When we last left rest stop bathroom barrelboy Peter King, he was dazzled by the sight of Sam Bradford successfully completing passes against the Rams’ horrible backup corners in an non-competitive environment. He was also making poor Emily Kaplan count tweets for him (Twitter says OLDER, LOFTIER TWEETS NOT AVAILABLE!), gasping with John Madden at the lack of chili at Chili’s, and warning all of you to not step outside if you live in Russia. Which you don’t. OR DO YOU?!
So what about this week? Did Catwoman in Row 5 show Peter a tattoo of her big pussy(cat)? Will Mike Singletary wrestle you for food, just like that one dude from Van Halen’s “Right Now” video? Did Marvin Harrison shoot the entire family of an assistant coach who was just “hacking on him”? READ ON.
Nuggets from the camp trail:
But are they GOOD? Don’t give me any bad nuggets, Peter. I just ate a tray of Tyson’s dinosaur shapes and I can’t take anymore hose-blasted chicken rectums in my system.
Don’t ask Bob Sanders about the future.
Funny you command me to do that, given that I often look to Bob on all clairvoyant matters. Will Sam Bradford succeed in St. Louis? POSSIBLY. Will Ali and Roberto find true love with each other? MAYBE. Will the clouds above us turn to fire and begin raining down demon children upon us all? I DO NOT KNOW.
Just ask him about tomorrow.
“Oh, tomorrow? Yeah, I’ll still be injured.”
He never has played a full year in his six NFL seasons; either knee or biceps injuries have dogged him. But he looked fluid and fast one day in practice last week.
Ah, the evergreen, “he looks mildly ambulatory!” preseason feature about a historically injury-plagued player. They never get old. Just yesterday, Peter saw Matt Hasselbeck successfully tie his shoes! WHAT A COMEBACK IN THE OFFING.
I don’t expect him to play healthy for four months
But still… FLUIDITY!
— I don’t think the Colts do either, deep down — but Sanders, who has been removed from team activities often in the last few seasons as he rehabbed, was in the offseason program and more engaged with teammates this offseason.
Ah, so he’s fluid AND he worked out with teammates! He’s like two preseason clichés wrapped in one, and then wrapped again in an Ace Bandage and then submerged into a frigid icepool and shot up with generous helpings of cortisone.
Kevin Kolb looks good taking control.
He looks firm. Rigid. In command. I like how he grasps control of the offense and works it with his hands. Rubbing. Pumping. Generously massaging it up and down and up and down and up and down and up and… OH JESUS WHERE IS THAT VOICEMAIL OF HIS I SAVED? I NEED THAT VOICEMAIL AND A TUBE OF KERI LOTION RIGHT NOW.
I watched the coach’s tape of Kolb’s six-of-11 performance against the Jaguars Friday night and took notice of how comfortable he looked leaving the pocket and throwing to targets on the run.
Why, its almost as if he was playing against the Jaguars, it was so easy! What’s that? He WAS playing against the Jaguars? And he only went 6 for 11?
/knocks Kolb ten rounds down fantasy draft board
He looked like the coach’s son that he is, like he’d been prepping for this day for a couple of decades, not a couple of years.
Another stock football storyline I can’t stand: the coach’s kid. Hey, he was a coach’s kid! That makes him crazy football smart! You know how many NFL QB’s are the sons of coaches? Fucking ALL of them. Even the Detmers were coach’s kids, and the Detmers were ASS. Being a coach’s kid means nothing, except that you played on a high school team with 50 other kids who hated your fucking guts. Coach’s children are pieces of shit.
“We practice throwing off-balance,” Kolb said after practice at Lehigh Sunday. “The good thing about playing here is that you go against this defense every day, and they bring a lot of different looks. And we know there’re plays that are there to be made. When it comes game time and defenses want to bring the heat, then we’ll gash ’em.”
I love that “gash” is an acceptable term for getting good yardage against a defense. We will GASH that defense. I mean, we will absolutely HATCHET WOUND them. If we see an opening, we are gonna JUICY SLIT them until they’re begging for mercy. We can BLEEDING EAR them all night long!
A shaky debut in Cincinnati for Tebow.
But if I’m the Broncos, I’m popping the bubbly and celebrating my titles!
I saw nothing but the highlights of Tim Tebow’s eight-for-13 opener Sunday night at Paul Brown Stadium.
