Oh. Snap.

Thanks to the Sportress for the tip.

The Haters Lovers Guide to the Super Bowl

"The world needs haters. Without them, we'd be faced with a society of people walking around, feeling good about themselves."

- Deuce

When no one has the courage, not even the opponents in the upcoming Super Bowl, nor the pundits and professional cocksueses who are too busy messaging the vast egos of professionals and pushing us all to other pursuits in the meantime, one can always rely on FSD to provide the fuel.  The fuel that pushes down on the gas pedal during the morning commute.  The fuel that causes you to attend a Tea Party.  The fuel that makes swallowing a hard loss all the more painless.  The fuel is THE HATE.  And because the teams sponsored here at FSD have (ALL) been bounced from the playoffs, and in lieu of the fact that we must pick a team to support, we are choosing to say "fuck it." If we are gonna be forced (in the end) to lend our support to one of these jagmuffs, then we will not do so without a fight. And so without any additional delay, let us introduce the detestable candidates!

Go on...

The Reds Invade the Jersey Shore

Hey Pauly man, I don't know about this new guy... Looks like a stinking commie rat to me.


I hear that, Vinny.  I mean I love the Red Devils as like a team, you know, but I don't know about bringin' in any actual red devils.


I think he's cute.


Shutup, Snooki, you filthy howuh!

Go on...

Zen and the Art of Jumping the Sinking Ship

What happens when a man is faced with a season deferred? Does he walk away from the game, journeying into the desert to contemplate what went wrong and how to address the future, if there is indeed a future? Does he just drift into the background, experiencing the remainder of competition from the shadows? His allegiance stored away like a widow's wedding ring worn even beyond the death of one's betrothed. Or does he offer his loyalties elsewhere? Like a royal subject witnessing his majesty's demise at the hands of a new conqueror who is now demanding service, or offering death?

Some people are polistic; loving their city and all it's teams no matter what (fluctuating based on their success, of course), storing revulsion and contempt for all teams from other competing cities. Some of us are wanderers, we may like a baseball team from one region and a football team from a completely different region (typically occurring with people from Connecticut who love the Yankees as well as the Cowboys). Other special types, do not seem to have a horse until the very end. They sit back and enjoy the game for what it is, withholding preference until the final hour, when passions bubble over and a normative judgment is seemingly thrust upon their previously open consciousness. And of course, depending on your disposition, this will determine how you respond if/when your horse is excused from competition.

But are there rules for such "ship-jumping"? Not laws so much, but moral edicts that tell us how to behave whilst our sporting souls wander aimlessly in the ether searching for a temporary home to sublet after the delicate abode which they previously occupied, was washed away in a flood of humiliating defeat. First off, is ship-jumping authorized? Either by the community's own standards (real or imagined), or by our own allowances? Can we allow ourselves to begin supporting a different team that is still alive, in the lieu of our central devotion to our home team? Worse still; what will the neighbors say?

Are you required to lend your support to the team that beats you? The reasoning here would state that, "Since they beat us, if they win out, then it makes us look good, because then we lost to the champs." But this would hold that you are somehow not angered by the team that beat you. Consider the New England Patriots. In 2007, the beat just about everyone, but I really doubt that any of their opponents or their fan bases along the way were pulling for them at any point.

Another route would be the divisional opponent. That any team from your division should be rewarded with your support. This argument seems a little more thin, primarily because your biggest rivals tend to reside in your own team's division. Therefore, how could a Cardinals fan really be called on to support the Cubbies in another disaster-waiting-to-happen trip to the postseason? Just unlikely is all, unless Cardinals are really as soft as I believe them to be.

Or are we inspired by more negative forces? Rather than throwing our support behind a team, do we choose instead to throw out support against a team? In this case, we do not necessarily choose a horse to ride, but we choose a gun with which to shoot a specific horse, and then snort the gelatinous by-product during the victory celebration. In some instances, we may actually even throw our support behind "the best possible chance." We look at a team and think, "This team can beat the Red Wings, so they are on now my team" (until they of course lose to the Red Wings). However, can we really call this option support? If anything, it is more of an anti-support mechanism, and as such, seems even more disposable, and in turn, disingenuous. So, if our "new" team loses in the semi-finals, do we simply lend our support to the new opponent of our enemy (eg. I only support two teams; the Red Sox and whoever is playing the Yankees)?

