Macleans: Couch Boys

Eli, Eli, Oh

Scott Feschuk — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 13:06:25 -0500

SR: Well, that sucked. Oh, I know it was a great game. And I know it was a close finish. And I know the Giants earned it. But it still sucked!

We had a chance to see sports history made. To witness a perfect season and to gain a memory that would likely go unmatched. Instead, we got Eli Manning topping Tom Brady to take honours as the Super Bowl MVP. That's the sports equivalent of James T. Kirk losing to Harry Mudd. And now we have to spend the rest of our lives listening to those bastard 72 Dolphins.

I'm despondent.

But not bitter. Nope. Not a bit.

Sure, I want to paint the words 'Wrap Him Up' on Adalius Thomas's house. I'd like to kindly inquire if Matt Light intends to jump every time Osi Umenyiora sneezes for the rest of his life. And, I am curious to know if Bill Belichick considers kicking a field goal to be somehow beneath him.

But I'm not bitter. In fact, I'm doing great (the doctors say in a week or so, I'll be allowed to take short walks outside as long as I don't disturb the other patients).

Frankly, I should have seen it coming. After all, I had bet on the Patriots and if there's one certain way to know what will NOT happen, it's to wait for me to predict it. (Which reminds me: Elisha Cuthbert will not start writing me filthy dirty emails).

Fittingly, I will end my season the way I played it: by being wrong. It's been a riot fellow Couch Boy. See you next season for the triumphant rise of the Rams.

SF: Yes, if it weren’t for the fact I talk with you every day and constantly email you and dream about you dressed as the Indian from the Village People for some reason, I’d probably feel a little melancholy about the end of our shared enterprise. Not since I worked for the Liberals have I had such fun making so many mistakes.

Aspects of Super Bowl XLII that will endure in my memory:

1. The Catch II. Eli Manning somehow escaped the clutches of what appeared to be 4,000 New England Patriots and threw deep to David Tyree, who caught the football with his head. ESPN Classic may not be sufficient. We may need an entire new sports channel just for this play.

2. Belichick’s sucky fit. Bad enough that The Genius was outcoached by Tom “Didn’t They Fire Me Last Year?” Coughlin. Bad enough he couldn’t come up with any adjustments to neutralize the New York pass rush. Bad enough he declined to kick a 49-yard field goal on fourth and, like, 32 or something. Then Bill goes and leaves the field with one second left on the clock. Dude, you’re like school in the summer: no class. (Also, that orange shirt thing of yours was butt ugly. There, I said it.)

3. The bruise I got from punching the wall when Asante Samuel could have intercepted that Eli Manning pass in the fourth quarter, but instead didn’t do that.

4. My doubts about Eli Manning. I admit to a full measure of bitterness here because I wanted the Pats to win – but let’s be completely honest, Giants fans: Manning threw up three or four passes in the fourth quarter that made you suck in your breath and go, “Holy crap, that one’s going to be picked off for sure,” right? We’re talking wounded ducks flip-flapping their way toward nobody in particular. He’s a hero today – the Drudge Report was calling him “Superman” – but anyone engaging in an honest viewing of that fourth quarter would have to admit that only luck or fate or destiny or Peyton Manning blowing really hard from the luxury boxes kept the ball from the hands of the Patriots and Eli from a Favrian type of infamy.

5. Ryan Seacrest's intro. During the pre-game show, Fox host Curt Menefee cut to “to a guy who everyone respects: Ryan Seacrest.” I thought that was just about the funniest thing I have ever heard. What a weird thing to say! Did Ryan write that introduction himself? Did he insist on being described “a guy who everyone respects” in an effort to combat the prevailing societal view that he is “a guy who would French kiss the corpse of Bette Davis if doing so would extend his hold on fame for five more seconds.” A guy everyone respects -- I just loved that!

This is How the Super Bowl Ends...

Scott Feschuk — Fri, 01 Feb 2008 05:56:33 -0500

SR: Picking the Super Bowl puts me in a real bind. On the one hand, I should probably select either New England or the Giants to win. On the other hand, I feel that by not selecting the St. Louis Rams I am being disloyal to my pre-season pick. And I hate to be the kind of guy who cuts and runs at the first sign of trouble - or even many repeated signs of total devastation. Think of me as the General Custer of football wagering.

So before I abandon my September self, let me make just say that on those rare occasions when both Bulger and Jackson were healthy, this team was pretty good. Mind you, that was for only three quarters the entire season – but there’s no denying how impressive they appeared for those 45 minutes. Had they met the Patriots in Super Bowl XLII I’m entirely confident that Jackson would have carried the ball 75 times, keeping Brady off the field and eating up clock like Jack Black in a cupcake factory. But…I acknowledge, at this point, their victory seems like a long shot.

As for the Super Bowl everyone on this plane of existence will experience, I'm firmly going with the Pats. I know, I know: They've not covered since snow started falling. They nearly lost to this same Giants team only five weeks ago. And Lawrence Tynes never misses more than two gimme field goals in a row. That’s an intimidating set of arguments.

But here’s a small fact also worth considering: They’re the best team in history. Yeah. THE BEST. Blow it out your ass, Mercury Morris. They’ve won 18 games in a row. They’ve notched the single season mark for points scored. And between Tom Brady and Randy Moss, they’ve set new records for most TDs thrown, most TDs caught and nicest looking ass (good work, Randy). One of my favourite arguments trotted out is that the Week 17 experience has taught the Giants what it takes to win against the Pats. But no one ever mentions that maybe – just maybe – the best team in the NFL might also have picked up a clue or two during that earlier meeting.

Like everyone, I hope for an exciting game. I hope for a close finish. And I hope that Tom Petty has a little lead left in his pencil. Truth to be told though, I don’t think any of that is likely. I don’t think it will be close. I think that this New England team – THE BEST team in history – is highly motivated to stake their claim in uncompromising terms. I think they want to blow the doors off. Plus, they’re back to playing in perfect conditions. They’ve had time to rest. And they’re made of Moonite (Moonite being the most indestructible substance on Earth; only Moonite itself has been known to actually pierce Moonite).

So when Plaxico Burress – who has a bum ankle AND a bum knee - says his team is going to win 23-17, he inspires the same credibility as Adnan Ghalib on the subject of not being a golddigging parasite. My favourite moment of the week came when Tom Brady was asked about Burress’s prediction and he just started laughing out loud. Hmmm. If you’re a Giants fan, doesn’t that scare the bejezuss out of you? Doesn’t really seem like a man who thinks he’s going to lose, does he?

You know, just because we’ve had two weeks to think about things doesn’t mean we should convince ourselves the impossible is about to occur. Come Sunday night, Tom Brady and Co. are going to beat the Giants like a drum, winning their fourth Lombardi trophy in less than a decade and sending Eli Manning back to the role he’s trained his entire NFL career to play – unreliable loser. Pick: NE.

SF: The players are off limits to reporters now – no more singalongs with Michael Strahan, no more predictions from Plaxico Burress, no more quietly hoping that Tom Brady will single you out from among the 4,786 media members on hand and ask you to hold his wallet, car keys and lingerie-clad supermodel during the game.

