Saturday, December 31, 2011

UPMC Owns Pittsburgh, But Can't Fix The Player Its Hockey Team Needs -- And No, It Ain't That One

How goes it, jags? I'm sure yinz are all preparing for a night of unspeakable debauchery to ring in 2012, a year destined for excessive drinking -- for me, at least -- and a bunch of gullible, half-witted nimrods bemoaning the end of the world as per the Mayan calendar. You know, that group of people who can allegedly foresee the end of civilization, but can't see the Spanish coming with their disease-infested blankets and carnivorous imperialist politics.

Anyway, if yinz have been keeping up, yinz are probably wondering the same thing Chuck K is -- namely, what in the love of fuck is wrong with the Penguins? After beating NHL powerhouses Winnipeg and Carolina (I'd have written that in the 'ironic' font if it existed) , the Pens showed a gaping hole bigger than Madonna's in their game against the Flyers and that jagoff Jagr, who played like his life depended on it probably because it did due to, one can only presume, a previous encounter gone awry with a crooked bookie in Atlantic City.

Well, blaming injuries is the new black in the world of Pittsburgh sports media, and far be it from me to change that trend. I may single-handedly guide the torrents of cheap domestic beer sales around here, but you crush a thirty pack of Iron and blurt out "fuck" 43 times in a press conference and all of a sudden they revoke your press pass.

The problem here, though, is that people seem to be perseverating on the wrong source of the Penguins' woes. It's easy to say, "Hey, they're still without Crosby," and call it day. But I know yinz come here for much more precise and thoughtful sports insight than that, and I don't plan to fail yinz unless the Penguins force me to thrust myself into a drunken stupor beyond any hope of recuperation within the next 48 hours.

Indeed, an injury is contributing to the deepest roots of the Penguins' vomit-inducing play of late, and despite holding supreme control in all facets of our city, those fucks at UPMC have yet to do a goddamn thing to solve it. The man in desperate need of a Six Million Dollar Man-style repair is none other than Kris Letang.

I don't have the exact numbers on hand, but the Penguins still have a respectable record without Crosby in the lineup, "respectable" being more than I can say for my ability to stay sober after the watching the Penguins for the past month or so. Sans Letang, however, the Pens have 7 wins and 6 losses, and threatening to notch a seventh in their current abomination against the Devils.

In that time, not counting this shitfest going as I type, the Penguins have conceded 38 goals in 13 games, coming in at just under three per game, which is significantly higher than the 1.8 or so that Fleury was sporting during the first portion of the season. Statistics only achieve so much, though, and their a security blanket for baseball sabremetrics fanatics and fucks who can't just spit the truth. So here's some more reasons Kris Letang and not Sidney Crosby is the biggest missing piece for the Penguins.

1) Motherfucker Is Mean

Listen, yinz could nitpick at the Pens play all day, but simply put, as a defensive unit, they are playing like bigger bitches than your little nephew after you mercilessly beat him at his new Wii game 17 times in a row. Yelling a variation of, "In your face! You should've never been born," after each victory probably didn't help, either.

My indiscretions against my own family aside, the Penguins have been inconsistent at clearing the front of their own net and handling their own zone. As great as it is to have Zybanek Michalek ask opposing forwards where to get the best local cuisine and Ben Lovejoy dispense useful ways to save on your electric bill, the Pens could use a French-Canadian son of a bitch to greet the opposition with a lumberjack hack of the carbon fiber in his hands. Letang will provide that, and the couple of penalties he'll take in the process will be worth it when the other team won't even get close to Fleury for fear of Letang's assault with a deadly weapon.

2) Motherfucker Can Skate, Too

On top of crunching jags around the net, Letang skates better than any other Pens defender, and rivals Crosby as the best overall skater on the team. I've been pumped with Simon Depres's play so far, and I like how Engelland and Lovejoy have gotten better at carrying the puck. The bottom line is, though, that Letang can strike the fear of God in the other team as he charges up the ice with his ability to cut straight to the net and get involved in the play.