Ooh! Break down for me what you didn’t see in full!
Three thoughts: He has to have better awareness of the pressure around him and make quicker decisions when that pressure’s there.
If that one highlight I saw is to be believed.
The mechanics he worked so diligently to refine in the spring looked inconsistent to me;
Extremely inconsistent. For example, the box score says he threw 13 passes. But the highlights I watched only showed three. Where did the other ten go? THOSE ARE WASTED DOWN, KIDS.
…the sooner they become rote, the better he’ll play, obviously … His early downfield throw, a perfect 45-yard strike, was dropped. But he missed two open receivers too, so clearly he could have played better.
Perhaps he played better in the parts of the game I didn’t watch. In which case, he’s much farther along than I ever could have dreamed.
Quote of the Week I
“It’s different, but I like it.”
— Albert Haynesworth of the Redskins, after playing a rush position in Washington’s new 3-4 scheme Friday night against the Bills.
Now there’s a great example of a guy who shot his mouth off before understanding that the Washington defense under Jim Haslett would have him penetrate more than stuff gaps.
Oh, that’s some low hanging fruit right there. I’m helpless to resist it. It’s just dangling there, like an overripe peach with a big, brown, rotting GASH in the center.
Starbucks, Stuyvesant Plaza, Albany, N.Y., Saturday, 6:45 a.m.:
DATELINE! STARBUCKS? Was it Zulu Blend, or was it murrrrderrrr?!
I’m sitting there, drinking a latte and writing my Carolina Panthers preview…
They’re my dark horse team, but I’m VERY concerned about them. Perhaps because they’re my dark horse team. In fact, I predict Carolina will be a massive disappointment this year, which is why I’m picking them to win the NFC. I like teams that fly under my radar.
…for the Sports Illustrated football preview (get in line for the Sept. 1 issue now, folks) when an older man, about 60, walks in and gets a tall coffee. He sits in a plush chair angled so he’s looking right at me from a distance of about 10 feet. He has nothing to read. He talks to no one. He sits, mostly looking at me but also at the people who walk in and out of the store, for the next two hours and 46 minutes. Then he gets up, deposits his empty cup in the trash, goes to the men’s room, comes out and walks out of the store, giving me and the couple next to me long looks.
ZOMG! Peter has a stalker. All this time he’s been stalking the likes of Favre and Romo, and he can’t see that the tables have been turned! I wouldn’t walk home in the Back Bay, Lefty Jr. Mr. Tall Coffee here may have plans for your sweet, sweet mongoloid can.
Who has the kind of time to stare into space and stare holes through someone typing for almost three hours?
And somewhere, an unemployed blind man is reading this question in Braille and fucking FUMING.
Albany’s a good spot.
So true. LOOK OUT, UTICA!
Had a swell time Friday night watching the Tri City Valley Cats walk off with a win over Staten Island in compelling New York-Penn League action in nearby Troy.
Only caught four innings of it, but still.
Date night, obviously. Very Americana place.
Unlike this encyclopedia in my hand, which is very Brittania.
The stadium was crawling with 15-year-old girls and awkward boys feigning disinterest in them.
And those 15-year-old girls are the perfect marks for stealing foul balls. They’re so crazy trying to get Little Johnny to jam a finger in their cooch, they never notice me scurrying off with a True Rawlings!
My partners for the evening — Willie Cornblatt (intern/very fast driver)
“Slow down, Cornblatt! Even I don’t like to pack my itinerary this tight!”
There might have been more varieties of beer at the ballpark than there were fans, including a fine local microbrew, which led to the quote of the night from young Willie, an Indiana University journalism student. “We live in a Coors Light generation, and it’s so sad.” Words to live by, young man.
I know. Such a shame these kids are drinking such horrid beer. Now Land Shark Light With Tangerine, THAT is a lager, my friends.
Factoid of the Week That May Interest Only Me
Houston GM Rick Smith meditates every morning. He goes into a large closet in his Houston-area home very early, shuts out the world and either mouths a mantra like “Peace” softly and repeatedly or just sits in silence.
You’re the Texans’ GM and your mantra isn’t “Brian Cushing Tested Positive For Steroids Because He’s Such An Awesome Athlete”? For shame.