(Little-known Super Bowl fact: if you slip $20 to the pilot of one of the F-16s doing a flyover after the national anthem, he’ll see what he can do about “accidentally” dropping something “bombish” in the vicinity of Ryan Seacrest. Good to know.)

Way back at the beginning of the season, back when some idiots were actually picking the Rams to actually win the actual Super Bowl, I was picking the Patriots to win the Super Bowl. In part, that’s because I’m more experienced and naturally gifted at professional football forecasting. Also, unlike certain Couch Boys, I didn’t spend September drunk on $4 sherry.

Believe me: picking New England wasn’t rocket science or car science or science of any kind or even home ec or shoe-tying. From the start, the Patriots have had the most talent and the best coach and an adorable quarterback who can cure head colds with his touch. Along the way to 18-0 they have obliterated quality teams and they have found a way to win during off weeks. They’ve run up the score with their passing game. They’ve eaten up the clock with their running game. Also, they don’t have Chad Johnson on their roster. I ask you: what’s not to like?

Conventional wisdom has it that this will be a close game, that the Giants will hang tough, that the Pats will probably prevail but in last-minute, thrilling-type fashion and that right now Lindsay Lohan is so easy she’d make it with a filthy hobo or even one of the “non-Alec” Baldwins.

But conventional wisdom also said that John McCain was done for, that Hillary Clinton would romp to the nomination and that Ross Perot would kill both fields of presidential candidates with his bare hands live on Larry King. The Giants have had a nice run – but Tom Brady is going to pick apart their secondary and, let’s face it, Eli Manning has already stretched the plausible limits of his new identity as I Don’t Make Any Mistakes guy. Like my Couch Boys colleague, I see this being a blowout – one defined by Manning tossing up three picks, Randy Moss twice getting hit deep and a weepy Tom Coughlin pouring Gatorade on himself in a spirited but futile attempt to convince the media his team actually won. Pick: New England.

Like Media Day, But With Idiots

Scott Feschuk — Thu, 31 Jan 2008 05:40:54 -0500

Tomorrow: Couch Boys predict the outcome of Super Bowl XLII. Today: Couch Boys answer your questions. Monday: Couch Boys sob girlishly at the prospect of seven months without NFL football.

Dear Couch Boys:
Do you have Tom Brady’s home phone number? Because although I’m a dude, and I’m totally straight, I really really want to make out with Tom Brady and I HAVE NO IDEA WHY! So, uhh, do you have his number? – F.E., Toronto

Ummm, no idea, huh? Well, let’s see. Could it be the three – soon to be four - Super Bowl rings? The record-setting season? The immense wealth and celebrity? Nah, that makes no sense. Not for a guy like you, F.E. Not for a guy who’s so really really totally straight. For the life of us, we can’t imagine what might tempt a masculine man like yourself, who may or may not be applying Noxema to his dry patches at this very moment, to crave some cuddle time with a guy like Tom Brady. Even if he does have a shapely cleft chin, licorice-red lips and hands so soft they could cradle a teardrop. Looks like we’re stumped. But you know what, maybe Tom could help. Give him a call at 1-800-URGAYFE.

Couchers: What do you think Tony Romo is doing right now? – H.G., Winnipeg

Staring in a bathroom mirror, watching with detached fascination as a single tear navigates the delicate contours of his left cheek. He can hear music. There’s music on the stereo. It’s probably Coldplay. “Man, that’s deep music, man,” Tony Romo thinks. “Ticking clocks, man. Sums it all up.” He hears pounding on the door. It’s probably been there the whole time, but he’s just hearing it now. It’s Jessica. She’s pounding on the door and yelling, demanding that he come out, demanding that he stop this foolishness. But Tony Romo will not be coming out. Tony Romo am not being foolish! Tony Romo stares hard into the mirror. The sounds of Jessica’s pounding recede. Tony Romo will not be coming out. That’ll teach Jessica Simpson to say mean, horrible things like, “You know what, Tony. I’m not sure I feel like going antiquing today.”

Couch Boys:
I’m not sure if you know this, but there’s a radio station in New York that’s giving out Bridget Moynahan’s masks – and asking Giants fans at the Super Bowl to put them over their faces to “distract” Tom Brady. My question is this: How is seeing the face of his ex-girlfriend going to “distract” Tom Brady? If anything, isn’t he going to look up into the crowd and think to himself, “Wow, I’ve nailed, like, 20,000 chicks in this stadium!” And then he’ll have even more confidence. That said, is there anything that can distract or stop Tom Brady? – W.D., Calgary

Look folks, there is only one thing that can reliably stop Tom Brady – green coloured fragments of his home planet. And obviously Robert Kraft owns all of those. Frankly, this whole radio station approach is ill-conceived. If you want to distract Tom Brady, don’t put fake beautiful women in the stands. Put real beautiful women on the field. Lose Usi Umenyiora. Get Kate Beckinsale to rush the quarterback. Want to take away the deep route? Goodbye Sam Madison. Hello Scarlett Johansson. New York fans think they can distract Brady by screwing with his head. We think they’ve got to aim a bit further south.

Couch Boys:
So first they inflict Joe Buck on me. Now I hear Ryan Seacrest is going to be “on the red carpet” outside the Super Bowl interviewing celebrities during the pre-game show. Seriously. Why does Fox hate me so much? – P.A., Mississauga, Ont.

Come on, P.A., let’s be glass-half-full-guys on this one. True, Ryan Seacrest is a grade-A twat whose inexplicable fame and obscene wealth herald the end of days. True, there isn’t a football fan alive who wants to see him ask some breast-augmented, venereally diseased, Vicodin-ravaged starlet whether she’s wearing Armani or Reebok or the musky aroma of Charlie Sheen. And true, Seacrest did brutally murder Brian Dunkleman after the first season of American Idol so he could a) be the show’s only host, and b) do us all a favour. But look on the bright side: somewhere, at some point, possibly on Sunday, Joan Rivers is going to come at Seacrest with a broken vodka bottle and a set of brass knuckles for stealing her red carpet shtick – and when that day comes, no amount of replays on YouTube will match the visceral thrill of watching the bloodshed and hearing the profanity live. Fingers crossed, P.A. Fingers crossed.

Dear Mr. Couch Boys: You guys looking to hire for next season? Brian Billick, Baltimore

First of all, Brian, let us thank you for your attaching your CV, your references and that photograph of you looking sad. We’re flattered you’d think of us but frankly we’re worried about overlap – the two of us have cornered the market on chronic ineptness and we’re just not sure what else you can bring to the table. Good luck in your search, though. We hear Fox might have an opening for someone to sit next to Terry Bradshaw and translate his words into English.