His pinching in the offensive zone, ability to distribute the puck -- unlike Jordan Staal, who just handed the Devils an empty netter -- and his rushes up ice all contribute to the Pens' offensive tempo. And even if he can't put it into the net himself, he opens up space for Malkin, Neal, Kunitz, Kennedy, etc. to get the net and make plays. Having this influence from defense can be even more vital, as it stacks the numbers against the opposing defenders when in possession of the puck.

3) Have You Seen This Power Play? Fuckin' Christ

All those offensive skills I listed for yinz above can go into invigorating the Pens painful-looking power play as well. Props on Niskanen for much improved play this season, but I think I've had just about enough of him and Michalek limp-wristing a predictable wrister at the net or chipping the puck to nobody in a panic.

Though Letang ain't gonna win the accuracy contest any time soon, his howitzer from the point worries other teams enough that they will commit to him, both opening space on the other end of the ice for Malkin, or whoever is on the half wall, and stretching the other team's defensive shape because they are afraid of letting him put one through to net.

4) Alexandre Picard Won't Have to Play

I mean, yeah. This one is pretty self-explanatory.

So, jags, that's why yinz need worry less about Crosby coming back and petition your local UPMC to start finding some dead drifters and using their brains to beat concussions and get Letang back on track -- I don't care about Pronger, Skinner, or any of those fucks in the NHL. If he can do anti-drinking and driving commercials, he should sure as hell be able to get his ass on the ice.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Chuck's Corner: Random Asides and Irrelevant Tangents of a Yinzer

Well, I'd say good morning to yinz jags, but in typical Pittsburgh fashion, the weather outside is glistening with that majestic winter gray that inhabits the city skyline about 200 days out of the year -- except, of course, when it departs and turns into a dreary, can't-get-anything-done spring gray, or swelters despite no apparent sunlight whatsoever to create miserable summer gray.

But let's move on; I didn't start typing in a fit of intransigent fury just to spout off a bunch of nonsense. Um, actually, I did -- hence the title. So prepare for inane bickering of my usual Denny's-like proportions, just about something other than weather.

Anyhow, what's got me all riled up today, you ask. Simple: "movements."

No, jags and jagettes, I'm not talking about the subtle shoulder fakes and edge work that Evgeni Malkin uses to get by defenders or the way Roethlisberger dances around opposing linemen -- or "danced," I should say, because injuries have rendered his footwork as impressive as Grandma Kowalski's in tight spaces at the grocery store. I usually just leave her staring blankly at the magazine rack, in front of Rachael Ray or some shit, and come back for her later. One time, I left her off in the frozen food section after she started transfixing on a bag of pizza rolls. Took half a bottle of Imperial to warm her up from that one.

Nah, jags, I ain't talking bout that at all, though. I'm talking about these purportedly meaningful movements that, in various capacities, are supposed to represent the greater population. Two of our despicable world's most recent glorified glee clubs include Occupy My Left Nut -- or Pittsburgh, whatever -- and Anonymous, the collection of computer hacking assholes seeking aimless vengeance around the world.

Occupy My Left...Pittsburgh -- excuse me -- has recently asserted its perceived ownership of the Mellon Square lawn and has begun gearing up for what has, thus far, been a vicious winter of 50-degree days.  

Meanwhile, should yinz not have heard, Anonymous went on another hacking spree yesterday, stealing various information from Startfor, a security firm, and using some of it to charge people with donations to non-profit organizations.

Now, listen, before yinz get all up in arms, let me say this: I don't like the dehumanizing antics of the super rich, i.e., "the top one percent," or power-mongering megalomaniacs either. James Harrison should be allowed to smash them with a helmet-to-helmet hit, set them on fire, and then watch them burn, as he's, as far as one can tell, ethically apt to do.

That said, these movements and their leaders need to come to a vital realization. Namely, despite insisting to support the greater cause of the people, nobody fucking likes them or wants them around. In all, these "revolutionaries" just represent a different one percent, the one in a slap fight with the other one percent, and everybody loathes the general existence and continuation of both.

