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Bud Light

November 20th, 2009 by Paul Nardizzi

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I’d like to applaud Bud Adams for his behavior last Sunday in the Bills-Jaguars game.  Football that boring needs some entertainment, and Bud came through big time with his two handed bird flip to the opposing fans from up in his luxury box.  Bud has just earned the right to have his visage carved next to Al Davis on the Mt. Rushmore of Senile NFL owners.  Is Bud still driving a car? If so, it won’t be long before he is seen careening through a Tennessee marketplace in his vehicle with several mangled bodies strewn across the hood; Bud behind the wheel, both middle digits proudly exposed, wondering why his brakes aren’t working.

Gotta give Bud credit, he looked like he was having a grand ol’ time up there; it was as if he’d somehow discovered the fountain of youth. When I watched the video clip, my first assumption was they were shooting a remake of Cocoon in the owners’ box. Just curious, how many 86 year old men are going around these days with the name Bud?  He’s probably married to a broad named Kit, has two kids, Munch and Bolt, and a dog named Frank.   If the old coot had any chance of being a spokesman for the king of beers, he pretty much killed that deal on Sunday.   Poor Bills fans can’t feel to well after getting flipped off by a besotted octogenarian.  Haven’t Bills fans suffered enough with four Super Bowl losses and another losing season under the tutelage of now deposed coach Al Jauron, who strikes about as much fear into you as his evil twin Tim Kurkjian.

I watched Bud up there in the booth and a few questions came to mind.  Why the two handed middle finger gesture?  When flipping people off, most folks agree one is plenty. One middle finger tells the person he needs to bleep off. Two middle fingers screams, “Bleep off, but while you’re doing that, please get me some help.” It’s a classic case of less is more.  One middle finger has never failed me. Have you ever flipped someone off and had the cretin look back at you quizzically?    “Not sure what you mean by that padre, your right hand is telling me to go %$$ myself, but your left hand seems to be saying we’re cool.  Could you please be a little more specific?”

I was also a little confused as to why Bud would choose a game in which he won to exhibit that behavior.  Is the old man having trouble reading the scoreboard at his lofty age?  No Bud, you own the team in black, put your rocket back in your pants. Bud wound up getting fined 250K by the NFL.  He tried to weasel out of it by claiming he was simply telling the Bills fans that at their current pace, they would be drafting 11th.

Now that the dust has settled on the Pats-Indy game, and everyone in the country has chimed in with his lame opinion, let’s get one fact across; the zebras blew the call.  The NFL refs blow, and Sunday was another prime example of why we need full time refs and more challenges.  Three challenges is not enough, if I were coaching, I would ask for somewhere in the vicinity of four or five per minute.  I’d be holding so many red flags; it would be like I was pacing the sidelines clutching the AIDS quilt.  These refs are that bad.

Have you ever seen the look on the face of an 80 year old official after he returns from the replay camera?  It appears as if he is saying, “Where the hell was I when that happened?  And why am I wearing the outfit of a Footlocker salesman?”   The NFL doesn’t help itself by informing the fans that the refs are tin salesman and plumbers in the off season. Too much information.   I’m laying hard cash on a game, and you think I need to know that today’s official owns a septic tank cleaning company?  Got any photos to corroborate that?  Why don’t they throw these interesting facts out there on the players and coaches while they’re at it?  Announcer: “Backup QB Rich Calhoun is going into the game for the injured starter.  Rich sells cocaine in the off-season and works part time changing diapers at the Eastwood Nursing Home.  He’s also a part time gay waiter at Chili’s. He could be a star in this league according to his coach, who incidentally dresses up as the ass end of a donkey for children’s parties.”

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The Perfect Pushup

July 21st, 2009 by Paul Nardizzi

Quick word about this product, don’t buy it.  If by perfect they mean a perfect tear in the rotator cuff, then by all means have at it.  I cannot even lift my arm over head due to this piece of crud.  If you aren’t familiar with it, the product is basically 2 rotating disks that you do pushups on top of, and according to the makers, it will build up your arms in a greater way than normal pushups.  If driving to the physical therapist is their idea of building up your arms, they are right on the mark.  The obvious question that I overlooked when I bought this contraption is….why do you need rotating disks, when we are all born with these things called wrists.  How lazy can you get?  What is coming next, a device that lowers your chest to the floor and then raises it again?  How about a device that builds up your legs.   Call if the perfect ass tightener.    Lift a lever, bend at the knees and slowly place your ass on a toilet and do a few squats.  I’ve got an idea for a perfect chin up I’d like the perfect pushup folks to try.  Hang a strap from the ceiling, then place your skull in the noose.  Swing back and forth, you should feel immediate results.