Dear Couch Boys:
Everyone knows that Super Bowl commercials are half the reason to watch the game. But every year the CRTC allows Cable and Satellite TV providers to pre-empt with Canadian content. Seriously, WTF? I’m a proud Canadian but I still want to see Ozzy Osbourne have a nightmare where he’s married to Florence Henderson and Donny and Marie Osmond are his children. I want to see an upside-down clown drink a Bud Light thru his butt. Don’t we have rights? Can Couch Boys help? – W.H., St. Lazare, Qc

If it’s an upside-down clown drinking beer through his ass-end that you crave, why not watch the game with us? As for the issue of simultaneous substitution – sorry, man: we’re as useless as a hat full of busted farts. Back in the day, Couch Boys could have marched into the office of the Minister of Heritage, pounded the desk and demanded a change in policy. Sure, like anyone else, we would have been told to come back when we were French. But at least we would have made it past security. These days under the flinty rule of Stephen Harper (who doesn’t even like football – he’s a Leafs fan!), our influence officially registers as Sweet Dick All, or roughly equivalent to that of his cabinet. Still, there is hope. Why not follow our example? Take advantage of the time between now and Sunday to PVR your favourite commercials. Then, during breaks in the game, you can enjoy creative, informative and deeply Canadian advertising like this:

Every Dawg Has His Media Day

Scott Feschuk — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 10:58:01 -0500

Note: Our Super Bowl mailbag appears tomorrow in this space. There’s still time to submit a question at scott.feschuk@macleans.rogers.com, or simply click on the Sympatico email link above.

Couch Boys present a diary of yesterday’s live coverage of Super Bowl Media Day, as broadcast on the NFL Network:

11:58 a.m. ET The Patriots are due out at any moment for their hour-long session. The crowd around Tom Brady’s podium is described by Deion Sanders as “everybody and their momma” and by host Rich Eisen as a “massive throng.” A massive throng? Isn’t that what Sally Struthers wears under her muumuu? (Thank you. Thank you very much. We’re here all diary long.)

11:59 The NFL Network shows us the shot from its “Brady Cam” – a camera mounted atop the podium from which the New England quarterback will answer media questions. From it we see… reporters. Also, pens. Hmm, this may represent the most dubious deployment of technology since Dr. Noonien Soong gave Star Trek’s Data a fully functioning wang.

12:05 p.m. Speaking of wangs, Bryant Gumbel was just spotted on the premises.

12:08 Tom Brady arrives at his podium and immediately takes a photo of Deion Sanders, who subsequently asks: “Where do you stand in history?” Deion tries to get Tom to bite on the fact he’s the single most bestest quarterback in the history of ever. Tom, in full aw-shucks mode, does not bite. Deion persists to the point that there’s a 95% chance he’s actually hitting on Brady. Awkward.

12:17 Randy Moss is wearing a towel around his neck – presumably in case he works up a sweat dodging questions about his off-field “troubles.”

12:24 We are informed that Media Day is “presented by Motorola.” Because really – what company wouldn’t want to be associated with two full hours of elite athletes remaining motionless while desecrating all the major verb tenses?

12:28 Former head coach (and current NFL Network analyst) Steve Mariucci walks up to Rodney Harrison and asks: “Are you still having fun?” Look out Mike Wallace – Mr. Tough Questions is gunning for your job.

12:31 Junior Seau is giving an answer. First he says, “We work today to build our tomorrow.” Then he says, “It’s so nice to come out here and share,” and then “There’s a lot of love in our life,” and finally “This journey will stay with us forever.” Wow. In the span of just a few minutes, Seau not only fulfilled his Media Day obligations, he also wrote Deepak Chopra’s next book.

12:32 By the way, Seau is once again sporting A Ridiculous Hat. Shockingly, no one asks him how he came to be Ralph Kramden’s best friend.

12:33 We get our first glimpse of a Lesser Known Player Pretending to Talk on His Cell Phone So As to Obscure the Fact That No One Among the 4,786 Credentialed Media Gives So Much As a Rat’s Ass About Him. Come on, Heath Evans – we know ain’t nobody on the other end of the line!

12:35 Tom Brady receives a marriage proposal from a woman attired in a wedding gown. Tom flashes his pearly whites and demurs. “I’m a one woman man,” he says. Well, one at a time, anyway. Except for Swinging Tuesdays.

12:42 Deion has one joke. He refers to Junior Seau as “Senior Seau.” You know, because Seau is kind of old. He’s now done the joke four times – and it just keeps getting funnier! (No, wait, we mean the opposite of “funnier” – it keeps getting “Belushier.”)

12:56 Rich Eisen’s co-host for the afternoon is former Rams running back Marshall Faulk. Here are Faulk’s contributions from the last several minutes of commentary: “Yes.” “Yes, he is.” “Right you are!” “Absolutely.” “Yes.” It’s official: Faulk’s transformation into the black Ed McMahon is now complete.

1:33 A lull in Media Day: time to surf over to Us magazine’s Web site, where it is reported that Tony Romo and Jessica Simpson enjoyed a “romantic date” at West Hollywood Italian restaurant Il Sole Monday night. “Jessica had no makeup on and her hair was thrown to the side in a bun,” a witness reports. “She seemed very comfortable and laid back with Tony and not at all worried about looking good or impressing him.” Adds the on-looker, “Tony couldn't stop touching Jessica!”

And then this: Us reports that at one point, as Simpson chatted up another guest at the table, Romo “put his finger under her chin and turned her face towards him and gave her a long kiss while holding her face in his palm,” the witness says. (Reached for comment, Terrell Owens said: [sounds of girlish blubbering])

Wow. So Romo is one of those needy, why-are-you-talking-to-another-person-instead-of-me types prone to public displays of affection. I don’t know how to break it to you, Cowboys fans, but you are never getting to the Super Bowl with this guy. It’s just not happening. Time to accept it and move on.

1:58 Eli Manning breaks news just seconds into his session, shattering conventional wisdom by saying that for the Giants to defeat the Patriots, they are going to have to play “60 minutes of football.” Whereas we had long argued that 54 minutes of football and six minutes of vigorous jazzercise would probably suffice.

2:01 By the way, Manning hasn’t shaved in several days. The result: a scraggly patch of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Beard! There hasn’t been anything this unattractive in HD since that episode of Extended Closeups of Star Jones’s Thigh Fat.

2:04 Tom Coughlin gets a question from Mariucci that’s mostly about… Mariucci. The exchange ends with Mooch more or less begging Coughlin for work.

2:05 Deion asks Michael Strahan what his “fairy tale ending” would be. Strahan says his fairy tale ending would be to win the Super Bowl, though one suspects that in truth his fairy tale ending would be to win the Super Bowl while his ex-wife simultaneously slips on a banana peel and develops permanent amnesia.

2:08 “…one play at a time…”

2:12 “…give 110 per cent…”

2:13 “…just go there and have fun.” Man, at this rate the Giants look ready to challenge the record for most clichés, currently held by whichever professional athlete spoke to the media most recently.

2:16 Strahan talks about coach Coughlin’s highly publicized “personality makeover” this season, stating, “If he didn’t change, we wouldn’t be here.” Coughlin himself adds that he was determined this year to “make the players feel comfortable and make them feel they could contribute.” All this and more on the next Oprah!

2:18 The same chick who asked Tom Brady to marry her is now asking Eli Manning to marry her. Slut. (Eli’s actual awkward reply: “Sorry, I’m taken for.”)

2:19 Not sure how we never noticed this before but Amani Toomer sounds almost exactly like Tom Brady. Seriously, their voices are almost identical. Wonder if he ever rings up Gisele for a little “over the phone” love action, if you catch our meaning.

