Cap'n Pappy's Marshland Adventures, Part the First

This past weekend Cap'n Pappy conned Mammy in to going down to Florida under the auspice of "visiting friends". What Mammy neglected to realize was that the Vols were in town and they was lookin' fer an ass beatin'. Cap'n Pappy files this report from the Swampy Marshland:

The Pilgrimage (with respect to Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales)


In September when the tropical lows begin to form off the coast of Africa
And the leaves begin to change in most college towns
Sightings of the reptiles Albert and Alberta (the Gator mascots) begin
And football fans begin their pilgrimages
To the place where only Gators get out alive: The Swamp!

Yes, the Florida Field at the Ben Hill Griffin Stadium is the mecca
For cowboys from Kissimmee, bucanneers from Captiva
Water moccasin skinners from Alligator Alley, crackers from Sopchoppy.
They begin their pilgrimages closer than we did and in more esteemed transports

Swamp Things, horned Cadilllacs, satellite-dished RV’s with smokers in tow
Orange and blue way-off-road Big Feet, F250’s sporting pennants and awnings
Wend their way to the little town uphill from Payne’s Prairie, Gainesville.

Ben Hill Griffin, cattle rancher and grove boss from my part of the state, typified the loyalty to the Orange & Blue
Y’all need a new stadium? Hell, why didn’t ya tell me, boys.
Few head of cattle later, the impenetrable walls of the Swamp appear. Impenetrable because you can’t get OUT til the Gators stop feedin.

Photo from EDSBS


The rhymenocerous graze, after...


This pilgrimage was the first for my wife, co-creator of the Sports Brethren
She grew up a Redskins fan, an NFL fan, and has never understood the magnetism of college football. No doubt because the only college football she was exposed to was ACC (wait til hoops season). She thinks Cameron Indoor is loud.

We arrive Friday and already the RV’s have the satellite dishes out. The pigs are smokin. By Saturday at 0900 hours, the transports are parked on every square inch of concrete and sand and the speakers are blaring Rocky Top and the Orange and the Blue. On this Saturday as the nearly 100,000 of the Gator Nation fill up the Swamp, the national champion Gator roundball team is introduced and receive their championship rings. As the practicing teams clear the field, Mr. 2 Bits leads the first cheer. Mr. 2 Bits, an 85 year old gentleman in seersucker, saddle oxfords, tie, and straw boater, who has not missed a home game since Tennessee was half of North Carolina, seems to tolerate the 110 degree field temperature better than the Vols. As he jogs off the field, the chant begins. The 50,000 in the student section are “Orange”: a 3.5 on the Richter. The 50,000 on our side are “Blue” and the drink in my Gator cup is vibrating like the footfalls of T Rex in Jurassic Park.

This continues louder and louder until on the Big Screen we hear the 2 notes of the Jaws theme and see live footage of real alligators in a swamp feeding frenzy. At this moment the team races onto the field from the SouthEast corner of the Swamp and you have the audible equivalent of Krakatoa. My wife is laughing and holding her ears. Laughing because the game has not even begun and Redskin fans in DC are wondering what that noise was. Holding her ears so that they don’t bleed.

The kickoff ensues, the Vols punt after their first drive falters, and the punt is promptly returned by Brandon James for a touchdown. As Mick Hubert, voice of the Gators, would put it: Oh My! The first half stays relatively close until Mercy Percy Harvin starts making moves that would put a sailfish to shame, Tim Tebow alternates strikes between single wing, T quarterback, and shotgun, Woody Pierre-Louis, the French cornerback, shuts down Ainge’s passing game and there you go Dustin Doe shuts down the run. The only break in the beatdown is between the 3d and 4th quarters when the crowd sings We are the Boys from Old F-L-O-R-I-D-A. At one point in the 4th quarter, the Vols begin a series on their 10 or 15 with a delay of game and a 6 men on the line illegal formation penalty. 59 points later after Tennessee is dispatched the throngs along the roads from the stadiums graciously crank up the speakers to accompany the Orange and White RV’s leaving to the tune of Rocky Top.