The most sustainable, albeit least likely option, is to simply lend your support behind the remaining team that you like the most. Now, it should be clear at this point that your speaker is a Boston fan, but that doesn't mean that he still does not favor certain teams over others outside of his own hometown affiliation. Some will disagree with this entirely, maintaining that you should have one team (for a given sport) and one team only. Typically the reasons provided are pride-based, or are wrapped in speculations of "fair-weather fandom." But, I personally never had a problem with lending sub-support to teams even prior to the playoffs. Especially if the team is determined to be support-worthy (by your own rigid criteria, of course), and is not simply some front-running juggernaut who is in no need of additional support, and only serves to satisfy some deep-seated ego disorder for the fan in question.

So, if we can accept the idea of having a "second" team during the regular season, or even a "fail-safe" squad in the postseason, then we must conclude that having a specific interest, or even an absolute interest in the playoffs, rests on having a specific team upon which to focus your attention and passions. Or, is it even possible to be actually vested in the outcome without a specific team to pull for? And if we really wanted to pull this string some more, is it possible to watch any event without picking a personal favorite? I don't think so, but the floor is open for debate.

Therefore, I'm thinking that we need some rules:

Upon what criteria are we allowed to seek out a new team, once our own beloved team has been dispatched?

I'm calling for suggestions, and hopefully we can compile a list for publication later on. Give it here...

Bed's Too Big Without You, NFL

The nights are growing shorter, but somehow the darkness is pervasive. A thin veil dims the hours of my waking life like the shadow of a rain cloud unwillingly orbiting my corporeal being. My interest in the mundane sinks into an expanding gap alienating me from my former life, pushing me deeper into nothingness. Across the void is a life to which I cannot return. But would I want to, after what you have done to me? If all you know is the black of night, would your eyes even be able to handle the white of day?

Oh NFL, my one true love. Annually you come to my door, invade my space, offering me all kinds of joyous wonders. And for a time, you fulfill them. But continuously the only promise you can keep is that of gravity. You lift my spirits, carrying me blindly, blissfully into the throes of the dead season, only to drop me fearfully and deep into the decaying brush where I will be covered by the angelically vengeful snow.

Oh NFL, you sultry minx, with your long legs and dashing appearance. Week to week I descend further into debt. Believing that the more resources I set aside in your honor, the more capable I will be of keeping you around all year long. I bet on you, I give you my emotional and financial support, I put all my money into your collection plate. I see no returns, I see no appreciation, I see only embezzlement.

Oh NFL, you haunting spectre. Vague reminders scattered about the landscape in the form of Mel Kiper, the Scouting Combine, and various pundits. The "stink", strong and decadent at first, wanes even before such trinkets are cast aside in a huff, like a dog shedding his collar. If it is a yoke with which you seek to bind me, then you will need a whole lot more Erin Andrews, and a whole lot less Marshall Faulk.

Oh NFL, you gluttonous cougar. You say that you enjoy the finer things in life, but it is I who on the second Sunday of February is left lonesome, with a case of PBR, and a fifth of Jaeger. The bratwurst sitting atop soggy, kraut-infused bun. The cheese curls soft, stale, now unsatisfying. The chili putrid and diarrheal, but somehow, still inviting. Much like you.

Oh NFL, you cold-hearted man-eater. Upon leaving you are always sure to call, keeping me on the line long after you have disconnected. Faint recollections of our conversation include topics such as a "Pro Bowl", and how we may even be a good fit. Have you still not come to see the quality of my taste? I am here not for friendly, meaningless games. I am here only for fateful outcome and genuine gain. I am here because I am lazy and unimaginative. Have you forgotten? You provide the spark that lifts me from my armchair for one brief, impenetrable moment before falling back under the weight of my own bloated belly. You are the artist that portrays the most wondrous playoff scenarios on the pallet that is my own underused, oft abused brain pan.

Oh NFL, you twisted whore. You treat me as if I am the only one. Yet for 5 months of Sundays.And Mondays. And a handful of Thursdays and Saturdays; you sell yourself to any man, woman, or even child. Some for the right price, some for no price at all. You claim that I am jealous, and of this charge I am unapologetically guilty. For jealousy, in this case, is warranted. For all the other imposters seek only to gawk at you, use you, bore you, and manipulate you for their own purposes. But it is I alone that wants to hold you forever. All I ask is that you be there for me. Be there all year long.

But NFL, you eternal cocktease, this is something that you refuse to provide. I offer you love, devotion, and perpetual homage. But all you have to offer me, is a 6th title for the Allegheny Whitefish, months of Brett Favre aggravation, and Trey Wingo.

Keep it.

All of it.

For I just saw NHL walking around here somewhere, and she is looking FOYNE!



Spitefully yours,
B. Lee



PS. I'll be waiting for you in September... Come back to me.