That’s Just Terrellible
Monday, March 30th, 2009Gosh, today’s news headlines are a real peach… Gunman kills 8 in nursing home rampage… Man decapitates two sisters at 5 year-old’s birthday party… 22 killed in Ivory Coast soccer stadium stampede… Australian’s commit euthanasia croaking thousands of toads… Jury Urges Death for man who tossed four children off an 80-foot bridge…Four charged in airport biker brawl… Scandalized whoring evangelist bites it in hospital…General Motors CEO tossed on his ass… and Miley Cyrus dominates Kid’s Choice Awards. Oh what a sick and twisted world we live in where an untalented mullet-headed country goon’s kid becomes the love of children everywhere. It is indeed a psychotic world, rampant with carnage and malice.
But maybe worst of all is the much-maligned wide receiver who may have a point when he says that the whole world is against him. Yes, I’m referring to the Terrellible One.
The always gracious and humble Terrell Owens, the NFL’s version of the ebola virus, claims that there was a conspiracy in Dallas that led to his being let go by team management. Much like Dallas’s other great conspiracy theory, you know, the grassy knoll of Dealy Plaza, three gunmen, yada, yada, yada, this one is rife with mystery and intrigue. Okay, maybe that was a little rough comparing him to a flesh eating disease. I guess you could just say he’s your regular everyday bout of cancer for any locker room he dresses in.
“You hear all the speculation, and you talk to the owner of the team, and he reassures you that you’re not going anywhere, and then, out of left field you get blindsided,” says Mr. Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy.
Poor, poor Terrell. But hey, let’s show some respect here and call the man by his real moniker, “T.O.” I mean, he’s gotta have a special name simply because he’s so much more specialer than your average every day NFL nobody.
“I know whole-heartedly he [Jerry Jones] wanted me there,” Owens told Rogers Sportsnet of Canada. “There were some people I know who got in his ear that pressured him to make that decision. For that, it’s sad. You let two or three people conspire to get me out of the situation.”
Gee, gooly, gosh, Terrell, what are we all gonna do, big fella?
All right, let’s cut the crap. Terrell Owens is a f@#king pariah. He’s a magnificent turd, the elusive floatie that spirals around the bowl but will not flush no matter how many times you jiggle the handle. This loathsome prick has caused disharmony for every team he has played for. While in San Fransisco, he eluded to the media that quarterback Jeff Garcia was a tad light in the cleats and enjoyed an occasional shot of post-game throat yogurt. In Philadelphia, he tossed QB Donavan McNab under a Broadstreet bus while claiming that the team would be better off with a leader like Brett Farve. He blamed Jessica Simpson for the Cowboy’s 2008 playoff loss to the Giants, and threw a world-class hissy fit after the Pittsburgh game this past season, claiming that Romo and his other receivers were in cahoots to leave ol’ numba 81 out of the equation. Of course, there was that soap opera crying bout after the Giants game as well, “That’s ma teammate…Sniffle, cry, sniff… that’s ma quarterback…”I think we can all strap a blazing L on to the front of that helmet.
Of course, after the Cowboys sent him packing, Owens did not remain without a team for long as there is always a franchise who will give a loathsome dirtbag another shot. He’ll play in Buffalo this season, a frigid northeast town with several hundred feet of snowfall annually, enough to stiffen those 35 year-old bones.
“They were really after me,” says the pigskin megalomaniac. “They wanted me, despite everything that had been said negatively about me. It was a no-brainer.”
Oh he’ll be a good boy at first, maybe a week or two, but then Owens will do something that gains attention because he is a world-class media whore if there ever was one. Will he O.D. on “payin’ pee-ills” again and miss practice?… call quarterback Trent Edwards a baloney smoker?…sign game balls with Sharpies? It’s only a matter of time before the man screams out, “LOOK AT ME! EVERYONE LOOK AT ME!!! I’M TERRELL OWENS DAMNIT! LOOKEE OVER HERE!!!”
It’s all about T.O., people. He’s bigger than the game itself. It’s all about Terrell.