The Swamp transports head back home along US 441, the Woodpecker Trail, the EC Rowell thru the Green Swamp, and the Sunshine State Parkway to rest their throats til next home game. 17 in a row have fallen in the Swamp. My wife is happy to return to North Carolina and the land of the sane, Tobacco Road, land of hoop dreams. There are far too many dangerous animals on the other side of the Great Okeefenokee.

Capn Pappy 9/07






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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
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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.
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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


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Guest Column: The Cap'n Pappy

Brethren: If you readers out there in the interwebs ever wondered how or why the Sports Brethren are the way we are, Nacho and I thought we'd give ya a little piece of the puzzle today. See, we are just learning that our pappy, whom we affectionately call Cap'n Pappy, is a bit of wordsmith himself.

So we's gonna let the Cap'n pen our first guest column. His subject: what else? What he knows best: Southern football.

If you wanna a glimpse into the fantastical world it is to be a Cloud boy, keep on reading after:



SEC FOOTBALL

My first inklings of the impact of SEC football in the South was living in Memphis in the late 50’s. The only thing bigger at the time was Elvis…until September. Each year the last reigning days of “the King” was his show at the Mid South Fair, the Cotton Carnival in early September. After that it was SEC football night and day. After the heat of the delta summer baked in all the smells, every morning of game day Saturdays, the first coolness of fall released the aroma of the mown grass, earth damp from the morning dew, and woodsmoke from early fires.

Memphis was turf battled over by warring Rebel/Vol factions. Even though technically we were in Tennessee, Ole Miss was a national powerhouse (national champions in ’59, ’60, and ’62). North Mississippians regaled us with tales of Coach Johnny Vaught and his All Americans: Charlie Conerly, Jake Gibbs, Cowboy Woodruff, Charlie Flowers, and Billy Brewer. The national anthem was followed immediately by “Dixie” and rebel yells and then the kickoff. Tennessee was actually a weak sister led by Johnnie Majors. Our personal experience of this was the annual Tennessee/Ole Miss football game in Memphis at Thanksgiving, sometimes even sitting thru snow. At that time the LSU Tigers, with Paul Dietzel’s Chinese Bandit defense competed with the Ole Miss Rebels. Billy Cannon returned a punt in the 4th quarter for the Bayou Bengals against the Rebels 89 yards to win 7-3 at night in Death Valley. Bear Bryant was the new coach at Alabama. Our neighborhood kid, Mike Fracchia, whose parents owned Fracchia’s grocery store at the end of the block, chose to go to Alabama and we actually pitied him.

So after being born and bred into the SEC and absorbing the lore of pit barbecue, tailgating spreads, rebel yells, and the tribal pride of whipping the other guys ass, we moved into the Swamp, the land of the Gator. Unfortunately, the Gators were dismal until they recruited a brash young guy from Tennessee to play quarterback, future Heisman trophy winner, Steve Spurrier. Insanely, the Gators actually beat the likes of the Tide under Spurrier. So a new tradition developed. Stetson-hatted cattle ranchers and citrus grove bosses, descended across Payne’s Prairie to a little cow town north of Ocala in their boat shaped Cadillacs with the steer horns on the hood. Once these shit-kickers got a taste of whipping the boys from LSU, Alabama, Ole Miss, and Tennessee, they were blooded. The quaint stadium surrounded by pine trees, live oaks, and Spanish moss gave way to The Swamp: a grueling, Saturn rocket loud, enclosed, subterranean field where opponents would be exposed to conditions of 110-120 degrees. Unfortunately for them, the mighty Gators thrived on the subtropical conditions and the boys from “up north” in Alabama and Tennessee were only used to 90 degrees. A river of athletic football talent flowed thru the Swamp that drowned the visiting boys. They were in over their heads. Larry Smith, Jack Youngblood, Jack Harper, Charlie Casey, Spurrier, Steve Tannen, John Reeves, Emmitt Smith, Leto Shepard, The Freek Kersey, Fred Taylor, Alex Brown, Dallas Baker, Tony Green, Wes Chandler, and now Tim Tebow.

