As The Blog Turns

You know how every once in a while you're watching a game, and something incredible happens, and you feel grateful to have been there (you're not really "there," of course, but you know where I'm going)? It happened to me last year, when I finally witnessed a no-hitter--even better, it was Red Sox kid sensation Clay Buchholz doing the deed.

Last night's "Costas Now" media inquisition on HBO might have been one of those moments, only I missed it live. I set the DVR and finished watching the Sox' epic 1-0 triumph over Roy Halladay, who threw his third consecutive complete game loss (that sounds like something from the dead ball era). I then put in a little wife time and watched some programming we could both enjoy. For some reason a fake town hall meeting discussing sports blogs and talk radio did not interest her.

So before I headed to work this morning, I cued up the TiVo to see if anything interesting happened on the show. Now I know that this stuff is most likely more interesting to us the writers than you the readers. The vitriol of Buzz Bissinger and Bob Costas were directed at us bloggers, not you blog consumers. But by extension, those guys were calling you idiots. They said that you are not capable of filtering information for yourself, that you can't decide what's credible or entertaining on your own, and that only TRAINED SPORTS JOURNALISTS are skilled enough to deliver sports analysis to sports fans. Just make sure you keep buying Bissinger's books, watching Costas' shows, patronizing their advertisers, and they'll take care of you, you fucking morons.

Banky helpfully provides the relevant clip below, as well as reaction from the relevant parties: Leitch, the FJM crew, and Big Daddy Balls.

First off, a note about Buzz Bissinger. If you haven't read his stuff before, you might dismiss him as a defensive old crackpot and leave it at that. I have read his stuff, and he is truly gifted at his craft. He graduated from Penn, worked at newspapers in the twin Cities, Philadelphia and Chicago, and won a Pulitzer Prize. He's most well known for two sports books: Friday Night Lights and Three Nights In August.

Friday Night Lights is and always will be one of my favorite books in any genre. One reason for this is that I have family from West Texas, and I've known about the obsession with Odessa Permian football (Mojo) for a long time. But the primary reason I love the book is that Bissinger created something entirely new with it. Sure, other authors have embedded themselves with their subjects before. George Plimpton was a member of the Detroit Lions, and John Feinstein spent an full season with Bob Knight and the Indiana basketball team. Detroit Lions and Indiana Hoosiers are, for the most part, celebrities on a national scale. Permian Panthers, when Bissinger arrived, were not. They were 15-, 16-year-old kids with acne and anxiety and shitty parents. Bissinger created on the pages of his book everything good and raw and compelling from reality TV without gratuitous humiliation and product placement. It was masterful.

It also made Bissinger rich. Then he sold the film rights and Hollywood made a lousy movie, which made Bissinger even richer. Then NBC created its TV show, which generated even more cash, even though it has no true connection to Bissinger's real-life characters. It's complete fiction. Along the way Bissinger transformed, from a crusty newspaperman to a loaded player. His roots, of course, are still in print journalism. He doesn't understand the kids and their Intarweebs and their rock and roll music. And because he doesn't understand, he's defensive and frustrated and bitter and angry, angry at Will Leitch, even though Leitch does not represent even the slightest threat to his livelihood.

Three Nights In August is compelling in its own way, but isn't half the masterpiece that Friday Night Lights is. Bissinger has lost his voice and his connection with both his subject and his reader. He's now important, he has literary agents and managers and a big advance and big-shot friends and sidekicks like Tony La Russa and Tracy Ringolsby. He's also dismissive of this new trend in baseball, embodied by Moneyball, and he spends much of the book slamming the disrespectful young guns and lauding the slow-footed old guard. Sound familiar?

Now Will Leitch has written a few books too, most recently God Save The Fan. I've read it, and it was, well, disappointing. Judged strictly on the basis of writing chops, Will Leitch can not hold a candle to Buzz Bissinger. But Leitch is a thousand times the modern sports journalist that Bissinger is. Leitch, like Bissinger, cut his teeth in newspapers before moving on to a different medium. But while Leitch is willing to adapt because adaptation is a necessary human skill, Bissinger adapts only when it is financially beneficial. If there were more money in newspapers than in his new gig as novelist/screenwriter/producer, he'd still be in newspapers. If Al Gore had invented the House of Georges back when Bissinger was a cub reporter, he'd be on the series of tubes. Bissinger pretends to have principles, but he really just doesn't get it.