2:21 Plaxico Burress says that before every game, Eli Manning comes up to him and says, “Let’s go be great.” And this is how Plaxico responds: “I pat him on the right buttocks [sic] and say, ‘Let’s go get it, baby.’” Now here’s what bugs us about the media. We’ve got 4,786 credentialed media personnel on hand and yet nobody chimes in with a follow-up question when Plaxico Burress talks about Eli Manning’s “right buttocks.” Why the right one? Why not the left, or both? Why a "pat" rather than a "slap" or "gentle cupping"? How are we supposed to confidently wager big money on this game without such vital information?!

2:35 Intrepid journalist Steve Mariucci comes hard at RW McQuarters, asking first “When did you cut your hair?” (answer: March 21st) and then following up that toughie with the provocative observation: “I like your facial hair.”

2:43 Michael Strahan enters the 43rd consecutive minute of maintaining the same smile.

2:45 Plaxico mocks T.O.’s weepy defence of Tony Romo by singing the chorus from Justin Timberlake’s Cry Me a River. Suddenly we really like this Plaxico fellow.

2:47 Meanwhile, Deion “Prime Time” Sanders has moseyed over to officially christen the Giants kicker as Lawrence “Prime Tynes.” Deion apparently feels this just might be the funniest and most clever thing ever. Sides splitting! Tears streaming! Deion, collecting himself, manages to regain his focus on the story at hand: Deion Sanders. “I took you national, baby,” he tells Tynes. And then, presumably with an NFL Network producer screaming in his ear, Deion unconvincingly adds: “But this is about you, this isn’t about me.”

2:55 Hey, look! Brandon Jacobs has left his podium early, apparently because reporters have run out of different ways to ask: “So, you’re pretty big, eh?” Meanwhile, Strahan is now singing Alicia Keyes at the top of his lungs – and he’s taking requests. “Look at all the haters back there! Let me know what you wanna hear!”

The Day of the Jackals

Scott Feschuk — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 08:50:49 -0500

Thursday is mailbag day at Couch Boys -- submit your queries to scott.feschuk@macleans.rogers.com.

SR: Yippee, it’s finally here! Tuesday of Super Bowl Week, otherwise known as Media Day. I know, you’re thinking: “But Daddy, isn’t every day Media Day?” Well, yes. Yes, it is, son. But today is the only day that we openly admit that the media are 100% in charge, in much the same way florists control Valentine’s and Tylenol runs New Year’s.

What truly makes Media Day so exciting is the knowledge that nearly anything could happen, and probably will. Except a flash of dignity or coherence out of that jackass Stephen A. Smith. With that in mind, I boldly pledge my top five predictions for Media Day 2008.

5. Eric Mangini found in the trunk of Bill Belichick’s car with a giant asterisk stuffed up his ass.

4. Mike Smith reveals who the hell he’s been prior to being hired by Arthur Blank.

3. John Madden eats the ’72 Dolphins on an all-celebrity episode of Fear Factor.

2. Bill Clinton points out that, just like his wife, neither team’s quarterback is black.

1. Eli Manning and Superman's pal Jimmy Olsen appear together in public – settling that controversy once and for all.

SF: Media Day always makes me sad. You see footage from the stadium and there are throngs of reporters and columnists and whatever Joe Buck is asking questions of the star quarterback (“Hey, Eli, since it’s obviously not on you at the moment, could you tell us where you keep your charisma?), the starting running back, the blabbermouth receiver – while over in the corner of the endzone the backup defensive tackle is standing there, ignored, desperately alone, pretending to talk to someone on the phone and otherwise reliving the totality of my high school experience.

Memo to the 4,786 accredited media personnel covering Super Bowl XLII: backup linemen are people, too, and they probably have interesting things to say about things and stuff and junk. Some of them can maybe even spell “things” and “stuff” and “junk.” Give them a little love and camera time. There are all kinds of questions you could ask of a big-bellied backup lineman, such as, “Rounding off to the nearest year, when is the last time you actually saw your penis – mirrors and Internet sex tapes not included?” and also “Please don’t eat me.” (Technically that’s not a question, but it’s still wise to put it on the record.)

The one upside of Media Day is that somewhere, at some point, in front of some microphone, some player will make a deeply unwise and “controversial” statement – maybe guaranteeing a win, maybe belittling the skills of a rival, maybe saying they find Emmitt Smith to be an intelligent, non-embarrassing TV commentator – that will fuel the next two days of Super Bowl coverage. Which would be really welcome at this point – not that I don’t enjoy 4,786 different versions of the same “Tom Brady has a slight limp” story.

For a list of unforgettable questions from past Media Days, click here.

The Super Bowl of Football Games

Scott Feschuk — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 07:48:22 -0500

You can submit a question for the Couch Boys Super Bowl mailbag at scott.feschuk@macleans.rogers.com.

SF: Welcome to Super Bowl week with Couch Boys. Before we get to football, let me just say I’m still marveling at the big-time Hollywood star power that was in attendance over the weekend at NHL All-Star Game festivities in Atlanta. I mean, on Saturday night during the skills competition they showed Alyssa Milano and then on Sunday during the game they showed Alyssa Milano. And then they interviewed Alyssa Milano! Your move, Super Bowl.

I want to begin our run-up to Super Bowl XLII by going on record as a big fan of the Walking Boot. Seriously, it’s been a real pleasure to have Tom Brady’s new friend dominating the sports pages these past many days. The Boot carries with it a sense of mystery and has more charisma than Eli Manning, so what’s not to like? I firmly believe that if not for the Hollywood writers’ strike, Tom and the Boot would already have been spun off into their own network sitcom: much like The Odd Couple, but with more supermodels, impregnated starlets and cobblers. And just think of the touching impact of the Very Special Episode in which Tom walks in on the Boot making out with Michael Strahan’s flannel slipper.

The only thing I’ve enjoyed more over the past week is pondering how much energy it must be taking Tiki Barber to pretend he’s not pissed that his team made the Super Bowl the year after he left. And really – could it have happened to a more deserving guy? Barber single-handedly sabotaged the Giants 2006 season and undermined coach Tom Coughlin with his relentless spotlight-hogging yammering related to his pending retirement and his general, all-round fabulousness. How great is it that New York made it to the Super Bowl without him and without that other showboating whiner, Jeremy Shockey? Sometimes teams really are better off without their so-called “marquee” players.

SR: That's what I've been trying to tell Maclean's for months now, but they refuse to put you on Injured Reserve.

I am so with you on Tiki Barber. Not only did he spike last season with his mouthymeness, he started this season off by calling out Eli and Coughlin. Barber is the latest in that long line of mirror-watchers who thinks he's going to bless the broadcast booth with his brilliance only to find out that he suffers from... being hated. I will bet you a box fulla Joe Morris bobbleheads that two years from now Tiki will be harder to find than a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup at the Feschuk household.

