Week 10: Eyes on the Prize

In thumbing his nose at the Constitution and the Supreme Court and attacking the lawyers defending them, the president cited as justification Abraham Lincoln's (unlawful) suspension of habeas corpus during the Civil War. I am speaking of course about Pervez Musharraf, the president of Pakistan who recently incurred universal condemnation (well, but for a few key allies) for his suspension of democratic institutions and the imposition of martial law in Pakistan.



Lawyers across Pakistan had taken to the streets, enduring beatings and incarceration for demanding the reinstatement of the Constitution and the Supreme Court. In a show of support for our Pakistani colleagues, the ABA organized a protest march for lawyers in D.C. from 11:30 to 12:00 last Wednesday. "Support" apparently means exactly 0.5 billable hours.

The march was scheduled to start at 11:30, and by the time I got off of the Metro, I was afraid I'd missed the start. But when I arrived at the James Madison Building of the Library of Congress, the lawyers were still congregating about, preening for the reporters hemming them in on all sides.

'How's the protest rally going?' emailed my colleague Ferdose.

'Terribly,' I wrote back. 'Perhaps I shouldn't have worn my Musharraf '08 shirt.'

We were an unending sea of black and charcoal, a sign of visual support for our similarly-attired Pakistani colleagues. By the time I was able to pick out Amanda and a few of my other Guantanamo colleagues, the speeches had begun.

". . .We, the lawyers of America, stand shoulder to shoulder with the brave lawyers and citizens of Pakistan as you strive to preserve the rule of law in your nation. . ."

"Excuse me," came a whisper at my shoulder. The source was an ABA rep holding a clipboard. "Would you like to sign this petition in support of the Pakistani lawyers?"

"Absolutely," I said, taking the clipboard from her hand.

". . .An independent judicial system and a just constitution are cornerstones of all lawful societies. The arrests of Pakistani's Supreme Court justices, and of thousand of lawyers, judges, and civil leaders, are a profound breach of the rule of law. . ."

I crossed my 't's with a flourish. "Absolutely," I said again, as I handed the clipboard back to her.

"Thanks," she said brightly. "And here's a pin to wear during the march to show your support." I took the green ribbon and began twirling it between my thumb and forefinger.

". . .We call upon President Pervez Musharraf to free those lawyers and civil leaders who have been wrongly jailed. . ."

"Aren't you going to pin it on?" whispered Amanda.

I shook my head, holding a lapel out for her inspection. "The fabric's Italian. . ."

D.C. being a small city, and there only being so much room at the Capitol, other protest groups wandered in and out of ours. A diminutive Chinese lady circumambulated the crowd, trying to distribute flyers about the Falun Gong. More intriguingly, several individuals dressed in blue velvet whale costumes passed by on the sidewalk, waved to us, and kept walking. I would love to tell you that they were protesting the endangerment of whales, but I honestly didn't see a sign.

After the speeches, it was time for the march. The plan was for us to march vigorously from the Madison Building all the way to the Supreme Court. For those of you not familiar with D.C. geography, that's approximately 1 city block. Some might say, doesn't the Supreme Court of the United States have zero influence on this issue, and wouldn't it make more sense to march on the Pakistani embassy? To which I would politely respond, yes, but the Pakistani embassy isn't on the Blue and Orange lines, now is it?

No one had thought to come up with any slogans to sing out, so the "march" ended up being a bunch of people in dark suits walking in orderly fashion down the street. We looked like lobbyists popping out for a spot of lunch. It was probably one of the most orderly protests the nearby cops had ever seen, what with all of the participants fully cognizant of the extent of their First Amendment rights.

At least another protest group, the Pink Ladies, had joined ours and was engaging curious passers-by. "The brave lawyers of Pakistan are risking life and limb to defend the principles of law and justice. They have been kicked, yelled at, beaten, and arrested. . ."

"Did you bring any sunscreen?" I whispered to Amanda.

"No."

". . .We're showing our support for the courageous men and women of Pakistan, who, led by their legal community, remind citizens of all nations that justice and the rule of law and both precious and fragile. . ."

"My neck itches," I complained.

("Sorry," Amanda told me later, as we took the Metro to Chinatown. "I don't even carry sunglasses in this season." "Season?" I repeated. "What 'season' are we in exactly? Solar eclipse season?")

Collectively, we ground to a stop in front of the Supreme Court. We were supposed to walk around it once, but since we’d gotten off to a late start, most people just walked back to the Metro. Amanda and I walked up the steps of the Supreme Court, stood at the top and pumped our fists in the air in defiance. This had the sole effect of startling some clerks who were returning from lunch.

Then, in a final show of support to the fearless spirit of our Muslim brethren, we sat down for some sliders and pepperoni pizza.

Onto the game. . .

