dawgs have opened Pac-10 play against UCLA and have dropped all four.

#2. The Bruins are rebuilding this year and have a small, fast defense. Look for Stanback to be unable to run free and the Huskies commit to pounding the running game.

#3. Ben Olson, fallen Mormon hero and UCLA QB, is in his first year of on the field action in three years. The Bruins played home games against Utah and Rice to open the season. A riled Husky crowd and repeat of last week's defensive performance could make Olson look for a Coke, nay, a beer after the game.

#4. Motivation for the game will come from the opportunity to go 3-1 before heading to God's Waiting Room, Arizona. Not to get too far ahead of ourselves, but I can't help myself. Wins over the Bruins and Wildcats would put the Huskies at 4-1 and dare I say it, ranked(?) going into the matchup against the University of Spoiled Children.

A Field Is Not A Home

On Tuesday night, I was dragged to Safeco Field with some co-workers and my boss. My boss lives in Montana and has a house full of girls at home, so when he comes in town, he wants to defile himself and have us chugging right next to him. I say I was dragged, not because I have any fear of liquid refreshment, but because I would be just as happy watching Project Runway repeats than go watch my team play half-hearted games that don't mean anything. I'm not a bandwagon guy, but I just can't sit there and watch Mike Hargrove make his Hargrove face (A mix between searching for the final Jeopardy question and massive constipation) while we drop another game to a near Triple-A team.

It wasn't all bad though. I was in one of the best stadiums in baseball, enjoying many well-crafted beers, and having some delicious gourmet food. Even sushi! It was at this moment that a theory formed about the Mariners'.

The theory goes as follows; The Mariners will continue to suck because of Safeco Field. How did I arrive at such a conclusion? Allow me.

Ask yourself this; Have you gone to a Mariners' game more often to watch the game or to go to Club Safeco? Did you watch the whole game, or did you take a cab in the sixth to Belltown? Until Safeco opened, I never went to a game to do anything but root on the Mariners (No matter how much I hated Jose Mesa) and stay until the bitter end. The Kingdome was a Godless realm of Middle Earth, but in being so, only true fans went and spent their money and dammit, they wanted results for their money.

Now, even thought we have a starting pitching staff full of Joe Tables, their is no place quite as fun to be as the beer garden of Safeco Field in August. Their aren't a lot of place guys can watch a sporting event, ogle sorority chicks in heels and mini-skirts, and get a phone number or two. It's like Summer Catch, that crappy Freddie Prinze Jr. movie, but every single female fan is Jessica Biel. Every guy would watch that movie! The stadium corrals that activity in center field, away from the throngs of families, who come because of the well-appointed concessions and friendly environment.

Money is spent, great surroundings and conversations, and a good time is had by all. Oh, by the way, Washburn got knocked out in the third after giving up a grand slam and Ichiro, Beltre, and Sexson combined for one hit and five strikeouts, with the Mariners losing 8-2. I leave with a buzz, a quick "Screw 'em" under my breath, and it's off to Ozzie's.

The stadium is too well built and too well planned for the good of Seattle sportsfans. Seattle is not the most die-hard of towns as it is, and now, the Mariners are staring their fourth straight 90-plus loss season in a row, and Forbes magazine ranks Seattle as the fourth most profitable team in the bigs over the last five years. Cue Lewis Black: "Is anybody fucking home?"

The Mariners are going to be terrible until Mariners fans decide enough is enough. The Mariners ownership get rich off our hard earned dollars, lucrative contracts with Japanese media, and they turn around and produce not-even-mediocre teams and ever worse commercials. The Mariners have lost touch with their fans and treat us with little true respect. Well, they aren't going to buy the cow when they get the milk for free. I propose a ban on Club Safeco and any side ventures to the stadium all together, until they sign some real talent and show a commitment to winning.

What is more likely however, instead of getting Jason Schmidt or Daisuke Matsusaka is that they'll announce Chipotle, Hooters, and Newcastle Brown Ale will all open concession stands next season, and I'll buy a 20 game pack.

The Gift of the Fantasy Football Magi

There is one event that has replaced all other forms as the male bonding event of our generation. The roadtrip is dead, and the camping trip seems antiquated. I have multiple friends who can't even leave cell reception because of work. Instead, it's become the fantasy football draft. It's the ultimate event for guys. You get all your best friends together (especially the ones you know suck at fantasy football) to talk about football, drink, order greasy food, and make fun of each other until one guy gets so pissed, he threatens to leave the league all together. Ladies, when your boyfriend or husband or domestic partner goes to one of these, it's not about looking at statistics and projecting the coming football season, it's about farting and waiting to see how long it takes until the guy next to you smells it. It's goddamn beautiful!

