Week 6: We Own the Night

Onto the game. . .

Google = Skynet. I’ve been saying that for years. As soon as you hear about Google getting into robotics, start stocking up on canned goods.

But no complicated search strings were needed to find the solution to YOUR CAROLINA PANTHERS’ most dire problem last week. QB Jake Delhomme – out for the season with a bad elbow. Backup QB David Carr – out with a sore back. Panthers don’t make excuses; they make excsolutions.

Enter Vinny Testaverde.

Testaveritas: the year Vinny was born (1963), the 5-digit zip code was implemented by the Post Office (Jul. 1), Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. gave his “I Have a Dream” speech (Aug. 28), CBS Evening News lengthened the standard 15-minute nightly news broadcast to an unprecedented half hour (Sep. 02), and the term “Beatlemania” was coined by the British press (Oct. 14).

Rejecting an offer from Arizona last Monday, signing with Carolina on Tuesday, and appearing in Charlotte for a physical on Wednesday, Testaverde literally ran onto the field in the middle of a play and began taking snaps with the offense. By Sunday, he’d only had three full practices with Carolina, yet still managed to learn more of the offensive playbook than Dwayne “The Phantom” Jarrett has all season.

But if this was going to be the Testaverde show, it’s soundtrack would be the ululations of a beaten desert people. A smothering Big Cat D set the tone in Arizona’s first three possessions, generating two sacks and two recovered fumbles and sending Kurt Warner out of the game with an injury.

Meanwhile, like a modern-day Dorian Gray, Vinny Testaverde continued to swim upstream against the seas of time, his elixir of immortality engineering drive after drive deep into Arizona territory. Capping them off with field goals from the Last of the Original Panthers, K John Kasay (combined age = 80), the Panthers led 9-7 in the third!

Testaveritas: 1989: Vinny wins Heisman. 1989: rookie receiver Dwayne Jarrett is born. (First volitional act after being born? He sucked.)

But playing in front of their home crowd, the Cardinals kept it close. I don't know which is more annoying: Boston sports fans who assume everyone is rooting for the Red Sox during the playoffs because the second-highest payroll in the league is still the perpetual "underdog," or Boston sports fans who assume that the world is rooting against the Patriots because their coach was legitimately caught illegally filming the opposition's playcalling. Certainly none are as inspiring or easy on the eyes as the women of Maricopa County.

Neil Rackers puts them ahead 10-9, followed by a rare miss from Mr. Automatic! John Kasay, who for years has been one of the scariest kickers in the league (scary because of his accuracy, not scary like Cowboys K Nick Folk, who looks like he tortures small animals), goes long on the go-ahead FG, and the Cardinals look to close it out!

Testaveritas: Prior to this year, Vinny had attempted 6,529 passes in the NFL. Number of passes attempted in history of Carolina franchise: 6,379.

But Testarrific wasn’t done. Exemplifying the Japanese philosophy of jinba
ittai (horse and rider as one), the gridiron’s Ponce de Leon threw a rainbow ahead of WR Steve Smith streaking up the sideline past single coverage. Steve Smith’s whistle tips go whoo! whoo! Touchdown, Panthers! Carolina up 15-10 (missed 2-pt conv.)!

CB Ken Lucas intercepted Rattay again, leading to another Kasay FG to put the Panthers up 18-10. Coach Fox finally replaced DeShaun Foster’s bloodhound-like ability to find the closest defenders with the more versatile outside runner DeAngelo Williams, who ran 10-for-121 and a game-closing TD. Jinba Ittai!

Testaverdict: Panthers win! And a win by the Bucs puts these heated rivals tied at 4-2 atop the NFC South!

Random quotes:

“I’m still meeting guys. I’ll probably take a media guide next week, look over our roster and try to figure out who everyone is.”

- Vinny Testaverde, on not knowing the names of most of his teammates

“Hey, where’s Joe?”

- Jimmy Kimmel on the set of “Monday Night Football.” Altogether now, one, two three: screw you, Theismann! Screw you!


