When we last left Peter King, he was sipping Chive Okra Double Triple Coolattes, still trying to figure out how to turn on his Kindle, and reminding you that Joe Montana was a very good quarterback, BECAUSE YOU CLEARLY FORGOT AND ONLY HE REMEMBERS SUCH THINGS.
So what about this week? Did Peter have a Body Factory smoothie? Will Peter save the world by renting a Prius? CAN THIS MAN EVER GET ENOUGH NARD DOG? Read on…
The Scouting Combine is coming … but I wish you wouldn’t get very excited about it.
Well, shit. What do I do now? I was fucking JAZZED for the Scouting Combine. I was having friends over for my annual Combine party and everything. I even had a pool ready to go. Whoever drew Terrence Cody’s cup size from my top hat was going to win a baby grand piano.
Seriously, though. I don’t know anyone who is excited about the scouting combine except to read, after the fact, about which players showed up fat/drunk/injured/with a 70-person entourage/lazy/gay/slow/retarded like Vince Young.
And so we find ourselves, once again, in awe as Peter King declares himself a beacon of sanity, the only person on Earth to hold an opinion that everyone else, in reality, shares with him. Observe:
-“Everyone loves the combine. NOT ME!”
-“Everyone’s forgotten about Joe Montana. WELL NOT IN MY HISTORY BOOK!”
-“Think Hitler was such an ‘awesome guy’? THINK AGAIN!”
-“I know everyone hates pizza. Well, call me crazy, but I think it’s FANTASTIC. Sprinkle on some nutmeg and it’s even better!”
I spoke to one club architect who shall remain nameless at his request.
Oh, so it’s Bill Polian.
He told me his team had changed its way of doing business in the scouting realm this year, and his team’s draft board is “90 percent set.”
Oh, I’m sorry. That’s clearly Buddy Nix. YOU WILL NOT STOP BUDDY NIX FROM DRAFTING A PLAYER SEVEN ROUNDS TOO EARLY.
Quoth this architect:
“You know why it’s 90 percent set now? Because guys go to the Scouting Combine and they change their grade on a player based on things that have nothing to do with playing football. I’m convinced if you took the stopwatches away from a lot of these guys, most of ’em would not be able to tell you whether they liked a player or not.
That’s true. All they’d be able to see is if the player is in good shape, dedicated, passionate, focused, and not a complete shithead. WHERE’S THE VALUE IN THAT?
“These guys go out and watch players all fall, then we all watch the tape of all these guys, and we see what kind of football players they are. That’s scouting. Who plays good football in pads? That’s scouting…”
“I’m drafting Tim Tebow, then I’m opening up the Moet Chandon! GREAT COLLEGE PLAYERS CAN’T MISS IN THE NFL! LIKE ROB WALDROP!”
”Now we need the combine for the medical evaluations and the personal baggage stuff.”
In other words, it’s actually important and useful for evaluating players.
“But don’t come in after the combine and tell me you want to change some guy and move him way up because he ran faster than you thought he would. That’s where you get in trouble, and that’s why our draft board is pretty well set.”
File this quote in your UNDERLINED MENTAL BOLD PRINT. It will prove useful in just a moment.
If I told you who this speaker was, you’d all say, “Whoa, we have to listen to this guy. We respect him.” Just take my word for it. He’s legit.
HE’S JACK BOWERS! Shocked? Don’t be!
Can we please stop with the over-the-top Tiger Woods coverage?
Can we please stop overcovering Tiger Woods? Now, LEMME TALK ABOUT TIGER WOODS!
Dan Graziano of AOL Fanhouse said it best. Or, I should say, he Tweeted it best. “Tiger story brings out the worst in modern sports ‘journalism.’ Everyone required to have a strong opinion on a complete non-story.”
Whoa whoa whoa. Are you telling me the media blows things out of proportion and there are too many armchair pundits out there? GTFO. This Graziano fella, he’s going places! There’s always room in journalism for journalists who tsk tsk other journalists for not being journalisty enough.
I love Mike Tirico of ESPN
I do too! But that girl who Tirico wanted to fuck on his car doesn’t!
…but when he said Woods’ televised reading of his statement was one of those moments you’ll always remember where you were, I was shocked.
Did he really say that? Jesus, that’s retarded. I wish Gruden had been there to pitch in.
Now THIS GUY… Tiger Woods! You talk about FORNICATOR! I clubbed with him back on ’03, and we always called this guy THE FUCK BURGLAR, because he’d take any pussy that was just lying out! THIS GUY… OLD FUCK BURGLAR! YOU KEEP AN EYE ON HIM TONIGHT!
Do not equate this with the Kennedy assassination or Moon landing or Obama election on the scale of historic events, please.
Agreed. Now, let Peter spend 2,000 words telling you about his encounter the Hertz rental counter.