I have to tell the story of this year's draft, because even if you don't know any of these guys, you've got to appreciate how dorky we all get and how much we love it. And face it, we're all dorks at heart.

We show up at our buddy Gustaf's condo, beer and assorted goods in tow. More than half the guys have laptops and we go to Gustaf's because he's got wireless internet and we can access our "secret internet sites" that we all feel gives us a dominant position, but really we just went to google and went to the third page of our "fantasy football" search. This is because we all know how lazy the other people are and figure no one will think to do it. Of course, there are are some duplicates. Then there's always the guy who shows up with nothing, asking Gustaf if he can print off sheets from Yahoo! when he gets there. This is Shane. Shane is also the guy that picks a Seahawk in the first round, inevitably Matt Hasselbeck, just so he can root for the Hawks. There is always the guy that does this and sucks all year long because of it.

Everyone takes this very seriously, but then there's the guy who thinks he's Vince Lombardi. This is MJ. MJ has formulated a super secret formula, from which he ranks the players on his own. No one really knows how this works and everyone makes fun of him for it (Partly because he won't tell us what it is and part because it actually produces solid teams.) This year, MJ took it to a whole other level. He found a kid on craigslist who wanted to learn about fantasy football and offered to be MJ's draft day assistant. I'm not kidding. We took the Entourage approach and called him Lloyd all day. I told him if he didn't get me a beer, I'd choke him out with a strap-on.

There's also the guy that doesn't give a shit and just plays to hangout at the draft. This is Parker. As we were walking into Gustaf's condo this year, Parker grabs me and asks me if he should walk in naked, knowing that Lloyd, the kid no one knew was already there. Of course, I said yes. To top it off, Parker's got a ass built for braiding. Great start to the draft.

A total of ten guys show up, with two more from out of town on IM (Yes, we're those guys.) I get the first pick in the draft, which is kinda like getting the first pull off of the new Cuervo bottle. Yes, I get to start drinking, but why me? I take Shaun Alexander, which has already proved to be a colossal bust. The rest of the first round goes without incident.

Then comes the moment every fantasy draft waits for: The blown pick. This year, it's Blake. Blake is a tall, pale, redhead, who talks shit constantly, so this is perfect. Blake drafts Curtis Martin, who doesn't have a right knee, let alone going to play this season. This leads to a round of gut-punching cutdowns, including my favorite line "Hey, I got Martin's right leg in my trunk, do you want it?" Someone asks him if his next pick will be Steve Largent. Life is good. Everyone then sits around with that satisfied, just-after-sex look for the next two rounds.

Then it gets ugly. The late rounds is where everyone has filled their starting rosters and then starts picking other people's backups. It's not necessarily because they will be played, it's just to screw over your buddy. Parker takes 31 year old Tiki Barber and I make sure to write down Brandon Jacobs' name and take him. That elicits a "Fucker" from Parker which makes me laugh hard enough to spill my beer all over myself. It reaches a fever pitch to where people are asking "Who has Drew Bledsoe??" The guy asking this is Heistand, and Bledsoe is so terrible that Heistand has already blocked out that he drafted him three rounds earlier. My buddy Moeller laughs and says, "Some poor bastard!" Heistand realizes and sheepishly takes Bledsoe's backup Tony Romo (A great place for ribs) and sinks into his chair.

17 rounds later, Gustaf's place has about 70 empty beer bottles, 3 cashed pizza boxes and smells like what you would imagine colonoscopy would feel like. Needless to say, we're all feeling great. That's what the draft should be; Some beer, some shit talking, some laughs... And the guy in med school leaving feeling like the dumbest guy in the room.

Welcome!

Hello friends (As I'm sure those are the only ones reading right now),

I want to wish you a warm and heartfelt welcome to what I hope will be more than just a feebile attempt at in-depth analysis and hard hitting sports journalism... but what will more than likely devole into condescending wisecracks and occasional witty sarcasm. Nonetheless, I will bring whatever I can to the table in a format that will hopefully entertain you and encourage you to spread the good word. So without further promises I'm sure I won't keep, onto my first post.

Thanks for reading (in advance)
Justin