I watched a bit of the British Open this past weekend, and came away feeling as though I was as old as Tom Watson.  Is this guy boring or what?  If he were any more boring, he would be a plant.  I was pulling for him, as a 59 year old winning a Major further solidifies my opinion golf is not a sport, but at times I wanted to reach through my screen and slap the old  coot.  Show some emotion, whip a club, swear, pull your pants down and moon the gallery!   At his age, whose gonna care anyway?   The PGA would just chalk it up to senility.

In the end, it appeared Watson had it, but that final putt was a disaster.  He tapped it like he was playing mini golf and there was a windmill in the way.  I think golf chokes are the best, cuz you are out there all alone, the whole world watching, and the only hole you could possibly crawl into is too small for even your trembling hand to fit inside.  If I were running this sham of a game, a nice tradition in these moments would be the previous tourney’s  choke artist to walk out and offer this years chokehard a loaded pistol and a vial of pills.  I’m sure Watson would have waved him off in typical boring fashion, instead of wowing the gallery with an exploding head and brain shrapnel all over the green,   but it would have been a nice touch.

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Live by the three, die by the three.

March 27th, 2009 by Paul Nardizzi

With Duke out I can now sit back and enjoy the NCAA tournament.  Along with the Yankees and Lakers, Duke sits atop my list of most hated teams.  Unlike the Yankees and Lakers however, Duke is no longer relevant.  They have become one of the few teams that are easy to hate, but don’t really worry you cuz they are going nowhere.   I lump em in there with the Jets, the Sabres and the Bulls.   I haven’t been worried about Duke winning it since Elton Brand left town.  What makes me even happier is they could take Brand back today and they’d probably be worse.

If you’ve watched Coach K recently, its plain to see the man has given up.   Nobody knows their team better than the coach; formerly he’d be up ranting and raving at officials, begging for every call, phoning in death threats and creating more sideline havoc than anyone East of Bobby Knight.  That, and the rich pompous jackass student body,  were some  of the reasons this team was so hatable.  I hardly find it a coincidence that the first syllable in Duke is the same as the first syllable in Douche Bag.   But after last nights debacle against Villanova, I’m actually starting to feel bad for them.  Coach K sits on the sideline watching the game like he’s undergoing Chinese water torture treatments, a method by the way, that is only slightly less aggravating than watching a Duke center play under the hoop.  This year’s center, some clump by the name of Doubek, looked like a cross between Hank Finkel and that giant from the movie Giant.  The guy had his arms in the air the entire game.  I wasn’t sure if he was playing defense or surrendering.  Based on the score I’ll go with the latter.   Villanova rubbed it in a bit by waiting until there five minutes left in the game and then deciding to release some moisture from their sweat glands.   Poor Coach K built this school to be a powerhouse, today they can barely run with the mid majors.  This year’s squad featured more white players than an Italian League team.  You know you’re in trouble when you take the court with guys named Jon, Greg and Olek. I was in the kitchen making a sandwich when i heard the announcer mention Olek.  My wife turned to me and asked if I was watching an infomercial on vacuums.  I said no but when you get right down to it both of them suck.   Also a memo to coach K, if you’re going to draft a Jon, make sure there’s an h in there.  Inner city kids names Jon are non existent, if you find one, you really haven’t, he’s just a bad speler.   Either Coach K has lost the recruiting touch, or like most people his age, he’s afraid to venture into the city after suppertime.   Where does Duke recruit to come up with this roster?  I can just picture Jim Calhoun, Bill Self and Billy Donovan rushing to the airport so they can meet with some inner city phenom; meanwhile Coach K is taking a first class flight to Des Moines so he can land a 7 foot three inch chemisty wizard.   Good riddance boys, see you next season where i’ll make a bold prediction and say they go a step further and make the Elite Eight……of the NIT.

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Trade Cutler?

