When we last left slight anointer Peter King, he was polishing his quarter-pole and telling you about how great it is to watch Wisconsin football games live in person… from your Manhattan hotel suite. He was also lamenting the dearth of Tom Brady games played in the Bay Area (WEIRD!), and telling you everything you need to know about the sort of reality fiction about the real world of pro football. Call it 45.9% real.
So what about this week? Does that “Pan Am” show still look good? Will Albert Pujols have a future place at the Red Sox history table of historicalness? And isn’t this such a busy time for death?! READ ON. Fun with Peter King is apropos of nothing, apropos of everything, AND apropos of butterscotch.
This is one of those where-to-begin Mondays.
Do I start with baseball, or do I start with the KRAYZEE itinerary that found me taking a 5-minute puddle jumper from Minneapolis to St. Paul? Curious why I took a flight that short? TELL YOU IN A FEW GRAFS, JON.
I could begin with Al…
Al Davis, you’re LESS THAN ALIVE! Fear not, Oakland. I understand your loss, BECAUSE I AM A RED SOX FAN. I know what it’s like to love and lose, perhaps more than you’ll ever know. Because I’m a Sox fan. SOXY SOX SOX THE WORST THING ABOUT AL DAVIS DYING IS THAT JOHN LACKEY FAILED TO STOP IT.
Or with Tim Tebow … he may not be great, but he sure is fun to watch…
He may not be great, but if I’m the Broncos, I sit back, watch them lose every game by five points, and pop the Illy.
I wrote about the death of 82-year-old Al Davis on Saturday. I would bet it’s the only Davis remembrance piece of the weekend that began with a story about women’s basketball.
There’s a reason for that, Peter.
“Al was the football version of George Steinbrenner,” the owner who was probably closest to Davis in the last few years, Jerry Jones, told me Saturday.
I love that Jerry thinks that’s a compliment. “He was our version of a convicted felon who most everyone agrees was a paranoid asshole! I’M SO PROUD TO FOLLOW IN HIS SCABBY FOOTSTEPS YEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW!”
But Davis was more than that. He was part Howard Hughes, part Steve Jobs, part Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis.
He was also part Don Haskins, part Bobby Heenan, part Red Auerbach, part craisin, part Thomas Edison, part Stalin, part potato, BUT ALL RAIDER.
He told no one about any of the health problems that made his life come crashing down.
Whoa wait, you’re telling me AL DAVIS was having health problems leading up to his death? But he seemed so fresh and vital!
“Has anyone heard the cause of death?” a good friend of his asked Sunday.
Uh… being 5,000 years old and looking like he was slowly being eaten alive by feral pigs?
“He’d never tell me exactly what was wrong with him.”
Holy shit, really? You should have looked up “skin falling off” on WebMD.
He once told me the only thing he couldn’t dominate was death.
Or the AFC West, apparently.
The Niners are kids again.
They’re like little queer Favres out there!
When (Tim) Tebow came in the game Sunday at halftime against San Diego — the Broncos trailed 23-10 — it was to see if he could give the team a spark.
I have never heard the word “Spark” used as much as I heard it yesterday. Tebow gave them a spark. The Broncos needed a spark! Tim Tebow won’t drink Sparks because it makes God cry! TIM TEBOW HAS JESUSSPARKS COMING OUT OF HIS PALMS.
In one half of football, the Broncos began to win back the city. The Tebow lovers got a taste of their hero.
“Mmmmmm… ohhhhhhh… Tastes like Gatorade mixed with foreskin blood!”
One play in the 31-24 loss to Buffalo illustrated (the Eagles loss) perfectly. I had to watch the play over and over in the NBC viewing room, sitting next to Tony Dungy, who was trying to figure it out too.
I was sitting right next to the legendary Tony Dungy! Who is a man of high standing in the world! Imagine having direct access to such a gifted football mind! I asked him how the play related to the 2011 Red Sox collapse.
Revis vs. Welker: A draw. Sort of.
Call it a half-tie.
3. New England (4-1). Wes Welker, five catches for 126 yards. I’m beginning to think we just might discuss him in the Hall of Fame room someday.
OH GOD FUCK YOU EIGHTY TIMES WITH A NAIL GUN. DESERVEDLY. I’m beginning to formulate the possible idea that perhaps we’d entertain the notion of maybe one day possibly bringing this fine young man to our history table, PERHAPS. That’s ow-ah Welkah! CALL HIM THE GRITUATION!!!!
6. Buffalo (4-1). At some point, we’ve got to stop putting asterisks on the Bills’ wins.
Who was putting asterisks on their wins? Weren’t you the one who kept New England above them after the Bills housed them?
It was another good day at the office for The Little Team That Could.
