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So, how is Nike feeling about that Bode campaign now? Seriously, I wonder. I'm a computer guy, I like my 1's and 0's. I like my checksums. My black and white world is just fine with me. The squishy world of advertising and Q factors are foreign concepts. What was Nike looking to get out this? They don't sell skis or trailers, so I'm assuming they were looking to ride the coattails of the anointed star. Does it matter that Bode was a bigger flop than the much talked about Olympic ratings or that he was perhaps the biggest PR flop since Dan and Dave spectacularly fizzled?

Personally, I think Bode's antics fall outside of the trusted axiom, "any publicity is good publicity." It's one thing to fail, even spectacularly, after trotting out your ego for weeks beforehand so everyone could stroke it. Americans are suckers for celebrities, even the brash and bragging sort. But Americans also love the celebrity brought low. Hey, we even have a whole channel devoted to the them called VH1. The fallen celebrity is the sudden everyman lifted back to the summit on the shoulders of Joe Six Pack. Bode could have recovered from throwing up on himself. Could have enjoyed some sympathetic afterglow after all the media pressure. But to not even try? And to make light of it? That's just a cheat, a cop out and cowardice. That just makes all those gritty trailer park commercials look like a con game and no likes being conned. Not even Nike.

This is great. High school student Jason McElwain of Greece Athena finally got his chance to play on the school's basketball team last night. What's the big deal? Well, for starters, he's the team's trainer. He's never actually played in a game. He hasn't missed a single game in three years. Oh, and, well, he's also autistic. But on "Senior Night", the last game of his high school career, he got his chance to play. After Greece Athena went up by 20 in the 4th quarter, the coach called McElwain's name. It was go time.

And as you can imagine, the place went nuts when he ran on the floor. After a few seconds, he got a pass from his teammates, got an open look, lobbed up a shot ... and missed by six feet. But he was unfazed. He just pulled on his Robert Horry replica jersey and went on to hit a school record six three-pointers. Not a misprint. Did I mention he's autistic? And he hit six three pointers? In the fourth quarter. Oh and the crowd? The place erupted. You'd think Hulk Hogan just beat the Iron Sheik for the WWF title. And rightfully so. I know I'm being kind of uncharacteristically sensitive, but this was really awesome. He finished the game with 20 points. Here, read the full story. It's incredible. After the game, teammates and students mobbed the floor, lifting McElwain up, asking for his autograph, which was great.

This news report from a station in New York covers the story and has video clips and highlights. Anyway, a cool story and a job well done, "J-Mac". A job well done.

Ok, here's the trailer for Nacho Libre, the new Jack Black film. He plays a Mexican wrestler. It's directed by Jared Hess who co-wrote and directed Napoleon Dynamite. Wrestling is a sport. No honestly, it is. That's why I feel this clip belongs on this site. Then again, if I found a video clip of a man punching a chicken in the face for 45 minutes, it would probably find its way on here as well. So, you know, whatever.

In case you missed it, The Sports Pulse has a video clip of Lindsey Jacobellis showing off and falling like a douchey waterfall of disappointment. Her antics cost her the gold. But if this means we don't have to watch her awful Dunkin' Donuts commercial anymore, then we're all winners. Isn't that what they say? "We're all winners?" That's a good saying. Because it means none of us lose. That means we all win. Even you. Unless you get syphillus. That changes everything.

While I don't follow the NBA as much as I used to, it's still tough to hide my childlike enthusiasm for the slam dunk. The fact that these players can suspend themselves in mid-air and do what they do still amazes me. Then again, I'm exceptionally white and have the vertical leap of a cement mixer. So, perhaps my amazement isn't entirely unfounded. Just like how I'm amazed when people actually sleep with women. "Wow, how do they do that?", I wonder aloud. Then I hug my Care Bear and dream of candy.

