AFC East
Bill
Belichick has magical powers. There’s just no other explanation. The Patriots have assembled an offense this year that
consists of Tom Brady and what is essentially a high school JV football team. This year’s Pats team has the record for
“Most times a fan has had to hunt down a player by his jersey number in the team program after the player scores a TD.”
You want to know who Belichick’s been winning with? His (cough) No. 1 wideout is some guy named Reche Caldwell. Caldwell’s success in
Belichick’s system has been a total surprise, since Belichick demands respect for authority- a concept Caldwell has struggled with since childhood, most notably the time he refused to listen to
his momma when she told him his face would stick like that if he kept making bug-eyed faces. Brady’s second option is
either Troy Brown or Doug Gabriel. Belichick, a master motivator, has kept the fear of God in Gabriel by threatening to send
him back to play for Oakland if he screws up. The Pats are
6-2 right now, and on a collision course with Peyton Manning’s Colts for the AFC title game…and we know how those
turn out. Even though Manning won the Sunday night duel 11/5, largely due to Kevin Faulk’s poor decision to wear the
actual prop gloves from Edward Scissorhands during the game, Belichick still managed to work some voodoo magic on the Colts.
Just when Adam Vinateri was about to make the Patriots look stupid for letting him go in favor of Stephen Gostkowski, Belichick spewed a stream of black flies from his mouth into Vinateri’s, causing him
to shank the potentially game-sealing kick. OK, that happened in the Green Mile, but for the Pats, Vinateri’s miss was
a different prison movie: the Shaw-Shank Redemption.
Why is
it that everyone who leaves Belichick falls victim to some kind of biblical plague? He’s the King Tut of coaches. He’s
like Uma Thurman’s character in My Super Ex-Girlfriend- leave her, and you’ll regret it.(Did anyone else even
see My Super Ex-Girlfriend? No? What can I say, about six other movies were sold out, it was a date, and we had to see something.
My Super Ex-Girlfriend was basically the Brooks Bollinger of date movies in that situation). Chaz Weis bolted for Notre Dame
and promptly gained approximately 672 pounds (TLC is planning a one-hour special), and if you’ve seen Romeo Crennel
lately, Cleveland hasn’t exactly been kind to him either. Even Eric Mangini has started to look like he swallowed the
Eric Mangini that worked under Belichick. Deion Branch, Willie McGinest, Ty Law, Vinateri, Christian Fauria…heard from
any of them lately? I’m scared of Bill Belichick, to be honest. After I heard that his son got caught (littering and…)
smokin’ the reefer, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Bill had confided in his wife that he didn’t think
the kid was worth bringing back next year, and that they should consider letting him go over to Dungy and the Colts. Of course,
the kid would then gain 120 pounds and drop out of school. God help Belichick’s exes- they probably look like Roseanne.
What
bothers me is this: It really doesn’t matter who you are, if they put you in a Pats uniform, you suddenly become a legitimate
NFLer. Playing for New England is a lot like Tim Allen’s experience in The Santa Clause-
put on the uniform, and overnight, you’re the real deal. Of course, if the Pats had produced the Santa Clause movies,
they would have let Tim Allen go after two movies and replaced him with Al Borland (who, of course, would have been just as
good). Allen would end up starring alongside Eddie Murphy in a Nutty Professor installment, and the Pats would resurrect Hugh
Grant from retirement a la Junior Seau to anchor the film.
Elsewhere in the AFC East, Chad Pennington finally
pried open a stubborn pickle jar this week after running it under hot water, while Joey Harrington and Miami picked apart
the undefeated Bears’ defense to upset Chicago. I think it’s time to end this paragraph before any Bears fans
start banging their heads on their computers, causing their half-finished Super Bowl Shuffle remix to skip.
AFC North
Da…da da DUHHHHHHH….It’s THE
AFC NORTH! THE GREATEST DIVISION IN ALL THE LAND! The rejuvenated Ravens! The ferocious Bengals! The defending champion Steelers!
The…Browns! Coming into this season, there couldn’t have been more unjustified hype surrounding the AFC North-
it was the Tony Mandarich of divisions. As it turns out, the Steelers rolled over and died (you lost to OAKLAND!), drastically reducing Sinnjinn Bucknell’s chances of getting any ass. The
struggles of the Steelers and Bengals really shouldn’t be surprising, since both of their QBs suffered Barbaro-esque
injuries in the offseason.
Here’s
my test for whether or not a QB will be able to come back from an injury the following season: if he had suffered the injury
as a horse, would he have been shot in the ear to keep him out of his misery (see: Paterno against Northwestern)? When all
signs point to yes (Big Ben, Palmer, Culpepper), don’t pick him for fantasy purposes. Palmer hasn’t been able
to hit the broad side of a barn this year, Roethlisberger appears to still be concussed (you know it’s bad when your
fans appear relieved to see Charlie Batch), and Culpepper (2004 Pro Bowler) was benched in favor of Joey Harrington. Charlie
Frye’s been atrocious for Cleveland, as has every other
Browns player save Joe Jurevicius, and Steve McNair and Kyle Boller have combined for a team record-high in “% of TD
Passes that hit at least four players and/or an official before being caught.”
Here’s
how little trust the Ravens have in their offense: A few weeks back, veteran Ravens D-lineman Kelly Gregg scooped up a fumble
and broke for the end zone, with nothing but acres of open field ahead (note- I’ve been playing a lot of FIFA). As the
big fella approached the end zone, poised to score his first-ever career TD, teammate Ray Lewis surged up from behind and
forcefully ripped the ball from Gregg’s hands to take the ball in himself. A few opponents looked like they might have
had a shot to catch Gregg, so Ray, being a team player, didn’t want to risk letting Gregg run out of steam, lest the
offense be forced to attempt to punch the ball in on four downs from inside the 5. That’s Ray Lewis- a real team player.
Either that, or he was just being the backstabbing, self-promoting murderer we all know and love. But I like to think he was
acting in the best interests of the team. By the way, DJ Gallo made a good point in a recent column about Ray- no matter how
you slice it, Lewis has 24 sacks over an 11 year career (“That’s more than two a year!-Gallo
AFC South
This
is probably your favorite division. Maybe if you like quarterbacks…6’5,” 230 lb. quarterbacks…laser,
rocket arm. Like, Peyton Manning, maybe.
I don’t care what you say, I will defend
Manning forever for his commercials. They’re brilliant, and even though they might come off as hokey, you have to admit
that they’re not only funny, but honest. The exception here is, of course, the Gatorade commercial where Manning is,
evidently, birthed from a football in the rain. That was just pitiful. Other than that, though…the phone commercial
with the shaggy wig/ stache combo, the Mastercard spot (D-CAF! D-CAF!), the SportsCenter ad with Eli…brilliant. And
it doesn’t hurt that he’s absolutely destroying the competition right now, the AFC South included.
One other AFC South note… The Jags’
ground game this season has consisted of Fred Taylor and a rookie by the name of Maurice Jones-Drew. “Jones-Drew”?
Where did they find this guy, the WNBA? Next you're going to tell me that two of the best college receivers in the country
are named "Heyward-Bey" and "Fagg."
AFC West
You know who cracks me up? Art Shell. He looks
a lot like one of those Koopas from Super Mario Bros. for original Nintendo, right down to the blank frown/stare expression.
Seriously, if your girlfriend just broke up with you, or you failed a final, watch an Art Shell press conference, or, if you
can stomach it, a Raiders game. You’ll feel better about yourself, knowing that men who are in no discernible way qualified
to do their job are still making a living in this world.