The Internet is putting newspapers out of business, not because it's better but because newspapers are filled with dyspeptic old know-it-alls like Buzz Bissinger who want to own the information and dispense it as they see fit. And because they're in the information business, the Bissingers and the Ringolsbys of the world have a platform with which they can air their antiquated views.

You know who else the Internet has put out of business? Porn theaters (actually, VCRs did it first). Travel agents. Yet travel agents are not represented by Buzz Bissinger, so no one gives a shit. No one gets PISSED OFF on a Bob Costas show when they book a flight online, they're either grateful for the convenience or take it completely for granted. Like you did, when you came here to the HoG today instead of digging for Mark Kiszla's views on the state of the Nuggets in the Denver Post.

Look, I love newspapers. I read several actual dead-tree papers every day, unlike almost everyone my age. I used to work in the field, as did Bankmeister. Hell, Cecil still draws a paycheck from a major U.S. daily newspaper. We're all trained professional journalists. We've faced deadlines. We've edited our stories to avoid libel. We've interviewed smug arrogant jerks like Buzz Bissinger because it was our job. We know the game.

And yet in our spare time we publish this blog. We don't follow AP style, we curse, we run (as Bob Costas called them last night) "gratuitous potshots and mean-spirited abuse." You know why, Buzz and Bob? Because the Internet allows us to follow sports in a more democratic and accessible way than you prefer. I don't want to wait around for Buzz's next book to let you give me an opinion. I don't want to rely on Bob Costas, with his opinions and biases, to deliver information to me I can easily find and decode for myself. I'm a smart guy, and when it comes to certain teams and certain stats I'm way smarter than Costas and Bissinger. Bob Costas doesn't know the status of the Rockies' second base job, who'll play QB for CSU next year, who my keeper is going to be in fantasy football. He doesn't give a shit. So fuck him, I'll find it myself, and then I'll write about it. In my underwear. In my mom's basement. Because I can.

This is not to say that we, with our fancy community-college journalism degrees and well-worn steno pads, are uniquely qualified to dissect sports. Our only credentials are that we're fans and we care. Which makes us just as "experienced" as Mike Wilbon or Bob Costas or Buzz Bissinger. And you, humble sports fan, are just as qualified too. So you didn't go to Northwestern, intern under Grantland Rice, cover the Moscow Olympics? Who cares? Start a blog, it's easy. There's no way it can be worse than this one (Editor's Note: Please don't start a blog, you might take away our precious traffic and we're scared to death of change.)

In a way, these defenses of our medium are ridiculous, because they concede there's some sort of credence to the ancient ramblings of dumb old Buzz Bissinger. Besides, no one can do it better than Big Daddy Balls Deep Drew-lerio After Dark Piss-Fuck himself. Read more

Insert Lame Question Regarding the Buzz

For the record, I haven't seen any of the Costas program aside from this clip (courtesy of Deadspin). Anyone that wants to get up to speed regarding summaries of the program's content, can do so at Fire Joe Morgan, The Big Lead, or, in some regard, Kissing Suzy Kolber. (Update: Ape has chimed in.)

While I'm still starved to get more on the program and reactions about it, I think the deepest sentiment I have right now is this:

Was there a rehearsal of sorts for this prior to airing? How well does/did Costas know Buzz Bissinger? I'm baffled at how unprofessional and discourteous he was. Who, exactly, does he think he's standing up for? The established-and-paid-journalist segment of greater mankind? Hopefully for his sake, he didn't think of this as an opportunity to plug himself, because I have heard of his book, but will (now) never, ever buy anything that sends royalties to the Bissinger household.

I'm sure there will be much more on this today, tomorrow, and even further along in the blogendars. Read more

Hard Knocks Review: Episode IV

Let's just say I got dis appointment. No. I don't have a scheduled doctor's visit. I'm let down. Across the board. Episode I of HBO's "Hard Knocks: Training Camp with the Kansas City Chiefs" ruled. Episode II was anti-climactic. Episode III rejuvenated my interest in the series, and, yep...follow the trend: Episode IV was a joke.


