Brethren On Ice: Nacho Takes In His First NHL Game

Nacho: Back in high school, I attended my fair share of Charlotte Checkers games. (If you're wondering, the official web address is gocheckers.com ... that's adorable) I always admired how they wore their gameplan on their sleeve. You come into Charlotte, you're gonna get hit. I got on the jumbrotron once because I was shirtless.

Alas, until this past Thursday, I'd never attended a professional NHL game, despite how well the Hurricanes play (sigh, it's relevant...) I'd never seen them play. Probably because I was busy making awesome movies and being a badass in college. Pshhhh, hockey.

Through a series of events, I went to watch the Kings/Sabres game at the Staples Center. My report, after...


Nacho cont'd: Primo seats and pretzels found, we cheered for a Sabres victory...for about four minutes. By the end of the first period it was 4-0 Los Angeles, and the Buffalo fans around us were distressed. For reasons unknown, the Sabres didn't start Patriot Ryan Miller but instead put some guy name Thibault in goal. Poor kid never had a chance.

Zambonis rock.

The Kings scored three more goals in the second period, but Buffalo saved themselves from a shutout. The important part: they played Guitar Hero III!!! In case you didn't know, I host a Guitar Hero tourney/rock-aoke night in the heart of Hollywood. If you're ever in town on a tuesday, swing by.

Our screen is just as big. Srly.

By the end of the night, the Buffalo fans were drunk, the LA fans were kind of dick, but overall, not terrible, and, if I may, tghe mascot for the Kings takes entirely too much brain power to understand. You're asking a large populous to match the word King with the phrase "king of the jungle." It's just tough. Go with something easier:

get some.

...

I've decided that this weekend is an important game for the Panthers. I've recently reconnected with an extremely old chum whose currently living in Dubai, which is insanely cool. He's, unfortunately, a Jags fan and while I've gotten to see Vinny's miraculous resurrection and I'm attending the Dallas game, I'm deciding that a win this weekend in Jacksonville would make the season a wash.

If I'm being realistic though, Eli's Comin'.

(Eli's a portent of something evil.)
The Jump

Week 12: David Carr Is Our Omega Wolf

Nacho: David Carr is our Omega Wolf. he's the weakest of the pack and serves no other purpose than to drive me to drink. Maybe I'm being too harsh on him, maybe I should cut him some slack, but when I read shit like this, my anger burns anew.

David Carr should act more like Jesus:

Serioulsy, why can't David Carr die for my sins? I've certainly sinned enough in my lifetime to warrant a "balancing of the scales," so to speak. What must I do for some omnipotent being to strike him down, ceasing his life and with it, my turmoil? Is it too much to ask for? Possibly. But I stand by my claim that a world without David Carr starting for the Panthers, hell, a world without David Carr, would be a much, much better place. Sometimes, the king needs a good ol' fashion defenestration.

this is the 2nd picture we've use from Carr's
senior yearbook. Man, at one point, he had it all.

Why can't John Fox just admit he's got a problem? Why can't we call this season a loss, rehab Steve Smith and develop Jarrett and Matt Moore? At this point, I'm not sure you'd find a single carbon-based lifeform that would agree David Carr's anything more than a crutch for my burgeoning alcoholism. If you want to save my liver, John Fox, do the honorable thing, and strangle that bastard with his own earbud.

Brethren's patented thoughts, desde..

Brethren: Ah was travelin back from our lil place in Morganton, NC, to my new abode in New Yahrk City, so I wasn't privy to the visual defecation David Carr and the Panthers put on the good folk of Charlotte, but I could got the audio feed, for at least the first half, via Mick Mixon, Eugene Robinson, and Jim Szoke.

Side note: For some reason, Wikipedia does not recognize Jim Szoke as part of the radio broadcast team. Odd, because he's been on the radio crew for as long as I can remember. Doubly odd, because he's far and away the best at his job of the three.

Onwards:
- Listening to a game on the radio brings me back. Back to the days where we had home games I couldn't go to, but weren't sold out, and so weren't being shown on TV. Oh the good old days; I fear they're not far away.

- Like I said, as I drove north with Sisterin through Virginia we lost our signal, so I missed Foster's fumbles, our pathetic defense, and the (underwhelming) Matt Moore sighting.

- That means, I have not much to go off of except our defense played pretty well. Oh, and David Carr started 1 for 109 for 7 yards, missed Steve Smith on several passes, and pretty much played QB as poorly as anyone to put on a Panther uniform. So excuse us, Mike Rucker, if you're hurt by the Carr-bashing, but that's all I have as my reference, and nearly everyone out there in the mainstream and blogging media agrees with us.

- Fuck David Carr.

- Can we somehow draft Chris Long? He's dirty, he's nasty, he's the only reason UVA kept it close with Virginia Tech. Great season, by the way, Hoos. Expected to do nothing, we go 9-3, likely headed to the Peach Bowl. Now, since we have momentum and probably will have expectations, look for us to go 6-6 again. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

- Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving; I did. Lots of booze and Momma cooked meals.






Nacho: For the record, I pwned a Giants fan for saying Eli was worse than Carr.
The Jump

Week 6: Boom Bitch!

Nacho: Lissen up.