Let's start with Occupy My Junk in Your Mouth, or whatever the fuck it is. Its leader and foot soldiers, perhaps better referred to as flunkies, have claimed the territory around Mellon Square "as the people's property." So, esteemed freedom fighters, when have any people other than your motley gathering of dirty fucks from the Southside ever been allowed to grace that land? Riddle me this, too, if you would: if that all belongs to the people, why not do as they want and give it the fuck back, you pricks.

Nobody wants to be importuned by a bunch of trust fund scenesters trying to hide their steady bank accounts and disillusioned champions while trying to get to the bank, drop off their mail, or hit up a Pens game. Until I see that park free of its human litter -- and no, I'm not talking about trash left by humans, but rather garbage that actually consists of human flesh -- and Pittsburghers being allowed to relish the ground that allegedly belongs to them, Occupy can go fuck itself with a rusty pole that has been dipped in moonshine and herpes.

This conclusion just brings me to the other group of insufferable assholes, Anonymous. Their general schtick is the result, naturally, of asocial nerds who can't find their way into public and lack the social skills to maintain actual dialogue on the betterment of our world, and instead spend that time mastering a technology that has so quickly spiraled out of control that there is no way to reel it in. Luckily, if Asimov is right, the robots these people create will eventually become sentient beings and heave these fucks off of a bridge or cliff before Will Smith can save the day.

In case yinz are illiterate, let me repeat: I'm not saying their "targets" are wholesome people who ought to be glorified and reveled as heroes. At the same time, this group of hypocritical assholes -- which, to be fair, does not necessarily stand for everybody who has claimed a connection to Anonymous -- are simply doing the exact same thing as the people they attack, i.e., monopolizing power through one resource (the internet) and utilizing it to eliminate detractors and potential threats to their cause.

I mean, when you get down to it, it's the precise maneuvers performed by the world's most devious, narcissistic, egotistical, and downright evil individuals. So kudos for, once again, acting on behalf of the people when very few, in fact, want your goddamn help. I'm sure non-profit organizations are simply bursting with joy at the dirty money you provided them that will be taken away when people file for unauthorized activity on their credit card.

Call me crazy, but not maybe donate some of your own fucking money or go out in the world and support their cause in a way that really reflects the good in humanity? Alright, fuck yinz. Chuck out.

Monday, December 26, 2011

Shanahan Giving Out Suspensions for Concussion-Causing Hits Despite Looking Like He's Constantly Suffering From One or Six


Alright, jags, hope you've been enjoying your time off for Santa and Yahweh or whatever the hell yinz are celebratin nowadays. In case yinz didn't notice, downing your eggnog, cocktails, n'at, Pens resident ass-beater Deryk Engelland wasn't in the lineup for our shit fest all over the Jets due to a three-game suspension handed down by NHL disciplinarian (they say he's in charge of "player safety," but shit ain't much safer) Brendan Shanahan.

To begin, this punishment begs the question whether a man who looks as if he's been afflicted with a half dozen undiagnosed concussions in his career, or preps for his TV appearances with a bottle of Everclear, is really fit to be handing out any sort of "discipline."

Brendan Shanahan, the modern incarnation of Batman's Two-Face. Note how the right half of his face is center and maintaining direct contact with the camera, while the other is sinking faster than the city of Venice.

Before I go any farther, yinz gotta respect Shanahan's career and can't blame him for the NHL being as a competent at its employment as your local high school football coach is at being an educator.

That said, how the hell does Engelland, with no previous record whatsoever, get three games, whereas that hypocritical fuck Max Pacioretty gets two for leveling Letang with a blindside hit? Yinz know, the exact same kinda hit that those two-timing dickheads used to turn Cooke into the NHL's public enemy.

Pacioretty and that league of Francophone fucks should be flooding the phone lines of their local police over this one -- enough so, of course, that those in dire need can be unable to access authorities while some Habs fan asshole cries for an hour about a hockey game "emergency."