I'm not interested in paying attention to Old No. 7's not-surprisingly negative response to the program. That's how he rolls. If it doesn't involve flogging the dolphin of someone who's last name rhymes with Spellbay, than he's not interested. I eagerly couldn't care less about anticipate reading his mid-autumn post that will break down how much the Chiefs suck and how their non-success directly correlates with this five-part NFL Films production. Whatever.

Episode V, however, had better be good. Before I break down the highlights and not-so-much highlights of last night's installment, allow me to voice one more complaint: Each episode has been shorter than the previous. And that, is a load of crap. I imagine that Chiefs GM Carl Peterson and Head Coach Herman Edwards have minimized what they want airing in the episodes as the program has progressed. Naturally, as you get closer to opening day, you don't want other teams honing in on your playbook and schemes. I got it. I'm sure, however, that the footage selected for last night's episode could've been 10 times more entertaining than it was. More on that in a minute.

Episode I ran the full hour it was allotted, you know, 60 of those things we call minutes. Episode II ran about four minutes shy; the third installment ended about eight minutes shy of the hour, and last night, the credits rolled at :49. Forty-nine! When will they pull the plug on the final airing? Twenty 'til? To quote Jimmy from South Park, "Come. Oh-wen." To the contents of the program I go, nevertheless.

Highlights:

As mentioned, there aren't many. I'll run through the few that were.

Kelli Croyle



As last week was quarterback-decision week for Herm and company, it was only fitting that NFL Films go into the Croyle home regardless of who won the job. We all know Brodie didn't, so we watched the newlyweds make dinner and talk about the party they'd have once Brodie's day came around. (this photo, courtesy of Arrowhead Addict via HBO, was published on AA after Episode I aired). Let it be known that, in my HoG eyes, Miss Croyle knew damn good and well this footage was making the cut as her top was nicely revealing and her jeans indicated the pleasing presence of a deliciously curved Ba-Donk-a-Donk. Good times.


Ray Farmer



First cuts happened last week, so NFL Films spent a lot of time inside Chiefs Director of Pro Personnel Ray Farmer's office as he handed down the news to the less fortuneate. I liked that they called him the Grim Reaper. Good stuff.






Bobby Sippio



I'm pleased to see that this kid is still around. He looks awesome. 'Nuff said.







Boomer Grigsby



No. I didn't look for a picture of him with his mohawk. Yes, I know he no longer wears 51. Yes, I was pleased to see him healthy again. This converted linebacker looks to be a force as a fullback. I'm rooting for him to make it as his contributions could be T-Rich worthy.





Tank "Bubba Gump" Tyler



Okay. The kid likes to eat, he snores like a chainsaw, and can't stay awake in the meeting room. That doesn't take away from his main asset: Ass. Kicking. I wouldn't be surprised or disappointed to see this kid start in Houston. He's a force, an animal and word has it that he likes to eat SEC quarterbacks and non-1500-yard-rushing tailbacks for breakfast. Huh. Me too.






Lowlights:

I'm not going to grace the lowlights with pictures. I will, however, list them.


Rookie razzing

The Kennison/Herm Edwards razzing of rookie WR Dwayne Bowe was funny at first. Last week's episode where Herm repeatedly hollered about having his donuts hot was a bit much. Apparently, they couldn't find the Krispy Kreme, so Bowe and fellow WR Rod Gardner set out for the Cracker Barrel to get Kennison and company some almond pancakes, or something equally dumb. It seemed, however, that this footage was included only to set up the ensuing cutting of Gardner. Granted, footage of guys getting cut is interesting and a big part of the show, but you don't need to set it up with in-the-car footage of two dudes jabbering and looking at a laptop for directions. Snore.


The QB Decision

Yes. A big part of the show. Yes. A big decision for any team. No. Not worth three solid minutes of Herm sitting in different positions in his office pondering the dilemna. Give me a break.