Next week: Bye. Week following: Peyton Manning and the Indianapolis Colts. Who will start, Carr or Testaverde?

Look, I’m no Paul Zimmerman. I’m not even Emmitt Smith, whose commentary style can fall disconcertingly between Dusty Rhodes and a gay man. But all I hear is that guys like Testaverde and Garcia are temporary fixes that need to be replaced as quickly as possible, because the commentators are locked into pre-scripted positions that these guys are too old. But if you have an O-line that can buy them a few extra seconds, wouldn’t you prefer to put the ball in the hands of a more accurate thrower than a backup whose release can be out-hustled by condensation dripping off a Popsicle?

Until next time.

RROWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Week 5: The Heartbreak Kid

The kitchen at work is something of a conversational deathtrap. Small talk
invariably revolves around what food you’re eating, what food you just ate,
what food you plan to eat later, or what kind of food could have possibly
created that smell, and which of our colleagues is most likely the culprit.

I was standing in the kitchen, heating up some lunch, when a paralegal whose
name I actually know (“Loughran,” or “Lough” (pronounced “lock”) for short)
walked in with a bag from Moe’s. Moe’s is to Chipotle what Pepe Lopez is to
Jose Cuervo.

“Hey Lough!” I said. By using his name, I hoped to convey the camaraderie
between attorneys and staff. “What’s for lunch?”

We both looked down at the word “Moe’s” in big letters on his bag before he
looked back up at me. “Moe’s.”

“Ah,” I said wisely. And then, to make it even more profound, nodded my
head slightly.

“You?”

“Oh, just something I made in the crockpot on Sunday.” I saw where this
conversation was going, and felt the stirrings of uneasiness I get when new
people start asking me where I went to school.

“Oh yeah? What?”

“Beef bourguignon.” I didn’t like the way it sounded by itself. I felt
compelled to back away from the bourgeois element. “It’s just beef slowly
simmered in red wine.” And then, stumbling forward, “You should try it
sometime.” I had gone from exchanging recipes to issuing colonial edicts.

Lough, gathering together plastic utensils and napkins, looked over at me.
“Isn’t pretty much everything you make in a crockpot slowly simmered in
something else?”

***

I’d had conversational misfires with him before. I ran into him in the
hallway the week before Christmas. This was shortly after the attorneys had
been notified that we would receive bonuses in excess of fifty thousand
dollars.

“So, Lough,” I said. I weighed slugging him in the arm with fraternal
affection but changed my mind halfway, dodging his arm entirely and bringing
my fist back towards my other shoulder in a bizarrely threatening manner.

He stared, waiting for me to go on. Meanwhile, I looked as though I had
just drawn an invisible cape around my shoulders.

“Heard you guys got some gift certificates?” I couldn’t remember whether
gift certificates were considered tacky, and ended up saying the words too
delicately, as though asking whether he’d received the food stamps I’d left
on his chair.

He nodded. “Two hundred bucks on Amazon.”

I smiled and nodded. He stared at me. I’m not sure what more I was
expecting. Eventually, I realized no heartfelt thanks were forthcoming.

There’s a pressing need in this city to end all casual interactions with a
pithy conversational coda, a humorous yet uplifting observation or
suggestion that allows both parties to bring their light-hearted interaction
to a satisfying close and move on with their lives. We were stuck, standing
in each other’s way in the hallway, waiting for one.

Finally one came to me. “Well,” I said brightly, “at least it’s better than
nothing.”

“Is it really?” he asked.

Onto the game. . .

Like FEMA relief, the Saints came to New Orleans loaded with resources,
bringing the beleaguered city and its residents hope and the promise of
revitalization. Instead, as time wore on, they failed to live up to
expectations, profoundly disappointing Orleaners with their failure to make
any noticeable progress

At 0-4, they were looking for redemption. Standing in their way: YOUR
CAROLINA PANTHERS!