I've been thinking about something ever since I penetrated the Pink Taco and walked away a winner. It's my deepest, most complex thoughts on the nature of fandom and the exclusive circumstances football provides for extraordinary behavior.

Also, there's gonna be a lot of pictures that look like this:

Buzzsaw killers

Humble yourself before Old Jesus, after...



Nacho cont'd: Two years ago, when the Panthers played the Bears in 2nd round of the playoffs. That's when it happened. The moment Smith scored on the second play from scrimmage I was sitting at a table with one diehard Bears fan, and a handful of Panther fans (the only ones in the bar).

As Smith scampered down Soldier Field I stood atop my booth and what spewed forth from my mouth was a slew of the most hateful, passionate, hurtful words ever spoken. I had antagonized the entire bar, including a man of much greater physical size than me, who happened to be sitting next to me. Then, something remarkable happened.

Nothing.

As bright as their rage burned inside each and every individual there, when the Panthers came away victorious, I was untouchable. I "sincerely" congratulated Bears fans on a well-fought match and more than once was advised that I would be healthier if I didn't say another word. I walked away sans scratches.

I can't think of another instance in today's sue-happy, wussified American society where someone can behave like I do when I cheer for the Panthers, and walk away without any repercussions. I conscientiously try to embody everything you'd hate to see in a fan of the team you're playing. I do this, because I can. I do this, because I can't anywhere else.


Which brings us to this weekend. A quick drive across the desert and we found ourselves at the Days Inn in Tempe, which just so happened to be where one of college football's remaining unbeaten teams was playing a PAC-10 match up. The bars were swell (Full disclosure: I over-ate at the first bar, cabbed it home early, was found sleeping with alarm clock going off inches from my face. I subsequently discovered the single worst food to vomit up six hours after eating. Hint: It's spinach artichoke dip.) and we discovered how sociable a fake mullet can be.



After some intense tailgating we headed to our seats. There was a guy in a Steve Smith jersey two rows in front of us.

t-shirt says LOVE TO HIT PEOPLE.
I can think of one I'd "hit" it with.
His mom.
He was surrounded by Cardinal friends and seemed genuinely embarrassed to be seated so close to the HAIRolina Panther fans.

We set about antagonizing everyone around us, but no one more than Superfan. Superfan was a portly, jovial, proud Cardinal fan across the aisle from us. Throughout the boring first half he continuously demanded we "Get out of [his] house!" and to "Get out!" and to "Get out!" That's not a typo, he had his trash talk and he was sticking to it. He piped down once I pointed out that up until two years ago he was homeless, crashing on his college roomie's couch. Cardinals fans are rather milquetoast in their support of the team and we heard A-S-U chants on our way to the seats.

The second half was much more exciting. The punt that phantomly touched a Panther. The fumble challenge. The bomb...Oh the bomb. When O.J. unleashed hell the four of us stood up immediately. We'd seen this time and time again. The backstory is effing awesome, so I'm just gonna repost it here:

"During the week, Smith had told him, "Don't worry about overthrowing me. You can't overthrow me...

"Oh no!" he said to himself after launching the ball toward Smith. "I overthrew him."

He didn't. "For some reason, the corner on that side stopped, or slowed down," said [Old Jesus]. Smith pushed into an extra gear, caught up to the ball, and brought it down for a 65-yard touchdown.

"See?" Smith told him on the sidelines. "You can't overthrow me."

I walked down four rows, patted Superfan on the shoulder, and thanked him for coming out. I reminded him that there were four quarters in a game, and advised he tell his coaching staff the same.

Then came the best part of the whole day: an autumn-of-their-years couple sat in front of us. They chose to stay right there, right the lion's den, despite tens of empty seats in nearby sectinos. As they shuffled past, the doddering old gal turned to us and said with a great amount of conviction: "You've made this entire experience miserable." Why don't I feel bad about this? This broad and her husband did fucking crossword puzzles the entire game. The football being played with about ninth on their list of priorities, and in a stadium of empty seats, they had every reason and chance to upgrade. There's a part of me that feels bad, but if you attend a football game, you gotta deal with the consequences.

The Consequences

Long story long, Old Jesus has come to save us all. He looked like a young Vinny Testaverde. Pass protection was amazing, I technically witnessed history, and Julius Peppers finally made my jersey legit. We even got to break out the old school "DRIVE-home, SAFE-ly" chant, a classic. The Gang stopped at Cracker Barrel across the street for some sweet tea and vittles, then aimed the Honda back towards LA. All in all we made a lot of friends and a lot of enemies in Phoenix, but we can make it up to the town, when we're back in February. Old Jesus will take us to the promiseland. Of that I'm certain.

See you in February.



Brethren: There's simply no way my Panthers watching experience for Week 6 was anywhere near as fun or blog-worthy as Nacho's (and Canuck's), but here are my patented bulleted thoughts:

- I was en route back from FantasyLand (at UVA for a ridiculous Homecoming weekend; side note about UVA Football: they're not good. They might win football games, but I still refuse to believe they're good). Therefore, I missed my usual bar trip in New York.

- Instead, I caught the second half of the Panthers-Cards game at a Hooters in Chinatown in D.C. I haven't been to a Hooters in at least eight-to-ten years, but I will tell you one thing: the Hooters in Chinatown D.C. have remarkably different "talent" than the Charlotte/South Blvd. Hooters.