As for the Walking Boot, now that the bye week is over and Randy Moss’ court hearing has been masterfully eclipsed, I think we’ll be hearing a lot less about Tom Brady’s non-injury. With the players, reporters and French-Canadians descending on Phoenix (that last bunch don’t even know about the football game), we can finally look forward to a week of loving, luscious Super Bowl hype. For example, did you know that a single scalped ticket will run you $4,300? Make it an even five grand and Al Davis will throw in Lane Kiffin. Speaking of dickwad owners, what an enormous cob Daniel Snyder is. He gives Gregg Williams every reason to believe he’s the heir apparent only to interview the guy four times and then fire his ass. How do you possibly go through four interviews? What do they find to discuss on even the third one?

Snyder: So Gregg, I hoped you liked the cottage cheese plate.

Williams: Very nice, sir. When do I start?

Snyder: Well, let’s just talk a bit more first. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.

Williams: Yes sir? What is it? My plans at quarterback? How I’m going to refresh the defensive line?

Snyder: Actually, I was wondering about the G. You have an extra one.

Williams: Yep. My momma added it. Stands for Gonna – as in Gonna work so hard to be a great head coach for you, sir.

Snyder: More cheese?

SF: Wow. Forty-three hundred dollars for a Super Bowl ticket? People know the game’s going to be on TV, right? With sound and everything. Plus there will be, like, nine sideline reporters on hand – four of whom will be embedded in Tom Brady’s right sock. “I talked to the peroneus longus tendon at halftime, Joe, and…”

Then again, I guess it’s understandable that folks would want to be there in person to witness history in the making. Forget about New England’s run at a perfect season – I’m talking about the decision by organizers to have American Idol winner Jordin Sparks sing the national anthem. I repeat: American Idol winner. This all but guarantees the kind of hysterical vocal gymnastics (…and the hoooooooooooooo-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoam of the-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-ayyyyyyyyyyyyy-feel-free-to-go-grab-a-beer-
cuz-I’m-going-to-be-brutally-torturing-this-note-for-at-least-another-
twenty-minutes-aaaaaayyyyyy-ayayayayayayayayayayayaya-ve) required to make a run at the record for longest version of the anthem ever performed at the Super Bowl, a mark currently held by Whitney Houston, whose 1991 rendition lasted – and this is just a ballpark figure – until 1997.

By the way: halftime performers at the 1991 Super Bowl? Anyone? Anyone? New Kids on the Block. The following year, the halftime show was headlined by Gloria Estefan (I mention this only for the informational benefit of the members of New Kids on the Block, who by that time had had their televisions repossessed).

One final bit of trivia: The 80,000 spectators in attendance at Super Bowl IV in New Orleans were treated to a halftime show featuring Carol Channing. There were no survivors.

SR: I loathe the halftime shows. On principle, I refuse to take seriously any event that has featured Pete Fountain not once but twice. Now Tom Petty. What? Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes were already booked? I hate to be ageist, but would it kill them to feature a musical act that didn’t release its first hit on 78 vinyl?

Clearly, America suffers a collective bout of really deep guilt. How else to explain what they do to themselves when it comes to combining sports events and music? Is there anyone who thinks watching a parade on TV is entertaining? And really, what is up with marching bands? Could anything be less natural? Dress up in a funny hat and uniform, walk in unison with others, sweat your ass off and, oh yeah, don’t forget to play your tuba the whole time. I realize that as an imperial power, they feel compelled to draw military allusions into every facet of life. But couldn’t they just book The Killers and simultaneously drop a bomb on Al Davis? That way, we could all be both entertained and enriched.

Bye Week Blues

Scott Feschuk — Fri, 25 Jan 2008 10:55:17 -0500

Couch Boys will be posting on a regular basis next week as the whole of modern civilization turns its gaze toward the event we’ve been waiting for all season long – the four-hour, twenty-five-minute Super Bowl pre-game show featuring Ryan Seacrest, the man charisma forgot. Also, a football game of some kind eventually.

SR: Welcome to Week 20 ½ -- the dreaded Super Bowl bye week. It’s not a real week, not a flesh-and-blood-play-football kinda week. It’s more of a ghost week – a soulless, unholy thing from Hell, barren of light and hope. Let’s call it Matthew McConaughey’s career.

Time crawls during Super Bowl bye week. Sports radio stubbornly refuses to concede that it has no news to report. And those with a mind to manipulate the hysterical obsessions of pathetic football fans (psst, I mean Feschuk) enjoy a free pass. Enter the Patriots’ head coach and quarterback.

Be honest. Before this week, you thought a ‘walking boot’ was some kind of expensive dessert – possibly made with caramel. Mmm, caramel.

Which reminds me:

I mean COME ON!!!!! Look at her! Brady shows up at HER place with a cast on his foot? In Manhattan? As in… New York. As in… the New York Giants? As in… the place where every tabloid reporter is just standing around hoping to fire something into the gaping maw of the Super Bowl bye week.

Some bright lights have gone so far as to suggest that maybe Belichick and Brady are playing with the media. Gee, you think? Typically, this team clutches onto information the same way Stephen Harper squeezes bacon double cheeseburgers. (Or the nuts of his cabinet ministers.)

So, is it really practical – with some nine days left before kickoff - to assume that we’re done with the media misdirection? Not hardly.

Clues the Patriots are Messing With Your Head:

• Claim to have seen Jessica Simpson frolicking in Jamaican waters with Tom Coughlin.

• Belichick concludes daily news conferences by declaring, "Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are."

• Robert Kraft reveals his true name: D. B. Cooper.

• Brady photographed talking to a fat chick.

• Amelia Earhart found alive and well in Foxboro, Massachusetts.

• 1,000 pizzas delivered to the Meadowlands.

• Two of Jerry Seinfeld’s teeth arrive by mail at Eli Manning’s home along with ransom demands.

SF: Now, now: personally, I like Super Bowl bye week. It affords us some time to reflect, to recuperate, possibly even to shower. Plus it gives all the sports talk show hosts in America the opportunity to waddle their way down to Phoenix so they can broadcast from the same hotel, interview the same guests and otherwise revive the annual showcase of hyperbole and morbid obesity known as Radio Row. How you ever seen footage of this thing on TV? It’s like some ancient mystical burial ground where polyester instinctively goes to die.

But first: it would be irresponsible of us to let the Conference Championships fade into history without attempting to settle the question of who pulled the day’s biggest boner and whose reputation will suffer the most thorough besmirching.

The runners-up…

Al Harris. See that fellow in the white uniform catching all those balls, Al? Just throwing this out there but whaddaya say – and I’m just blueskying things here – but whaddaya say you try to not let him do that so much?

LaDainian Tomlinson. People have been piling on LT all week, calling him soft and wimpy and saying he let his team down by calling it a day after three plays. That probably won’t haunt him – but what might is the way he sat on the bench, sucking out behind his Darth Vader mask instead of cheering his boys on and rallying the troops. I haven’t seen anyone look that solemn and uninterested since 2006 when I glanced in the mirror while watching Joey.

Brett Favre. Based on play alone, Favre was the true goat of championship weekend, lamely stuffing hot packs under his balaclava on sidelines and hurling up no-hopers on the playing field. But Joe Buck and Troy Aikman hilariously refused to call Favre out for his crummy decision-making – and the football establishment seems determined to protect the legacy of the Green Bay quarterback by refusing to dwell on his game-blowing awfulness. For his part, Favre has been in seclusion since the loss, splitting his time between his cabin down south and the third fold of John Madden’s belly fat. (Little-known fact: For a mere $5 extra, Corey Webster could have got that game-altering interception gift-wrapped by Favre.)