Anyhow, I also can't get enough of this image flip the NHL is attempting. I suppose it's necessary, but keep in mind that Hall of Famer Scott Stevens made a whole fuckin career trucking people through the neutral zone. Though that jag had plenty of other playing skills, his whole career is marked by his ability to put people outta their fucking misery, including mom's basement dwellers like Eric Lindros.

So, before yinz go and make any more decisions, yinz maybe oughta get your own ImPACT test, alright jags?

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Yeah, Sounds About Right

Before I go drink myself into a belligerent delirium, check this pic out from the new Batman movie trailer.


So, in the scene featuring Gotham's football team, played by our own Pittsburgh Steelers, a guy name Ravenstahl not only plays kicker, but for the other city. Somehow fitting. Bravo, Christopher Nolan. Ok, beer face on.

Things Looking Up: New Pitt Coach Yet to Be Incarcirated, Alienate Self from Players and City, Horseplay in Shower with Minors

Season's greetings, all fine jags and jagettes of the world. Hope yinz are enjoyin the holiday season, your trees, candlesticks, and other festive accessories bedecked with vintage Duquesne Pilsner, PBR, and Iron cans. Nothin says "good tidings" like an angry Jack Lambert starin yinz down while sippin on an Irish coffee with double whiskey (Imperial brand, of course).

I know what yinz are thinkin: this jag is usually cursing up a storm of shit, tearing Heaven and Earth asunder in an inconsolable fit of rage, sparked by some inane going-on in the world of sports -- so what's up with that good cheer? Well, in case yinz haven't heard, Pitt hired a new football coach today, and after a trying, I dunno, six some hours, he has somehow managed to resist every despicable impulse that would kick off his time at Pitt with a media avalanche from which even the most experienced Sherpa couldn't possibly escape.

That's right, Paul Chryst, soon-to-be former offensive coordinator at Wisconsin, has spent the past quarter of a day reading Birdwatching Quarterly, napping quietly to his favorite white noise album, or cutting out coupons for his family shopping trip -- though not too many, to make sure to support profits for small business -- all the while forgoing the unconquerable urge to display his self-shot revolting fetish porn to school children and then fit them for proper jock sizes.

Knowing Pitt's track record with football coaches, especially in recent times, I can only assume that Chryst barely beat out Satan and a reanimated Pontius Pilate to get the job. Now that he did, though, let's look at why Chuck K foresees Chryst having success in restoring Pitt's dominance at the slightly-above-mediocre level.

1. He Hasn't Struck a Man or Woman with Whom He Has Had Sexual Relations

Listen, jags, football coaches are under a lot of stress. Just look at Todd Graham, whose poor children were apparently so devastated by their father's player mismanagement, stubborn approach to offense, and hackneyed high-speed travel metaphors that the whole family had to move away somewhere where "high octane" actually makes sense because they don't have the Parkway East or any semblance of Route 28.

Accordingly, sometimes you need to strike a sexual partner ever so playfully, or with a vicious right hook, to alleviate some of the internal frustration. Yet, despite an overwhelming need for release, Chryst has somehow made it this far without hitting not only anyone within his immediate family, but anyone at all. Patience is a virtue, indeed. Good thing -- he's gonna need it when Tino comes under center.

2. He Hasn't Quit Yet and Gone to a City with More Predictable Weather

Did I ever mention that yinz checked out the blog most by regularly connecting the name "Todd Graham" and the phrase "piece of shit"? Yeah, there's a reason for that. Chryst is here, that fuckin bum is out. I hope somebody keys his Camaro when he takes his family to Chili's or whatever generic southwestern cuisine restaurant they frequent. I assume "high octane" originated from the shits he got after eating too much queso. Fuck that guy.

3. He Hasn't Fondled Children and Justified It with Creepy Comments on National TV

Does this really have anything to do with football? Fuck no. But having spent the past football season dealing with Todd Graham and his "Big Engine That Still Couldn't" offense, I'm sexually excited to have a football coach and not a shiver-inducing man child whom nobody seemed to talk to because his voice alone suggests a perverted fuckhead.