- With that said, I def think (and Adam, Malick, Mo and JLew agreed with me) that the waitress wanted me. Ok, so maybe she might have been a bit of an Amazon (tall, broad shoulders, an ass that did not look great in those booty shorts), and she may have naturally weighed a bit more than me, and was named Maureen, but she def wanted me. We had some serious eye-sexual-relations, she sat down in the chair next to me, she batted her eyes and flirted, she (wanted to) rub my leg! I was seriously considering asking her if she wanted to follow me to the bathroom in exchange for the last two bites of my BBQ sandwich.

- I didn't.

- Oh, this is a football blog? Well, shit. What else can we say? As my buddy Steve texted me, "the one thing you don't do at 43 is make mistakes." Vinny T! Peter King called it the Story of the Year and has the Cats at 9 in his Power Poll. Vinny T!

- Since I wasn't able to watch the game on digital cable in D.C., I had to follow the first half online and text Canuck and Nacho at the game. I texted Canuck, "Who started at QB? How's it going? I'm in tha dark here, Charlie!" His response: "Thd tegte." Drunken text brilliance, Canuck.

- I sat next to ma boy JLew at the Hooters, and the only time a big play happened was when one of us wasn't watching the game. Good thing for us, we were at a Hooters and had some chicken wangs in front of us. On a related note, the Panthers won 25-10.

Ed's note: we're doing a guest spot over at JuicedSports and it should be up in a day or so, so peep that.

The Jump

Week 5: The Cardiac Cats Iz Back

Brethren: Good Lord, that was a roller coaster. I haven't felt that much hate and love towards the same thing since I paid real money to go see "3000 Miles to Graceland."

The Cats won a thriller of two (not very good) NFC South teams. They did so in incredibly inept, yet amazing, fashion. There were back-killing penalties, back-killing interceptions, and (literally) back-killing injuries. But in the end, Steve Smith would not be denied and he carried the Cats to a win that is very reminiscent of the road win over Tampa that jump started the 2003 Super Bowl season.

Hey, a guy can dream right?



Brethren (cont'd): My patented bulleted thoughts on today's Saint-Panthers game:

- After that Julius Peppers blocked field goal, I really felt like a battered girlfriend coming back for more. I mean, here we were, giving up a drive that featured a fake punt, the Saints converting a fourth and three just outside of field goal range, and the Panthers giving up 847395792357 yards on penalties. I'm angry, sending hateful text messages to everyone from Nacho to Mammy to JLew. And as I begin to accept the fact that we're gonna go down 16-6, here comes Pep, awaking from his slumber to provide the Mr. Mo game-changing play. The bruises means he loves me, ok?!

- Did anyone else see how fired up John Fox got during the second half? Yes, it was probably out of desperation, but it's good to know he cares.

- While winning the game is obviously most important, this team still scares the shit out of me. After the Gators losing a game where they were winning for 58:51 minutes and the Panthers providing this roller coaster of an afternoon, I think I need a weekend from my weekend. Or at least get me back to the office, where I can calmly schedule some meetings, discuss FY09 Pillsbury planning, and report on the success of myfruitrollups.com. Jeebus.

- Matt Moore! Welcome to the Show, big guy.

- I miss Jake. I hope the fiery Cajun's up and running soon. I miss his musk.

- New bartender (to me) at the bar today: very attractive. She also did the bartender thing, making me think she was a lot more interested in me than she actually was. Fake love, but what this guy needed.

- After the Saints missed their long FG that could have potentially taken the lead in the fourth quarter, I screamed, "Fuck yea!" manically at the TV, as I am wont to do. The guy sitting at the bar next to me laughed, repeated what I said in some sort of mock-Brethren-voice, and thought I didn't hear him. Well fuck you, boring Steelers fan who gets to watch their team win 21-0. The Panthers eek out road wins against winless opponents and give me an ulcer in the process. That's how the Cardiac Cats roll, bitches. On to the Pink Taco!

Nacho: I was rather forlorn and calm throughout the majority of the game. Ricky provided a lot of yelling, I supplied Katrina similes. I'm classy like that. It was an ugly game played by ugly teams, neither of which look like they deserve to go to the post-season. Anyway, here's my re-cap:

- As I plop down in front of the finest tv Big Wangs has to offer, I receive a hearty slap on the shoulder. (How often do you experience anything in your everyday life that could be described as "hearty"? I thought so.) Turns out a waitress went to school with Julius Peppers and Alge Crumpler and was good friends with both. She admired my Peppers jersey. I admired her....pluck. She wasn't our waitress, but she did dole out high-fives at appropriate times.

- David Carr should be our Johnathan Papelbon. We need to keep him in the locker room, as far from the playing field as possible...until the fourth quarter. Today was Carr's eleventh career 4th quarter comeback win. I honestly didn't think David Carr had won 10 games in his entire career.

- As angry as he makes me, coddamn do I love David Carr's hair. I would not be in the least surprise to learn his favorite movie is Pulp Ficiton. Just fan-fucking-tastic hair, there, buddy.

- If Jake can't go by next week*, I want Matt Moore to start.

(Matt Moore pictured at right.)

