But the winner (ie. the loser) is…

Norv Turner. We knew you had it in you, Norv! Some of the other commentators wavered and started to describe you with words like “competent” and “not terrible” – but all along we remained steadfast in our belief that you had within you the ability and determination to sabotage your team’s season in the span of a single play call. And you did it, you magnificent bastard! YOU DID IT! Fourth quarter. Playing the highest-scoring team in NFL history. Down by two scores. Fourth down. Ball on the New England 36. And naturally you decide to… punt! Has there been a worse coaching decision in the playoffs this (or any) year? Punting from your opponent’s 36 in the fourth quarter while down two scores to the most formidable offensive team in league history – in the pantheon of poor decisions, that’s the NFL coaching equivalent of leaving your kids to be babysat by Britney Spears. Enjoy the off-season, Norv. You’ve earned your rest.

Ask Not What Norv Turner Can Do For You

Scott Feschuk — Fri, 18 Jan 2008 10:56:20 -0500

Scott Feschuk
Last week: 1-3
Playoffs: 3-5

Scott Reid
Last week: 1-3
Playoffs: 3-5

San Diego (plus 14) at New England
SF & SR: Regular readers of this blog will surely be shocked to discover that Couch Boys do not make a living at pro football prognostication. What with the subprime crisis in the United States, there’s suddenly a distressing shortage of people willing to pay big money for incongruous references to Dom DeLuise and jokes involving Wade Phillips and bacon.

Instead, our day-job toiling takes place in the business world where, through the innovatively named Feschuk.Reid, we provide speechwriting and consulting services to a roster of high-powered and (on the off chance they’re reading this) devastatingly sexy clients. So technically speaking we are professional speechwriters, which is relevant only in the context of the following email from loyal reader Jeff G. of Toronto:

Dear Couch Boys: I am a Chargers fan but realize they’re going to need all the breaks to win this Sunday. Could you please help out by writing Norv Turner the mother of all pre-game inspirational speeches? Thanks!

Jeff, it would be our pleasure, especially since Norv has generously set the bar very low. (Here is the full text of his pre-game speech from last week’s divisional game in Indianapolis: “OK, fellas, I… uhhh, I think the door that takes us to the field is over here. [Dramatic pause.] Nope, closet.”)

Pre-Game Remarks
Norv Turner
Head Coach, San Diego Chargers
January 20, 2008

Gentlemen, it’s almost time. Gather round. Phil, we all admire your ability to draw the round boobies, but please put down the Etch-a-Sketch.

OK. I'm going to begin like I do every week: by asking someone to take down that goddamned poster of Marty Schottenheimer.

[Loud echo of nothing much happening] Fine, I'll do it myself... again.

Look men, the team we’re playing today is a good team. It’s a strong team. It’s… [check notes]… the New England Patriots.

Some say we’re the underdogs in this game. Well I say we’re only the
underdogs in the sense that the vast majority of people are confident we
will lose by in excess of two touchdowns.

What they don't know about our team is that we have a secret weapon: we're intuitive. That's right. We have an empathetic streak that allows us to see into the souls of our opponents. Sorta like that brunette who was shagging Ryker until she went looking for strange with the Klingon.

Tramp.

In any event, that's what we can use to turn this game to our benefit. They may have small advantages like Brady, Moss and the approximate firepower of the Israeli army. Who cares? We know their turn-ons. So before you head onto the field please don't forget to rub in those colour crystals and to sprinkle some rosewater on the player next to you. I call dibs on LT.

Remember as well, fellas: We're going to play this game as a team. I want you to know while you’re out there on the field I will always be there for you.

If you drop a pass, I will be there to subsequently make a dubious play call that draws criticism and a large percentage of any hurled debris.

If you fumble the ball, I will be there to mismanage the clock and draw the anger, disdain and heart-pricking laughter of our so-called fans.

If you blow a coverage, I will emit a weeney little hamster sound toward the ref.

And if you miss your blocking assignment, I will space out and mentally start making myself a huge sandwich, like those ones Dagwood Bumstead always made, a real tall sandwich with various luncheon meats and cheeses and mustards and… mmmmmmm [starts nibbling on Shawn Merriman.]

I also want to say that win or lose I regard you as the finest group of men
I've ever been around. And I was in the Navy! Well, actually I just used to hang around sailors a lot - but like those seasons in Washington, that's a part of my life that Jesus Camp taught me to bury deep inside.

This year hasn't been easy, what with losing my blankie in Week Two.
Truth is, we’ve all faced a lot of adversity this season. We had a slow start, a tough stretch, a Phil Rivers.

But I love you guys. I also love eggs.

One final thing: If it’s the fourth quarter and Billy Volek is in there
again, I’m just going to go ahead and get a jump on the trip to the airport.
You guys finish up here. I’ll pick us all up some Sbarro.

SF’s Pick: New England.
SR’s Pick: New England.
Marty's Pick: New England.

New York Giants (plus 7) at Green Bay
SR: Let’s get the prediction out of the way nice and early: Brett Favre, possibly on a chariot made from flames and almost certainly to the score of Jesus Christ Superstar, will lead the Packers to a complete annihilation of the New York Giants. Don't worry: dental records will guarantee proper identification of all the victims (except for Michael Strahan, whose corpse will be reanimated by his wife's divorce lawyers).

Some will, no doubt, point out that the Giants have been beating the odds for weeks in a row now. But that’s my point: this football team is the equivalent of a flipped dime that has landed on its side six times in a row. It can't last. It won't last. Particularly not at Lambeau Field. In the cold. Against Brett Freakin Favre - The Most Remarkable Man Who Ever Put On Pants. And certainly not with a secondary that boasts all the depth and steadiness of Tom Cruise babbling next to a poster of L Ron Hubbard. Don’t be fooled by Sunday's last minute interception. Burton Cummings could beat RW McQuarters on a skinny slant.

So prepare for a blowout. The Giants are done like dinner. Done like Burton Cumming's dinner - which is to say deep fried and smothered in butterscotch. So take the Pack and rejoice in the rewarding glow of Brett's Julie Newmarness. Pick: Green Bay.

SF: It’s true: if things go any more perfect for Tom Coughlin for any longer, he’s going to officially be George Clooney. Two playoff wins. Turnover-free football. A defence that made Terrell Owens cry. For this run to continue, Coughlin needs to a) sacrifice three more virgins to whatever gods are controlling Eli Manning’s arm, and b) keep his car running day and night, thus accelerating global warming and reducing the likelihood of snow at Lambeau. Seattle’s formidable defenders got zero pressure on Favre because they couldn’t get any traction in the blizzard. If there be snow on Sunday, even the luck of Clooney won’t be enough to save Coughlin’s bacon – although it might still get him 20 minutes in a closet with Renee Zellweger. Pick: Green Bay.