Smith is a spiritual man who believes this period of meditation gets him closer to God.
“Meditation helps me,” he said. “I don’t try to do anything but just try to be, and to listen to God. I quiet my mind and listen to the message.”
I’m a big fan of this…
Wait for it.
…though I don’t do it.
BAM! Perfect Peter King observation. I’m a big fan of mediation, especially after watching the highlights. And what’s that thing where they stick you with needles to relieve pressure points? I’m a HUGE fan. People really seem to get a kick out of that thing. Whatever it is.
…and I’m not a particularly religious man. We’re so caught up in Blackberries and iPhones and Twitter and the constant flow of information that we rarely sit back and take stock of who exactly we are and what we’re doing here.
Good for him to meditate. I’ll NEVER do it.
Good for Smith.
Even better for him if he could do it while spraining his ankle.
A few of you have asked how possibly I’m going to run 13.1 miles in the middle of the football season. Good question.
A lot of you have asked me about me. Good question. WELL DONE.
I might be insane.
Buddy, it’s thirteen miles. It’s not even a real marathon. It’s the distance fifty-year-old women walk while wearing pink ribbons on their boobs. It’s not THAT hard. Don’t go making yourself out as all KRAYZEEE for doing a two-hour run. Now, if you do it with Donte Stallworth chasing you in a Bentley, then I’m impressed.
I think Matt Barrows of the Sacramento Bee is the reporter of the week for tracking down Glen Coffee, the 49ers backup running back who stunned the team by retiring Friday. It’s an interesting story. Football, Coffee told Barrows, “was a struggle for a long time. Actually when I look back I feel I never should have entered the draft in the first place. Football was no longer my dream. I found Christ in college. It changed my views on everything. But I still was a football player because it was expected of me, it was something I did all my life. I was basically wasting the [49ers’] time … His [Christ’s] will, I felt, wasn’t football. He told me a long time ago to walk away from the game.”
Barrows asked him if there was any way he’d reconsider. “No, man,” Coffee said. “I’ve already told Christ it’s time to go. I’ve already rung the bell. That’s not going to happen.”
Good for Coffee. We’re so caught up in Blackberries and iPhones and Twitter and the constant flow of information that we rarely sit back and take stock of who exactly we are and what we’re doing playing for Mike Singletary.
By the way, I’m stunned King never asked Coffee about coffee. “Can I drink you? You look like Starbucks Dark Roast.”
For those in central Indiana on Curtis Painter Panic Watch, the only way to judge whether the guy is hapless or hopeful is to see him for three or four series with lots of first-teamers on the field.
Oh, you mean like against the Jets last year?
He was playing with lesser guys against the Niners on Sunday. Relax, for now. Time to worry later. You’ll see more of Painter with better players. Then judge.
And this is where I offer you this email from reader Mark about Curtis Painter:
Right now I am watching the Colts-49ers preseason game and holy fucking shit is Curtis Painter AWFUL. So here is a story about a former Colts backup and the team’s thoughts on him.
One of my friends used to work/intern for a sports show. One day, he was helping a reporter interview Colts OC Tom Moore. The Colts, of course, were set at QB with LaserRocketArm, so the reporter decided to question Moore about the backup, Jim Sorgi. One part of the interview went a little something like this.
Reporter – How many reps does Sorgi get with the first team offense during the week?
Moore – None.
Reporter – Why is that?
Moore – Because he doesn’t play with the first team during games.
Reporter – So you don’t want him to get any practice with the first team, in case Peyton goes down?
Moore – Well, if Peyton goes down, we are fucked.
Reporter – So why not give Sorgi some first team reps just in case he does?
Moore – Why would we practice being fucked?
The first part may be off a word here or there, but the last response by Moore is exactly what he said…or at least exactly what my friend said he said.
And that’s pretty much my favorite story ever. Curtis Painter blows. Why, he’s semi-Brian St. Pierreish.
The Rams had major protection issues with (Sam) Bradford in the game — right tackle Jason Smith looked particularly rusty, a bad sign for the number two overall pick in 2009 — and he made a couple of poor throws. But he converted his first two third-down throws, ran the huddle well and took his first three hits since shoulder surgery 10 months ago. Hardly time to worry about Bradford. Might be time to worry for Bradford.