Steve Smith Homicide Watch: Charlotte Observer columnist Tom Sorensen

After the Panthers' 20-13 loss to Atlanta last weekend, the snarky newspaper columnist asked Smith (5-for-61) whether this was the most frustrated he's been as a Panther. "Who said I was frustrated?" asked Smith. Sorensen said that he sensed as much.

Smith's response: "You're not going to get me to say that I'm unhappy here and all that stuff. . . .I mean, you didn't play sports so you wouldn't understand anyway, Sorensen."

How did the Panthers perform on Sunday? A strong showing by the Big Cat D. After Atlanta's opening touchdown drive, the game devolved into a field goal battle, with Carolina's lone touchdown the result of a defensive fumble recovery. Another year, another trip to the IR for LB Dan Morgan, which amounts to $750K in cap space keeping the bench warm. However his replacement, rookie Jon Beason, was phenomenal, notching 11 tackles, and helping to hold the game at 13-all with less than two minutes to play.

But the offense was anemic, even behind the indefatigable arm of Vinny Testaverde. The Panthers were ultimately undone on special teams. With shades of K John Kasay's infamous short punt at the end of Super Bowl XXXVIII, a 23-yard punt return allowed the Falcons to start their final drive at the 50-yard line with less than two minutes to play. Broken tackles by safeties Chris Harris and Quinton Teal allowed TE Alge Crumpler into the end zone for the game-deciding score.



I could dwell on the Panthers' woes on offense, their quarterback carousel, the inability of any second receiver to take the pressure off of Steve Smith, and a running game about as committed as Fred Thompson's presidential bid.

I could dwell on that, but I want to instead turn to a certain other team that the country is talking about, on the verge of making history by going undefeated behind one of the most impressive offenses seen in decades. I'm talking of course about the phenomenal Yale football team, currently 9-0, 6-0 Ivy, setting up a showdown with Harvard this weekend (7-2, 6-0) between two teams that are undefeated intraconference, to determine the '07 Ivy League crown!

How does this Yale team stack up to that other undefeated team?

Quarterback: QB Tom Brady dates Gisele Bundchen. QB Matt Polhemus '08 dates the "Gisele Bundchen" of the Molecular Biophysics & Biochemistry department.

Coach: Jack Siedlecki dresses in clothes from Barrie Ltd. Booters. Bill Belichik dresses like a cornerman.

RB: Lawrence Maroney is averaging 4.7 yards per carry and Sammy Morris is out for the season. Mike McLeod '09 has already set Yale records for rushing yards in a game, touchdowns in a career, consecutive games scoring touchdowns (besting Calvin Hill '69's record), points in a career, touchdowns in a season, carries in a season, and consecutive 100-yard rushing games (besting Buffalo Bills coach Dick Jauron '73's record).



Wide receivers: Who cares?! We have Mike McLeod!

Prediction: Yale 34, Harvard 20

Next week, the Panthers travel to Green Bay to take on the 8-1 Packers and the overhyped Brett Favre. A blowout, most expect, a showcase for the Pack. Honestly, do you really expect the Pack to go 15-1? Do you? Or do you think this will be the week that the Panthers expose the fraudulence on the tundra, and leave the cheese-heads looking like Chris Hansen just walked into their kitchen?

Prediction: Panthers 16, Packers 3

Until next time.

RROWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Week 9: Carolina Gangsters

One of the tax partners, Karl, was in my office on Friday giving me advice on speakers. Asking an audiophile like Karl advice on sound systems is like asking my advice on cameras -- if you're just looking for something basic, our relative expertise is wasted.

Having talked me into considering a pair of Martin Logans, his work in my office was done. On his way out, he extolled in passing the virtues of building a system piecemeal with very nice components, like the "ten thousand dollar CD player" owned by fellow tax partner and audiophile Carol.

"Wait, what?"

Karl stopped halfway through my doorway.

"A ten thousand dollar CD player?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes. Ten thousand dollars."

"C'mon."

"No, really. It's an SACD."

"Okay," I said, "I can understand there's a difference between a nice CD player and, say, a Discman. But what does a ten thousand dollar CD player do that a five hundred dollar Harmon Karmon 5-disc changer doesn't?"

"By the same token, what does my Porsche do that your Mercedes doesn't?"

"Compensate?"

Onto the game. . .

This week, we introduce a new feature: the Steve Smith Homicide Watch. This feature will keep track of all the warning signs up to and including the moment the Panthers wide receiver murders one of his teammates.

Consider:

With QB Jake Delhomme as the starter for the first two games, Smith went 7-for-118 and 8-for-153 (but yelled at Delhomme during the Houston loss for throwing to aWR Keary Colbert instead of him, resulting in a 3-and-out (dropped pass)). During the Arizona game, in which QB Vinny Testaverde played a complete game, Smith went 10-for-136.