* = Jake will start next week. He knows who will be watching. Jake doesn't like to disappoint his diehards.
The Jump

In Sounds from Way Out: I Heart You

Occasionally we'll weigh in on issues involving people and places we have no real connection to, other than we wanna talk about them.

Today's topic: I Heart You.

Brethren: If you're at all like me, then one of the first things you try to do everyday is get to the office early enough to read the Charlotte Observer Sports section.

I'm a creature of habit, and I've been reading that thing since I was knee high to a duck. Just because I haven't lived in Charlotte in a litte over four years hasn't stopped me since I discovered these here Interwebs.

So each morning, I try to find 5-10 minutes to read what good old Tom Sorensen, Scott Fowler, Stan Olson, Pat Yasinkas, et al, have to say about the Panthers, the Bobcats, the ACC, and Charlotte High School Sports (who dat #3 in the Sweet Sixteen).

Well today, I didn't get the chance to check out the Observer until after I finished work, round 7 PM EST. And boy did I find a gem in today's paper. Read on through to find out:



Brethren (cont'd): Wait for it.

Wait for it.

Boom: Panthers WR Steve Smith likes the Notebook!


Great googily moogily. The diminuitive man who absolutley destroys the defensive backfields of the NFL can also admit to the world he's a fan of this.

I -- for one -- applaud the man. I am not nearly as manly and tough and tenacious as Steve Smith, but even I have a tough time admitting that I watched "The Holiday" twice in the same weekend with my Momma back in May. I have no trouble telling a few friends here and there in private that I'm a fan of chick flicks, when done right.

But even as a self-proclaimed chick flick fan, I've had a hard time getting myself to watch a movie that nearly every girl I've ever known put on her F'Book profile as one of her favorite movies. I was in a relationship once where the gf wanted me to watch two movies and I refused the entire time we dated: "Mulan" and "The Notebook."

Now? Well, shit, if Steve Smith can like "The Notebook," then maybe I can too.

But fuck that "Mulan" shit.

FYI: Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day! YARRRRR!

Nacho:Do you enjoy vaginoplasty? Then you'll love "The Notebook," apparently. I wouldn't know cuz I never seen it, but from extensive research I've learn'd that people cry. Crying blows. I also worked on the Lindsay Lohan vehicle, "Just My Luck," and tears were shed, but not due to sadness or revenge. (Brethren: She hit the slopes.)


In my humle opinion I, too, miss the Observer's Sports Section, and Brethren's just reminded me how good they are. Onward, to the Falcons!
The Jump

Week 2: The Greatest Game Never Played

Nacho: "What happened I blacked out."

Far be it from the SportsBrethren to accuse the CBS graphics guys of having bet their engagement ring fund on the Panthers offense today...but that's exactly what happened.*

Whew. Thank God. For a second there I thought we got torched by the Houston fucking Texans. Luckily, it was all just a hallucinogenic side effect of a wings and beer. I knew, despite what my bleary eyes showed me, that the Carolina Panthers couldn't have shit the bed that badly. Luckily, CBS snapped me out of my stupor and showed me what really happened:

I shot up from the couch. That's my boys. Freshly made biscuits for all, Steve & the Cajun connected four times!!! Turns out we might not have even scored four times at all. Either way, I've been working redonkulously hard all week and despite my Cats demise, I can always fall back on the fact that the season is young. The Texans may be for real, and if our only loss comes to the eventual AFC Division champ, so be it.


Thanks, CBS, for the greatest game never played.

Brethren: Houston puts up 34 unanswered points before finally finishing off our Cats 34-21. Without Steve Smith, we would have lost 34-0. Ewww. So what the fudd happened?

We have our theories.



Brethren (cont'd): I suppose having a threesome just won't happen for me. Oh, not that kind. I mean, a weekend where Virginia, Florida, and the Panthers all win.

See, yesterday was a fantastic football day for me. I met up with some friends at a bar to watch the second half of Virginia's win over Carolina. Unbeknownst to me, the bar we were watching the game at is also a Gators bar. So after UVA sealed the win, I looked around to find the bar packed with Gator fans and the bartender ripping off his Emmitt Smith jersey to reveal a shirt that just said, "Gators, bitches!" with a picture of Paris Hilton. I had no idea what that meant but I soon realized I might have died and gone to Heaven.

The bartender continued to get more drunk as the Gators rolled up on the dastardly Vols. The Florida fight song, Gator cheers, and free drinks were all flowing nonstop through the bar. My parents were at the game; I had several friends texting me from the game. I think I made a Tennesse fan cry as I was texting/talking shit to her. All was grand. Free Jaegar shots and several free pitchers later (thanks, drunk bartender!) with a 59-20 win in hand, I went home to pass out and miss out on a potentially fantastic night on the town (three birthday parties, an open bar, Sammy in town -- slept right thru 'em all). So Saturday rocked.

Fast forward to today; woke up early to devour all the media coverage of the Panthers and the Gators. Got on the crosstown bus to go meet my buddy on the West side to watch the game. All to watch that shitshow. My bulleted thoughts:

- The early NFL season is quite befuddling. I don't know if I should start a warm bath, drink a bottle of Red Wine and slowly slip away or just shrug and say, "Well shit, maybe Houston's good." I think I'm going with the latter.

