Monday, September 25


People were talking all sorts of nonsense about how easy the game yesterday was going to be for the Eagles. I really thought it was important to not underestimate them, as they had shown clear improvements over last year. Still not a great team, but better than before. Obviously no one on the Eagles was taking the game lightly, so I wasn't really worried about it.

But I gotta say, that game was more boring than the accounting class I mistakenly took in college. I fell asleep before half time, and upon waking up sometime in the 4th quarter, I decided to just chalk it up and go back to sleep. I don't have much hope for next week either, not with the way the Birds' offense is playing. So don't count on any stunningly brilliant witticisms from me this week, but I don't think you were doing that anyways. Yeah, I'm going back to sleep.

Saturday, September 23

Belated Anniversary

Did anyone notice besides me that we've been writing this silly thing for over a year now? I just did. As celebration, I thought I'd bring back a hypothetical, but Hal's better at that than I am. I refuse to talk about the Phillies still, but that might actually happen sometime in the near future. In fact, I'm going to avoid almost every standard and ethical precept that we've created over the year at Greenbleeder, and talk about a political hero of mine. To quote from the standard-bearer of American journalism, the New York Times:

“Yesterday, ladies and gentlemen, from this rostrum, the president of the United States, the gentleman to whom I refer as the devil, came here, talking as if he owned the world. Truly. As the owner of the world.” -- Hugo Chavez, president of Venezuela.

Haha. He called Bush the devil. Now back to sports, sorry about that.

Thursday, September 21

It's a Deep Burn

OOOOOOOO K. I'm ready to start looking forward. I obviously don't need to talk about last week and think it's time to get ready for Sunday. I have conflicted thoughts about this game. Im 70% sure that the Eagles will come out angry and light the 9ers up good and proper. But 30% of me is concerned about the hangover, concerned with Mr. Gore, but most of all concerned about getting that call to duty. I don't know where the Eagles are getting bodies for the secondary but it seems like they went to the goofy name department. Who knows, maybe I'll be next.

The injuries are really starting to scare me. I know we are 8 deep on the D line but losing Kearse to Carson Palmer surgery is tough to stomach. With the secondary currently severly depleted, there will be even more pressure on the D line to get to the QB. God knows our linebackers aren't bailing anyone out.

So let's look forward. Hopefully we will watch an angry team beat the pulp out of an inferior squad. I want our boys to fly home from the west coast still starving for more, thier eyes already on Green Bay. In '02 the Eagles blew a lead to the Titans and won thier next 3 games by an average of about 21 points. The next two teams really should be pushovers (d'oh), and ummmm don't get me started on the game on the 8th.........

Tuesday, September 19

Severe despondence

Well. We're all in the same boat. I had to give it at least 24 hours, or I would've just had an extreme case of verbal diarrhea. So I left it alone, but I definitely feel the same as I did on Sunday at 5:30 pm. It definitely wasn't good, but since Hal pretty much covered the bad side of this game, I'll see if I can get something positive out there.

Let's face it. For about 3 quarters, the Eagles made a pretty decent team look like garbage. They looked like a JV high school football team. That defense that everyone likes to talk about so much (I never understood that in the first place) couldn't do a damn thing. Strahan who? Umenyiora who? The Birds didn't really run the ball, but that's nothing new, and to be expected at this point. Our defense, minus one starting d-back, and then minus Rod Hood (who should be the starter), still handled them. Demolished them I'd say. Little Eli looked positively fearful, as he should have. The Eagles looked like the team of old, and yeah...they horribly blew it. But if you mean to tell me that the potential for an extremely good season is not there, I'll tell you you're crazy.

And yeah, that game was awful.

Monday, September 18

You're Like a Lost Child, Who Wanders Into the Room

And maybe it's not just coincidence that they're both named Donnie. 15 minutes to go. We're watching a Super Bowl team operating at a near peak level. 25 minutes and and 23 points later, we're left with nothing but questions. Can Five lead this team to a win from behind, or is our team designed only to cruise? Can the defense survive the loss of our second and third cornerbacks, especially with Sheldon already having yielded two touchdowns on the season? And just how can you put together eight sacks and a turnover and not come out with the win?