Enter QB David Carr. During the Atlanta game, in which Carr came in for an injured Delhomme, Smith went 1-for-10; Tampa Bay, 5-for-32 (and was seen screaming into the phone at the offensive coaches in the press box); New Orleans, 4-for-47; Indy, and 2-for-18 (and was seen screaming at David Carr on the sidelines during the fourth quarter).



A few days after the Indy loss, two reporters were talking to second-round bust WR Dwayne "The Phantom" Jarrett in the locker room, when Smith came up behind them. "Instead of talking to the media, why don't you go watch some game film?" said Smith, in the presence of the reporters. Jarrett smiled and tried to laugh it off. "Seriously," said Smith, before walking away.

By Week 12, expect him to go Rae Carruth on the next fantasy owner that comes up to him and tells him how much he's killing his team.

How was last week's performance against the Titans? Closer than it looked (20-7), but still dreadful. The Panthers managed fewer than 80 yards on the ground on 21 carries. David Carr, displaying all of the athleticism of Terry Schiavo was sacked seven times, threw an interception, and lost a fumble. It was so bad that Titans DT Albert Haynesworth found Carr's performance praiseworthy. "You've got to credit David Carr too because he held the ball," he said after the game. "That allowed me to get there a little bit." The 320-pound Haynesworth kept busting through the Growling Wall at will like some kind of Bizarro Kool-Aid Man. My favorite part, though, was that throughout all of this, Carr kept checking the play codes on his wristband. What kind of plays do you suppose are on there? "Drop back, hold ball, wait." "Move to hole in O-line, look increasingly terrified, make peace with God.")

And Smith was held to 3-for-15 (screaming as he walked off the field about not getting enough throws).

One of the few bright spots for YOUR CAROLINA PANTHERS was that earlier this week, Testaverde was practicing with the first team offense. Good news for Carolina fans. Good news for people within sighting distance of Steve Smith.

Random quote:

"We knew Carr would feel the rush, because he's always worried about us. We knew he might be kind of extra scared or worried about our defense."

- Titans DT Albert Haynesworth, giving credit where credit is due

Next week: the Panthers, still just one game out of the division lead (Tampa Bay) host intra-conference rival Atlanta. The Falcons are 2-6, but the Panthers are winless at home.

You know those commercials they'll run for movies, the ones that consist of fake "testimonials" from actors posing as moviegoers, talking about how much they loved the movie and how everyone should see it? These are hilarious on a number of levels. First, they NEVER run these ads for a movie that's doing well. So, multiple executives have bought into the idea that if a movie's doing poorly, I will see watch commercial and think, "You know, that Asian guy in that ethnicity- and gender-balanced group looks a lot like me. I think I will see 'Because I Said So.'"

With the Panthers still winless at home and struggling on both sides of the ball, Jerry Richardson may need to borrow this strategy to fill seats. Here's how the commercial might sound:

"We saw David Carr, and my son ran over to him to get his picture taken, and Carr immediately took a knee!"

"It was so awesome, I got to shake Dan Morgan's hand! But I think now he might need Tommy John surgery."

"We grabbed Julius Peppers' hat as a prank, and he tried to put pressure on us from the left side, but got single-blocked by the Gatorade cooler."

"I couldn't believe how easy it was to get Dwayne Jarrett's autograph! There was no line or nuthin'!"

Until next time.

RROWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Week 8: Vinny in Real Life

I had a physical two Fridays ago. It was with a new doctor. I change my doctor every year. Not that I ever have a problem with the doctors I get, I can just never remember whom I went to the previous time. So I use Mapquest to figure out the closest one and designate myself a new primary care provider.

I really should write things down more.

In some sense, though, I have to believe that for a doctor who does this day in and day out, giving me a physical must be kind of a treat. Like the special ed teacher who gets an honor student for tutoring.

“Do you have any allergies?” I was sitting on that loud crinkling paper like the last brownie on the tray as the new doc (“Brickie”) took my patient history. I was wearing some sort of tunic made out of hamburger wrappers.

“No.”

“Fatigue, shortness of breath?”

“Nope.”

“Depression, anxiety?”

“No.”

This was going swimmingly, I thought. I wished more women asked these types of questions on dates. So that it wasn't just me talking about it.

“Do you smoke?”

“Never.”

“Drink?”

“Socially.”

“Control your portion size?”

“Lady, I weigh a buck forty-nine!”

“Sorry,” she said, looking up. “It’s on the form.”