- But wait? Houston's good? Fuck me sideways. I went to UVA so I know the (relative) power of the Schaub, but still.

- True story: Schaub bought me a Jaegarbomb when I was at UVA and he was a first-year Falcon. He later got arrested that night for starting a fight. That's the shit that goes down when you start drankin' with this guy.

- I hope you're happy, Woody. My boy Woodrow called me as I was going to the bar, and he simply told me, "I hope you win, but I have both Steve Smith and Andre Johnson on my fantasy teams, so as long as they play well, I'm good." Five touchdowns, 273 yards between them later and I hope you're good. Bastard.

- Consecutive texts I sent to Nacho and his Left Coast crew as the game was slipping away in the third quarter:
- "Fuck me in the ear" (after the special teams fumble)
- "Well shit I don't even know who to blame"
- "34 unanswered points??"
- "Ew. Is Houston good?"

- Didn't we draft Dwayne Jarrett so we wouldn't have to play Keary Colbert anymore? How many years do I have to get sucked into the "Colbert's good this year!" stories before I finally realize? 3? 4? 10? Is there an end in sight?

- Can't we just clone Steve Smith?

- Well, at least we play Hotlanta next week.

- His name is Tim Tebow. All your boobz are belong to Tim Tebow.

Nacho: Here's some wider pics of CBS's wishful thinking:




































Welcome Deadspinners and FanHausers. Feel free to browse (BOOBS!!!!!)



* = Don't worry man, she'll come around
The Jump

Week 1: Champagne Dreams

Nacho: 16-0

This might be the High Roller* talking, but: The Carolina Panthers will be the first team since Miami to go 16-0. Did you not see Jake and Steve play with Saint Louie's D like some cat with an injured mouse? Did you not see our D force two fumblerooskies from perenial 2nd-all-over-fantasy-pick Steven Jackson? I did. I'll turn it over to Brethren and meet up with y'all after the jump, complete with champagne dreams.

Brethren: Football hath returned. And in the first time in four years, the Carolina Panthers have started out 1-0. There were some great games on today; I told anyone who would listen yesterday that all I could think about was how last night felt like Christmas Eve.

So what was under the tree today? A sweet fucking 27-13 win over the St. Louis Rams. Nacho and I's cross-country thoughts and hyperbole, desde..




Brethren (cont'd): I was situated on the Upper East side of Manhattan at 77th and 2nd at a little Southern bar/restaurant called Brother Jimmy's BBQ. Felt at home. A North Carolina state flag is painted on the wall. A Natty Light neon sign with the outline of the state of North Carolina hangs on another wall. I ordered pulled pork NC BBQ and $3 16 oz. Natty Light cans and settled in for the game. My thoughts:

- I'm not mad at that game. The O-line played well, the running game was effective, and the general game plan of feeding the maniacal and awesome Steve Smith worked plenty well. All that was missing was a big Julius Peppers moment. And I say that even though he recovered a fumble. I have high expectations for the man whose jersey I wear on GameDay.

- Otis! My man! I join Tom Sorensen in welcoming everyone to the Otis Grisby bandwagon. The substitute defensive end made his mark on the game, with several third down big hits. Wait til Otis sees us! He loved us!

- I've said it before, I'll say it again: Steve Smith is tenacious. Good Lord he's a scary 5-foot-9 dude. All week he was giving quotes to the Observer and the media about how excited he was for this St. Louis game plan. And if I were him and the first 3 passes were thrown his way, as they should have been, I would have been excited too. I'm not at all frightened that so much of our game plan revolves around that man. Especially not when Drew Carter finds some time to catch 2 touchdowns.

- Jake Delhomme, fantasy all-star? He looked smarter today, yet still fiery and confident. Exactly like the Cajun we knew back in the day.

- The De's ran well. If those fumbles actually had hurt us, I would have been a little more pissed, but the running game looked as new and fresh as advertised. I like!

- Brother Jimmy's was a good atmosphere; the table we were sat at directly faced the only TV showing the Panthers game. However, most of the other patrons were rooting for their fantasy teams more than an actual team. This seemed forced and a little douchebagish. It's no Big Wangs, but we won, so I'll be going back.

- $3 Natty Light cans rock.

- Fuck you, Scott Fowler and Tom Sorensen. You both picked the Rams to win - ha! Unless you were going for that reverse jinx shit. And in that case, well played, sirs.

- One last parting thought: We played well. We can play better. Bring on the Texans next week, but let's all remember one thing: the Cats play well when nothing is expected of them. So while 1-0 certainly means we can go 16-0, let's stay focused. With that said, welcome to the 2007 season, muthafuckas.

Nacho: Seriously, what's to stop us from going 16-0? The Texans?

Don't get me wrong, they embarrassed the Hard Knockers sumptin' good, but I'm so jazzed about these Cats I can honestly see us being perfect. Poor David Carr, he'll end up selling Vidal Sassoon in the Queen City.

I got to the bar around 9am, ordered a 90oz Tower of Budweiser Select (my first of three on the morning) and began talking shit to the assistant manager of the bar, who happened to be a Rams fan, and thusly, we got the highest-quality tv on which to watch our game.

Breakfast.

