Michael Vick agrees to lucrative 4-year, $.12 contract with Big Tito's Bitches

Puppy murderer and former NFL star Michael Vick has decided to continue his football career behind bars, playing quarterback for both teams in a prison football game. Apparently, Falcons guido owner Arthur Blank has been keeping in touch with Vick by letter and explained to the press that his imprisoned superstar has been "keeping in shape" (which is thug for "dropping the soap"). Blank also stated that Vick is making $.12 an hour washing pots and pans, a task more difficult for him than learning Bobby Petrino's offense.


Vick threw for 135 yards and 1 touchdown just before taking a "extra long" shower.

It's hard not to laugh when imaging Blank and Vick sending letters to each other: Blank getting his hair did while gunshots are blasted just outside his apartment in the Spanish Harlem projects, and Vick taping explicit pictures of his former boss on his cell wall.

Funny imagery aside, I sort of feel bad for Vick now. I mean, he was raised to become a legendary quarterback that redefined his position (which he did), and now he's at the very bottom of the ladder of life, doing things his $130 million contract didn't really mention. I'm even surprised the guy can write a letter. And now, we all have to watch Joey Harrington throw amazing interceptions while donning that ever-intimidating Falcons jersey. It's sad for us sports fans, really, though I'm not sure if our friends at PETA would be so sympathetic.

Well, at least we've got Vick's clone holding it down in Minnesota.

- K.H. (Does not root for Big Tito's Bitches)

Tisch students should start playing football

In an AP interview yesterday, Giants co-owner and NYU film school namesake Steve Tisch explained that the Big Blue's Superbowl trophy was "more satisfying" than the Oscar he received for producing Forrest Gump. Shortly after the interview, the kazillionaire gave a homeless man $50 to do a funny dance.


Tisch's interpretation of school spirit

Unfortunately, we don't have a football team here at NYU, so Mr. Tisch (owner of all things NYU) is forced to devote his loyalty somewhere else in the city. I can't imagine many Tischies complaining about his statement in between filming, smoking cigarettes, and shopping at American Apparel. But when your school's president destroys the best part of your non-existent campus, your tuition is literally costing you your first-born, and Writing the Essay keeps you trapped in the library, it isn't too much of a boost to your self-esteem when Mr. Tisch hints that you should stick to football.

Breaking news: Sternies have nothing to say, at all.

- K.H. (CAS Class of '11 - Hayd3n ruLz!)

To An Eli Dying Young

I don't really mean everything from this post. Of course, I want to see Eli under center next for the Big Blue. But anytime I can relate sports to quality literature, I'm on it. Enjoy:

A.E. Housman's poem "To an Athlete Dying Young" beautifully recounts the story of a heralded athlete who died while in his prime, after setting a championed record. Instead of mourning the young man's death, the poet congratulates him:

"Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After Earth has stopped the ears"

So yeah, the poem pretty much solidified my opinion on Vinny Testaverde (because we all have opinions on him, right?). I mean, I really am tired of all these old geezers - and in today's sport, being able to legally consume alcohol is now considered "old" - clawing to hold on to something they lost long before they were being considered future Hall of Famers.

Because how often do we see gifted, celebrated athletes slowly get sacked into obscurity? They fall deeper and deeper into the abyss known as "aging," trying to reach for the heyday they once enjoyed, without ever taking a look in the mirror. For some, the pinnacle of their careers may lie in Superbowl rings, and for others, in high school yearbooks. A sick knuckle ball or bulls-eye right arm earned the chance to be a man amongst children, to literally be hoisted on the shoulders of zealous disciples. Above politics and arts, sports is the best medium of immortalizing any man of any origin or age. Seriously, when your hair is gray and retirement is going great, you'll remember Joe American, the star quarterback, more than Tom Goody, the class president.