At the end I'm just left confused. I feel like a child, only I still have to go to work today. Week two and I'm picking up the pieces of my mind, shattered by a defense that couldn't hold back the flood and an offense that is simply not built for the fourth quarter.

One of the most troubling failures was that it is an offense built for overtime, they got the ball at the fifty, and still couldn't get it done. I'm wearing, aching, debilitated. 25 mintues stole away what little i had left. Staring 4-0 right in the eyes. A divisional loss at home. And when you're 5000 miles east of Philly, every game is in prime-time. I'm on empty. For the first time since I left I'm happy not to wake up in Philly because to see the faces on three million people who just had their heart ripped out by a silver spoon cake eating son of a hall of fame loser would just be too much.

Sunday, September 17

Tom Coughlin wears women's underwear.

Everyone knows we here at the Greenbleeder have nothing but an intense hatred for all things New York Giants. Everything about them is hateable, from the coach, down to the waterboys. But we are also loathe to underestimate an opponent, and the Giants of recent years have proven a formidable one. Sometimes. They've also been total suckers.

It is this writer's opinion that this game sets the stage for the NFC East, for all teams, not just Philadelphia or New York. The winner will become the target, and the loser might be ready to get thrown on the loser's pile. I've been watching the New York fans bet the point spread down and down and down all week, and I can confidently say that those are some horrible bets. Get ready for an overrated Giants defense getting pummelled by the Bird's underrated offense. I can already see it now. Even though I'm writing this an hour before the game and most likely no one will read it until the winner has been decided, I just wanted everyone to know how much I hate the Giants with all my pure, golden, Cuban heart.

Tuesday, September 12

They should be pushovers...

Damn it's good to be back. Good to have sports to write about, and even better to see the birds on top of the division. And while the division may or not be "the best in football," few would dissagree that it is the most competitive, with all four teams having similar talent levels. This fact makes each week that much more critical.

Ok, so the Texans rolled over and played dead. I don't expect the Giants to do the same (until the 4th quarter at least). The Giants have an absolutelty murderous schedule (ranked the most difficult in the league.) Following his home opening loss to big bro, Eli takes his "game face" and asshole supporting cast on the road to Philly, followed by a road trip out west to face the recently upgraded Seahawks in a revenge games for the wanna be birds (remember the Feely game last year?)

Nothing would make me happier than to see the Giants 0-3 heading into thier bye week, with Eli's confidence suddenly nowhere to be found. For some reason I like watching the New York media tear apart underachieving lousy bums in front of the whole country.

I might be officially ahead of myself but I'm a fan, and I'm allowed to be, dick. I have complete faith that big Andy and a focused locker room (for some reason I feel like there's fewer distractions this year) will bring thier A game to the Linc this Sunday afternoon and KICK THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF THE NEW YORK FOOTBALL GIANTS.


Saturday, September 9

Now he's gonna write about soccer?

I’ve waiting long enough to shamelessly steal the running diary of a sporting event, so why not start with the most anticipated/weirdest/most interesting/scariest/most unsafe thing I’ve seen so far in Africa, none of which is any kind of understatement.

Mid July: Rumors start appearing that the new stadium will open in September, with a match against Cameroon. From this one could gather that the stadium might open this year, and that there’s a possibility a soccer match may be played against some African nation. Still no way to be sure.

Early August: Word holds steady that the match will be in September, but now it’s versus Liberia, with whispers that Real Madrid is coming to town. This is approximately as likely as a Division III NCAA team telling their fans that the 1986 bears are holding a exhibition match in their stadium next week and having it happen, in 2006.

Late August: Tickets are on sale! September 4th, 4pm versus Liberia. Tickets range from three bucks up to fifteen. Beautiful. Hook me up with some four dollar fun.