And as far as reading Woods’ honesty or dishonesty in the statement, I mean, the truest thing about this guy is that we really don’t know him. He doesn’t allow the public to know him. So how on God’s green earth could we watch a scripted 13-minute statement — that for all we know could have been edited or written by some sort of Ari Fleischer
— and say we know if the man is serious or not, or somewhere in between? The columns I’ve seen, that we’ve all seen, claiming that he’s absolutely full of redemption or absolutely full of crap … absurd.
We don’t know. Let time prove whether the guy has changed or not. That’s the only way we can know.
And here is where Peter actually makes a good amount of sense. But surely, this column can’t all be filled with reasonable opinions and sound logic, can it?
The Olympic Award Section
About that hockey game last night: Wow.
Precisely what I would have said if I got MSNBC in HD. Instead, it looked like watching a hockey game through a fucking frosted window.
Or in the words of NBC color man Ed Olczyk, late in the third period of Canada-USA, and a bit breathlessly: “This has been tremendously tremendous!”
He’s not the best color man in the business for nothing, people. Awesomely awesome game.
Amazing thing: This wasn’t even a medal game, and every guy on the ice played like it was their last time on skates.
I know! It’s almost as if they needed to win in order to increase their chances of getting TO the medal round!
I have heard the NHL is waffling on whether to interrupt the NHL season in 2014 for the Olympics, when the Games are in Russia. Big, big mistake. The NHL is getting more exposure than it ever would under any other circumstances.
And we all remember how the NHL absolutely dominated the landscape after Turin!
Now a nod to the 25 or so hours I’ve watched of the Olympics in the last week. Five quick observations:
-Why don’t they serve Remdawgs at any of the events?
-All these years later, Sarah Hughes still defines CLASS. What a fine young woman.
-Are the luges always that fast? SOMEONE IS GOING TO GET KILLED OR MAY HAVE ALREADY BEEN KILLED
-You can’t tell me Brett Favre wouldn’t feel right at home in Vancouver. Very woodsy.
-Skiing and shooting? Is that really necessary? We need to get guns off our slopes!
Ski racing is more dangerous than NASCAR.
/does Google search, which anyone can do
Number of Olympic skiers killed in competition in history: 2
Number of drivers killed in NASCAR events in history: 42
I love curling. It’s mesmerizing. But for me it’s like field hockey was when my kids were in school: By the time you figure out all the rules, the games are over.
Oh well then. Glad you dedicated half your column every week back in the 2000’s to a sport you didn’t fully understand.
Evgeni Plushenko’s a baby.
Total baby. In more mature news, HOW CAN HARVEY GREENE SERVE US THAT DOGSHIT COFFEE IN THE PRESS BOX? I WON’T STAND FOR IT! I WILL STOMP MY FEET UNTIL SOMETHING IS DONE! IT TASTES LIKE A CHILD BEING RAPED.
Best event of the first 10 days of the Olympics: Canada 3, Switzerland 2 (shootout), men’s hockey, on a Sidney Crosby goal in the shootout and four Martin Brodeur saves in said shootout. My Devils fan-ness came out on the last couple of Brodeur saves…
Whoa whoa, contain your fan-ness there, fella!
…and I’m glad my Boston neighbors Andrew and Alison with the new twins didn’t call the cops on me.
TWIN: Mom, Mr. King is making those grunting sounds again!
ANDREW: Just ignore it, sweetie.
TWIN: And his apartment smells like rusted pennies. What does Mr. King do over there?
ANDREW: I don’t know. We’re moving, kids.
And one other observation: Doc Emrick is one hell of a hockey announcer. If hockey were big in this country, he’d be what Jack Buck used to be.
Dillweed of the Week
WHOAAAAA! Peter is busting out the stern labels!
Evgeni Plushenko, figure skating, Russia.
It’s a real word, sort of.
It’s a word, except that it isn’t!
Urbandictionary.com defines “dillweed” as “a person who is generally not smart. This person cannot realize the obvious and is oblivious to reality.”
Hmm. Sounds familiar. “I wish people would stop saying Peyton Manning throws interceptions at critical junctures. JUST BECAUSE SOMEONE HAS A PATTERN OF COMING UP SHORT REGULARLY DOES NOT MEAN THEY DESERVE TO BE CALLED CHOKER!”
I love that Peter ventured onto Urban Dictionary. “Hmm. Seems here that an angry pirate is NOT just a term for a disgruntled buccaneer! It seems to involve… Oh my goodness.”
That defines Plushenko and his camp
In Russia, dillweed defines YOU!
he personified bush-league with his babyish rant.
Semi-Toddleresque! THE GALL OF THIS MAN. TALK ABOUT A GALL FROM GRACE.