But like all things in this world, nothing lasts forever. Peaks ultimately peak and muscles eventually grow tired. And the man with the flashy slam dunks is now riding the pine of any team that can give him a chance, desperate to "go out with a bang." But unfortunately, time is never on an athlete's side. Disciples quickly convert and talented rookies immediately fill the void. Now, with two busted knees, a jersey with the wrong colors, and a paycheck worth as much as Lebron's new shoes, memories of the glory days are exactly that: memories. And instead of the bang, the lasting image frozen on ESPN is a wrinkled, old man shagging balls for the Mr. Now. I think it's what the kids today call a "has-been." But look on the bright side, he's a "great locker room presence!"


While it's good, Elisha, while it's good.

So, what does Eli Manning have to do with all of this?

Eli has the opportunity that only few before him have held. A Superbowl MVP, a historic upset, a play for the ages, and a jealous big brother. This is Jordan's buzzer beater against the Jazz, Bettis's unlikely championship in his hometown, and even Zidane's headbutt on the world's stage. Eli is on the plateau that has rarely been reached, just short of Jessica Alba's husband.

So, really, there is only down for Eli. He will never conduct an upset as significant and will never throw a pass as ridiculous. But he does have the chance to buy lasting real estate on this near-godly heaven. Here, he can forever enjoy the status above the endless other athletes who could no longer pay the mortgage. He can forever enjoy the company of buddy Tiki Barber and Barry Sanders, while looking down from the cliff and rightfully laughing at the Shaqs, the Testaverdes, the Karl Malones, the Craig Biggios, and yes, the Brett Favres (Yeah, I said it).

Housman also writes in his poem,

"So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup."

A Lombardi trophy and a key to immortality in hand, Eli has the choice to forever keep his smiling baby face glorified in the long-term memories of the world "before its echoes fade." Or he can be diagnosed too late and "die" too old. David Tyree can come too.

-K.H.

Harvard, anyone?

I follow high school football closely. And yes, I am a lonely, slightly depressed lard ass.

Last Tuesday was an significant day for just about every type of American. For the sports geek, the Giants held their ticker-tape parade down Broadway to celebrate their Superbowl victory. For the political savvy, Super Tuesday gave us a clearer outlook on the future residents of the White House. For some guy named Larry, it was his niece's 9th birthday.

But February 5th also marked an occurrence that just might have topped the rest for us high school football people (yes, we're people, I swear): National Signing Day. Yes, those uber athletic teenagers who still live with their parents have an entire "Day" devoted to their college decisions. The semi-national holiday is officially the first day a high school senior can officially sign a letter of intent to play for that college that put way too much time into recruiting him.

Most of these prodigies commit (a term that has recently hasn't meant much) to a university well before National Signing Day, which keeps fanboys like Kenny constantly visiting sites like Rivals.com. However, a handful of the top players like to keep high school and college football fans in suspense until "the day," when they finally choose a school, usually in an awkwardly anticlimactic fashion.

This handful includes Terrelle Pryor, a VinceYoungesque quarterback from Jeanette, Pennsylvania, who is generally ranked as the top recruit in the nation today. His insistence on postponing his decision has caused serious buzz among football fans of all levels, enough to prompt Sports Illustrated's Stewart Mandel to headline "Pryor announcement to be most anticipated in history."


He'll look good in that Crimson, trust me.

Bold statement, eh? Actually, not really. High school commitments had never really been a nationwide "thing" until recent years. Faithful NFL fans can envision the image of Paul Tagliabue mispronouncing Brett Favre's name on draft day or Vernon Davis sobbing when the 49ers selected him way too early. But even the most devoted fans have no recollection of when Jimmy Clausen (arguably the most popular high school recruit in recent history) signed with Notre Dame or when Peyton Manning decided to not follow his dad's footsteps to Tennessee.

With sports media consistently getting deeper and deeper into the foundations of the game, the hype around Pryor's pending decision has symbolized a growing sensationalism infecting sports. There's a good (/great) chance the talented quarterback will fail to live up to expectations. The top ranked quarterbacks of the past four years include Clausen, Mitch Mustain, Rhett Bhomar, and Mark Sanchez, each of whom will certainly not be making any early Heisman predictions. Though despite the obvious inaccuracy in these rankings, Pryor (who is also an all-state forward in basketball) has still managed to escalate to national headlines. Sports fans are obsessing more about the decision of this one quarterback who is destined to disappoint, and ignoring the steroids problem, the bad sportsmanship trend, and oh yeah, the game.