There can be no better Saturday than waking up early and hitting the EC Rowell Highway. This is quite possibly the longest perfectly straight flat road in the world outside a desert and a favorite of armadillos. It is literally a strip of asphalt elevated about 3 feet above the cypress and pine of the Green Swamp on either side. There is no shoulder. We would finally get to Highway 301 and later the Interstate joining the trucks and cadillacs at Payne’s Prairie with pennants flapping. This armada then descends on Sonny’s or the Big D for barbecue to fuel the 6 hour tailgate. The crowds from Apopka to Zephyrhills then converge past pine, palm, and live oak covered in Spanish moss across the sandy Bermuda and Bahia, to arrive at the bane of all northern Southern boys: the Swamp. Abandon hope all ye who enter here! After 2 bits, Orange/Blue echoes off the Bell Tower, and the thrashing on the grass administered by the reptilian kings of the gridiron, the only thing left to do is to watch the Coach praise the boys from Kissimmee to Maclenny on the Sun Sports Network on Sunday.

Capn Pappy

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Sup Y'All

Howdy y'all. Sorry we haven't posted in a while. We've had some busy ass weeks, but with the NFL season opening next week, college football and day drinking upon us, and the MLB pennant races coming down to the wire, we'll be posting quite a bit. So check back soon and we'll have more pure, unadulterated awesomeness.

And of course, a big Hat Tip to the Gridiron Goddess

Don't click below, as there's nothing after...


Told you.


The Jump

In Sounds From Way Out: Pirates and Pirate Hookers

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: Pirates and Pirate Hookers.

Brethren: No

I won't believe it.

Mental Floss, Maggie Koerth, CNN.com: You listen here and you listen good. I don't care none for your Chinese myths and your sullying of the good names that feared Pirate Dudes have had for all eternity.

There just ain't no way a woman was the most feared/most awesome/best Pirate on the seas. None.

You see, I know me some pirates.

I've dressed as them for Halloween.

Note: That may not actually be Brethren.


More ruminations and diatribes, after



Brethren, cont'd:

I've sailed the seas of the Caribbean with 12 other drunken pirate/sailors for a week under the good Pirate flag. That same flag now acts as the main decor in the living room of my Manhattan apartment.

Note: SB'07. Yarrrrr.

I've made a pilgrimage to the North American Mecca of Pirates: Gasparilla.

Note: Multicultural yarrr. GFR: Gaspa-Fuckin-Rilla.


I've seen The Lost Colony several times.

Ok, so that might be about Injuns and the White Man, but the last time I saw this show, I was 8, and I'm pretty sure Pirates and Injuns were one and the same kind of awesome back then.



So I'm pretty sure I've made myself clear: I know pirates. And yes, there could have been some Pirate Hookers back in the day who helped the Cause and were useful on a pirate ship. But I don't care how "ahead of her time" or "exemplary" her "business practices"* were: She couldn't be more badass than Henry Morgan, the guy who used Jesuits as human shields when attacking. She couldn't have been meaner than Blackbeard, the pirate so fearsome that Alex Spotswood (!) needed him dead.

(above): The Alex Spotswood I know.

And there's no way she could have gone against a Sicilian when death is on the line!

No. No. NO. I just won't have it. Pirate Hookers are useful. Chicks that dress up like Pirates can be hot. But the most successful pirate in HISTORY being a dudette??? Not happening. Not in the Sports Brethren book. Not anywhere.


(* Except for that rule about ugly chicks being thrown off the ship. I liked that one. Bravo, Cheng I Sao.)

Nacho: I sent Brethren that article cuz I knew it would light a fire under him like Zeus. As far as pirates go, I have the 1991-2 Pittsburgh Pirates team card framed mosaic; it's the one with Skinny Barry. Aside from that, a healthy portion of my hard-earned money goes to the rum industry, specifically the Mo, (when you know him as I do, the Cap'n is on a nickname basis.) Anyway, I'd just like to say that if pirates, pirate hookers, or just traveling across an ocean is your thang, check out this huge effing ship.




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