I don’t know the last time any of you had a checkup, but what’s amusing these days is how sensitive doctors are to a patient’s sense of privacy. I was lying back on the table as she checked my breathing. “Now I’m going to remove the gown from your arm,” she said reassuringly as she slid off the armhole, careful not to expose any more of my shoulder than necessary. No doubt these precautions were the fallout from the good ol’ days when doctors used to violently sodomize their patients. (Perhaps I should have told her I wore half as much most mornings anyway.)

Then she asked my permission to perform a testicular exam.

I’ll spare the female readership the details of what makes it so comical, but you can surmise for yourself by imagining if she took the same approach to cooking me dinner.

“I’m about to take your wine glass in my hand, is that okay?”

“Fine.”

“What I’m doing now is checking to see if it’s empty. Now, with my other hand, I’m going to lightly grip the wine bottle.”

“Sure, whatever.” I look straight ahead, strenuously avoiding any sort of eye contact.

“I’m going to now move the wine bottle closer to the glass and – ”

“Yes. Glass. Wine. Refill. Understood.”

Protracted silence until she’s finished with the wine glass.

“Now, in a second, I’m going to have you turn around so that I can examine your napkin holder. . .”

“Okay,” she said. She had finished, and was at the sink, washing her hands.

Okay what? “That’s it?” I asked. Immediately, I regretted it. I sounded like a perv.

“Is there anything else?” she asked.

“Well, one thing.” ‘1 in 5 people have herpes’ screamed the STD poster, ‘Flu season is approaching!’ screamed the wellness poster, ‘Can you spot the hidden picture?’ screamed the 2004 Highlights magazine. Doctors have a curious approach to decorating. Concerned antagonism. “You know, I’ve been thinking of going onto either Propecia or Rogaine.”

The paper towel stopped halfway along her hand, and she looked at me skeptically, the way one examines a piece of badly-dented furniture after being quoted an obscene price at a flea market.

“Are you noticing any hair loss?”

“Not really.”

She didn’t say anything. The beautiful ones are always dumb, she thought to herself.

“My understanding,” I said quickly, to fill in the silence, “is that these products are good for preventing hair loss, and that it’s best to start taking them before you actually start losing your hair.” I didn’t include that the sole source of this information was ‘The Big Idea with Donny Deutsch.’ I thought that might undercut my scientific credibility.

She wrote me a prescription with great reluctance. So I thought I should open it up to general discussion. Does anyone have an opinion about whether and when to take hair loss products?

Your answers will, of course, be weighted according to your level of actual hair loss. And/or insecurity.

Onto the game. . .

70,000 plus were rocking Bank of America last Sunday, some, institutional investors, bemoaning BoA’s exposure to mortgage-backed securities, but most there for the second chapter in The Greatest Football Story Ever Told, the resurrection of Vinny Testaverde! One of the most dominant teams in NFL history, America’s Team, YOUR CAROLINA PANTHERS were playing host to Peyton Manning and the Colts in what was widely regarded as a Super Bowl preview.

Tapped by Coach Fox to start ahead of backup QB David Carr, the King of Kings led the Panthers on the greatest opening drive in Carolina history! 18 plays spanning 11 minutes! WWVTD? Seven run plays, eleven pass plays, and the Lamb of Jerry Richardson put the Panthers up 7-0!


On the other side of the ball, Peyton Manning’s offense proved about as substantive as a FEMA press conference. The first half was a tale of domination, printed on parchment of pain. The Panthers controlled the ball for more than 22 minutes of the first half. The Colts, stumbling worse than Hilary Clinton on immigration issues, managed just 3 points in their first five drives. Manning failed to convert a third down in the first half, and completed fewer than 50 percent of his passes all game.

Having had his way with the Colts, what did Coach Fox do in the second half? There was protracted debate last week as to whether the Pats ran up the score on the Redskins. Personally, I don’t think that just because a team’s offense and defense are hopelessly ineffective that the opposing coach is obligated to throw out his entire pass playbook, signal to the other team to stack 8 men in the box, play Marty-ball for more than a quarter and give the lesser team more chances to get back in the game.

But that’s why John Fox is an NFL coach and I’m just a handsome Internet journalist and bounty hunter. Why tip more of your playbook and risk your key players to a team you may end up defeating in the Super Bowl? Fox wisely pulled Testaverde early in the third (right around the time that he reaggravated an Achilles injury for our sins). Fox then had to decide between going with the stalagmitic David Carr or undrafted rookie Matt Moore, which is akin to being trapped on a desert island with a choice of Joel Osteen or Tony Little as your sole companion.


But consider Fox’s genius. Looking ahead to this weekend’s matchup with the Patriots, Fox knew that sending a demoralized Colts team to next week’s matchup would almost certainly result in a New England victory. On the other hand, sending in a team feeling good about themselves might result in a squad he knew how to beat facing the Panthers in the Super Bowl. Thanks to Fox’s brilliance, the Colts were handed a meaningless victory against the Panthers’ B team in garbage time, final score 31-7.