Jessica's Mexican Romo-ance

Scott Feschuk — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 14:27:29 -0500

Scott Feschuk
Last week: 2-2
Regular season: 127-119-10

Scott Reid
Last week: 2-2
Regular season: 114-132-10

Saturday’s Games

Seattle (plus 8) at Green Bay
SR: While Tony Romo spent last week resting on a beach with the reverse rabbit’s foot he calls a girlfriend, Brett Favre was out there doing what he does best: talking about how miraculous his miraculousness is. Frankly, his super powers will be tested far more severely than this line suggests. The Seahawks pass rush will be going head to head with Favre’s quick delivery. As an avowed member of the "I worship Brett club" I have two worries. First, that the Seattle corners are good enough to tie up GB’s receivers and leave Brett more exposed than Dr. Phil’s indignity. And second, maybe this damn Cloverfield thing hates Green Bay. What a helluva hiccup that would be. Don’t get me wrong. I have no more idea than the next guy what Cloverfield is. But I'm pretty sure that if Cthullu/Godzilla takes the field for Seattle, it will challenge Green Bay's blocking schemes. I’m betting that Favre leads his team to victory. But by three points, not by nine. Pick: Seattle.

SF: That’s dumb. First of all, that Cloverfield thing IS Brett Favre. No other NFL quarterback or mystical movie monster could ever throw the Statue of Liberty’s head that far. Second, Seattle’s corners are very overrated, and thrive largely because of the pressure created by the front seven. The problems start when a) the Seahawks’ front seven tires out in the second half [as in the Washington game], and b) they hand the ball to Matt Hasselbeck and he examines it confusedly, sniffs it, stares up blankly and asks, “Me eat?” Seattle has no running game and a QB who’s generous with the picks. Green Bay has the World’s Most Amazing Human Being Ever Apparently and a defence that’ll probably score twice on its own. Ergo... Pick: Green Bay.

Jacksonville (plus 13) at New England
SR: Can you imagine the look on Tom Brady's face as he reads the criticism of Tony Romo's bye-week getaway with Jessica Simpson? After having it explained to him that some quarterbacks actually sleep with the same starlet more than once, I imagine Brady was very disdainful of Romo's weak work ethic. They say that Brady prepares like a coach for every game and never takes a day off. They also say he has the power of flight but keeps it quiet for fear that humankind will just give up and expect him to look after us all. Truth is the Pats come into this game having been routinely tested for the past few weeks (except when playing Miami of course). And while David Garrard has yet to really prove himself in a big moment, Jacksonville has the tools to put Brady, Moss and co. through their paces. Expect Welker to have a huge day since the Jags are good enough to take away the outside. Drew-Jones will also be bigtime. New England will win. But it will be a grinder. Pick: Jags.

SF: If it weren’t for his timely scamper on fourth down, David Garrard would have been the biggest goat of wild-card weekend (even goatier than Mike Tomlin, architect of the savvy let’s-go-for-two-from-40-yards-out strategy, and the Steelers offensive co-ordinator who sent in three consecutive dumb-ass running plays late in the game – a trio of calls that now reside in the Bad Coaching graveyard between Andy Reid’s Super Bowl clock management skills and Joe Gibbs’ acumen with the timeouts). The Jags QB was awful, and Jacksonville’s defence was picked apart in the second half. Worse still, this is a team that can’t play from behind, which won’t be a problem this week – until about three minutes into the game, when they’ll be behind. Pick: New England.

Sunday’s Games

New York Giants (plus 7.5) at Dallas
SF: This game is a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped (at the insistence of Wade Phillips) in a strip of delicious hickory-smoked bacon. It’s easy to make a case for both teams: the Giants are coming off two solid performances; the Cowboys were dominant for much of the season. The status of T.O.’s ankle sprain lends yet another note of uncertainty, as does the status of whatever physical malady makes Eli Manning sometimes throw like a girl. And then there’s all the fuss over Tony Romo and his jaunt to Mexico with Jessica Simpson, one of only three Americans who makes Terry Bradshaw look smart (the other two: Tommy Lee and Grape Ape). You’d think a guy who botched the hold on the game-winning field goal in last year’s playoffs might be motivated to buckle down and focus, but apparently not. That’s got to be frustrating for Dallas fans. Then again, word is the trip was frustrating for Simpson, too. In a bad omen for Cowboys enthusiasts, every time things between Tony and Jessica got a little frisky, the quarterback went three and out. (Thank you. Thank you very much. I’m here all playoffs. Remember to tip your waitress.) Bottom line: more than any other game this weekend, this one’s a crapshoot. My best guesses are that a) Dallas leans surprisingly heavy on the run, b) the Cowboys win in the 17-6 range, and c) Tony Romo is covered head to toe in hickies. Pick: Dallas.

SR: I read that for the Dukes of Hazzard re-make (a DAMN fine movie by the way) Jessica Simpson had to have her derrierre padded in order to persuasively play the part of Daisy Duke. This makes me wonder – does she continue to put tissue paper or possibly Styrofoam packing peanuts down the back of her pants? And is that the kind of man Tony Romo is? A falsies fellow? Can you imagine Tom Brady snogging with a girl whose ass was one-half bubble wrap? This tells you everything you need to know about the phony lot they call a football team down in Dallas. That said, the torrent of recent predictions of a Giants upset hits me right in my suspicion bone. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re all wearing “Obama Rules NH” T-shirts. Two weeks of not losing games does not make Eli Manning a winner. Marion Barber will be huge on Sunday and the last time T.O. entered a playoff game with injury doubts, he ripped up the field. History is set to repeat itself. Pick: Dallas.

San Diego (plus 8.5) at Indy
SF: No one who’s been as average at prognostication as I’ve been should ever get to say this but… is this game not the surest thing, the safest bet, the easiest score on God’s green earth since the invention of Lindsay Lohan? On one sideline, the Super Bowl champs – led by Peyton Manning and coached by Tony Dungy. On the other sideline, the underachieving Chargers, led by Phil Rivers and coached by the human mulligan, Norv Turner. Seems to me the only big passes Rivers made last week were when Tennessee dropped back into its Huge Gaping Hole Where a Receiver Could Pitch a Tent and Blend a Frappucino in the Time it Takes a Titans Defender to Saunter On Over coverage. With Antonio Gates out or playing on a wonky toe, Indy will be free to jam the box, shutting down LT and forcing Rivers to throw into one of the league’s best pass defences. The writers may still be on strike in Hollywood, but rest assured Rivers and Turner can be relied upon to produce some high-quality (if unintentional) comedy. Pick: Indianapolis.

SR: I agree with you. You ARE an average prognosticator. In fact, you’re just about average at everything – particularly yard work. Remarkably, you’re also right - albeit only in this very limited circumstance. You are not right about mostly everything else including: the Ottawa Senators, solving the time travel paradox or the paternity of Jamie Lynn Spears baby. Gates is the key to this game. Without him at full speed, Norv Turner must rely on Philip Rivers making quick reads and finding the open receivers. That’s like asking Archie to pick between Veronica and Betty – it just ain’t gonna happen (BTW – who wouldn’t take Veronica? She’s hot, rich and she makes it pretty clear that she’s a goer). I’m also fairly convinced that Peyton Manning wants to show the NFL that despite the pagan rush to build craven images of Tom Brady, he’s still pretty damn good at this quarterbacking thing. He won’t be tossing six picks this time around. Pick: Indianapolis.