Anyway, my point is, there was a dunk contest this past weekend. Actually, not a dunk contest. THE dunk contest. And it was pretty exciting. And by exciting, I mean, I didn't actually watch it. With ESPN and the internet, I didn't have to. See, I'll show you. This right here, this is a clip of Nate Robinson's dunk from the 2006 Slam Dunk Contest where he casually jumped over Spud Webb. See that? Right there, on your screen. Just like that. No tv necessary. How sneaky is that? I mean, aren't I just the cat's meow with my tricks? I'd say so.

Anyway, there was a lot of dunking, which meant there was a lot of giggling and jumping and rapid hand clapping from me. I also had a sandwich. Which is a euphamism for slices of turkey between two pieces of bread with a little mayo and some chips. And of course, this was all on Sunday, at my own pace. Just me, the internet, some food, my "Mr. Robinson's Neighborhood" t-shirt and some dunks. Slam dunks.

So you might be sitting there thinking, "Gee, how do I get my hands on some of these fun slam dunks?" Well, you're in luck. Because I have some supre awesome tricks for you. All you have to do is click here and you can watch the 2 minute, Dunk Contest highlight film. It's even set to some 2Pac in case you want to, you know, bust a cap or something. Or just bounce to the beat. It's a fun compilation of people dunking while onlookers shout with glee and tall people hold up signs with numbers on them. The most fun two minutes can bring.

Or if you don't value your job, you can watch watch the entire 2006 Slam Dunk Contest. Yes, the whole thing. One continuous 45 minute stream. You'll definitely want a sandwich for this. And yes, I mean lube. These dunks are good.

Oh Sammy Sosa, that silly bastard. What happened? I mean, it was just yesterday that this guy was belting out 50 and 60+ HR's a year, appearing in every commercial, sprinting out to right field like a lunatic and confusing us with his attempts at the English language. Now, two years later, his trademark smile and awkward man-on-man hugs fall upon an indifferent fanbase. In Dan Duquette terms, he's in the twighlight of his career. In cliched Italian movie terms, he's dead to us. The love for Sammy is gone. And now he finds himself wandering through baseball purgatory with only one team marginally interested, offering up a $500,000 contract. Wow. Just to put things into perspective, last year, John Flahrety made $800,000. No, seriously. John Flahrety. That sucks. Tough to just brush that one aside. "Yeah, um, Sammy, listen. We're gonna give this useless white guy a little more than you. Nothing personal babe. It's just business. Come on, let's hug it out."

So yes, right now, it's tough being Sammy. Mr. Smiles. Mr. Home Run Chase. Mr. Steroid Rumors. Mr. Exponential Decay in Production. It started a few years back with the on-again, off-again tensions with the Cubs, then the corked bat and, well, it hasn't really gotten better, has it? And when it all culminated with him pulling on that Orioles jersey, everyone just nodded, fully aware that he had just jumped the shark. It was all over. Sammy was never going to be the same. There was no way this was ending well. Sure, everyone wrote how he and Tejada were now going to be the Machismo Brothers. Smiling, high fiving, making fun of old people in Spanish. But one year later we all see that didn't work out so well. Granted, the Boner King and his little steroid scandal didn't help much. But realistically, everyone knew it was just a pipe dream from the start. And now, well, now Sosa is standing alone like a fat girl at the prom. And for the record, this girl isn't alone because she's fat. No. She's alone because she's a leper with halitosis ... who happens to be fat ... and wearing a Sammy Sosa replica jersey over her dress.

Ok, and while I'm not a Sosa fan at all, I must say this. There are some really, really, REALLY awful major league ballplayers out there making a lot of money. Do you mean to tell me that no team out there has the financial capabilities or need to offer Sosa, say, a million bucks (so as not to destroy his oh-so-fragile ego) to help them out? You can honestly say that teams like Pittsburgh, Kansas City, Detroit, Tampa Bay or the NL West couldn't use his help? Scott Erickson just signed a deal for $550,000. HE is worth more than Sosa? I don't understand this at all. Sure he's old and declining, but some of these teams could not only use the veteran "leadership" but the public relations and ticket boost signing Sosa would bring. Unless of course, Sosa has a habit of dipping his balls in the team Gatorade after each at bat. That, I could see as a slight problem and could explain some of this indifference towards him. But other than that, I really don't understand why no one wants him.