Now, is it possible that he won't have success? Of course, though there's really only one reason why:

1. Your QB Attributes a Demoralizing Defeat to Being "a Little Flustered"

Call me unfair, biased, what have you -- I don't give a flying fuck. I'm glad that Tino is, as the quote would indicate, the master of the understatement because it will surely benefit him in a writing career after he finally graduates from a university that he likely had no business attending from the outset. This jag is here by virtue of his dad's name only, not even a grain of skill.

In 2010, Tino was lucky enough to be insulated in C-SPAN enthusiast Dave Wannstedt's pro-style offense that involved two directions: 1) extend hand; 2) place ball in Dion Lewis' midsection.

In 2011, rocket scientist Todd Graham took half a season to realize that there was a reason for this kind of approach, and Sunseri's good fortunes continued with Ray Graham around to take the pressure of his dreadful decision-making -- until Graham's season ended by means of injury and the whole train began to careen off the tracks and into the River Styx.

For 2012, you just gotta hope Chryst can pull out some miracles like his near namesake, and find a way for this guy to make the most of his senior and, please dear Lord, last season.

Alright, jags, I gotta run and get some beer before the distributor closes. Got some more thoughts on Engelland's suspension coming later.

Monday, December 19, 2011

NHL Brain Trust: Concussions May Be Caused by Skating Really Fast, Trying to Decapitate One Another

By Richard Kowalski (that's right jags, so don't yinz steal it)

Editor's Note: Alright jags, this post is the first by my cousin Richard. Hope yinz enjoy it. He ain't gonna go off like I do, but he'll hit yinz with the facts like James Harrison hits pussy quarterbacks.

TORONTO -- After exhaustive research, NHL officials came to the tentative conclusion Monday that concussions in hockey may be linked to the players' proclivity to skate at high speeds and mercilessly attempt to disembowel one another. 

Team executives began lobbying for more steps to be taken against concussions following last year's string of long-term injuries to high-profile players, including the Bruins' Marc Savard, the Blues' David Perron, and the Penguins' Sidney Crosby.

Despite these demands, along with the subsequent streak of concussions in the ongoing season, the NHL took only limited action until Arnie, the surly union worker who promptly sweeps the ice with a push broom during every commercial break, was diagnosed with concussion-like symptoms in November.

"Sidney Crosby, Jeff Skinner, Claude Giroux -- with the rise of athlete-related services and parents projecting their failed dreams upon their children, we can replace these guys with an equally good player every couple of years," said Gary Bettman at a press conference Monday. "Arnie, though, that guy just hauls ass. The NHL can't afford to lose an asset as great as Arnie Szatkowski."

Szatkowski's well-being was put into the hands of UPMC Pittsburgh's Dr. Mickey Collins and John Maroon, who oversaw Sidney Crosby's return from and to injury, spanning from this year to last. Moreover, the league charged the doctors with the task of determining the root of the concussion epidemic.

"We reviewed all the footage from every documented concussion in the league this year," said Dr. Collins. "We tried to look for factors or events consistent in every instance of injury. At first, it seemed so simple: it had to be a chemical in the ice."

A series of changes to the ice creation process proved unsuccessful, with models tested in the American Hockey League including a surface of flavored gelatin, playing on water with motorized jet skis, and roller hockey. Due to potential costs, league officials discontinued the tests. Even if it were the cause of concussions, Bettman stated, "[they] are kind of just going to hope it's not and do something else."

"We needed a new folding chair in our offices above Playtime Bowl [in Toronto]," Bettman explained to Bob McKenzie of TSN. "That shit is pretty important."

Collins and Maroon moved on to a number of other isolated factors, such as nationality, what players ate for lunch, favorite ice cube shape, and whether their socks were individually toed. The research team met no success until Maroon proffered an unheralded theory.