So, what am I getting at?

Let's just say that if I met Mr. Pryor right now, I would tell him to forget Ohio State and Michigan. "And where else would I go?" the 6'6" kid younger than myself would reply. I would glance at Mr. Pryor with a confident stare, unlike the countless recruiters who continuously bat their eyes in his direction. "Harvard Crimson."

"Why? Because like Chris Matthews taught me in Hardball, 'always concede on principle.' And committing to become the quarterback for a school that has produced more Nobel Peace Prize winners than touchdowns is principle at its finest. Surely enough principle to catch more ESPN headlines than becoming a Wolverine, Buckeye, or Nittany Lion. Yeah, you may have the opportunity be the next in line for a college's legacy of great quarterbacks, but ultimately Terrelle, it is simply a 'line.' If you do succeed and win the Heisman, you will not be Terrelle Pryor of now, but instead the 'modern day [insert overrated quarterback here]' (seriously, how many times did you hear the name Wuerffel when Tim Tebow won it this year).

Any star high school player can play football for Michigan or Ohio State, but only those with some real cajones can dare to make their own legacy in a university who proudly brags that it produced Ryan "One Game Wonder" Fitzpatrick. You might not win a national championship, you might not hoist up the Heisman, you might not bang the hottest Midwest chicks in the country, but your name will outlast the Reggie Bushes, Vince Youngs, and hell, even the Troy Smiths of football. We've seen every 'shocking' story possible in sports: Eli beat Tom and George Mason went Final Four, but the story you have in your hands right is Montana-to-Clark on steroids. Also, if you're worried about Harvard not being the right system offense for you, here's a suggestion: you are the system.

And then there's that startling statistic: More African-Americans are in prison than in college. I know you're not the sharpest tool in the shed (I swear classes at Harvard won't be that hard), but this goes beyond your GPA and QB rating. 'Pryor rouses black community by Harvard committment' sounds slightly more inspirational than 'Pryor breaks leg in unnecessary QB draw; out for season or until he is drafted in 6th round.' Committing to the world's best university is the much needed slap in the face to the fanatics who are trapped in believing higher education is just football and beer. The NFL loves those 'character guys' anyways. Maybe they'll see your moral commitment and Harvard degree and you'll back up the 2010 version of Michael Vick and become the next...Michael Vick.

Look, Terrelle, let's face the facts. You're destined to disappoint us. I know it. We know it. Mark Sanchez knows it. You know it. And don't give me that 'defying destiny' crap, this isn't Remember the Titans. So, if you're doomed now, why not go out with a bang? Maybe you'll be remembered as the harbinger for the new age of Harvard football, maybe you'll be the first Harvardite to actually win the Heisman, maybe you'll find the cure for cancer. But this is fact: you are capable of writing the story of the century without ever completing a pass. Hell, you might even learn a thing or two.

So, how about it, Terrelle?


I know you're just dying to play in front of those crazy Cambridge hooligans.

Okay, let me just ask Harvard."


-K.H.

*Note: does anybody have Terrelle's e-mail?

American Football: Still Segregated!

Of the 64 starting cornerbacks in the NFL, not one of them is white. Actually, of the 200 or so cornerbacks in the league, all are African-American. Yes, all. 100%. No honkies here. It's so obvious that I didn't even need to do research to back up that statement.

And yes, Jason Sehorn is retired.


Apparently Sehorn lives in Hidden Hills, the most racially diverse neighborhood in America. *chuckle*

This shouldn't be too shocking, however, considering that the sport the NFL network entitled the "America's game" doesn't really promote venturing outside racial expectations. The same athletes who dedicate their lives to football from elementary Pop Warner days are subconsciously limited by the color of their skin. Such a statement is frightening for any American living in the 21st century to hear and it's just as difficult for me to say it. But if viewed from the eyes of an oblivious outsider not worried about the scoreboard, distinctions of race in all levels of football are clear how ever uncomfortable it may be to admit.