The Big Cat D demoralized the Saints. Rookie sensation LB Jon Beason,
starting in place of the ubiquitously-injured Dan Morgan, squashed Reggie
Bush’s inside lanes. The bruising 0-0 tie was broken in the first quarter
when a pass from Brees was intercepted by CB Richard Marshall! In a game
that favors youth, some things only get better with age, and “Leg of God” K
John Kasay put the Panthers up by a field goal. 3-0, Panthers!

The Saints came back to tie it up 3-3 when QB David Carr nearly had his back
broken during a sack. “It was by far the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my
life,” Carr would say later. “Every bone in my back popped all the way up
to my neck. . . .I didn’t know, honestly, if I’d ever play again.” Carr was
taken off the field in a cart. They had the technology. They could fix
him. But with Delhomme still injured, his replacement would be. . .Matt
Moore!

Who the hell is Matt Moore?

Well, according to analyst Ron Jaworski during this year’s draft, Matt Moore
was the “best quarterback prospect after JaMarcus Russell, Brady Quinn, and
Trent Edwards.” (Which is a little like being “the most popular character
on ‘CSI’” after the pudgy-faced dude, the hot older chick, the
mannish-yet-weirdly-sexy younger chick, and the black dude.)

His first pass: a 43-yarder to WR Keary Colbert! Matt Moore is the second
coming of Johnny Unitas! The South will rise again! His second pass was
nearly intercepted. Still, 1-2 ain’t bad. Another Kasay field goal, 6-3
Panthers!

The critics have been saying, where is Julius Peppers? Know this: no one
has a greater physical _or_ psychological impact on the game. His mere
presence on the defensive line negated a Saints touchdown when he terrified
an offensive lineman out of position before the snap. The Saints’ 10:20
minute, 19-play, 67-yard drive was limited to a tying Olindo Mare field goal
before the half.

And now, we take a short break to play, "Where In the World is Dwayne 'The
Phantom' Jarrett?" The second-round draft choice/bust was once again
inactive.

a. As a USC alum, experiencing enormous setbacks learning i. to read and
ii. pay his bills without improper donations from would-be agents. Ooh. .
.too soon?
b. Trying to prevent Jack and Kate from leaving the island
c. Searching for the 'real robber' who made off with OJ's paraphernalia in
Vegas
d. Carpooling with Joe Paterno

In the third quarter, the Saints pulled ahead by a TD. But ask not whom
Julius Peppers defends; he defends thee! Peppers blocks an Olindo Mare
field goal, and the ball is recovered by Richard Marshall and taken to the
Panther 15! We are Richard Marshall! Carr to WR Steve Smith, touchdown,
tied ballgame with 10:11 to play!

In the final ten minutes, the two teams would intercept one another on the
same drive, and Olindo Mare would miss a 54-yd field goal. With three
seconds to play, at the New Orleans 35, with the game on the line, there’s
only one person you can rely upon. The Last of the Original Panthers. FG
by Kasay is good! Panthers win, and tie with the Bucs for the NFC South
crown!

But grave news for America’s Team. Delhomme opted for season-ending elbow
surgery this week, and Carr’s back has kept him from practicing with the
team, leaving Moore the only healthy quarterback on the Carolina squad.

Who could they pick up as backup? Well, there’s Jake Plummer (no chance),
Tim Rattay (doesn’t every team have to sign Tim Rattay at some point? isn’
t it part of getting a new stadium deal?), Marquis Tuiasosopo (because all
other things being equal, always trade for the person who name could most
easily be a hilarious Pixar villain), Aaron Brooks (currently working as
mall security), Tim Couch (purely as a prank call to later post on
panthers.com), Ken Dorsey (will play for a sandwich), or Andrew Walter (a
bad decision that some team will inevitably talk itself into, like throwback
jerseys).

Instead, we got. . .Vinny Testaverde! At 43 years young! And, with Carr
unable to practice, he may very well start against Kurt Warner in Arizona
this weekend. Some things only get better with age.

Reader mail:

From Kelly H., from somewhere in the 80s:

“The Liesl story is classic - secretly, I think you just didn't want to make
conversation with with a beer company rep.