Beer was drank, ribs were eaten, smack was talked. I was told by patrons leaving that I'd "made their morning." Also, I solidified my dominance in Obnoxious Bar Guy Wizardry. As Drew Carter caught his 2nd touchdown of the game, dragging his feet and forcing St. Louie into making a terrible challenge, I ordered the High Roller and the rest is history.

Bring on The Shaub and Andre Johnson next week, and lets keep this ball rollin'.

* = the High Roller is an order of 18 chicken wings and a bottle of Moet champagne (non-vintage; estimated value: 30 dollars) for seventy-five dollars. The Sports Brethren are classy like that.
The Jump

Where We Stand on The Great Debate: NFL or NCAA Football

Brethren: I have often spent many a minute, hour, day, and moon wondering where I stand exactly on the great debate: Which is better: The NFL or NCAA football? Nacho and my's increasingly favorite writer on these here interwebs expressed both sides in exquisite prose on his Debriefing this week: one showing how the great App State win captured our hearts and imaginations and the other reminding just how much better of a pro product the NFL is than all the other leagues.


So where do we stand? Well, not unlike how I go back and forth on whether Jessica Alba or Scarlett Johansson gets to be my first ex-wife, I often pledge alliagance to the NFL one day -- only to give my heart to NCAA the next.



We try to break our love down for the NFL and College once and for all. At least until tomorrow. Follow us, thru:



Brethren (cont'd): So first I reckon I should rightly explain my College and NFL allegiances, so we all can follow along with the proverbial bouncing ball.

Now, in college, I claim two teams, the Florida Gators and the Virginia Cavaliers -- and I ran that by the irreverant, underground fellers at Page 2, and I'm a-ok because I qualify under College Football Fan Rules 1a(a) and 1a(c). I qualify for Rule 1a(a) because I grew up in a Gator household, my grandparents have been regulars at the Swamp for nearly 40 plus years, I've documented the Mecca pilgrimage, and the Gators are 8-0 lifetime when I go to games.
I qualify for UVa because I just dun graduamacated from dat dere second-best Sckewl of Bidness in the whole States of the United.

And as glorious as the past weekend was for college football as a whole -- the one weekend a year where it completely dominates the weekend without the NFL around -- I just am a little disgusted by one of my schools right now -- and (gasp!) it's not the defending national champs. Yes, I am estatic about how dominant Tebow was, how ridiculous Pearcy Harvin is, and how I'm very much okay with the fact that the Gators will have to win every game 56-52 -- which they can.

But UVA? Seriously, what a disappointing, frustrating Era we're in. And right now, two ex-New-York-NFL guys are disgusting me. The first one: our coach, the expontentially less-likeable-especially-when-he-doesn't-win Al Groh. I'm just glad Michigan got whupped so bad; otherwise, everyone would have noticed just how embarrassingly UVA got beat this weekend. Oh wait; they did (from the Forde Yard Dash to the random Commenters over at our sugar momma's site).

Then there's Tiki. Yea, you and I have a degree from the same school within UVA. And yes, you donated over a $1 million to said school. But dude, you're making our stomachs turn right now. Stop making excuses and throwing people under the bus just to help your new career. I always did like Ronde more (and yes, that started because on College Football USA '96 Ronde was just dirty.)

The thing is, neither Groh nor Tiki's going away. Groh, because for some reason our Athletic Department gave him a (Dr. Cox it wih me now) haaa-uu-uu-uu-uuuuge extension two years ago when he didn't deserve it and Tiki, because he sells Cadillacs and has a pretty face. But the thing is, the Tiki thing doesn't really do much besides make me a little uncomfortable he's representing The University. The Groh-staying-around thing makes me downright angry that he's making me apathetic: as long as he's there and we keep underachieving and the home losses to Western Michigan keep happening and he keeps up the "I'm better than you; don't question me" attitude he has towards the media, I lose a little more interest. And I don't want to lose interest -- I really don't. But right now, I'd just rather focus on the Gators.

So while I channel my college spirits on the Gators and all of their glory, I still just am too apathetic towards UVA for the NCAA to take over the NFL for chief sport/love of my heart. The Panthers have no losses on their record right now. Possibilities are endless. Dreams are boundless.

But at the end of the day, if for some reason the Big Man upstairs is angry at me this weekend and the Panthers lose in St. Louis, I'll be a terrible drunk to be around on Sunday. And Monday. And all the way until we play Houston the following Sunday. The UVA loss to Wyoming didn't nearly elicit such a depressing emotion from me (and the Gators haven't lost in a while, so I can't accurately judge that sort of pain right now).

And that's how I judge the great debate: My depression, pain, and bitterness at the world is just a good bit better when the Panthers lose -- and the elation that much higher when they win -- and that's how I know.

Verdict (for today): NFL.

Nacho: 1998-2003.

That was my Blue Period. Those were my Howard-Hughes-in-a-penthouse-with-the-creepy-fingernails period. Movies had stolen my heart. It was all because of 1997. Most will remember that as the year of the Titanic, I remember it for the glorious fall, leading up till the end of the year. There was such a multitude of good cinema out that fall, I plumb forgot about the Panthers. By this point I was so enamored nothing, not even sports, could hold my attention.

Then it happened.