The Tank "Bubba Gump" Tyler/Turk McBride Head-Bob Sleep Fakeout

This was another waste of three good airtime minutes. And it was real dumb. And it made everyone associated with the club look real dumb, too. Good thing for Tyler he made the highlights as well. Thus, he's off the head-bob hook.

In sum, that's a lot to ingest about one episode of a series. I say that because the program itself didn't have much to ingest. I'm hoping for a bang-up finale, though. It's still entertaining television. Don't get me wrong. I only want more of the good stuff.
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Tradition Tueday: The Self-Destruction Will Be Televised

The rough focus of this blog is the rivalry between the Kansas City Chiefs (heralded by Bankmeister) and the Denver Broncos (championed by Cecil and Old No. 7). It may seem unfair that it's two versus one, but once KC gets that second Super Bowl win we'll even out the delegation.

Seven years ago we started The Tradition, in which Bronco fans travel out to the Truman Sports Complex with their team, and Chief-lovers return to the Rocky Mountains with theirs. We tailgate, we talk massive amounts of shit, our wives are occasionally assaulted by rival fans, and we almost always watch the visiting team lose. It's grand old time.

Here at the HoG, we're going to keep The Tradition going with Tradition Tuesday--a weekly state-of-the-rivalry address.

Let’s start this edition of Tradition Tuesday with a simple observation. The Denver Broncos look like shit. I know it, you know it, Mike Shanahan knows it. I’m sure these aren’t happy times at the Bowlen Center For Advanced Totally Legal Blocking Technique in Dove Valley, Colorado. For more of the X’s and O’s on the plight of the local pigskinners, please tune in to Cecil’s excellent preseason NFL series.

While we’re assessing non-meaningful games, I’ll happily note that the other half of The Tradition’s rootership is equally depressed about their club’s August output. The Kansas City Chafes are a miserable 0-3 in exhibition games, and pretty boy Brodie Croyle has thrown himself out of any meaningful playing time this season.

Does this mean anything? Maybe, and then again perhaps not. I’m sure every fan of both franchises has memorized this fact: The Indianapolis Colts went 1-3 in the preseason last year, and they finished the campaign in a shower of confetti. Preseason doesn’t mean shit, unless it does. We’ll find out real quick whether either of these teams are legitimate.

But that’s reality, which bruises the soul and hurts the bones. A much more palatable diversion is reality television, which subdues the intelligence of the mob. And the surprise runaway stars of reality TV this summer have been Herman Edwards, Boomer Grigsby, Tim Krumrie and Kelli Croyle. Their names appear on the marquee of that HBO smash sensation Hard Knocks: Training Camp With The Kansas City Chiefs.

There are many things that I like about Chiefs fans. The most important is that they make me feel really smart and well-groomed. We are, on the surface, the same. We both like football and red meat and large-breasted women. It is only through the prism of Hard Knocks, a detailed anthropological study of the guts of this NFL franchise, that I am able to see the fundamental differences between Bronco fans and our low-altitude brethren of the Plains.

Unfailingly, every Chiefs fan I’ve come across loves Hard Knocks. They are so happy and proud to be featured on this program it makes me blush. I’m sure people who appear on The Price Is Right and American Idol feel the exact same way, up until the moment it’s televised. Then and only then does the truth become apparent.

You look like fucking idiots.

If you are on reality TV, you’re a dope. You come off as a simplistic moron with basic, childish motivations. Because of the lack of context in any situation, we the viewers dissect your actions and judge you, and the judgements are harsh indeed. If you talk about your contract, you look greedy. If you talk about your draft position or your playing time or your dorm room assignment, you look petty and selfish. And all this is well and good for horny kids on The Real World, because no one gives two shits about those clowns anyway. But Hard Knocks is a massive distraction away from what ought to be the sole focus of the Kansas City Chiefs, which is football.

As Herman says, You Play To Win The Game. I can only assume by the way that KC has performed thus far this year (and, for that matter, last January…playoffs?), he means regular season games. I do know for a fact that Herman and GM Carl Peterson and every single Chiefs fan on Earth desperately wants to go further into the postseason. But how far is far enough?