‘So, uh, love the keg can.’
‘Thanks - I'll never figure out how they miniaturize all those kegs. It
must be really hard. I like string.’”

Random quote:

From a WashPost review of The Pug (short for The Pugilist), a boxing-themed
bar on Capitol Hill:

“[Owner Tony] Tomelden had planned on a jukebox, but after years of
listening to tipsy congressional staffers play '80s rock and hair metal at
Capitol Lounge, he decided he'd rather set up playlists on his laptop.
‘Hearing U2 once a week is cool,’ he explains. ‘Hearing them nine times a
night is not. And never hearing Jon Bon Jovi is awesome.’”

This weekend: Vinny Testaverdede. Kurt Warner. NFL 2007!

Until next time.

RROWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

www.growlingwall.blogspot.com

Week 4: The Game Plan

In Which Our Hero Becomes A Sexual Predator, An Inept Lothario, A Crime
Victim, And Ultimately Finds Redemption

With a race looming on Sunday, I skipped my usual Saturday morning long run
in favor of a swim at a nearby pool followed by a short run. I don’t
normally go to the Washington & Lee High School pool on the weekends, and,
upon trying it for the first time, realized the wisdom of my usual routine.
Six lanes had been trimmed to three, half having been co-opted for some sort
of water-robics class for twenty-odd yam-shaped women. Meanwhile, the
bleachers teemed with solo parents clutching the wrist of a proximal
toddler, all of whom presumably played some part in the class to follow.

After a couple thousand meters, I changed, went for a short run, and came
back to shower. In the interim, the children’s swimming class had started
and finished, and I returned to a locker room overrun with parents
struggling to towel and clothe their children, who, having been
disenfranchised of the right to stay dry, were exercising varying degrees of
nonviolent resistance.

My shower having ended, I stood in the locker room, drying myself off. I
was daydreaming, I guess, lost in my own thoughts, and I was standing there,
in a good-morning,-world! stance, sawing the towel across my back when my
animal radar picked up the blip of something unnaturally close to my knee.
I looked down, frozen in mid-wipe. Not more than a foot away was a
(fully-clothed) little girl. She was staring up at me.

All of me.

First reaction: panic. Visions of Chris Hansen leaping out of the practice
pool in a frogman suit flashed in my head.
But I calmly reexamined the situation. I was toweling off in front of the
showers in the men’s locker room. How was I in the wrong?

(It reminds me of a stand-up routine I saw a while ago. The local news did
a segment about a man who was filling up at a gas station late at night when
he was killed during a random drive-by shooting. ‘They said he was in the
‘wrong place at the wrong time,’” recalled the comedian. Crowd titters.
“‘Wrong place’? Wrong place? He was at a gas station! Where the hell else
are you supposed to put gas in your car?”)

I felt bad for her dad, though. She may have lost any interest in ever
dating a white dude after that.

* * *



Later that afternoon I went to the Clarendon Day festival. See attached
pic. What street fair is complete without the popular
Crawl-Through-A-Mexican’s-Crotch ride?

* * *

That night, I attended a Congressional Black Caucus reception at the French
Embassy. As an African-American Congressman, it’s important for me to
attend these things.

Naturally, I gravitated to the lone blonde in the room. (In that group, she
stood out more than vitiligo.) She was a sales rep for Heineken, which had
apparently sponsored some CBC events earlier that day. Her name was Liesl.

“L-I-E-S-L ‘Liesl’?” It was loud, and I had to shout to be heard over the
crowd.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Yes! No one can ever spell my name, how did
you know that?”

For no good reason, I felt the need to lie, to chalk it all up to some crazy
happenstance. How do you explain to someone you just met that you can spell
almost anything?

“Oh,” I said, waving my hand with what I hoped was nonchalance as I laughed
nervously. “I’ve seen ‘Sound of Music’ six times.”

Let’s examine the ways I could have gone with that answer.

A. I’ve actually lived in Holland.
B. I could have pretended to know someone with that name.
C. I could have attributed it to a lucky guess.