Random quote

Just when Favrelove couldn’t become any more insipid, along comes booth-chemistry-murdering Emmitt Smith with this insightful commentary after the Packers’ MNF overtime win over the Broncos:

“That’s why Brett Favre (dramatically pausing on each word, ESPN-commentator-style) is the_best_quarterback_in_football_today. Sure, Brady and Manning may have all of the statistics and numbers. . .”

Until next time.

RROWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Week 7: Bye

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

Week 2: The Brave One

(the following transpired during a single conversation the night of September 10, 2007)

Mom: “I want you to write a letter to the U.S. Open people for me.”
Me: “Okay. About?”
Mom: “You know how much Federer made for winning the U.S. Open? $2.4 million.”
I braced for her usual tirade about how much athletes are paid relative to doctors.
Me: “Okay.”
Mom: “You know what the second person gets? A plate.”
Me: “Are you sure? I thought they got some money.”
Mom: “No money. Just a plate. That’s not fair. How can they give the winner all of these millions and then the number two person a plate? That’s not fair.”
Me: “No, it’s really not—”
Mom: “Because they work just as hard to get there. The other fellow, Novak, he played very well.”
Novak Djokovic, though falling in straight sets, had, in fact, taken the first two to tiebreakers.
Mom: “But he had bad behavior.” Fickle, thy name is woman. “He was so angry, yelling in his language, opening a water bottle so hard that it spilled everywhere. Not like that Federer. Federer is always so cool. So many athletes today yell and scream and celebrate when they win, but Federer is always calm.”
Me: “Okay.”
Mom: “So write them and tell them your mama said they should give the second place people more than just a plate.”

***

Mom: “You know that Oprah raised $3 million for Obama?”
Me: “That’s nothing for her.”
Mom: “They say she’s going to start managing his campaign.”
Me: “I don’t know that she’ll actually manage—”
Mom: “So many millions of people watch Oprah’s show every day—”
Dad: “Nine million.”
Mom: “—I came home early one day and watched it to see what it was about. It was junk.”
Dad: “It’s been on for over twenty years.”
Mom: “I don’t understand why anyone would watch that show.”
Dad: “Jerry Stringer is another one—”
Mom: “That Stringer fellow is also worthless. What does he do that’s so great? He just brings people onto stage, and they yell and kick each other, and the crowd goes ‘Wah wah wah.’ These shows are for uneducated people.”
Me: “Well, yeah. Who else is free at four o’clock in the afternoon?”

***

Dad: “What’s the news in Washington?”
Me: “Well, everyone’s talking about Fred Thompson, and what effect his entry will have on the GOP primaries. Although they’re saying Giuliani is still the front runner.”
Mom: “That Gooliani—”
Dad: “Not ‘Gooliani.’ Giuliani.”
Mom: “I don’t like that Giuliani.”
Me: “Why not?” True, the ex-mayor’s views on abortion and immigration have put him squarely on the outs with many conservative voters.
Mom: “He’s been divorced three times. And he has a rat face. Not like that Matromney.”
Me: “Mitt. Romney. Two words.”
Mom: “Whatever his name is. He’s so handsome, and has such a nice family, and good work background. . .”

Funny, right?

Until you realize that the four percent of voters who decide next year’s election will be using reasoning like this.

On to the game. . .

Still giddy from the gallant dissection of St. Louis last week, buoyed by the relentless optimism that rebuilds beach houses between hurricanes, the Carolina faithful streamed into Bank of America Stadium to celebrate America’s Team, YOUR CAROLINA PANTHERS in a home-opening thrashing of the lowly Houston Texans. Last week’s clockwork decimation had sparked lofty talk of playoff berths; forgotten was Carolina’s streak of three consecutive home opener losses, its anemic ground attack last year, or its overreliance upon Steve Smith. In its place was jargon-heavy pablum about the promise of offensive coordinator Jeff Davidson’s new offense: new schemes to open up lanes for the RBs and new emphasis on spreading the ball to different receivers.

For the first quarter, the Lions of the Queen City were indomitable. QB Jake Delhomme connected with the Nureyev of the Slant Route, WR Steve Smith on a sublime 7-yarder in which Smith batted the ball back to himself before running it into the end zone. Touchdown, Panthers! Minutes later, off of a CB Ken Lucas fumble recovery, Delhomme found. . ., well, Smith again, in the end zone. 14-0, Panthers!

That’s when Bank of America turned into Dresden.