"I was watching some film and it hit me," Maroon said. "I called [Dr. Collins] over and asked him, 'Hey, what if it has something to do with guys propelling themselves violently into one another's skull?'"

Initially, Collins was skeptical.

"I thought to myself, 'Really?!'" recounted Collins. "I mean, these guys are grown men. How could streaking down a low-friction surface and heaving their 200-pound bodies into each other's soft brain tissue be the problem?"

With corroborating player accounts and video support, research continues to take place under this premise.

Meanwhile, NFL officials have yet to discover any leads regarding the occurrence of concussions in football.

Geno Eating Borscht with Meth Now, New Talent at Sports Unfiltered

How goes it, jags? Having appealed my most recent arrest for disseminating doctored photos of Todd Graham's wife without a shirt -- and, in some cases, without a head out of pure contempt -- via LimeWire, I got some down time to get back into the swing of things.

I also got a new jag around here at Sports Unfiltered to help keep you up to date with everything goin on out there in the world of sports. He don't got the same prophetic eye that I do, but he 's all business and will give yinz the lowdown.

But yinz know who's still top dog right these parts -- that's right, Chuck K. So let's start off with news outta the NHL.

Malkin's Borscht Recipe Has Crank In It Unfiltered

Well, Crosby smacked his noggin too hard of the headboard again while proverbially butt-fucking the NHL, leaving him out for an indeterminate amount of time and turning any NHL coverage into the hockey equivalent of the Brett Favre media circus that made me dream of strangling Trey Wingo with piano wire.

In case yinz jags forgot, though, we still have this other phenom by the name of Evgeni Malkin. And just like my buddy Ronnie when I can't make it on time to the case race, Malkin doesn't just have it covered, he's winning that race all by his-goddamn-self -- even if he's exhausted and belligerent afterwards.

While the fair-weather fans in Washington are shaving their stupid fuckin Mike Green Mohawks, trying to figure out what's wrong with their showboat cocksucker of a captain, and convincing themselves that the Redskins will be good again this decade, the Pens' Evgeni Malkin has apparently been strolling Herron Avenue 3 a.m. at night to find the finest speed that he can stir into his Gatorade.

With Claude Giroux recovering from a knee to the head, administered by one of his teammates (to nobody's surprise, knowing it's Philly), and everybody awaiting Phil Kessel's eventual digression into underachieving prick status, Malkin has quietly, and possible under the influence of some drug or good ol' vodka, climbed near the top of the point leaders with 36 points and 15 goals on the season. His most recent performance, in which he reenacted "Two Girls, One Cup" and basically emptied it onto the Sabres' collective face, was a shining example of his play of late.

Chuck's Verdict

Barring the, now that I'm saying it, all but certain possibility that another injury befalls the Penguins and Malkin -- probably wrenching his elbow after beating a hooker along Van Braam Street with an extra Bauer he had lying around because she shorted him on his bag of uppers -- I see the Russian machine adding to his already impressive trophy collection with the Art Ross and (fuck it, I'm goin for it) the Rocket Richard.

I know some of yinz demeaning fucks are scoffing at the consideration of Malkin leading the league in goals, but listen here, you know-nothing cocks: anybody that watches the Pens knows that there's nothing scarier for NHL competition than a pissed, determined, streaking (perhaps physically and metaphorically) Evgeni Malkin. On top of that, he has only played 26 games. At his pace, he would have 18 goals in 32 games (the amount Stamkos and Kessel have played), only trailing the lead by two and only part way through December.

So for those of you hopping off the Tebow bandwagon (who, despite being of inferior skill, is only getting regular starts for the first time, you impatient pricks), and even those of you who ain't or were never on it, the Malkin train is only gettin started.