Instead I went with “Sound of Music”? Forget the fact that I don’t even
_like_ “Sound of Music” (I can’t sit through more than half an hour before I
get bored with the singing). I took advantage of an opening by professing a
love for musicals?

I may as well have told her I used to skate competitively.

* * *

Sunday morning, I ran the Capitol Classic 20-miler. For distances that
long, I usually eat a caffeine-laden gel right before the start and carry a
second one in my shorts for the mid-way point. Just as I was taking the gel
out of my gear bag, I saw the course map taped to a wall. I set my bag down
and set the gel on the ground next to it, so that I wouldn’t forget to take
it with me. After studying the course map for a few minutes, I went back to
get my bag.

The gel was nowhere to be found.

What is the world coming to when people start stealing from attractive
people?

* * *

Sunday after the race, I had just brought my gear up to my apartment when I
realized I’d left my phone in my car. Returning to the elevator banks, I
press the ‘Down’ button and wait for the next car. As the door slides open,
I step in and immediately turn back around. I was daydreaming, I guess,
lost in my own thoughts, when from behind me:

“Oh my God, you are an insane runner!”

I turn around, and find a very attractive young woman staring at me with
what looks like recognition.

“Uh. . .”

“I’m sorry, I meant that as a compliment. How much do you run every day?”

Actually, I hadn’t taken it badly at all. I was just standing there trying
to avoid another “Sound of Music” incident. Although at this point, my
inability to engage in ordinary human interaction was in danger of being
mistaken for autism.

By floor six, I find out she’s training for her first marathon. At floor
five, we specify that it’s the Richmond Marathon, and no I don’t know much
about that one. Upon reaching floor four, I discover that seeing me coming
back from my runs as she’s leaving for work in the morning inspires her.

The elevator stops at the third floor, and I step out. The doors of
opportunity begin to rumble closed. I give her my apartment number and tell
her to slip a note under my door. She tells me her name is Katie.

There are other places I could live besides Arlington, but I can’t imagine
why.

* * *

Well, that’s about all I have, so you know what this means.
“So long/Farewell/Auf wiederschen goodbye. . .”

Onto the game. . .

Few teams can boast the blood rivalry of the Panthers-Bucs. Defensive juggernauts, they play a game of field goals and traffic in violence. In 2004, the Panthers lost DE Kavika Pittman for the season to a torn ACL and MCL, suffered after a devious chop-block from Buc WR Keenan McCardell. The Panthers reciprocated in 2006 by pureeing Chris Simms’ spleen, ending his season, possibly his career, nearly his life.

Fresh off of breaking three of Rams QB Marc Bulger’s ribs on opening day, the most feared defensive unit in NFL history, the Big Cat D of YOUR CAROLINA PANTHERS was game-ready. Were the Bucs? Heading into Week 4, the game between 2-1 division foes would yield control of the volatile NFC South division, and featured a showdown between the number 5 quarterback in the league (Jeff Garcia) vs. the number 3 (Jake Delhomme).

(“Yes,” said my Tampa friend Eric, “but one of these quarterbacks isn’t 35 years old.” That’s okay, I told him. Gay men are in notoriously good shape.)

The Bucs gave it their best effort, but the noble savagery of the Big Cat D, awesome to behold, was nothing short of devastating. “O brave new world, that has such people in it!” marveled Aldous Huxley’s Savage. Barely up 7-0, the Bucs were midway through the first quarter, running on the legs of “Cadillac” Williams. “A devil, a born devil, on whose nature/nurture never can stick. . .” said Prospero of Caliban, yet equally well it applied to one of the Horsemen of God’s Country, S Chris Harris, who delivered the crushing hit on Williams that tore his patellar tendon and ended his season.

“But I don’t want comfort,” said the Savage. “I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.”

“In fact,” said Mustapha Mond, “you’re claiming the right to be unhappy.”

“All right then,” said the Savage defiantly, “I’m claiming the right to be unhappy.”

