When we last left Elite Fryer Peter King, he was basking in the glow of correctly picking the Super Bowl teams in the preseason, despite having switched his picks prior to the playoffs and readily admitting that such picks are arbitrary and almost always incorrect. Still, TAKE THAT. NEW ORLEANS SKYCAP! TAKE IT RIGHT IN YOUR POOPYHOLE! We also got to see Peter profiled on “Real Sports,” which made him the worst thing on HBO since “Mind of the Married Man.”
So what about this week? Is this still a Super Bowl Doris Kearns Goodwin would love, provided she cribbed her opinion from an obscure historical text? (GO COLBY WHITE MULES!) Is this game still good for America, if you like your America fat and bloated and full of unjustified self-regard? Will that retard Pittsburgh Phil so up again to pray to a goddamn phone? READ ON.
Welcome to Super Bowl XLV prep week, where Cowboys owner Jerry Jones has done everything in his power to make Pittsburgh and Green Bay feel at home when they arrive this afternoon in the Metroplex.
“I GOT ALL THE GUNS AND PUSSY YOU BOYS NEED! AND THERE’S A WHOLE ROOM OF PASSED OUT 17-YEAR-OLDS JUST FOR YOU, BIG BEN! YAHOOOOO WHOOPPEEEE!”
He’s even imported northern practice weather, this wonderfully considerate man has. When the Packers and Steelers practice Wednesday through Friday — Green Bay at the Cowboys’ complex in Irving, Pittsburgh at the Texas Christian University facility in Fort Worth, 38 miles west of here — the daily high temps will be 27, 36 and 38, respectively. Oh, and with snow showers and wintry mix off and on. Gotta love these temperate Super Bowl sites.
Who had Monday for the “earliest day reporters would bitch about the Super Bowl site” in their office pool? Was it you, Bob? YOU WIN! I should have known to take the earliest day possible. After all, what reporter WON’T bitch about being sent to the biggest game in the world for free? It’s like being stuck in a monkey prison, for fuck’s sake. MONKEY PRISON IS THE MEANEST PRISON OF ALL.
And if you think Peter won’t use this week as an excuse to bitch about 2014…
Just for fun, let’s look at the high for those three days in East Rutherford, where the Super Bowl, ridiculously, is scheduled to be played in 2014.
HOLY SHIT. That’s three fucking years from now, asshole! NO ONE CARES! Are you really gonna bitch about the 2014 Super Bowl site for the next THOUSAND DAYS, you spoiled gasdick? So it’ll be cold. No one cares if your business trip can’t double as a vacation. In fact, I hope the 2015 game is played in a pit of poisonous spikes, and that you get front row seats. QUIT BITCHING.
The highs: 40, 22 and 31. So, the average high in and around Arlington, where the Super Bowl will be played Sunday, 34 for the three practice days. In New Jersey: 31.
FYI: Weather.com says the projected high for the Sunday in Dallas is 62 degrees. So again, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU BITCHING ABOUT? What, do you need a full week of 80-degree temperatures in order to do your job, which involves interviewing people inside climate-controlled hotel rooms and stadium facilities? Oh no! Peter won’t get any good nuggets with this cold front coming in! He needs to be able to have one day this week to set aside to visit the Sheraton pool! Otherwise, the nuggets will get blocked up!
Miami: 80. (True: Miami is predicted to have highs of 82, 79 and 79.) Hey, but who’s counting?
You, because you’re a choosy twat!
It’s the calm before the Super storm… while I… listened to a skeptical and hugely respected knight of the keyboard gush over the Packers
Yes, a knight of the keyboard. Sir Wolfenstein, who has personally killed over 70,000 virtual Nazis since 1986!
We’ll start off with a tease for a project of mine.
Don’t tease! Show us the whole package! I bet it’s sweaty and smells like animal crackers!
So this morning I want to give you the five items that I hope you’ll find interesting in advance of this week’s magazine story, and then some Super Bowl and Hall of Fame nuggets.
NUGGETS! So juicy, Jack Links would put them in a pouch!