There have always been hateful pricks that when they play for YOUR team, you’ve got to learn to love ‘em. When Barry Bonds parks one in San Fran, nobody sits on their hands and politely says, “Yeah.” When Denis Rodman plowed an opponent while donning a nuclear green fro, Bulls fans never kept quiet. While Sean Avery waved his hands in Devils goalie, Martin Broduer’s face – enough to have the NHL create a rule about it – Rangers fans cheered with delight. And when Terrell Owens catches a touchdown pass this fall, and stands in the end zone with his Jesus Christ pose, Bills fans will hoot and holler - maybe as many times as when he drops a crucial third and five, delivered right in his hands.
Enjoy the rest of the Week. Now talk amongst yer selves.
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman
Each morning I surf the internet news sites, but there’s no venue for me to write my findings. I’ve smoked some great cigars, but there’s none of you to share it with – until the following Monday, where everything has become old news by then. There is rumor that I have adopted lots of cats. I won’t say if it’s true or not, but how do you suppose all of these little meowing f@#ckers are gonna get fed? On love? I think not. And I’ve developed a seriously bad case of furballs. Guess I should shave, then.
Well, one thing is for certain, I still love cigars! Do you guys still smoke cigars? I mean, it seems a lot can change in seven days and I was only wondering, you know. Did Garfiend ever get his meds? Gosh, I hope the crazy blow-hole is okay. Did the Lions ever finally win a game? Is it true about this SCHIP bill, thing? I really think it’s time to pull the troops from Vietman and gosh, that poor f@#kin’ Amelia Earhart. Tough break.
While I still enjoy beer (and have expanded my tastes beyond the green bottle from Holland) I have learned to love many of the other liquid refreshments that sooth the senses and knock you on your arse. Back around the time I started with cigars, I attended many a dinner during the “boom” and was introduced to the beauty of wine. I had no idea how wonderful, delicate, bold, and romantic crushed grapes could actually be. And the thing that I found about wine was that it was so similar to the world of cigars. Blending, aging, complexity, storage, characteristics, body, strength – they were all terms I had learned when describing cigars, which helped me quickly make sense of it all. And just like with cigars, you start off light and easy, then educate your palate while delving into heartier and spicier reds.
Now, I’m no snob by any means, but I sure as hell do laugh when I see a grown man drinking White Zinfindel with ice… Friggin’ pansy-ass, Mary. Okay, I admit that I may have had a glass or two of that glorified fruit punch many eons ago, but it quickly got replaced by deep cabs, beautiful 
Back in my advertising days, one of my good clients was a vodka fanatic. “Vodka” is actually diminutive of the Slavic word woda/voda meaning water. He and his fellow company vice presidents would hook up to a bottle intravenously at lunch and got pickled with out never really seeing it coming. I always thought that vodka was rotgut, like 
As of late, it’s whiskey – or whisky sans the “e”, that has tickled my fattened fancy. Like most novices, my knowledge of scotch was relegated to Johnnie Walker Black on ice. But lo and behold the wonders of Scotland’s various regions, making for the finest single malt in the world. And now other countries are making some amazing scotch, as well, including Japan! When I’m on the back deck with a glass of Balvenire Doublewood on ice and a dark, sweet, smoldering maduro - wow, nothing, I mean nothing could be finer. Scotch is a true adult drink, and it’s not ‘til you get a little older that you realize how a couple of belts can really take the edge off a long, hard day at the office or wherever the hell you call your place of work. A best-kept secret brand I recently discovered is Compass Box Whisky – absolutely terrific Scotch that pairs with cigars amazingly. You GOT TO check these guys out.
Of course there are other whiskies – Canadian, Irish, and yes, American - particularly bourbon. I’m not a big bourbon drinker, but I went to a cigar dinner last week that boasted some of Kentucky’s finest. Bookers, Bakers, Knob Creek, and Basil Hayden’s was served up and I got an instant appreciation for pure southern hospitality. Damn, that is some serious good stuff!