March 25th, 2009 by Paul Nardizzi

Jay Cutler performed his best Jim Mora impersonation recently after his team, the Denver Broncos, attempted to ship the gunslinger out of town.  Trade?  Trade?  Me?  Trade?  Ya kidding me?  Trade???  Trade???  Let’s get the violins out for Jay, who is apparently upset that his new coach attempted to trade him.   Apparently Jay figured the new coach was going to come in, look around and say, “Well, we were 8-8 last year, so I guess we’re pretty much all set.  I’ll see you all at mini camp in a few months.  Keep up the mediocre work and remember our new team credo,  “”A committment to okayness.”"  Jay, you had a so so year last year, but I’m not going to trade you, because so so fits under the umbrella of okay. I don’t expect you to go out and win us a title, just get us a few ties. “”

Denver’s new coach Josh Mcdaniels spent several years working with Tom Brady, of course he’s going to consider trading Cutler.   Josh must watch tape of Cutler with a small barf bag on his lap.  After two hours of film, he has to call Tom Brady who then talks Josh out of killing himself.  Each of Cutler’s 18 interceptions must cause Josh to blurt out, “‘Holy crap, we are wearing orange!!  How much more obvious can we be?  Should we put neon decals on our helmets and attach those long curly drinking straws to the facemasks?  Hook a few cowbells to our cleats and paint our asses red? ” Cutler was so bad at times last year, he entered the locker room at halftime leading his team in tackles.   Seriously when you think about it, Denver has the most noticeable uniform in the league, maybe in all of America.  Throwing interceptions for an orange team is like shooting your hunter partner in  the face.  Simply put, Cutler is the Dick Cheney of the NFL

And the Denver Broncos uniform reminds me of UPS with their all brown attire.  Cutler thinks he has it bad, imagine wearing brown all day?  Brown shirt, brown pants, brown socks, brown jacket, drive around all day in a big brown truck, dropping brown boxes off to brown buildings, go to lunch with John Brown, brown bagging it ,  drive a brown car home, your brown wife waiting for ya,  “Honey, how was your day ?”  “It sucked, get that brown dress off before I smack ya. “   I’m not suggesting they beat their wives…its just a hunch.   Denver in orange ain’t much better.   Ask Cutler, “”What can orange do for you?”"  It can lead the team down the field, only to then toss the rock into a waiting safety wearing silver and black.

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The WBC

March 19th, 2009 by Paul Nardizzi

The WBC ratings are floating in a cesspool, and supporters of the tournament can’t figure out why.  Here’s one possible reason.  Similar to the Olympics, this tourney pits countries against other countries for bragging rights to a particular sport, in this case baseball, which I don’t even consider a sport since players are only required to sprint about once every hour and a half unless their manager happens to be Larry Bowa.  The difference between the two is the Olympics takes the viewer to lands it has never seen before, magical places like Egypt and Morocco.  The WBC is a collection of third rate dumps, places where a Motel 6 is considered a palace, and where the most popular citizens are the ones who float away in raft made of coke bottles, as opposed to the citizens who choose to stick around and swat flies for the rest of their existence.

The tourney would be greatly improved by pitting squads of players with things in common, other than their native heritage.  For example, a team of players consisting entirely of those named on the Mitchell Report.  Managed by none other than………. George Mitchell.  Victor Conte could skipper the helm of a squad of Balco clients.  Think of the money he’d save not having to buy athletic supporters.    Then a dream team of players who have not been in any way linked to steroids, yet deep in our hearts, we all know these sons of bitches have cheated more than the ones who’ve been caught.   That squad could battle a team consisting of players who perjured themselves under oath.  Pete Rose could re enter the game as the manager of that team.  I’d personally like to watch a team of players who can’t speak English take the field vs. a team of guys who suddenly forget how to speak English when facing a court judge.   We could wrap it up with a game pitting the all time home run hitters taking on the characters in Jose Canseco’s books.

Ahhh, tourney time is upon us, and it can’t come soon enough.  Is there anything more annoying than Championship Week, the endless talk of bubble teams, and the yearly whining of coahces who don’t get invited to the Big Dance?  Do these coaches really thing we the fans give a rat’s rectum?