(Roger) Goodell’s friends think he’s working too hard. “I’m mad at him right now,” Jerry Richardson, a key negotiator for the owners and confidant of Goodell, told me in December. When I asked why, he wouldn’t say. But Goodell said it’s because Richardson believes he’s working too hard.
And Richardson did say to me: “He’s a workaholic, whether it’s Congress, the owners, the CBA, player behavior. I have told him he can’t keep going at this pace.”
And now we’ve reached the portion of the column where Peter makes for the world’s most gullible owner mouthpiece. You won’t hear this anywhere else, but I’m told that Roger Goodell REALLY cares. And works super hard.
JERRY: Peter, I can’t talk to you about this.
KING: Come on! Just one nugget!
JERRY: Okay, well. I could go to jail for this, but… Roger Goodell occasionally likes to visit cancer babies and kiss them. THAT’S OFF THE RECORD. Also, we have no problem locking out the players for three years. Make sure Cromartie knows that.
Richardson is not the only owner who feels this way. One of Goodell’s staunchest allies, New England’s Robert Kraft, told me: “I am afraid he’s going to burn out. He is indefatigable.”
You see, the problem with Roger Goodell is that he’s just too damn AMAZING.
Goodell works out for 60 to 90 minutes, six mornings a week, starting at 5:30.
Oh my God, and he’s SEXY too? It’s like he’s some kind of superhero!
It’s almost like he knows if he doesn’t train for the exhausting duty ahead, mentally and physically, he won’t make it.
So very exhausting to sit in meetings and take calls and be driven to stadiums and eat catered food. This man never ceases to amaze.
Regarding Roethlisberger, Goodell said when he was investigating what to do with the quarterback, he talked to “I bet two dozen [Steeler] players … Not one, not a single player, went to his defense. It wasn’t personal in a sense, but all kinds of stories like, ‘He won’t sign my jersey.’ ”
OR MY GLOVES! HE’S A RAPER OF HOPE!
I don’t blame women who won’t forgive Roethlisberger for the story in Georgia last winter (including some very, very close to me)
PETER: I hear that Big Ben is back on the right track.
JUANITA CHARO KING: Well I still don’t like him, Uncle Pete.
PETER: Why not?
JUANITA CHARO KING: Because he drugged me and stole a lock of my hair once.
PETER: Oh, right. THAT.
Going down a vomitous memory lane.
Vomitous memory lane? But we don’t read through old King columns until the summer!
Saturday was the 16-year anniversary of one of the most interesting postgame experiences I’ve had at a Super Bowl: the aftermath of the 49ers’ 49-26 rout of the Chargers in Miami.
Steve Young threw six touchdown passes in the game, and afterward, Young’s agent, Leigh Steinberg, had him do about 20 postgame live shots with everyone from Chris Berman to the guy from Petaluma. I trailed Young for the magazine, listening to him do every one of the live shots, answering the same questions over and over. Young was thirsty, and hungry, and at one point asked if I could find him some Gatorade or something to eat.
YOUNG: You, King. Bring me some fucking food.
KING: But I’m a reporte…
YOUNG: KNOW YOUR ROLE OR I’LL HAVE THE MORMON CHURCH ROAST YOU ON A SPIT, PISSBOY!
I went under the stands and found a food service area doing inventory, explained the situation…
“I’ve got a hungry quarterback here, sir. And my Peanut Toffee Buzz Clif bar just won’t cut it! Don’t you see I’ve got nuggets to extract?!”
and finagled four bottles of red Gatorade, a couple of apples, and about eight or 10 sugar cookies.
He said he was hungry, not fucking diabetic.
Anyway, you future NFL stars out there take note. If there’s no pizza delivery in your town late at night, you call up the Food King. FOOD KING FOOD KING FOOD KING!
Young drank two of the Gatorades like a dying man in the Mojave, and munched down the cookies, and soon we were in his limo riding back to the Miami airport Marriott, their team hotel. Steinberg was in the car, and after a few twists and turns out of the parking lot, Young said, “I’m not feeling so …” RALPH!’
Please, Peter. You’re with Steve Young. He demands needlessly longer words, like autoregurgitation.