In the words of Coleridge: “and now the Storm Blast came, and he/was tyrannous and strong/he struck with his o’ertaking wings/and chased us south along.” Matt Schaub proceeded to lead Houston to 34 consecutive unanswered points. Schaub to Johnson, Schaub to Johnson, two FGs, a run-in by Green, a kickoff fumble recovery in the end zone – Schaub methodically victimized Carolina’s depleted safety unit all afternoon. Meanwhile, the man he replaced, David Carr, stood characteristically immobile on the Carolina sidelines, the David Carr, who, as QB of the Texans, made Stonehenge look hyperactive.

(As the water boys moved in to take his drink, I was hoping to see a look of panic cross his face, then see him take two steps out of three-step drop, freeze, and collapse to the ground clutching the Gatorade to his chest as they converged over him.)

Nor was Blue Crush aided by a torpid running game that moved with the urgency of incense, or dropped passes by WRs Drew Carter and Keary Colbert. Offensive drives stalled more quickly than the Shinzo Abe regime, until Bank of America surprised me with something I’d never witnessed before:

Booing. Really loud booing.

Booery in the House that Love Built? Unheard of!

But consecutive 3-and-outs tested the limits of southern hospitality. Here’s a clue as to what’s wrong with the Carolina offense -- guess which one of these is true:

In an effort to revive cellar-dwelling ratings for “Prisonbreak,” the show has placed the main character in another prison in another country, from which his brother will try to help him escape.

On his next album, Snoop Dogg will actually rap about. . .something. Besides Snoop Dogg.

The Panthers have found a complementary receiver for Steve Smith.

Sadly (in all respects), the answer is “A.” Rookie WR Dwayne Jarrett was a healthy scratch for a second straight game, another waste of a Panthers draft pick, infuriating those fans who believe that the pick could have been used on any number of players not currently Dwayne Jarrett.

Whatever the fans had been smoking before, by the fourth quarter they looked as if they were drinking the bong water. What few were left; with fifteen minutes still left in the home opener, nearly half of the stadium had emptied. Fear not the storm, but the calm that precedes it, for, deep into the fourth, Delhomme to Smith! Swarmed by nearly half of the Texans defense on what should have been a stop, the pugnacious pygmy spun, shimmied, and shook, breaking five tackles into a 74-yard TD run to bring it to 34-21, with four and a half minutes to go! What élan! What verve! The Panthers are never out, just trailing!

Until Carolina putzed an onside kick, and Houston was able to run out the clock. Then they were out. Houston over Carolina, 34-21.

Next week:

With Joey Harrington leading Georgians to question their commitment to animal rights, an angry and humbled Panthers squad comes to Atlanta seeking redemption.
Prediction: Panthers 35, Falcons 4.

Quotes:
Jenna Fischer (Pam on “The Office”), in the September 2006 Esquire:
“You know what’s really gay? Football. Instead of watching it, just have sex with another dude once a year. Get it all out of your system at once.”

For a random picture of Dan Sepulveda of the Steelers practicing punts, go here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/anantraut/1393997893/


Until next time.

RROWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Week 1: Shoot 'Em Up

Excerpts of the new Osama bin Laden tape were released by ABC News last Friday. Among other things, he:

- takes to task the economic crisis precipitated by mortgage-backed securities

- faults the Democrats for failing to follow through on their mandate to end the Iraq War

- blames corporations for accelerating global warming

- urges a swift and immediate draw down of U.S. troops in Iraq

Already, he has a more comprehensive platform than Fred Thompson. He ends his tape by offering America two options: either a fight to the death, or the payment of a zakaat (an alternative tax permitted by the Koran to subjugated peoples who choose not to convert) of about 2.5 percent. That’s considerably better than Mike Huckabee’s proposed 23 percent national sales tax. Lower taxes, greater oversight of the rating agencies that deepened the current economic crisis, a reduced international presence – bin Laden is repositioning himself as a libertarian. He’s weighed in on every major national issue short of the AL wild card race (“The hell-bound Israelite Steinbrenner should not expect to lock up a playoff berth by overspending on flaky pitching and trading Sheffield!”). He should start a website to answer readers’ questions. osamabinbloggin.

The release of the tape is made more controversial by the timing. bin Laden is releasing the tape on September 11^th. The symbolism is obvious. As everyone knows, September 11th the same day that Kanye West, 50 Cent, and Kenny Chesney are releasing new albums. Some say he risks splitting his audience. But the video is already in heavy rotation on Tora Bora Request Live.

On to the game. . .