Exhibit A this year is St Mary’s.  Yes there is college called St. Mary’s and they do have a basketball team.  Putting aside their RPI and the their record for just a second, let me go way out on a limb here.  St Mary’s sucks.  I watched them play twice and ended up flipping to Home Shopping Network after being driven to the point of suicidal boredom.  There is not a single player on the team who plays an exciting brand of hoop.  The word Saint in their name is fitting, since the bulk of their shots are absolute prayers heaved rimward by a cabal of stiffs who would have trouble stopping the local hot shot down at the Y.  I don’t want to hear about RPI because if this got in, it would be R.I.P.    Another bitch and moaner was San Diego State.  I accidentally flipped on one of their games, which tend to fortunately air when most of America is in a peaceful slumber, including those in attendance,  and honestly thought I was watching a team try out to be the fodder in an upcoming game against the Harlem Globetrotters.   Small dumb players tossing the rock around like it was an unpinned hand grenade.  Just once I want to see a coach of one of these bubble teams stand up and say, “The committee did a great job by not selecting us this year.  We almost fooled ya all with our RPI and our record, but fortunately the committee was able to strip through the layers and realize that we completely eat donkey dung.  I’ve coached some bad teams, but this one was always able to reach down and get to a level of suckiness that others couldn’t match.  I look forward to bringing this cabal of stiffs to the NIT where it will get hammered by some 8th place Big Ten team. ”

The NIT is an even bigger catastrophe.  What exactly is it?  A tourney for teams that don’t make the tourney?  What about the bubble NIT teams?  Can we set up a tourney for them?  Call it the NOT.  Bubble NOT teams will be invited to the NO, otherwise known as the Microscopic Dance.   The NIT tourney is akin to the NFL saying, week 1 of the non playoff teams will pit the Browns against the Raiders.  The winner goes on to face the Lions in the Suckass Bowl on April 10th in Des Moines.

I wathced the NIT final last year, and have to say that the celebration after the final buzzer was astounding.  I could not figure out what all the jumping around was about.  There were no winners out there.  Only bottom feeders who had to sit out the NCAA tourney after a horrible year.  “We are number one!” was a chant I heard that evening.  I wanted to go up to each player and say, “No, you are not number 1, you are number 65.”  And the winner of the NCAA play in game would have every right to say, “Step aside chumps, you’re number 66.”

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SNYDER GOES SHOPPING, MAGUIRE COMES FORTH

March 5th, 2009 by Paul Nardizzi

Washington Redskins owner Dan Snyder has once again jumped into free agency as if it’s an episode of Supermarket Sweeps. Snyder has never seemed to grasp that putting together a winning team is a marathon, not a sprint. This would explain why his shopping carriage full of goodies tends to end the season sputtering down the aisle on a busted wheel, before ultimately smashing into a stack of cans. Snyder waited a full 6 hours after the free agency bell rang before plopping down 100 million to obtain Albert Haynesworth, whom most NFL insiders felt would receive offers in the 40-50 million range. Haynesworth evidently saw the deal come over the fax and promptly asked his agent if they could wait to reply while Albert sobered up, since he was obviously seeing double. Snyder then jumped on DeAngelo Hall, mugging his services for a cool 40 million. Hall was cut by the Raiders during the 2008 season, a feat considered about as difficult in the sporting world as batting .400 in MLB or failing to impress Dan Snyder. Hall was burned so badly in the past NFL season that one NFL receiver claimed he mistook the immobile cornerback for a ref. He said, “It wasn’t until the fourth quarter that I realized the man I was arguing with about a particular call was actually my opponent. Up to that point I thought he was a pretty bad ref. He sucks reeeeaaaaaly bad as a corner.”

Snyder surprisingly did not take a run at the nations’ top rated canine lover, Michael Vick. Dan must have missed the pet food aisle when he was shopping for the groceries. Thus far no team has expressed interest in Vick as a quarterback, but several teams have asked him to be their mascot.

According to inmates at the penitentiary where Vick is taking obedience classes, the one-time Atlanta Falcon has worked hard to rehab his image. One inmate said, “Mike has worked his butt to assimilate himself into the world of animals. He actually lifts his left leg when he urinates, begs for table scraps, and spends most of his time in his cell block licking his testicles.” Vick was not able to comment due to a Whammo Frisbee perched in his mouth.