PUKE. Don’t tell people you need to stop putting asterisks on the Bills’ wins and then call them the fucking Little Team That Could. “Hey folks, we better start treating the Bills like a real team. OMG SO CUTE HOW THEY BEAT PHILLY! WHO’S A GOOD LITTLE TEAM?”
It’s hard to feel more pressure than the Chiefs were feeling at 0-4…
I know! Especially since they were never 0-4.
If you’re around 30, and you’re reading this, you’re probably a big NFL fan.
Or you like coffee. Or baseball. Or trees. Or riding trains. Or getting shit comped for free at the Conrad hotel in Indy. MOST HUMANE HOTEL IN THE WORLD.
Now the question is: Has Al Davis laid the groundwork for a new generation of Raider greatness?
Maybe? Possibly? Kinda sorta?
Too early to tell
DAMMIT! Didn’t have that one on my “Peter King Equivocation Bingo” card.
“Do your job” is a statement Bill Belichick, via multiple NFL Films mikings, has made a part of the vernacular in New England.
GRUMBLE GRUMBLE DO YOUR JOB I HAVE TO GO BANG YOUR MOM GRUMBLE GRUMBLE.
“Do your job” is something Bill Parcells used to say all the time coaching the Giants.
PARCELLS: Do you job, you filthy Japs!
GIANTS PLAYER: Sir, we’re not Japanese.
PARCELLS: You could be sneaky Japs disguised as a football team!
So the next time you hear Belichick say that statement, know that it had its birth with Al Davis.
“Blah! Blah! Do you job, or I vill rehirah you six years from now! BLAH BLAH! I have birthed a vinning slogan!”
It’s with heavy hearts that my wife and I leave Boston after 32 very enjoyable months in the city’s South End.
NO!!! YOU CAN’T GO!!! The streets are so clean there!
We’re moving to Manhattan.
THE HAHHHT OF YANKEE FAGGOT NATION?! TRAITAHHHHHH!!!!
The work’s there, and rather than commute back and forth on the train every Friday and Monday for nearly half the year…
And who needs to suffer through so many luxury Acela trips, where the beer makes one so sleepy?
…we just figured it’d be smarter for us to be located where most of my job takes place.
PETER, THREE YEARS AGO: Honey, let’s move to Boston! It’ll be so close to work!
PETER, THREE YEARS LATER: Huh. Seems New York is farther away from Boston than I had originally planned. The road signs LIED to me!
Five things we’ll miss:
Really? We’re doing this? Can we please get this man a Facebook account?
Walking 28 minutes to Fenway Park …
OW-AH WALK IS BETTAH THAN YOUR-AH WALK!!!!
Our neighbors who became good friends in the building at the corner of Shawmut and Waltham … The South End restaurants (Picco in particular).
But that latte needs work, Picco. You’re not the… picco… my favorite coffee shops!
I remember when we moved there Tom Brady told me, “You’ll love the restaurants there. They’re incredible.”
“Tom, you know any good restaurants for us to eat at? Oh, and maybe we should talk football for, like, three seconds. WHATEVER.”
He was right.
“Go to Picco, Peter. Great place to dump your baby momma.”
… Running along the Charles River last year with my half-marathonmeister, Roberto Portocarrero …
If only all of us could have an Italian half-marathonmeister. “Hey-a Peter! Yousa need to stop-a running into the Starbucks-a!”
Walking everywhere in a tremendously walkable city.
Foot-friendliness, Miami. You should work on it.
The one thing we really got used to was going two and three weeks without driving, a culture shock after New Jersey suburban life.
Oh, we never drive anywhere anymore! We simply glide along on our own humblebrags! CALL US WES WALKAHHHH!!!
Walking, particularly in a tremendous neighborhood like the South End, was a good leisure activity in itself.
Who knew there were benefits to putting one foot in front of the other? You learn something new every year, people.
Five things we won’t miss: Hmmmm. There aren’t five.
The problem with Boston is that it’s too perfect!
We won’t miss the wind
(surprisingly strong year-’round)
It’s a city in the far northeast situated on a goddamn ocean. What climate were you expecting? Did your Hertz rental car tell you something different?
We won’t miss the litter
You said the streets were clean! YOU LIE!
…though I have a feeling we’ll be heading into a new era of litter in New York
“God, can you believe how these New Yorker just keep throwing out their flaming bags of shit on my doorstep? So thoughtless. Better just stamp it out again.”
… The fact that April 10 felt like March 3 in the world we were used to …
Who knew it got colder as you ventured farther north?
But I can’t think of much else.
Apart from the fact that it’s cold and windy and dirty, I can’t find anything wrong with it!