Let’s go back to the end of last season. When we left off, Jake Delhomme was still the starting quarterback, having consistently posted a QB rating in the mid-80s over the past three years. Amidst all of the Super Bowl hype heading into last season, I had said that we were just one Delhomme injury away from Chris Weinke at quarterback. Sure enough, an uneven Jake, hounded by calls for the bench from the Charlotte press, went down with an injury, and Weinke took over. Carolina fans actually began talking themselves into this being an improvement. 1-15 Weinke? Are you kidding me?! He stunk. He stunk so bad that Coach Fox started taking him out of certain possessions and direct snapping to RB DeShaun Foster. And DeShaun’s not a passing RB like Kordell Stewart was; Weinke was so bad that Fox was telling the other team, Listen, I am going to take the ball, I am going to hand the ball to DeShaun, and DeShaun is going to run the ball, and that’s about as complicated as this play is going to get. In fact, part of me remains convinced that Jake, looking a little too healthy with a little too obvious of a smirk on his face, sat out one game longer than he needed to, as if to say to the fans, “This is what you wanted, remember – a QB who can’t connect with a bottle of Propecia much less the most explosive receiver in the entire NFL.”

So, we fixed the problem by picking up David Carr in the offseason. David Carr, the most sacked QB in NFL, who spent more time on his back in Houston than Anna Nicole Smith. This was supposed to spark some sort of competition between the two? That’s like making Paris Lindsay’s rehab counselor. Remember, we could have taken Brady Quinn (first round pick: WR Dwayne Jarrett (USC)). We’ll see this season whether we made the right choice. But here’s a troubling sign: Dwayne Jarrett was # 5 on the depth chart for Sunday. Five. That puts him behind the kick return guy, the Panthers’ other first-round WR draft bust, Keary Colbert, and the guy who runs out with the gay Panthers flag before kickoff. The #5 guy on the depth chart has to pay for his own parking at games.

Offensive line: for all of the criticism heaped on Jake, part of his problem was that his offensive line kept collapsing around him. The organization was supposed to remedy that during the offseason, but it certainly didn’t look that much better during the preseason. Honestly, did anyone see Game 3? British sailors in Iranian waters showed stiffer resistance.

Defense: we have no safeties. Literally, there is nothing plugging the middle of the field for us. Mike Minter retired, Shaun Williams and Colin Branch were released, and Nate Salley was injured. Anyone who throws deep on the Panthers will score.

After finishing the preseason 1-3, the big question heading into the first game of the season was:

Will we go 10-6? Or 6-10?

Ever since Kurt Warner and his man-alien advisor left town in disgrace, St. Louians have vested all of their national title delusions in Marc Bulger the way some cling too desperately to the first nice guy after an abusive relationship. Armed with Tory Holt, Isaac Bruce, Drew Bennett, and 2,000+ yard RB Steven Jackson, the Rams offense was expected to be one of the most formidable in the NFC.

But there are three things you never invite into your house. Vampires, Chris Benoit carrying a stack of Bibles. . .and YOUR CAROLINA PANTHERS!

The Growling Wall returned in force on the sturdy legs of the indestructible LB “Steely” Dan Morgan! Oft-concussed, never nonplussed, Morgan anchored a Big Cat D that held the over-hyped Jackson to just 58 yards rushing. (Jackson, you may recall, chose not to play in any preseason games, opting instead to suck when it counted.)

The fastest wide receivers in the league were supposed to run all over Carolina, yet the Horsemen of God’s Country, Carolina’s safety unit, were spectacular, one of those inexplicable things like how the Patriots play at Gillette Stadium yet are never clean-shaven. Harris and Cooper forced a fumble apiece, and Bulger was never allowed a completion longer than 18 yards!

As for the offense, RBs Foster and DeAngelo Williams racked up a total of 186 yards rushing, albeit against last year’s 31^st-ranked rush defense. But lost among the boos raining lustily through Edward James Stadium in the fourth was the second coming of Joe Montana: the General, Jake Delhomme, finished with a 125.7 QB rating! By way of comparison, Peyton Manning rang up a 125.4 in the Colts’ much ballyhooed thrashing of New Orleans in the season opener, and Chris Weinke rang up $3.12 in change for a customer at Bojangle’s.

Coach John Fox racked up his 50^th win as Panthers coach, and the Tar Heel Terror Squad climbed to their rightful place atop the NFC South, with Atlanta, New Orleans, and Tampa tied at 0-1.

Next week – Carolina goes up against “Super” Mario and a revitalized Houston Texans franchise looking quite capable ever since they picked up Matt Schaub to replace the worthless – uh, never mind.

Quotes:

“You can’t give a testimony without going through a test.” -- Steven Jackson

“You know, people who talk don’t really have much to talk about.” -- Steve Smith

P.S. Anyone who thinks I’m letting the Falcons and Joe Theismann off the hook for the Michael Vick situation, just wait until Week 3. I’ve been waiting all summer for this. . .

Until next time.

RROWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

www.growlingwall.blogspot.com

Weeks 16-17: Dreamboys

My family really liked the Christmas gifts I got them. At least, I think they did. I flew in the day before, on Christmas Eve. We stayed up late that night, catching up, eating holiday sweets, and debating the selflessness of local newscasters “bringing Christmas” to physically defective people (“Disabled,” I gently corrected my mother. “I think the term is physically _disabled_.” “Whatever you call them.”).