In the brilliant first episode of Hard Knocks, King Carl laid down the goals for the season, Chief among them the desire to win the Lamar Hunt Trophy. Not the Lombardi, mind you, but the one they give out to the AFC representative in the Super Bowl. Now I’ll bet that unless you grew up as a fan of the Chiefs, Broncos or Bills, you had no God damned idea what the Lamar Hunt Trophy was. In Denver and Buffalo, we got sick of that piece of shit following repeated hoistings of it followed by failures in The Big One. I can’t imagine, for a team that’s any better than the Detroit Lions, an ultimate aim other than winning the Super Bowl. Yet Carl wants the Lamar Hunt Trophy. How do we know this? Because Carl put his team on a reality TV show.

Later, in the most recent edition, Herman is leading his team in a two-minute drill just before the boys break camp in River Falls. He concocts a hypothetical situation for effect, just as every kid does in his backyard. Only Herman’s scenario is the final drive of…the AFC Championship Game. Now I remember sandlot games that we pretended were the seventh game of the World Series, but never once did we think to make up the League Championship.

Look, I’m sure that decades of being pretty good makes a franchise and a fan base hungry. I just can’t see being hungry for anything other than the best. Trust me, Kansas City, there’s no glory in making the Super Bowl if you fucking lose. It’s an asterisk on your career. Ask Jim Kelly.

And so, for the life of me, I can’t see how having my team on a circus sideshow like this is anything but an embarrassment. But who am I? Just another asshole fan of a cheating team with a dick coach that only cares about rings. Don’t worry about me, enjoy your TV show. Just know that on November 11 I’ll be in your town looking for the only thing that matters, which is a win. Don’t miss it—it’ll be on TV.
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Hard Knocks Review: Episode III

The consensus, one I agree with, is that, in comparison to Episode I of HBO's "Hard Knocks: Training Camp With the Kansas City Chiefs," Episode II was a pretty big disappointment. Therefore, the viewership had pretty high expectations for Wednesday night's third installment. For the most part, those expectations were met. This week, we'll run through the highlights with some good ol' fashioned photos and some new-fangled YouTubeage.


Adios River Falls, Aloha Arrowhead



The Hard Knocks film crew snuck in this joyful montage as a tribute to real home-field advantage.

Herm Edwards
The H.C.I.C. went out of his way to be positive and fit in at the same time. Key Herm moments involved Edwards razzing rookie WR Dwayne Bowe about Krispy frickin' Kreme donuts. Herm wanted his young receiver to be sure that the donuts he was told to purchase for his teammates were advertised by a sign that said "Hot!" and he clearly was unsure whether or not Bowe had heard him as he repeated "Hot!" about six or seven times. Other Herm highlights include his effort to end camp on a positive. The team, led by second-year quarterback Brodie Croyle, drove down in the two-minute offense and had one fourth-down attempt to get in the end zone "to win the AFC Championship game." They false started. Herm gave the boys a free play, asterisked with the reminder that they didn't actually have that play to run. Nice work, Herm.

Bobby Sippio



I scoured the YourHubs and the StubTubes for some Sippio footage from River Falls, but there weren't none. Nevertheless, he makes the highlight reel for continuing to impress the armchair Chiefs fan in me. It'll be interesting to see if this kid and his nice teef make the 53-man roster.

Kelli Croyle

Episode III did in fact have some more Kelli Croyle footage, the first of which involved her being 45 minutes late to pick up her husband from the airport. The second snippet(s) were from afar as she watched highlights (highlights?) of the Chiefs/Dolphins game wrapped in a transparent trash bag. To further the video shamery, her outfit was not see-through.











The Nutshell



CBSSportsline.com had their own Mike Judge out there to summarize what the skinny was, to that point, on the Chiefs.

That's about it. Two episodes of Hard Knocks left to go. Check back next week for another non-timely review of the program.
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Tantalizing Trio

Really got nothing to say here, other than to say that "We Are Hot Chicks Wednesday" is indeed on the way, and that Mark Hamill and Harrison Ford aren't crap next to the 'Hoff and Gary. Can you say "measty menage a trois"? I'll bet you can. I can hear the dialogue already.