Even though he lay on the bed for the longest time with two needles in his arm, he wanted the night to go on forever. You could just tell. Gradually, the color, and a smile, returned to his face. The last thing I heard when I was about to leave (someone had to work that night, after all) was Young calling out to me at the door
“Don’t go,” he said. “You can stay. Stay! I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.”
Stay, Peter! I need you to get Chinese!
It’s a pretty good job.
Bitching about the weather and grabbing snacks for people? I bet it is.
There is no local beat man I respect more than Bob McGinn of the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel. He never falls in love with the Packers when the rest of the world does, and he’s always suitably skeptical about the locals. Wish I could think of a few examples…
This guy is AWESOME. If only I could be bothered to Google a few of his articles. But he’s not THAT good.
By the way, Peter mentions later on that Ron Borges is a Hall of Fame voter. Ron fucking Borges! HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? “I’m not votin’ for that Belichick guy. You take away his career and he’s just a guy with no career!”
So I’ve been looking for the perfect work chair at a hotel, and I believe I’ve found it.
Go back to normal life, Egypt! WE HAVE FOUND THE CHAIR.
The Dallas Sheraton, which is housing the media at the Super Bowl, has these high-backed, red swivel chairs, with a firm back and just cushy-enough seat.
But is the room at your desired temperature? America needs to know.
I applaud your décor director, Sheraton.
Good furnishings. LOFTY furnishings.
I cannot say the same for your fleecing of guests with the $14.95 daily charge/ripoff for in-room Internet service. Question for hotels that do that: Do you have someone behind the counter with a bandanna over the nose and mouth, with a wide-brimmed black hat, laughing an evil laugh when the poor saps throughout the hotel press the button to approve the daily surcharge? Unconscionable. Worse than the daily charge to use a treadmill at the old Providence Westin.
WESTIN! This ain’t over!
I’m staying here for eight nights. If I used the Internet through the hotel for all eight nights, it’ll cost $119.60. A rapacious $119.60.
A magnanimous $119.60. A verboten $119.60. A smidgeburrow $119.60.
Glad I have the wireless DSL card on this machine.
Can’t believe this hotel charges for something I actually don’t plan on using and therefore won’t be charged for!
I think it’s logical, on both sides, that Jeff Fisher, the longest-tenured coach in the league, was forced out by the team last Thursday, in a story first reported on SI.com by colleague Don Banks.
I think it’s totally logical to say your coach is staying and then turn around and part ways with him after all the other coaches and assistants have been hired. SMARTIEST move.
…go ahead and make the switch now and bring in a quality young assistant with the hunger and energy to make the most of a head-coaching chance with a good general manager in Mike Reinfeldt … either that or hire Dom Capers the week after the Super Bowl. You can be sure Capers wants one more shot at a head job before he finishes coaching.
Holy shit, did someone just suggest Dom Capers for a head coaching job? Dom Capers is the Del Harris of NFL coaches. I wouldn’t hire Dom Capers to make cereal.
a. Saw True Grit.
I so, so needed to know that.
Now the only movies I absolutely have to see before the Oscars are The Social Network, Black Swan and Inception. Don’t worry. I’ll get to them. Can’t wait to see them.
But will you be able to see any of the second-tier nominees in time! I need Peter to see “The Illusionist”!
Unhappiness is landing in Dallas after 10 Sunday night, running into a Starbucks while rushing to the hotel to write this column and still get one hour of sleep, and getting two miles away from the place when you take your first sip of the quad venti whole milk latte, and discovering it’s a quad venti soy latte instead.
No, unhappiness is living in the Sudan and finding out rebel forces just dropped an air conditioner from a bomber and it landed on your son. When that happens, you’ll take any milk, really.
I know whole milk. I know soy. Yo no soy. Now that puts a damper on the typing, let me tell you.
Good thing you have a decent chair!
Stat Line of the NBA Weekend (bet you never thought you’d see me write that): Russell Westbrook, Thunder, vs. Wizards, Friday: 35 points, 13 rebounds, 13 assists. What a player.
This just in: people who put up big stats in games I didn’t watch are probably good!