Alex A-Needle met with MLB officials Sunday to discuss his past steroid use. Two days later A-Needle discovered a cyst on his rear end which could derail his World Baseball Classic plans and a romp in the sack with Madonna. A-Needle stated to reporters on Monday that he got the cyst from his cousin in the Dominican, and that he wasn’t aware of the cyst, or what a cyst even is, or whether such a pustule is illegal to have. A-Needle went on to say that he had the cyst when he was interviewed by Katie Couric, but did not tell her because he wasn’t being honest with himself at the time, along with the fact that he was wearing pants and was only 16 years old. Doctors in the Dominican said cysts have not occurred in the Republic for over 70 years. Barry Bonds, awaiting his trial on perjury, was asked if he had any cysts, and replied, “Yes but I thought they were flax seeds protruding from my buttocks.” Mark Maguire was also pressed for a response and in typical fashion said, “I am not here to talk about my ass.”

Two statements I keep hearing since the A-Needle fiasco that really tick me off are that first off, people need to stop stating that A-Needle admitted to steroid use. He got caught. If your wife or girlfriend walks into the bedroom and finds you squirting whip cream on some other woman, you don’t turn to her and say, “okay, I admit it……. I’m hungry.”

Secondly I hear people bitching that A-Needle is taking all the heat, and that lots of other athletes in football have been caught doing drugs. That is a pathetic comparison. Baseball players cheat and break hallowed records; in fact they crush those records and make them seem insignificant. Football players cheat and die from brain tumors. We’re still searching for the list of baseball players who cheated, the football players are on a list too, it’s called the obituaries. One can look across a baseball diamond and try to guess who is on drugs. Detecting a football player on roids is simple; he is often wearing two helmets, one to cover the second head growing out of his neck.

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Best Super Bowl Ever

February 27th, 2009 by Paul Nardizzi

Certain Comcast subscribers had their Super Bowl telecast interrupted by a 30 second clip of a pornography movie. As a famous judge once said when pressed for his definition of porn, “I know it when I see it,”, the recipients of the accidental transmission were fully aware this was no football game, despite the fact the man on the screen appeared to be hunched over center, barking out signals and awaiting the snap from the naked, floppy breasted center. Several back judges were in the foreground lugging around metal chains.

The FCC picked up on the mistake and immediately placed a call to Comcast’s Head of Operations. He was in a men’s room stall unavailable for comment other than to utter, “Ohhh yeah, ohhhh.”

Some viewers were still able to see the game, but had the audio of the porn film dubbed over the announcers voices. Apparently John Madden and Al Michaels were discussing the game in the booth during those 30 seconds, so millions of people went to bed that evening believing that Madden and Michaels were gay lovers who planned to wrestle in a pit filled with ostrich urine and then employ extra long sexual instruments to see if they could set a world record for deepest penetration.

Comcast operators were besieged by angry customers, demanding to know how this happened, and why it occurred to only certain customers and not to themselves. The employee who had actual control of the video board that evening said he realized the glitch right away, but waited 30 seconds to lift the film so he could “finish up with some unattended business.” Comcast has made an official apology to those who were offended by the film and said those who did not get a chance to watch it will have the next episode of the Brady Bunch interrupted by a snuff film where two hookers are quartered and hung from a tree by their epiglottises.

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February National Steroid Month

February 23rd, 2009 by Paul Nardizzi

Arod spent a great deal of time on camera recently detailing his steroid use.  A capsulized version is needed so here in essence is what happened.  He abused a drug in 2001-2003 becuase he was young and under pressure.  He was younger in Seattle but didn’t take the drug, but at age 25 in Texas, which is actually 28 everywhere else in the world, the pressure became so great he decided to take  to cheat using  a drug that he was not able to obtain in the Domican, by having his cousin get it for him in…you guessed it, the Dominican.  A-Needle did not know the name of the drugs he was taking, and that they were even illegal, despite the skull and crossbones on the label and the fact that his cousin carried them over the border by shletering them in his asshole.  A-Needle later went to New York where the pressure was suddenly off, what with being around such clean players as the Yankees had at the time.   Quitting drugs was still  not easy so he asked his cousin to stay nearby in a hotel room along with a trainer who was banned from all MLB clubhouses.   Together they were able to find the inner strength to quit this horrible addiction.      Then A-Needle went on Katie Couric’s show and lied, not to Katie but to himself, since he wasn’t being honest with himself at the time, so the logical thing to do is obviously lie to everyone else.    One question that the media failed to ask was “”….Huh??? “”   Another good question would have been, “Are you $$#@ing serious?”