Don’t worry about Sam Bradford. He’s just gonna get murdered, that‘s all! I think his corpse has awfully bright future.
With Marshawn Lynch and Fred Jackson lost for the preseason, it’ll be interesting to see how much work Chan Gailey gives C.J. Spiller, who wasn’t a workhorse at Clemson. You don’t want Spiller entering the season nicked up, particularly with a physical Miami team opening the season on the turf in Orchard Park.
Dez Bryant, on the other hand? Can’t nick that guy up ENOUGH.
Saw nothing of it, but how about Aaron Rodgers completing his first 10 throws and 12 of 13 overall, for 159 yards, against Cleveland?
So impressive, especially given that I didn’t see it!
Can you find a weakness in that guy’s game?
Not that I saw! And by that I mean, I couldn’t see any weakness in his game because I couldn’t see him at all.
I get the feeling the Eagles really want fifth-round receiver Riley Cooper, Tim Tebow’s big (6-3, 222) target from Florida, to make the final 53.
And why not? Think of how many jerseys a white wideout will sell in Philly. It’d be like Welker, only for a whole new set of assholes.
Best sign by far for Cleveland: Jake Delhomme looked like the old Jake.
The one that throw interceptions? The DAWWW HORSEFEATHERS GUY? There’s no other version of Delhomme that I’m aware of.
— though he was throwing some safe routes.
But I’m not sure, because I didn’t actually watch.
He had time to throw too.
And what better way to tell if a passer is over his aversions to pressure than by seeing if he can complete passes under no duress?
Pete Carroll Moment of the Night in Seattle: He high-fived the National Anthem singer at the end of the song.
“Great song, man! That rocked! I’m gonna have a friend of mine contact you and he’s gonna give you some cash and blow in a white envelope! But you didn’t hear it from me! Yeah! Awesome job! Positive JAM, guys!”
I realize I shouldn’t pity a man traveling on a bus that’s nicer than some hotel suites, but when I heard Adam Schefter say on ESPN radio late Sunday, “I’m on fumes here,” I had to call to find out the particulars. He and his crew were on the last leg of the trip, from Atlanta to New Orleans, scheduled to arrive at the Saints’ headquarters about 4 this morning. Schefter told me the bus had gone 5,164 miles in 19 days, through 18 states and, with his bed on top of the bus’ motor, he hadn’t had more than three hours of sleep in a row since the trip began. “The toilet’s been backed up for four days,” he reported.
Oh no. The dreaded “Mort Refloat.”
Quite an itinerary, Adam. I dare say you’ve out-Kinged King. And that is why Peter will now have to kill you and steal your bus, sell the naming rights to Krups, and go around camps next summer in Peter’s Cup O’ Camp Express.
You feel a lot smarter than you really are when you run through Cambridge, Mass. You think, “All these Harvardians and MITians are passing me, looking like they could run a marathon before breakfast. Maybe it’ll rub off on me!”
OW-AHHH PEDESTRIANS AHHH SMAHTAH THAN YOUR-AH PEDESTRIANS! LOOK AT MY NEW RULES FOR FANTASY FOOTBALL! TELL ME A MANAAAHJ A TWAHHH GAME ISN’T THE BEST IDEAHHH EVAH!!
Thanks sincerely to Jeff Vaclavik, the proprietor of Deja Brew, for opening his eatery in downtown Bethlehem Sunday so that I, some Eagle scribes, the Eagle PR staff and pal/SI alum Mike Silver could have some of the greatest sandwiches in the United States. Mine: ham, turkey, tomato, a dash of olive oil and vinegar on whole grain toast.
Was it fabulous?
Oh, thank heaven.
A bowl of tomato basil soup on the side…
But what about to drink? WHAT DID YOU HAVE TO DRINK, MAN?!!
with pomegranate iced tea.
Phew! Almost thought I’d miss out on having that tea vicariously.
“No sugar for me. I’m training for a 1/32nd of an Ironman, you know.”
I had to pass on the peanut butter balls, but the rest of the marauding sportswriters destroyed the platter of the 50-cent balls with peanut bits covering each one.
Sportswriters devouring free balls? Color me shocked.
Ditto to Mark Braun and the folks at Doug’s Fish Fry in Cortland, N.Y., Friday. Superb fish chowder.
Mark Braun, you are the Mitch Puin of cream-based seafood stews.