In the second half, the field was strewn again with the body of crushed corsairs. Buccaneer Luke Petitgout was taken out of the game with a season-ending cracked knee, courtesy of DT Kris Jenkins.

At halftime, the Bucs were clinging to a tenuous 17-0 lead, and Coach John Fox’s masterful strategy was playing itself out brilliantly. It is not enough to beat your opponent. To see their spirit crushed – that is victory. Fox is one of those rare visionaries who doesn’t just play game-to-game; he was playing for the season. And the long-term game plan to ensure division dominance involved wholesale genocide of the Bucs’ offense.

Yet where was the Carolina offense?

Were they still in the locker room, watching replays of Brett Favre’s record-breaking TD throw? At this point, I’m convinced that nothing will jar sportswriters from this season’s script that Brett Favre is “playing like a kid again.” He could pull out a gun out and shoot a defensive lineman, and Chris Berman would still lead with: “And look at Favre, 38 years young, still murdering people like a kid in a Columbine schoolyard!” (And then do that ‘WHOO-OP!’ sound effect.) Seriously, what exactly are we celebrating anyway? The fact that a 38-year-old finally shows up to work on time, not hung over, doesn’t fall asleep in meetings, pays attention to his bosses and makes intelligent decisions in a job he gets paid millions for in order to better his team’s chances of success? Honestly, this makes him some sort of hero?

Were they debating the old Chris Simms haircut (which made him look like prison candy) versus the new Chris Simms haircut (which makes him look like the creepy monk from “Da Vinci Code”)?

Were they predicting how thoroughly the Giants defense would stop the Eagles later that night? (I thought it would have been funny to have a 24-hour camera on Donovan McNabb all this week, showing him going about his daily business, like going to the ATM or picking up his dry cleaning, and then showing him get sacked every couple of hours by Osi Umenyiora. The only thing funnier would have been Osi standing up, looking into the camera, and saying, “I’m not nearly this hard on white quarterbacks!”)

None of the above. Sadly, the General, Jake Delhomme, was out with an injured elbow, and the offense had been turned over to the disquietingly androgynous David Carr. Carr, whose halting decision-making frequently results in Pompeii-like tableaus prior to being sacked, never got in sync with the Carolina receivers, despite the fact that there was a Dwayne Jarrett sighting! Yes, first round draft pick/bust WR Dwayne Jarrett made a few cameo plays! The man who was supposed to take double coverage off of WR Steve Smith was playing off of what I heard referred to as a “limited playbook,” which is code language for the fact that he’s only been able to learn a few of his plays. The 2007 Dwayne Jarrett “limited playbook” is like the games they have in the Special Ed classroom: the Chutes & Ladders with only a “Start” and “Finish” square; the “Clue” where all the cards say “Colonel Mustard did it.”; the “Taboo” where all the answers are “Daaaah” and the buzzer is edible.

After halftime, the Growling Wall grew even stingier, permitting only a single field goal for the entire second half. And in the final minutes of the fourth quarter, the Appalachian Express came alive! The Bucs had pulled their defensive starters, and no one runs a hurry-up offense against second-stringers like David Carr! Touchdown, Panthers! Panthers lose, 20-7.

Next week:

With Delhomme sidelined for another week, along with the always bizarrely-injured LB Dan Morgan (“slight” Achilles tear), Il Davide di Carolina leads the Panthers against the winless New Orleans Saints.

Until next time.

RROWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

www.growlingwall.blogspot.com

Week 3: The Carr Ultimatum

OPEN LETTER TO BLACK PEOPLE FROM THE GOP

Re: The Tavis Smiley Incident

Look, it’s unfair to say that Republicans don’t care about black people.
That’s just not true. Why, once every four Novembers, we care about you all
a lot. That’s when you’ll see us at a barbeque, or clapping off-rhythm to a
gospel choir. Would we do that if we didn’t care?

When Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans, and tens of thousands of black
people were left without homes, President Bush sent his top guy down there
to help. Mike Brown was not only a personal friend of Bush’s campaign
manager, but he also had a ton of experience as an administrative assistant
for the city manager of Edmond, Oklahoma. Okay, so, maybe he wasn’t the
most qualified person we could have put in charge of disaster relief. But
the Republican administration committed $85 billion to Katrina relief. $85
billion! Now that’s what I call ‘reparations’! Okay, so we’ve spent more
than $450 billion on the Iraq War, despite the fact that there has never
been a proven connection between Saddam Hussein and 9/11, and al Qaida was
never in Iraq until we invaded, and the plans for invading Iraq were already
in place as of September 17, 2001. Sometimes you have to make the world
incredibly unsafe in order to make it _more_ safe. Look, we’re getting away
from the point here.

Let’s try something different here, multiple choice. When Republican
politicians speak to a black audience, they will quote which of the
following African-American luminaries:

A. Zora Neale Hurston
B. W.E.B. DuBois
C. Booker T. Washington
D. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Everyone said “D”? Wait, wait, bad example. Of course we’re familiar with
black culture. Like this Jena 6 stuff. Believe me, we understand what you’
re going through right now, and no one is more outraged than we are. We
just can’t talk about the Jena 6 publicly because, well, it kind of
undercuts our arguments against affirmative action to admit that there’s
still racism. Plus, no one really understands what the issue is – Fox News
isn’t covering it. But we care, really we do; we have all of their albums.

Let’s try the multiple choice thing again. Which of the following is most
likely to be in the “Hip Hop” section of a Republican’s iPod?
A. Talib Kweli
B. DJ Kool Herc
C. RZA
D. Will Smith

You said “D” again? What do you people want?! We gave you Condi and Colin,
for crying out loud! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that came out wrong. Look, this
is obviously going nowhere. My point is that, yes we get excited about
sending brown people to Guantanamo Bay for the remainder of their natural
lives without ever charging them with a crime, and yes we get excited
building walls in Texas to keep out dark-skinned people willing to do the
jobs none of us are willing to do, but that doesn’t mean that once every
four years we won’t welcome you into our house with open arms.

Just put this towel down before you sit on our couch. Your hair and all.

Onto the game. . .

It’s only the third week, where bad teams still look good and vice versa, yet the storylines that writers will return to all season ad nauseam are already being written:

- Brett Favre is playing like a kid again
- Vince Young just wins games
- YOUR CAROLINA PANTHERS are. . .enigmatic

Last Sunday, the League’s Jekyll-and-Hyde squadron traveled to Fulton County, Georgia, to meet NFC South rival Atlanta Falcons in their home opener.

You have to feel for Bobby Petrino. After leading Louisville to victory in this year’s Orange Bowl, he headed to the NFL expecting the keys to the league’s best rushing quarterback and playoff-worthy roster depth. Instead, they trade away Matt Schaub and he finds himself on opening day with Joey Harrington, who brings all the excitement of a spreadsheet. And last week, they signed for wingy Jacksonville reject Byron Leftwich. You would think the team was forcing itself into some kind of penance.

Because of the Michael Vick situation.

There’s justifiable outrage, and then there’s the thrill of watching someone powerful go down, and there was definitely blood in the water over the dogfighting scandal. Condemning dogfighting became the “it” indignation, replacing the chic harangues against Don Imus. Righteous fury over mistreatment of dogs is a surefire way to score cheap political points even as you stand there in your leather shoes, eating veal, wearing hygiene products that were animal-tested.

Without adding credibility to the paranoia of Donovan McNabb, I do believe that there are certain indifferent, unapologetic black athletes like your Michael Vicks, your Terrell Owens, your Barry Bonds, that the public wants to see go down. Where Jason Carter might have been accorded the benefit of the doubt in a similar scandal, the public was already tying the noose for Vick. Yet for all the outrage, to see how it all ends, look no further than the Bertuzzi-Moore fight in the NHL back in ‘04 (where Moore left the ice with deep gashes in his face and a broken neck after being jumped from behind and driven into the ice by Bertuzzi), where even the banshees on The View were calling for a ban on all hockey fights in the days that followed. But after Bertuzzi’s suspension ended, nary a canary peeped when he returned to the league. You see, it’s difficult to stay outraged on one topic these days. There are too many channels.