One of the more noticeable things in the Gammons A-needle summit meeting was the quivering of  Alex Rodriguez’ lips.  It seemed to this viewer that A- Needle, when under pressure,  has no control over the flaps of flesh that cover the orifice that spouts all his mis-remembrances.   At times during the Gammons interview he would suck his lips in, during other pressurized moments he would let them sag down so his gums showed.   A PI once told me that the irises expanding are a sure sign that a person is lying.  One need not look that hard when talking to A-Needle, the proof is all in the gum flaps.  If the Feds hooked a lie detector machine up to his mouth the device would go haywire.  Sitting across from Peter Gammons, a man whose face resembles a first baseman’s glove, and who last had control of his lips back in the early seventies, it was as if I was watching two men trying to decide if they were going to make out with each other.

Baseball writers were quick to state that they will not vote for A-Needle for the Hall of Fame.  Many cited his steroid/HGH use.  Others just said it came down  to HHG,  ie.;  they Hate His Guts.  A-Needle’s best chance of getting in will be to approach the plexiglass both in the Hall of Fame lobby and purchase a ticket.   I’ve done it under the influence of alcohol, so I’m sure a steroid abused lip quaking liar shouldn’t face any opposition.

Texas Rangers owner Tom Hicks said he was ashamed that A-Needle did drugs under his employ.  Fair enough but Hicks should peer at his roster from those years in question, and ask himself how on earth did they fail to win a World Series.   Pudge Rodriguez, A-Needle, Rafael Palmeiro, Juan Gonzalez and Jose Canseco were all on the team.   Whether or not a salary cap is ever implemented in MLB  is certainly in doubt, but for sure MLB should have saddled this pack of cheaters with a steroid cap.  The locker room must have resembled a Balco testing facility minus the rhesus monkeys.   Having that many players on drugs makes for a completely un-level playing field.   The Rangers  may as well have signed sprinter Ben Johnson to be a pinch runner, Lyle Alzado to DH and Marion Jones to be a ball girl.

One can only wonder what the pre-game pep talk on the Rangers was like.

“Guys, I just want o say one thing.  Come out from your hiding spots and gather around for one minute.  Pudge, I see you in the trash can, come out here.   Juan,  put the medical journal down and listen up.  Jose, is that a needle protruding through your pants or are you just happy to see me.  By the way, how’s the book coming?  Raffy, stop pointing in my face and pay attention.    Now, we’re standing here for  a reason.   We’ve busted our asses so hard this season, it actually hurts to sit.  Think about all the work we’ve put in.   The nights in the weight room, the long flights to the Dominican.  Excuse me, phone call for me?   Ahh,  tell Alex’s cousin to use loading dock D.   Now where was I?   We have to win this game.  Look down at the floor.  Are we going to let all these empty needles go to waste?   What do you say?  We going to flush all this down the toilet?  I mean literally of course we’re going to flush it down, but figuratively, are we?  We should do that right now in fact, I hear Tom coming.  Raffy, you just stepped on glass, I told you not to wear sandals in here.  Could someone get behind me and see if I’m bleeding, I feel wet in the back. “”

Andre Smith, the large defensive tackle out of Alabama, did himself no favors recently by walking out of the combine.  He was clocked at 3 mph on his way out the door, which was actually half a mile an hour faster than he ran his 40 time.    Andre’s reason for leaving was that he just felt like he wasn’t physically ready.  What did this guy expect they were going to do at the Combine?  Non physical stuff?  Pillow fights and marshmallow toasting, followed by a steam bath and an hour of story telling?  It it a small coincidence that his coach is Nick Saban, a man who quit the NFL?  NFL draft experts, the ones who annually draw up a mock draft that resembles the actual draft if you take every name off the board and place it somewhere else,  say that Andre will still go in the top 10.  My prediction:  he eats himself out the league in two years.


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FEBRUARY RANT

February 16th, 2009 by Paul Nardizzi

Hi,  this is the first post of what will soon become the top sports blog in the hamlet of Framingham MA   Be ready

Paul Nardizzi’s comedy can be seen on youtube.com and paulnardizzi.com

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