September 4th, 1:30: Head out towards the stadium, planning to grab some food on the way.

1:45: The town is comprised almost completely of hole in the wall or open door one-room stores. The restaurants are marked by the words “Hay comida” on the wall outside, letting you know they “Have food.” Very welcoming. My dad decided that they are all part of the ‘Hay Comida” franchise, I guess you could say that they are Africa’s Bob’s Big Boy, with the main exception that no matter how extensive their menu is on any given day, they only have two dishes, and you probably don’t want either of them. I step in and order chicken with rice. Santi, my buddy I’m going to the game with, orders fish with plantains, and is told that don’t have any fish. Ok, how about beef with plantains? Sorry, no plantains. Beef with rice please. And a coke? No coke. Stellar.

1:49: While destroying a drumstick I proudly pronounce that Guinea will win 2-0, with a goal in the 25th and 85th minutes. ‘Uh, I hope… you are right,’ says Santi.

1:54: The waiter’s head explodes from eighteen kids screaming at him for some chicken. Free meal.

2:00: We begin our ascent to the stadium, along with 15,000 other people who are either in the midst of, or preparing to lose their minds.

2:30: Arrive at the stadium, are well pleased to find that there is in fact a game, and that they’re letting people in. Looking good.

2:40: Find our seats, learn that the extra dollar we paid put us under the awning. And here comes the rain! I Immediately am pleased about our purchase.

3:00: Still reveling in the joy of the new stadium, notice that there is a leak in the roof two seats to my right. About every two seconds little kid is getting walloped by a inch-wide drop of rain. Our luck continues.

3:15: The cops have done a stellar job of keeping beer out of the stadium, but the small handful of guys that did their work beforehand are more than making up for their 14,000 sober friends. Beautiful spectacle.

3:30: Interest in the new stadium subsides and I notice that there are 15,000 people in the stadium and only 50 cops. What’s the Spanish word for mayhem?

4:00: Players come out on the field, on time! Miracle of miracles. Also, the sky is open like church on Sunday. Very well spent extra dollar.

4:10: No cheerleaders, no mascots, but we do have eight year old kids acting as ball boys. I think hip-hop would have worked this game for free, but that’s just a guess.

4:15: And we’re off. Guinea pushes the ball up the right wing, centers and… GOAL! Nope, offsides. My prediction is holding. Approximately 14,762 dudes curse in a language I don’t speak. I stick to English with a bit of Spanish mixed in.

4:20: If you know anything about sports, it doesn’t take long to figure out who’s the dog and who are the studs. I don’t know a lick about soccer and I can tell you definitively that #25, a defenseman, is not making it through this game. I’ll bet 2000 FCFA on it. No one accepts.

4:22: #25 falls down, barely avoids letting up a goal.

4:30: #25 falls again.

4:35: Some dude fakes being hurt, gets in the stretcher, gets to the sideline, immediately jumps out and sprints back on the field. Could this ever work in America? Ever? Have these people seen Jeremiah Trotter?

4:40: GOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!! 15,000 people promptly lose their minds. I think the city is about to collapse. 25th minute. One down, one to go. Police barricade the field. Thankfully no one jumps on.

4:43: Scratch that, here comes the first idiot.

4:44: Still running

4:45: Got em. Players don’t miss a beat.

4:55: #25 gets burnt terribly, goalie falls down trying to dive, goal, Liberia. 1-1. No police presence needed. Yet.

5:02: Halftime. You can be pretty sure their won’t be any guys coming on the field to do Frisbee dog tricks. I’m not counting on a $500,000 goal from 100 yards out either. Not ruling it out though. The halftime show mainly consists of fans yelling at the cops not to arrest people who come on the field. Is there anywhere in the world that you don’t get thrown in jail for running on the field? I’ll bet the Swiss even have a rule against it. Come on.