Christmas morning, I had my father, brother, and mother sit while I brought out their Christmas gifts. They were the reason behind the mysterious second suitcase I had brought with me, which I now lugged down the stairs.

Ever the showman, I had designed three rounds of gifts for everybody, to build the excitement. After I had handed out the last gifts and stood there beaming, it slowly dawned on me that I was the only person handing out gifts this year. (I even had a microsecond of doubt, wondering whether I’d gotten my holidays confused, and was supposed to have brought a costume to go beg our neighbors for candy later.)

It didn’t really bother me. I had treated myself to a Sony camcorder a few days earlier, and felt like I had everything I wanted anyway. I was just happy they were enjoying their gifts. At least I thought they were.

“How was your day?” we asked my mother after she came home from the office.

She began pulling containers out of the refrigerator, disgustedly. “All anyone can talk about is Christmas.” Fake high pitched voice. “‘Did you have a nice Christmas? How was your Christmas?’ ‘What did you get for Christmas?’”

“What did you tell them?” asked my brother.

“I told them we don’t exchange Christmas gifts.”

“What about the Prada bag, the Coach handbag, and the cashmere scarf he got you?”

My mother looked at us blankly. “Oh.” Then, “I forgot.”

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect anyone to keep a ledger of every nice thing I’ve ever done for them and be able to recall it at will. I’d be hard-pressed to tell you what exactly I received for Xmas last year.

But when it’s only December 27th. . .

(Come to think of it, did I get anything last year?)

random thoughts. . .

You know that movie, “Freedom Writers”, the umpteenth one in which a white schoolteacher travels into the heart of the ghetto to lift up the lives of inner city students? I’d like to see them make a movie where a black schoolteacher from the ghetto travels up to an all-white suburban prep school, where every day he makes the students feel worse and worse about themselves. At the end of the movie, all of the students kill themselves out of shame and guilt. Then it cuts to a clip of the “I Have a Dream” speech before the closing credits, to make it artsy.

onto the games. . .

Week 16: With the Panthers’ playoff hopes still alive, the Chris Weinke era roared into its third exciting week as the Tar Heel Terror Squad met their archrival Falcons! The conundrum was a simple one: the Panthers are the most talented team in football, capable of beating any team in the league. The problem: Weinke is offensive poison. How do you create a game plan around a guy who’s 1-17? The answer: simple yet brilliant. Play without the QB! Unbelievably, on eight separate third downs, the Panthers took Weinke out of the game and snapped the ball directly to RB DeAngelo Willams, who ran for a first down seven times with an extra blocker in place! Do you understand how demoralizing that is to a defense? They’re saying: Hey over there. We are going to hike the ball to our running back on this play and he is going to run through you for a first down. That’s it. No tricks. Ready? Here we go. This is like watching an Italian guy walk over to the bar where you’re talking to your girlfriend, stand between you two, and proceed to buy her a drink. And you can’t do anything but watch as he starts squeezing her butt.

Panthers win, 10-3. At 7-8, with a win and Giants’ and Packers’ losses the following week, they would make the postseason!

Week 17: With the Giants winning the night before, the Panthers knew coming into the game that their season was over. For 29 teams in this league, it would be time to phone it in (see Atlanta’s ’05 season-ending stinker, 11-44 to the Panthers). But there’s no “quit” in “Panthers.” There’s not even a “qui,” a “qu,” or a “q.” QB Jake Delhomme, carrying himself with the kind of confidence that going after Chris Weinke will do for you, returned with a vengeance, going 23-of-27 for 207 yards and two touchdowns, including a beautiful 22-yard “Hail Smitty” to Steve Smith to tie the game 7-7 in the first quarter!

The New Orleans crowd realized they were seeing something magical. Even the Saints starters asked to be taken out of the game, sensing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to bear witness to perfection. The Panthers were an offensive juggernaut, shutting down New Orleans like an illegal Daniela Cicarelli video (http://www.porkolt.com/other/daniela+cicarelli/voyeur/beach/spain/brasileira/ronaldo/daniela-cicarellis-beach-sex-6166.html), winning 31-21. As the Panthers exited the Superdome, heads held proudly high, the Saints couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief, knowing that the better team had won, and but for a stretch of bad luck, would have been the ones going to the playoffs. The statistics may say that New Orleans won the NFC South, but the true champions of the division, the moral victors, are the people’s champion. America’s Team.

Your Carolina Panthers.

Until next year.

RROWRRRRRRRR!

[Superbly entertaining video clip: http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=ab33ca0726 (whether this is a real newscast, I have no idea, but it’s very funny regardless)]