Naturally, such divisions create stereotypes. Like cornerbacks, running backs are virtually entirely African-American (thanks Brian Leonard). Wide receivers too, although there have been exceptions ... good ones (see below). At arguably the most popular position in sports, "the black quarterback" is still scarce in comparison to the long lived Favre-type. 75% of NFL players are African-American, yet only 6 of the 32 starting quarterbacks can say they they're a member of that club. And in that small population of Michael Vicks and Vince Youngs of the league, only Byron Leftwich seems to be the only one not subject to the good-legs-strong-arm-poor-accuracy typecast. Even The Onion is smart enough to mock the stereotype of the black quarterback, with its headline story: "Donovan Mcnabb Has A Perfect Game For A Black Quarterback".


Wes Welker. Talented. White.

Why pick out these specific positions? Well, it's [offensively] ironic that these three strictly African-American positions - cornerbacks, running backs, and receivers - are the three most obvious position that require the typical "black" qualities: speed, quickness, agility, etc. The awfully inappropriate assumption that African-American men are fast, athletic, and run a lot is just exaggerated in football, a sport that has constantly challenged baseball as most symbolic of American values. On the other hand, the quarterback and the center, the only positions that require more brains than brawn, remain primarily Caucasian. White coaches are so predominant that the biggest storyline of last year's Superbowl wasn't Peyton Manning vs. the Bears defense, but instead Tony Dungy and Lovie Smith "making history" as the two first black coaches in the championship game.

And the result: a sporting culture segregated on and off the field. It's definitely not subtle, even TVs without High Definition can prove it. But notice of the lack of diversity is freakishly quiet, discreetly creeping around American tradition with football fans too afraid to admit it...yet it's still there. It's the classical image of the All-American high school athlete: blonde-haired, blue-eyed Johnny Heisman from Anytown, Texas. It's the American practice of father and son playing catch on the mowed, white-picket-fenced lawn. It's Remember the Titans before Denzel. This is the American Dream's sport.

It is not the 6'5", 220 pound, corn-rowed Rasheed from Birmingham, destined to be the world's next great dual-threat quarterback. It is not late nights kicking field goals between two garbage cans in Harlem. It is not Michael Vick being ... well, being Michael Vick.

Of course, this defined distinction between races must be taken in context. Although football never really needed a defining breakthrough event like baseball, we must always appreciate the fact that minorities are even allowed to play in the league fairly (Note: African-Americans were almost banned from the NFL in the 1930's due to reaching Jim Crow laws, but did enact segregation policies that lasted over a decade).

But if no Jackie Robinson is needed, a March on Washington is. Discussing the racial split in football is not even mentioned when building the ESPN agenda. And even after people read this blog, a common response still might ask "So what?" Others might explain that the sports world would benefit more if it spent more time filtering future Maurice Claretts and Pacman Joneses rather than worry about this position segregation.

But I've written this post not to challenge the personal beliefs of the readers, but to discuss an issue that it is rarely (if ever) approached. And, as anyone who knows me understands, I love sports more than most things in this world, but this passion is more on the field than off. To address the problems of misguided athletes like Clarett and Jones, we must first attack the shortcomings of the most important component of football: the sport itself.

In the time I've written this post at Starbucks, three African-Americans have sat next to me. America is diverse. And, as this post hints, America loves football. So why shouldn't football be diverse. Yes, it is when team rosters are glanced at. But when watched with the oh-so-white voice of Al Michaels guiding the viewer, this football segregation, whether trivial or life-and-death to the sports fan, is obvious and disgusting. So, please, let's recruit some more Jason Sehorn, for America's sake.


Reggie Roby. The best black punter (of three).

And on to my next topic: the Asian free safety.