Say It Ain't Joe

Scott Feschuk — Fri, 04 Jan 2008 10:07:53 -0500

Scott Feschuk
Last week: 11-5
Season: 127-119-10

Scott Reid
Last week: 9-7
Season: 114-132-10

SR: Wild card weekend is here and despite the fact we will not see Tom Brady, Randy Moss, Peyton Manning, Brett Favre, Tony Romo, Terrell Owens or Jamie Lynn Spears, it should be great fun. Before we get to the games ahead, however, it is worth noting the week that just passed – because it was remarkable. The Pats were successful in going 16-0. Tom Brady and Randy Moss set new records. And Brian Billick proved that assholes can finish last. Lots of bodies thrown over the rail – Cam Cameron, Randy Mueller, Jim Hostler, Mike Martz and some people in KC that nobody has any reason to know.

I realize it’s wrong of me but I love firing season. I enjoy the speculation and the inside scoop. The way the media run down from the hills and shoot the wounded. And I love speculating about all the talented people out there that maybe – just maybe – the Niners could hire. (Please, Cam Cameron – take over Alex Smith and make him great).

I should also take this opportunity to make clear to all 17 readers that Messrs Feschuk and I are available to take the reins of your NFL franchise (except Atlanta, of course).

SF: Since we’re reflecting on the past, let’s pause a moment to take a gander at our results from this season to figure out who did better and who did not so better. OK, let’s see here: I picked 127 games right whereas YOU ARE A HUGE LOSER WHO STINKS AND IS AWFUL AT THIS AND ALSO SMELLS. Listen: I’m glad you love firing season so much because, well, let’s just say we here at Couch Boys Amalgamated understand that Cam Cameron is looking for work and…

Washington (plus 3.5) at Seattle
SF: There are a lot of questions about this one: How many magic beans did Shaun Alexander receive in exchange for his talent? Will Satan agree to renegotiate his mortal-soul-for-earthly-glory contract with Todd Collins to include post-season success? Could the Seahawks possibly have had an easier road to the playoffs (we just played the Bengals, Rams, 49ers and Bears – and now you want us to play the Cardinals and Falcons??! Bastards!)

But the real intrigue here is rooted in the game within the game – the epic battle between Mike Holmgren’s highly dubious clock management skills and Joe Gibbs’s increasingly frequent senior moments. If this thing is even remotely close in the fourth quarter I feel pretty confident that we’re looking at an ending that could feature more boners than a frat house with Cinemax. Seriously, with the game on the line, who would you rather have making the decisions – the guy who doesn’t know the rules of the game and, for all we know, thinks Clinton Portis is his Aunt Betty Sue, or the guy who has made a career of burning timeouts as kindling and then staring blankly at the game clock, watching the pretty lights flash on and off into the big mean buzzer sounds and the man on the other sideline gets doused in Gatorade?

The Redskins’ run to the playoffs has been powered by emotion, and that’s the least reliable of competitive fuels – but the fact is that Washington has played a load of good opponents (Dallas twice, New England, Green Bay, Tampa Bay) this year and is strong enough not only to cover but to win outright. Pick: Washington.

SR: Scott Feschuk! J'accuse you de ageism. (I think that's French - possibly Portuguese). In truth, Joe Gibbs has pulled off a classic Jedi Mind Trick against the entire football nation (I am impervious to its touch thanks to my years of training in front of the VCR covered in red licorice and root beer stains). Gibbs has the NFL right where he wants them: Convinced that he's Jar Jar Binks when in fact he's Lord Palpatine (uh, right up til the part where he's defeated by being...picked up and thrown away). What's more, you're right - which incidentally exhausts your 2008 quota - the Seahawks do have a terribly one-dimensional game. All they do is pass. But here's the thing. It's one dimension more than the Skins can handle. I think the Seahawks have all the gravitas of Tila Tequila's search for bisexual bliss. But they can outpace Washington and the spread. Pick: Seattle.

Jacksonville (minus 2.5) at Pittsburgh
SF: Everyone’s picking the Jags in this one. Vegas is picking the Jags. Football insiders are picking the Jags. Drifters, hobos, layabouts, roustabouts, felons, probably Scott Reid – they’re all picking Jacksonville to triumph on the road in Pittsburgh. I’m not. There’s no denying that Jacksonville is built to win this game – they have the tools and they have the gameplan and they have a coach who makes funny faces. But they also have a quarterback who is a rookie when it comes to the post-season. If I were David Garrard, I’d be wetting myself right about now. (This is also what I’d be doing right now if I were Todd Collins, Eli Manning or Hillary Clinton.) Pick: Pittsburgh.

SR: What's that? Sorry, I couldn't hear you. Boxcar Willie and I were just singing "Tonight the Bottle Let Me Down" and strapping on our David Garrard extra Dri Fit underpants. Any analysis that relies upon what circumstances you would make lemonade in your scratchies is irredeemably flawed. In my experience the list of situations that provoke bladder failure on your part includes, but is not limited to: cold weather, running water, talking to pretty girls, talking to homely girls, scary movies, funny movies, lifting your legs too high and traveling by train. Pittsburgh's defence has gone on vacation for the past four weeks and Jacksonville will force Big Ben into making bigger mistakes. This is a lock. Pick: Jacksonville.

Tennessee Titans (plus 9.5) at San Diego
SR: Vince Young? Who cares? Jeff Fisher would be happy to start Agent 99 at quarterback if he could get a healthy Albert Haynesworth back in the lineup. The fact of the matter is that San Diego – at home, coming off a six game winning streak and having snatched a shocking victory from the Titans only a month ago – should win this game. But the great equalizer comes down to two small words: Norv Turner. If ever a guy was cut out to find a way to lose the big one, it’s the Chargers coach. Better hope that LT covers his sorry ass. Pick: San Diego.

SF: I'm excited – this will be a real test of Norv Turner’s commitment to finding new and innovative ways of blowing the big one. Maybe this will be the week he puts only nine players on the field or rolls out his groundbreaking “We Can’t Fumble if We Punt on Every Down” offence. Still, an upset here would require the most improbable of circumstances – the Titans would actually have to score some, you know, points. Pick: San Diego.

New York Giants (plus 3.5) at Tampa Bay
SR: Jeff Garcia has put a bullet in Eli Manning’s playoff ambitions twice already in the past few years. Expect a thee-peat this weekend. Tampa’s advantage can be found in a much stronger defense and the presence of Eli Manning on the other opposing team. When the game is on the line, Manning will almost surely try to force it into double coverage. The absence of Shockey as safety valve for the Giants’ passing game will be severely felt as the TB secondary ices Plaxico Burress. Pick: Tampa Bay.

SF: It’s completely astonishing to me that the Giants even made it to the playoffs given the talent they’ve got – it’s like watching the Oscars and hearing the nominees rhymed off: “Hanks, Freeman, Crowe, Washington and… Efron??” This should be a blowout. Pick: Tampa Bay.