My senior year of college started out like any other. The film school convened in a theater and we were given a rousing, inspiring speech to fill our hearts and minds with the swollen potential for the coming year. As we rose from our seats my buddy Irish looked over excited and asked, "You gonna join us?" My answer would change the course of my life.

I joined them.

We went to the Metal Rebel which, I found out through their MySpace page, has since closed down. Metal Rebel was a bar attached to a biker shop and it had a lot of room and showed Monday Night Football on big projection screens. They served 25 cent baskets of wings and 2 dollar pitchers. We would regularly run up tabs of over 150 dollars. Our group would swell to over 20, or it'd be just the boys, but every week on Monday we'd waddle through the doors, announce our return and get blind, stinking drunk. We would drink every time they cut to SkyCam, we'd drink for every score, we'd drink every time Lisa Guerrero came on tv and we'd have to yell "NO BUSINESS BEING IN FOOTBALL!"

even Namath wouldn't kiss you, you saucy harlot.

As the days got shorter and the weeks got longer, the Panthers had this Cajun feller leading them on fourth quarter comebacks the likes of which you've never seen.

That February I hosted a Super Bowl party at my childhood home 'cuz mammy and the Cap'n were in Houston, attending the game. With one friend's bloody, bionic leg dripping everywhere we watched in awe as the Pats fell behind for the first time in months, Janet flashed some titty (thanks TiVo!) and Vinatieri became one the Hugh Jackman to my Dr. Cox (two Scrubs references in one post; lucky you.)

This is all a roundabout way of saying that having grown up in an ACC Hoops/SEC Football house my entire life, I can't seem to muster up as much fervor for the college boys as I once could. Only college can provide us with something like last years Fiesta Bowl, but there's only one reason a bar called Big Wangs replaces the Methodist church, and that's football. Most people look at me like a dog that's been showed a card trick (ht: BOC) when I tell them I willingly wake up at 8:30am every Sunday during the fall out here in Los Angeles, but I know I've got a good reason, maybe the best reason of all:

My Panthers are on.

Johnn Drama shouts VICTORY for: NFL


The Jump

Training Camp Hath Begun or My Kind of New Year

Brethren: And oh, don't it feel good.

For the first time since I've moved to the Big Apple not a scant seven weeks ago, I felt this morning like I was back in the North Kakkalak. I woke up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and spent 30 minutes devouring the Charlotte Observer's sports section -- albeit, online. Since 1995, I might not be able to remember all the stories of each individual training camp. But I can always remember the Saturday (usually in a car ride, headed to the Outer Banks) that training camp started. I can remember it because the grass always looked greener, the sun always shone brighter, life always seemed better. And it has happened again here today, boys and girls. Oh, yes, training camp is here. And the Panthers are -- once again -- the team that can change my outlook on life.

Join me in the glory that is the Carolina Panthers, following:

Gone is my anger from earlier in the week. I have let the jealousy and the temptation of the national Deadspin spotlight eek out of me, and with my devouring of the Panthers pages of the Observer and all things Panther on these here interwebs, well, I'm back to the old late July/beginning of August me.

The me who hates when Panthers fans put down Jake. The guy's got passion and swagger that didn't exist in the Carolina organization before he came. I will continue to love and follow that crazy ass Cajun.

The me who gets positively giddy every time he sees or reads anything regarding Steve Smith and Julius Peppers. My favorite football word is "tenacious" -- if I were creating a football player from scratch based only on adjectives, I would absolutely take "tenacious" as my number one pick. I've stopped counting how many times football people have referred to those two football giants as "tenacious" -- I truly believe we have a chance any given Sunday as long as we have those two gentlemen on the field.

The me who has to have the "ya know, I'm feeling excited" convo with my dad, preferably while at the beach, throwing a football. If I knew nothing about the concept of time or seasons or anything, I'm pretty sure once a year, I'd know exactly what time it was, based solely on that convo.

It's football time. It's Panthers time.

Fuck yea.

Nacho: Training camp this year kinda reminds me of that weird psuedo-season Fox aired during the summer for "The OC". They showed, like, three or four episodes, then took it off the air, like they do with every decent program, to make way for the least thrilling specatacle in sports: effing baseball playoffs.

Like I was saying, this year's training camp feels like those first few episodes of "the OC", before school started. John Beason's totally our Ryan, with his checkered past including some antics that would make certain Panther cheerleaders proud. Jake Delhomme is our Seth, cracking wise and relatively harmless, hopelessly pining for a Super Bowl ring, his very own Summer.

I bring this up not because because I've been on vacation all summer and watched the first season in reruns. It's because I truly believe in this team. Like the Bobcats, the Panthers did the best job they could in this year's draft, filling holes and addressing weaknesses. Some help in the defensive backfield still looms, but overall I'm as giddy as a school marm. These Cats have my dander up in much the same way Marissa's drinking habits did oh so many years ago.

Not unlike the Chinese, I celebrate a different sort of New Year's than you slaves to the Julian calendar: and my annual celebration just got started.

Welcome to the 2007-2008 Carolina Panthers' season, y'all.
The Jump

In Sounds From Way Out: Brethren on the Dirty South

Occasionally we'll weigh in on issues involving people and places we have no real connection to, other than we wanna talk about them.