Kit: "Michael -- use the force."
The 'Hoff: "Whoa, buddy. I speak into my watch to tell you what to do. Let's keep that straight. My German fans won't be havin' that."
Carrie Fisher (leaning over, trying to insert a business card into Gary Coleman's forehead): "Help me, Todd Bridges. You're my only hope."
Coleman: Lady! What'choo talkin' 'bout Willis fo'? Focus on Arnold, or I'ma sick the Gooch on you!"




Official HoG apologies for the lack of Gary photos over the past week. We promise it will never happen again. (Editor's Note: It will when we run out.) In other news, episode three of HBO's "Hard Knocks: Training Camp with the Kansas City Chiefs" airs tonight. No HBO? That's cool. You can hang out here on Al Gore's CyberNets and likely catch some LiveBloggage from these crazy cats. Or check out the ol' HoG review of it tomorrow. Right here. Same spot. Likely earlier than right now. Happy reading/watching. Cheers. Read more

Hard Knocks Review: Episode II

Episode II of HBO's "Hard Knocks: Training Camp With the Kansas City Chiefs" aired last night. Though the energy of the program wasn't as high as week one, it was still pretty darn excellent. The focus this week was the depth chart, coaches obsessions with it and its ever-changing status. This installment was more about getting into the mindset of the coaching staff, giving the viewing audience a glimpse into the decision-making processes coaches undergo while at camp. It was pretty educational. There are certainly some highlights to discuss, and we'll get to them, just as soon as I've singled out the most important one: we finally got to see some footage/hear the voice of TLR's favorite Chief coach (Offensive Coordinator), Mike Solari.



Let me bring those of you that aren't familiar with the scenario up to speed. TLR does a pretty good job of paying attention to Kansas City sports from his cozy Adirondack cabin up in the land of non-American bacon. He's a few clicks and chimes from receiving his PhD in salmon conservation or something equally useless. Don't get the wrong idea. He's an extremely intelligent kid and he'll probably be involved in some marine biology-related epidemic that saves the whales, dolphins and humans all at the same time. His greatest fault, however, is that he's that guy. Yeah. The armchair GM/Head Coach/Director of Scouting/Chief of Officiating/President of the Player's Union/League Commissioner all rolled into one.

I'll stick to his most recent poster-child example: Operation Fire Mike Solari. TLR is the president, VP, treasurer and sole member of this organization. And he founded it in like week 11 of last year's football season. The crux of it all came in this forgettable memory when TLR called my cell phone nothing shy of 37.4 times, all to bitch about Solari and our non-existent offensive gameplan. What TLR failed to notice, finally (months later) admitted, and now insists upon ignoring is that this guy promoted him to that position, and it is said promoter's philosophy that both coordinators must adhere to. Furthermore, it was Solari's first year as a coordinator. Give the guy a flippin' break. That's all I'm going to say about it. It was nice to see his presence on Hard Knocks. Peek at the comments for the usual "run-run-pass/predictable" criticisms that TLR will dish out to defend his can-Solari campaign.

Other highlights of last night's episode:


The Tank and the Turk. Yes. They were both highlights, comically and performance-wise. Sort of. Tank, the fatass third-round pick draft pick out of North Carolina State who was filmed falling asleep in the classroom in last week's episode, has been, in addition to keeping roommate Turk awake with thunderous snoring, he's been tearing up the fields of both camp and pre-season game number one. Turk, on the other hand, was not the kind of highlight Chiefs Nation wanted to see. The second-rounder out of Tennessee was shown being dominated on the practice field and cramping up/getting winded in the game against the Browns. Effin' sweet.

Dwayne Bowe

I was pretty stoked to see the inclusion of Bowe's field-goal-post taping and dousing. Reading about it in the paper was one thing; hearing him complain to one-time Bronco Eddie Kennison about not being able to feel his arms and ribs was dadgummed hysterical. As far as on-the-field performance, Bowe is huge, he is ripped and he has got to improve his hands. I'm confident he will, but that was a bit disturbing.