But I do derive one small piece of satisfaction out of this.

Screw you, Theisman! Screw you!

Ever since the Monday night Panthers-Falcons game when Theisman kept gushing about Vick even while the Carolina offense was on the field, I’ve hated him. Not to mention the fact that his “analysis” on MNF consisted of zero percent football analysis, 50 percent moronic superlatives such as “all-time quality guys in the league” “possibly one of the most passionate players in the history of football in all of football” and 50 percent insipid declarations where the implied alternative is clearly not a conscious option (“The offense has to come on and score some points on this drive.” “The defense really needs to step it up and make a stop here.” “[Quarterback] has to start connecting with his receivers.”)

Miraculously, during the offseason, his bosses realized it too. And now he’s gone.

The game was tight early. The Big Cat D, Where NFL Offenses Go To Rebuild Their Self-Esteem, allowed the Atlanta offense to stay in the game, tackling with all the sincerity of a compliment during happy hour.



The Falcons led 17-10 in the third, largely because WR Steve Smith, had been kept in check by DeAngelo Hall. But even when he’s not scoring, the Nureyev of the Slant Route can still win ball games for you! Jawing with the overconfident Hall, Smith cannily egged him into committing 3 penalties for 67 yards on the same drive, resulting in a 5-yd TD pass to TE Jeff King! Carolina using its tight ends?! What a team! What a game! 17 all!

Then, a scare for the Tar Heel Terror Squad. QB Jake Delhomme went down with an elbow injury. In comes the strangely androgynous David Carr. Had you told me earlier this spring that I’d be watching a football game between Joey Harrington and David Carr, I’d have asked when I started watching CFL.

Carr looks like he’d be more at home at a Scissor Sisters concert than a football field. When he entered, he was wearing bright white gloves; it wasn’t clear whether he was going to quarterback to do a magic trick. (Reports the Charlotte Observer: David Carr has different-colored gloves to match the different Carolina jerseys! Which tells me two things: i. David Carr is no Ken Stabler, and ii. the Observer must be some kind of football writers’ graveyard. In next week’s Observer: where Rex Grossman gets his eyebrows waxed!)

But Carr was more than serviceable, connecting on 3-for-4 and driving the Cats to the very doorstep of the end zone. With the stoic heroism of Wallace at Stirling, the engine of Carolina’s new zone rushing scheme, RB DeShaun Foster, drives in the go-ahead score! Panthers take the lead!

Final score: 27-17. Panthers win! Panthers win!

Reader mail:

From Jess T., in NYC:

“Roberto and his friend were in the US visiting during the last
presidential election and I remember just being so disappointed and
dumbfounded that Kerry lost, I just couldn't believe it.

Roberto: I know why he lost.
Me: Why?
Roberto: His face. He's too ugly to be president. People won't vote for
an ugly person to be president.

Seriously maybe all the political analysts should listen to these
explanations.....maybe it is that simple.”

Random quote:

“I don’t recognize that name. Who? General Jameson?”

-Sen. Arlen Specter (R-Pa.) last Friday, in response to a reporter’s question about a Capitol tour one of his aides was giving porn star Jenna Jameson and meatwall UFC champ Tito Ortiz

Next week: Playing for control(!) of the AFC South, the Panthers host bitter rivals Tampa Bay. Will Delhomme be ready to play, or will it be the Dame Edna Carr? Will the always bizarrely-injured LB Dan Morgan (who left the Falcons game with a bruised shoulder, tight hamstring, and heel pain. From the same play.) suit up? Whatever happens on Sunday, it’ll be drinking Cheerwine, wearing NASCAR gear, and have really bad tan lines. Carolina-Tampa Bay.

Until next time.

RROWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

www.growlingwall.blogspot.com