Boston was a terrific time in our lives. You’ve got a great place, Mayor Menino.
Keep it up, Menino! Maybe I’ll name my first grandchild Meninja, after you!
We’ll be back early and often. I’m not giving up the family Red Sox tickets; I just won’t go as much.
Well, thank God for THAT. This column wouldn’t be the same without rambling on about the fucking Red Sox for nine years.
I always wondered what it would be to live in the place that was The Big city when I was a kid growing up in Connecticut, and now, happily, I’ve found out.
Explosively, you lived there.
g. Asante Samuel. Tackle somebody!
Big Ben. Rape somebody!
Michael Vick. Chaosville somebody!
Ed Reed. Sign these gloves for somebody!
h. Pink socks on the Giants. Pink gloves, okay. Pink cleats, I guess. But long pink socks with the blue uniform? Yeccccch. What’s next? Full pink uniforms?
Omigod, then that would make the Giants GAY! In other news, OMG YOU GUYS! TONY ROMO SENT ME A TEXT!
I think ESPN might get the best rating in years tonight for Chicago-Detroit, and I hope for the network’s sake it can be like the squirrel gathering acorns for the winter.
ESPN Exec: Quick! Hoard all the nuts you can! Bring me Cowherd, and Hoge, and Reilly, and Berman, and Bayless, and Kornheiser, and Simmons, and Stephen A., and Wojosfgkjhewrgwpegiuhdski, and Steve Phillips, and Al Davis’ corpse for studio work!
I think, by the way, that I’ll spend three sentences (and that might be too much)…
Indeed, this is not Sox-worthy content.
…on that idiot Hank Williams, who was rightfully fired by ESPN for comparing Barack Obama and John Boehner playing golf to Adolf “Hitler playing golf with [Benjamin] Netanyahu.” Then the apparently math-challenged Williams said Obama and Joe Biden were the Three Stooges.
I know! What an ass. Williams is nearly as math challenged as… well, as Peter King!
(scrolls back in the column)
(Hue) Jackson made a clutch call with 11 minutes left in the game, protecting a 22-17 lead. On fourth-and-three from the Oakland 37, he eschewed the punt. Gutsy call… This one was huge in the outcome. The Raiders’ Rock Cartwright ran for 35 yards, setting up Janikowski’s fourth field goal of the game and a 25-20 lead.
Or a 25-17 lead, if you excel at both math and remembering shit.
5. I think the NFL would fall apart without me.
I swear there’s no context around this particular item. There’s no explanation as to why the NFL would fall apart without Peter, though I assume many cookies would go unfetched, which in turn would cause a total system meltdown.
Honestly, I think an intern threw this in here just to make Peter look like a dipshit.
UPDATE: This was reference to Drew Rosenhaus’ “60 Minutes” piece last night. Looks like I’m the one who’s out of touch. I’D WATCH 60 MINUTES IF IT HAD MORE FUNKHAUSER.
Gotta love The Onion.
“Area Dipshit Steals Foul Ball From Child.”
I guess my tribute to Jobs…
No one deserves a sort-of eulogy like Steve Jobs did. Surely, his innovations demand your very best half-assed memorial.
…would be that I don’t know how I’d do my job without my MacBook Pro.
“A PC? But how could I write and surf the Internet with this?!”
Friday night, on a train with no power outlets…
A train with NO power outlets? Where was this train heading? DACHAU?! Unacceptable.
I fired up the MacBook, took out my Verizon modem, turned it on and Tweeted and wrote a couple of emails for a project I’m working on. The guy sitting next to me was emailing on his iPhone while listening (too loudly) to songs on his iPod.
“Would you turn that down? I can’t hear myself thinking what I think I think!”
It’s a Steve Jobs world.
Seriously, you could have answered emails and tweeted with a PC. Or you could have shit in your hand and smeared it all over the train window.
The death of Al Davis prevented me from getting to Jeff Pearlman’s book about Walter Payton. This is a bad week for me coming up work-wise…
I have six minor league games to attend AND dinner out with Donnie Brasco!
I’ve still missed every episode of “The Office” this year.
But what of “Pan Am”? I must know!
Darn it! Missed Elvis Costello the other night in Montclair.
NOOOOOOO! You could have heard his greatest hit, “A Good Year For The Roses, MAYBE”.
Seattle, you should know that the baristas at the 51st and Madison Starbucks are superb, particularly the store-openers at 5:30 on Sunday and Monday mornings.
Pretty amazing that there’d be a Starbucks in that remote part of the world.
Taking your pumpkin recommendations. Been beerless for a few days, but I’ll be trying a few pumpkin varietals in the coming days.
Pumpkin! Just the spark this beer needs!