Other worthy notes:

1) Nice to see Justin Medlock put one through the uprights after missing several consecutive attempts. Does anyone know what the coaching staff was thinking when they decided not to bring in any competition for the guy?

2) Gunther Cunninham. The dude is my idol. He's going to have this D in top-notch shape by mid-season. I, for one, am amped about that.

3) Boomer Grigsby. His transition to fullback has me watering at the mouth. Let's hope he can stay healthy.

4) Herm told the guys not to wear all their jewelry for the travel to Cleveland. Brodie Croyle informed everyone that that wouldn't be a problem for him as he' "not that into 'blink'."

5) Kyle Turley. He gets a half-nod for just being the piece of work that he is. Not to shabby on the six-string acoustic either.

That sums it up. Pop back in next Thursday for a review of Episode III.


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Hard Knocks Review: Episode I

I don't have HBO. But I convinced the wife we should get it for Hard Knocks: Training Camp with the Kansas City Chiefs, and cancel afterwards. That was one of the best decisions I've ever made. Last night's debut episode was, by far, one of the best hours of television I've seen in ages. Words simply cannot describe how much ass it kicked. I suppose most folks would thoroughly enjoy an uninterrupted hour of footage about their team, but I've been wrong before. Highlights:



First of all, I don't even like lookin' at men in spandex, but Bernard Pollard can dance. That was some hilarious business, and I loved how much the team got a kick out of it. Let's not forget the vat full of awesome this kid's going to be at safety this year, too.

Brodie Croyle gets a nod, not for his arm or southern drawl, but because of his wife. Holy. Smokes. Batman. The Internets have yet to provide us with an image of her that does her hotness justice. Let's get on that, Internets. That rockin' bod is to be viewed, ASAP.

Gone are the days of Tim Krumrie being famous for snapping his leg in Super Bowl XXIII. The Chiefs defensive line coach likes to yell. A lot. He'd best learn how to yell from his diaphragm and not his throat or he'll be without a voice before opening day. Receivers coach Charlie Joiner did have some funny comments that the boys at Arrowhead Addict addressed in their liveblog of the show. Defensive Coordinator Gunther Cunningham was intense and entertaining as always. Dick Curl (one of five guys other teams' coaching staffs don't have, but Herm sees a need for) (Editor's Note: Sweet name, dude.) was pretty impressive, and Herm was, well, Herm. Krumrie, however, was frightening. He's an angry, red-faced man that, um, kind of looks like Nick Nolte in a scary, mug shot kind of way.

Jared Allen gets some props for a variety of reasons. His scripted heartfelt speech about dualing DUIs changing his life is not one of them. The footage of him knocking back O'Doul's, however, is. He should be their new spokesman. Now. That was damn funny. He also gets a whoop-whoop for mentoring. When asked by a rookie what one should do if you're being held by the jersey, he said "Kick 'em in the nuts. That'll get 'em to stop." Nice, Jared. The ultimate highlight, though, was Allen being caught on film playing Guitar Hero with the ax slung behind his head, ala Hendrix. Hilarious stuff.

Jason Dunn gets a holler, but not for anything awesome. Head Coach Herm Edwards has called him "Diesel" in the past. Apparently, he now calls him "JD." I'd call him a giant little bitch. Not to his face, of course, 'cause that's how I roll. But there was some mildly entertaining, mildly disturbing footage of Dunn whining to Edwards in the lobby of the River Falls dorm about having to sleep on the second floor. As narrated on the show, the newer you are, the higher up your floor, thus veterans are on the first floor and not battling the stairs. Dunn, after being put on IR at last season's end, is still not practicing as he continues to recover from back surgery. He was not happy about bunking on floor number two. And by not happy, I mean a huge baby. We were even subjected to a Tony Gonzalez snippet that elaborated on how not happy Dunn was about the situation. Sheesh.

All said though, the show was phenomenal. I'm interested to hear why Old No. 7 didn't like it. As far as I could tell, it was nothing shy of superb. I'm looking forward to next week's episode already and may have to re-schedule my fantasy football draft, which I stupidly coordinated for the evening of the final edition. Hey. It's a Hard Knocks life out there. Read more