The Weird Turn Pro

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Ineptitude Reigns Supreme

The Monday Night Football matchup between the Chargers and the Chiefs on Halloween offered all the entertainment one could possibly expect from a single football game. That's exactly how it should be: a game between two also-rans with middling records and no reasonable expectation of competing for playoff positioning should exist purely for our enjoyment, a clash of violent acts for the sake of violence, like the gladiators of old.

The game was relatively serious and competitive for three quarters, but the coaches must have gotten the edict from NFL commish Roger Goodell: "We're losing them! Quick, jazz it up!  Add some eye gouging... your jobs depend on it!"

So, in that final quarter, hilarity ensued. First came the emergence of Chargers third-string running back Curtis Brinkley as a star: injures to first and second backs Jeremy Tolbert and Ryan Matthews necessitated Brinkley coming into the game in the fourth quarter with almost no professional experience and the game on the line. He responded magnificently, catching a long reception, vaulting the line to score a TD and catching the 2-point conversion to tie the game.

When the Chargers got the ball again, he was back to his acrobatics, the momentum fully on the Chargers' side as they drove down the field. Instead, while in the process of moving the ball to the center of the field to make the winning field goal try as easy as possible for the relatively untested kicker, Chargers' QB Philip Rivers fumbled the ball. The Chiefs recovered and drove down the field with a few quick pass plays before tossing an overtime-sealing interception.

At this point, it was clear that the team that could keep its foolish bumbling in check would be the winner. Fittingly, the Chiefs emerged victorious, clearly the karmic result of Rivers' egregious error with the game in the bag for his team. It may not have been a show of elite NFL talent, but it sure as hell was entertaining.

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Bad Craziness in Late October

It was Devil's Night and the Steelers were playing the Patriots, a bitter rivalry to be sure. I had a little money riding on this game, a friendly wager that Rob Gronkowski would score a touchdown against the Steelers. It seemed like a reasonable bet, since the same Gronkowski had racked up three TDs against essentially the same Pittsburgh defense around this time last year.

Unfortunately, he had spent the past week mingling with a known adult film "actress" who had posted photos of the rendezvous on Twitter. The images themselves were fairly innocent, and it seems that a grown man is free to do what he wants in his spare time, but the damage was done. An uproar ensued.

The gullible public knew now that this man did not devote a full 100% of his life to football, instead choosing to engage in subversive activities with pretty blonde women of ill repute. If these photos were what he was willing to commit to film, imagine what he wasn't -- his personal life must be a sordid jumble of pimps, hustlers, mobsters and sports agents, all engaging in distinctly un-American behavior. All this, from a player on a team called the Patriots.

Gronkowski attempted an apology, clearly ashamed of his hedonistic ways, but he was rattled. He failed to score a single touchdown in a miserable losing effort by New England, costing me both my respect for him as a player and my twenty dollars.

I offered a double-or-nothing bet on whether Tom Brady would be photographed in a similarly unflattering light, engaged in something sinister, in the upcoming week, but my comrade was having none of it.

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The Rivers Run Red

Last year's late-winter showdown between the Penguins and the Islanders was one of the ugliest encounters in professional hockey history, comparable to Mike Milbury's infamous shoe-beating incident.

The Islanders intentionally stocked their roster with talentless thugs and never-will-be minor leaguers for the game. They were out for blood. Penguins netminder Brent Johnson had dealt his Islanders counterpart, Rick DiPietro, a serious skull injury when the two had engaged in a goalie fight during the teams' previous meeting. DiPietro, an injury-riddled albatross for his team, was thoroughly humiliated by a one-punch K.O. and was lost for months due to the resulting injury. One has to think the Islanders are regretting signing Brittle Rick to a 15-year contract.

Losing DiPietro to a fight was enough to touch a nerve with the Islanders and General Manager Garth Snow, who decided through a haze of rage and booze to fill the roster for the team's next meeting with the Penguins with the likes of '70s era amateur hockey throwback Trevor Gillies.

The resulting massacre will be remembered in hockey infamy. A large number of felonies were committed on the ice that night, mostly by Islanders players. Police officers failed to intervene out of fear for their own safety. Gillies, in particular, demonstrated his true sociopathic tendencies when he smashed Eric Tangradi's head into the glass, pummeled the prone Penguin and then taunted him as he lay bleeding on the ice.

The teams have met twice since that night, but tonight's matchup in Pittsburgh will likely be the first one in which the Penguins seek some retribution for last year's travesty. Expect a Penguins slugger like Deryk Engelland or Steve MacIntyre to exact some revenge on the flesh of the hapless Islanders.

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Jacksonville City (Monday) Nights

Yesterday's Baltimore-Jacksonville game was as complete a picture of what's wrong with the NFL as could possibly exist within one football game. There was terrible officiating, poor coaching, miserable commentary and pitiful performances by both teams.

To begin, it appeared that the stadium was half-empty at the conclusion of the game, despite the fact that the result had come right down to the wire. Looks like the Jaguars are a prime target for the NFL when the time comes for a team to be moved to Los Angeles.

But nevermind that. The fans at the game should be the least of our concerns. Let's focus instead on the coaching. Much to the dismay of Jack Del Rio -- head coach of a professional football team that had decided to enter the regular season with Luke McCown and Blaine Gabbert at 1 and 2 on the QB depth chart -- the Jaguars were playing significantly above their limited skill level.

Del Rio, determined to right this wrong with over four minutes left on the clock and his team clinging to a 9-point lead, told the defense to run a soft zone coverage scheme and allow a Baltimore offense that had been anemic all game to quickly drive down the field and score a TD. He reasoned the Ravens would recover an onside kick and drill a game-winning field goal, cementing his team's place at the bottom of the AFC South.

His plan almost succeeded, but a freak bounce on the onside kick after the quick Baltimore score left the Jaguars holding the ball with time ticking away at an alarming rate. Should he pick up a first down and seal the Ravens' fate? No, he decided. The Jags ran three straight up-the-gut handoffs for a net gain of about four feet, then ordered aging placekicker Josh Scobee to attempt a dangerous 51-yard field goal. If he missed, it would give the Ravens stellar field position and ample time to mount a scoring drive. Perfect. He could taste defeat already.

"I told the boys up front not to block for you, so make sure you get that kick away before that monster Terrell Suggs obliterates you," Del Rio assured the brittle kicker.

Against all odds, the ball made its way from Scobee's foot, through a sea of outstretched Ravens' hands, and sailed between the uprights. Beyond giving the Jags a four point cushion, it did much to improve the kicker's resume and help him gain employment outside of his current Floridian hellhole.

The Ravens still had time to win the game, now needing a touchdown instead of just a field goal, but Flacco and company held up their end of the bargain and turned over the ball with a minute left to seal the victory for the Jaguars. Del Rio marched out on the field, obvious disappointment showing on his pasty face, to shake hands with the disgraced Baltimore coach, John Harbaugh.

As for the officiating, phantom pass-interference flags were flying all night, while a correct personal foul penalty (helmet-to-helmet hit) on a Baltimore defensive back was loudly decried by the stellar crew of Mike Tirico, Ron Jaworski, Jon Gruden as being a poor call, with Jaws asserting, "To me, that's just good old-fashioned football." Deji Karim likely would have disagreed if his brains hadn't been so thoroughly scrambled by the crushing blow.