5:30: Second half begins. Some poor fan with his whole body painted tries to get the wave going. Not happening.

5:35: Mercifully, #25 is pulled. Easy money.

5:40: zzzzz.

5:45: zzzzzz.

5:50: Red card, Liberia. Half a garbage call, but we’ll take it. 11 on 10 from here on out.

5:55: GOOOOAL! Nope, offsides. Just an awful, awful rule. Why not let the dudes behind the defense? Does cherry picking work in any other sport? There’s no NBA team sitting one man under the other basket and heaving outlet passes. Come to think of it, is Kyle Korver’s defense really that much better than if he wasn’t there at all? Hmm.

6:10: 40th minute, fans are losing spirit. Eerily similar to the last innings of a Phillies game, only if every time an infielder took a ball off their chest they rolled around for two minutes and waited for a stretcher. So I guess it’s more like a Mets game. Did I mention this sport is all I have here?

6:12: Corner kick, no luck.

6:13: Corner kick, no luck.

6:14: Corner kick, centered, quick shot on goal, and it’s in!! Immediately hits a Liberian dude standing about two inches inside the goal line, bounces out, every single person is out of their seat screaming and no one has any idea if they’ve called it a goal yet. The players are in some sort of half-celebration, half- mortified mode, and then it hits the screen. Open the floodgates.

6:15: Liberian team is livid. One dude punches a Guinean player in the face, both teams break into an all out brawl until the military comes on to separate them. We’ve still got five minutes of game time left. I’m interested to see how this’ll play out. I’m also interesting in getting out alive.

6:16: Complete pandemonium continues. Play does not.

6:17: Still no sign of a soccer ball.

6:19: Ball is now back in the center of the field, Liberian goalie is now egging the fans on. Apparently he didn’t get a good security count.

6:24: And its over! A Guinean player runs to the sideline, throws his shirt into the crowd and fruitlessly begs the fans not to rush the field. Three guys jump on, run at him, hugging him and trying to steal his shorts while giving him a photo. I take a look at that the fans, then at the cops, and mention it might be a good time to leave.

6:25: And here comes the flood. Thousands on thousands rush onto the field as we find the side exit. Playtime’s over, back to the real world.

Tuesday, September 5

I have zee lingonberry pancakes

Number 72. Six-foot-seven...three hundred and thirty-five pounds.
Number 79. Six-foot-six...three hundred and twenty-one pounds.
Number 67. Six-foot-four...three hundred and thirty pounds.
Number 73. Six-foot-four...three hundred and forty pounds.
Number 69. Six-foot-seven...three hundred and thirty pounds.

These are five reasons why Donovan McNabb is set to have the greatest year in Philadelphia sports history and hoist the Lombardi trophy so high he's gonna bring rain. My friend, have you ever seen a six foot seven, three hundred and thirty-five pound man? Have you ever seen a man bend over twice just to get through a doorway? Have you ever seen the fear in the eyes of a waiter, so scared that if this man's steak is overdone he's gonna be in traction for sixteen and a half weeks? These are five Paul Bunyans determined to let no man lay a hand on their blue ox.

Fuck dogs, an offensive lineman is a man's best friend. Everything that goes right, and half the things that go wrong this year will be on the merit of these five men, and their five apprentices waiting in the wings. Have you seen Max Jean-Giles! This man dominates folding chairs. Wicker furniture trembles.

Remember that old 5th grade science project where you had to design some kind of contraption to put an egg into, then you drop it off the roof, and if your egg doesn't break, you get an A? Well, if you're the Redskins, you wait until March 11th, then wrap the egg in money. If you're the Giants, you're probably too upset about how shitty your egg is, so you just throw the motherfucker into the wall. If you're the Cowboys, you hard-boil the egg, chuck it and hope no one notices, because your karma's already fucked. Well, Andy Reid took his egg, and wrapped it in 1,656 pounds of meat, because Andy cares about his egg, and knows that his egg will carry him. Our egg is a beautiful egg.