When 29-year-old Donte’ Stallworth worked out for the team early last week, he stepped foot on the SportGrass and ran a 4.40-second 40. It’s the fastest time recorded on the turf by the club.
FREEZE. Now, let’s go back to that quote from Peter’s totally brilliant personnel source from earlier. Here it is…
”But don’t come in after the combine and tell me you want to change some guy and move him way up because he ran faster than you thought he would.”
Now, watch as Peter totally takes that observation to heart…
I think the Donte Stallworth deal — totally non-guaranteed, for $900,000 in salary and $300,000 in incentives, according to Adam Schefter of ESPN–is good for both parties… If a veteran receiver, healthy, runs the fastest time of anyone on your team, what’s the drawback (other than publicity and/or moral outrage) of signing him?
I mean, did you SEE how fucking fast he ran? I thought he was a useless piece of shit before. BUT LOOK AT THAT FORTY TIME! CAN’T IGNORE THAT! By the way, I wish you people would stop putting so much emphasis on combine drills.
Someone asked me this week what the Hall of Fame selection committee, of which I am a member, is going to do about the logjam of wide receivers at the doorstep of Canton. I said, “Damned if I know.”
I mean, all I do is help run the thing. It’s not MY job to come up with good ideas!
I had the immense good fortune on a short family trip to California last week to visit Santa Anita Park, about an hour east of Los Angeles and with the San Gabriel Mountains as a gorgeous backdrop. I’ve been to a few racetracks in my life — Churchill Downs, River Downs, Monmouth Park, Fairgrounds in New Orleans — but even the site of the Kentucky Derby can’t compare to the combo platter of the scenery and the classy garden-like physical plant of Santa Anita.
“A physical plant or mechanical plant (and where context is given, often just plant) refers to the necessary infrastructure used in support and maintenance of a given facility. The operation of these facilities, or the department of an organization which does so, is called ‘plant operations’ or facility management.”
Indeed. Santa Anita racetrack has, hands down, the prettiest maintenance facility in the world. It’s so forestish. I feel like this is Babylon.
Moreover, I hit the first exacta of my life (as you can see, I’m a horse novice), Sidepocket Lou and Wicked Mischief in the fourth race, paying a whopping $17.60.
Jesus, how much did you bet? Half a farthing? Bet more, Peter. Remember: you make a stupid amount of money.
If you haven’t noticed in the last 15 months, the Bucs are shedding salary the way I wish I could shed pounds, which is to say, with consistent regularity.
The Bucs construct a team the way I construct sentences, which, if you haven’t noticed, that is to say, ergo, they can get a bit stilted.
(Holmgren) he said a decision hasn’t been made yet on whether Brady Quinn will be the team’s starting quarterback. In fact, no quarterback decision has been made, including anything involving backup Derek Anderson.
Should any decision to keep Brady Quinn and Derek Anderson last longer than half a second? “Well, they both suck terribly. Better sleep on it.”
I think these are my non-football thoughts of the week:
Didn’t you just spend 8 paragraphs on the Olympics? Oh, I see. That was the section written by Jeff Zucker.
Ever wonder how you’re going to be remembered when you’re dead?
HERE LIES PETER KING: GOOD MAN. LOFTY MAN.
Two reminders of the famous, and semi-famous, in the last few days
John Kibler died Thursday.
Loved his Fudge Stripe cookies.
He earned a five-sentence obit in the New York Times. Kibler umped in the National League for 25 years, including as the first-base ump in 1986 when the ball rolled past Bill Buckner in Game 6 of Red Sox-Mets, giving the comeback win to the Mets. Headline in the Times: “John Kibler, 81, Umpire for Bill Buckner’s Error.”
He died? OMG, so creepy. THE GHOST OF BUCKNAH HAWNTS US AWLLLL!!!
I don’t blame the Times, but how about being remembered on the day of your death for signaling a ball that was obviously fair, fair?
In my obit, the second paragraph will read, “King, who worked for Sports Illustrated for more than two decades, goes to his grave widely known for writing about bad lattes, field hockey and poor hotel fitness centers.” Uh-oh. I’m in trouble.
Nonsense, Peter. Don’t forget about bitching about shampoo, using your column to get free meals and wedding invites, and stealing foul balls from very small children.
Coffeenerdness: Peet’s Italian Roast. One of the finer things in life.
One sip, and I am Mossimo Kingo, Sicilian cobbler.
Tremendous fun the other night over at Harvard, watching the Crimson host Cornell at Lavietes Pavilion.
It was like watching ten Welkers on the court!
What was cute afterward: The fans just standing around, moms and dads and roommates, mingling with the Cornell players and giving them food for the trip to Dartmouth after the game. Reminded me of a big high school game, with fans on top of the floor and players who are not headed for the next level playing like it was the biggest game of their lives. Very fun night.