Today's topic: PacMan Jones & Michael Vick.

Nacho: Smells a little like hypocrisy that Goodell laid down the hammer on PacMan before anything'd gone down in the court of law, and yet is holding out for more info on Vick. Vick's crimes seem a tad more carnal, a little more incomprehensible, and the gut reactions inevitably tend towards the worst case scenarios a little easier. I find I'm thinking more about this whole shebang's impact will have on the NFC South and whether or not Athur Blank regrets shipping out Schaub.


Always had a soft spot for Matt, felt he was the only QB trying to run an offense in Atlanta. This'll either inspire a wonder year for Vick, or he'll be bogged down in so many legal proceedings Joey Harrington will get to have his "Paul Blake" year.

Full synopsis, desde de



Either way, the Falcons could end up as bad as the Bucs, which really won't matter cuz the Cats and the Saints are going to be battling for the NFC championship all year.

I can has stripper?

As for PacMan, he does seem to have been given the short shrift with his handling, but it's rather disturbing we had to have Ookie electrocute a dog for us to feel that way. PacMan's gotta be feeling pretty good; his people can spin him as "hey-at-least-I'm-not-Ookie" Man. Obviously his absence really puts a hurtin' on the Titans defensive backfield, but Vince has a few more years before he's got them Super Bowl ready. This is a big hit, but who knows, they're already letting him practice with the team, so your guess is as good as mine.

Brethren: See, I can kinda agree with the Big Brother Goodell. PacMan's been arrested five times and been involved in 10 allegations since he entered the NFL. That's not good for any business trying to build a community-image. Which is not necessarily what the NFL is all about; but it can't be good when the team Pacman play(ed) for lives in Nashvegas. I know folks from the Vegas, and they don't take too kind to them sorts of behavior.

As for Ookie, I mean, pret-tay pret-tay sick. Not giving the Bad Newz a good name. But who are we kidding, Newport News, VA, never had a dece name, let alone a good one. And if the Commish hasn't come down on him so hard yet and wants to live behind the "legal justice" thing, then I suppose I can see why. The whole "hypocripsy" argument is really in-one-ear-out-the-other when it comes with dealing with public figures these days.

Don't have much funny to add, especially because the one buddy I know who has hung out with Ookie -- even played PS2 with him! -- hasn't come forward with any tales of Vick back in the day wrasslin his dogs.

What I can say is I just got back from seeing Demetri Martin at the UCB Theatre SummerStage show in Central Park, and that sir is much funnier than myself, so I'll end with his material (paraphrased if not exactly correct):

"I used to follow sports. But I was disappointed because I was always more interested in seeing the two animals fight than the teams that took their names play. Colts vs. Bears? Yes! Wizards vs. Heat? Sweet! Magic vs. Jazz? I dunno, that sounds a little gay to me."

And the one he ended with:
"I always get frustrated by Asian twins. So you two do look alike?"

-- Nacho Friendly and Brethren

The Jump

Lies, Damn Lies, and Pre-Season Rankings

What a difference an online article makes. A scant week or so ago I found myself in a tizzy. The Panthers were expected to do well. Historically, the Cats don't do well when we're supposed to. Drinking the Kool-Aid last summer, SI picked Carolina to meet the Dolphins the Miami, and we all know how that ended up.

Sweat pours, my vision gets bleary, and I'm seeing visions of Jake Delhomme tossing a ball off his back foot on the final drive before the 2-minute warning in the 4th of a close game; another loss snatched from the jaws of victory. Then, something magical happened:

Peter King, you glorious bastard, totally doesn't read the tea leaves, can't see what's plain in front of his face, and drops the Cats at 16th. A daring guestimate for a team that ended 8-8 last year, really Peter, I hope you don't take risks like that in your every day life, you've got a family to think about.

Click on that thar lil thang whut says "The Jump" below this sentence to read the rest!


A calm washes over me. Peter King doesn't think much of the Panthers, perhaps others will hop on his bandwagon. ESPN & Vegas think we've got a pretty good chance, but surely beat writers in small markets will want to ride the King's coat-tails, in hopes he'll shine some of his majesty upon them. Alls I'm sayin' is, I feel much better when people doubt the Panthers, they seem to take it personally, kinda like how you probably just shouldn't talk trash to Steve Smith before a game. --Nacho Friendly

Brethren:
I tend to agree with my brethren, Nacho, here. The Cats -- historically -- seem to play better when the masses don't keep an eye on 'em. However, if you drink the Cats Kool-Aid, like Nacho and I do, you find yourself often wondering why such is the case...especially when you consider how much Coach John Fox loves to preach the "it is what it is" philosophy on football. If that were the truly the case, and everything was what it was, then no Panther would believe in such silly JULY 16TH (!!!!) postings about how teams will fare come February Aught Eight.

So I, myself, don't take too much stock in any preseason ranking, no matter t'were it Peter King nor Nostradamus himself sayin the Panthers were 1st, 16th, or 32nd in the NFL come this season.

What I do like is that the NFL is nearly here.

To paraphrase Tombstone, a movie about relatives of Nacho and mine's:
"You tell 'em the Panthers are comin'....And hell's comin' with 'em!"

(yes, we're related to Wyatt Earp and yes, we're your huckleberries.) The Jump