New Addition to Sports Unfiltered

The guy who puts that little black box in my house that lets me watch cable for free is giving you another kinda hook-up. That's right, the new talent gracing the pages of Sports Unfiltered is my cousin, Richard Kowalski, i.e., Rick. He ain't gonna have the binge-drinking diatribes of rage that keep yinz comin back, but he'll bring yinz the more straight-edged news from around the sports world. Look for his shit soon, jags.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Todd Graham -- The Deadbeat Dad of FBS Coaches

Hey jags -- long time, no see. I was holed up for a couple months, waiting for this whole ordeal with the feds to blow over. Had the RIAA and FBI after me for warehousing 7,200 individual Donnie Iris recordings on Kazaa. Who knew they started monitorin' that shit?

Anyhow, Pitt managed to exceed -- that word is fitting, in some strange way -- my exceptionally low expectations by derailing their season beyond the point at which even the most tenacious of individuals could salvage a pearl from the jaws of rampant ineptitude. Luckily for my own reputation as a sage, Pitt still secured a spot in the Denny's Lumberjack Slam with an Extra Side of White Toast Bowl Brought to You by Kool Aid, or something to an equally numbing effect.

Having foreseen this demise, of course, there had to be something more to jostle me from the confines of my MP3-trading solitude and launch me back onto my blazing path of journalistic locomotion, chugging along as fast as the NetZero 56k connection will allow. Namely, Todd Graham can add another notch to his belt, which, one can only assume, bears more stress-induced weight than ever after watching a whole season of Tino Sunseri as your quarterback.

In case you hadn't heard, Graham announced the end to his memorable, illustrious journey at Pitt -- by such magnanimous means as a very personal, heartfelt text, of course -- to pursue a new job and likely golden brown freshmen at Arizona State. Apparently, Pittsburgh hot didn't suffice to satiate what I imagine is Graham's extensive resume of infidelity. I mean, is it a coincidence he has to keep moving from place to place?

Those in the know, however, should hardly be surprised. He abandoned Rice after successful season and probably a pending paternity test, only to move on from Tulsa after three years, a tenure that only lasted so long, one would think, by the graces of improved condom durability. One too many attempts at the piledriver -- whether applied to his approach to football or in the bedroom... or the backseat of the Pontiac Firebird he has to own -- and you'll eventually have a tear, at which point the only prudent move is to send a text message signaling your immediate departure and a new flat top to match your equally tiresome personality.

What's Chuck K's take on this whole ordeal?

Good fucking riddance. What a useless piece of insufferable shit. Besides looking like the guy who would wrestle Roger Clemens in a gravel parking lot following their sons' little league game, this road scholar can now utter his painful tripe of "High Octane Football," lampooned to the point of near absurdity, at a new school before accidentally killing a hooker or Tino Sunseri's allegations of mental abuse by using a playbook that involved passes beyond an incalculable ten yards.

What awaits the Pitt football program? Undoubtedly, the wildest of public relations disasters and buffoonery. While many "fans" will chide for Sandusky, given Pitt's recent record of signing revolting individuals as their head coach, this possibility falls short. Namely, because Pitt will do anything to top Penn State, regardless whether in football or debauchery.

In light of past events, I can only imagine that Pitt will employ a high-ranking official in Al-Qaeda -- if unable to reanimate Osama Bin Laden, of course -- or anyone else willing to submit a CV that can top feats of domestic abuse, avarice, sexual transgressions against minors, and an extensive list of his repulsive fetishes, just for good measure.

The other question remains, though, regarding what will happen with Tino Sunseri. Thankfully, in great contrast to Todd Graham, Rushel Shell didn't jump ship after knocking up his girlfriend, giving our maestro behind center somebody to hand the ball to 79 times a game on top of completing two of five passes for an astounding 12 yards. If good fortune shines upon us, though, Tino will manage to walk into the bus lane on Fifth Avenue without looking and get hit by the 71C -- it just has to be enough to keep him from football... unless they grant him another year of eligibility because of it... fuck.

Alright, well, I have to get back to uploading my stash to Limewire. Yinz have a good one. Hmm, there's a loud pounding at the door. Hope it's the keg.

Information redacted as per order by the Federal Bureau of Investiagtion, Washington, D.C. Go Ravens.