The good news is, I have a solution. I know what Sosa really needs. There's one thing that could solve all his problems. You know what that is? That's right ... a fun nickname. Yup. That's all it'll take, and he'll be right back on top. Forget Slammin' Sammy. That's so 1998. He needs something edgy. Maybe a name like "Dragon Slayer" or "Bonecrusher" or "Pussy Pirate". You know what I mean? You get a whole marketing campaign around that. Some t-shirts. Some cool entrance music. Maybe a trademark handshake, and well, the smile would be back. The Pussy Pirate would take MLB by storm. Crowds would chant. They could pass out bobbleheads of vaginas with eye patches. I mean, it would be big. And it would give Sosa a new life in baseball and a chance at 600 career home runs. And more importantly, Sosa would live another day to hug again. And that, my friends, is what Major League Baseball is all about.

Check out the Top 10 In-Game Dunks of all time. Definitely worth a look. I forgot how high Kevin Johnson could jump. I also forgot that Vince Carter was, at one time, superhuman.

Yup, college hockey. In a perverse attempt to whittle our audience even smaller, I'm going to write about the red headed stepchild of collegiate sports. How did college baseball and hockey end up in the NCAA gutter anyway? Did they lose a bet back in the sixties? Baseball probably has those horrific metal bats to blame, but college hockey, besides being, well, hockey, is a head scratcher. Little of the problems plaguing the pros inhabit college hockey, except the same moribund lack of interest. There is a high level of play, solid hitting, affordable tickets, long haired Canadians, strong conferences, team rivalries, goalies with too many vowels, and wide open and fast play. Okay, bear with me, I'll make it short and I need to get this out before moving on.

Monday night, Boston College once again lost to BU in the Beanpot Finals. The Beanpot is a cute little tradition in the Hub where all four local schools square off for an ugly jug and bragging rights. The latter being much more important than the former when all the schools sit within five miles of each other. Truth be told, the event has lost a lot of its luster, a fact I put squarely on the shoulders of the cavernous TD BankNorth Garden, and now generates about as much press and excitement as the Head of the Charles. What? Exactly. All of that aside, since BC's re-emergence as a hockey power in the mid nineties, they have consistently won more games, more Hockey East championships and been ranked number one more, yet they can not beat BU for the Beanpot, except twice in the last ten times they've played. Make me want to hug a Braves fan. What makes it especially galling is that hockey is all BU really has. It's the only level taunting playing field, unless you want to argue about the relative merits of the pep bands, and BC's always on the short end of this stick. They have us dead to rights and no amount of bluster about football, basketball, or hell, even baseball makes a bit of difference. We're defenseless except for name calling, racial slurs and employment jokes. Each of which are used liberally while you're living in dorms, but lose impact social acceptability after graduation. Except for employment jokes, man, those never get old.

I'll admit I'm feeling slightly guilty about not liking or being more interested in the Olympics. I'm a big sports fan and while I'm not a tub thumping jingoist, I'm certainly not liberal enough not to get a little patriotic for our athletes. What's more American than rooting for France, China, Russia or Albania to slip and fall? I even feel a little stirring for those long haired athletes competing in sports that America invented to boost it's medal total (Is there anything more egregiously against the vaunted Olympic spirit than keeping a medal count by country?). You have to give us credit for ingenuity on this front. We see our stature in the Winter games slipping farther and farther. Do we bitch and complain and throw money at the problem? No. Okay, we probably did that too, but we also went out dressed up a couple things on the homefront that we'd be guaranteed a few medals and got those babies ratified. By the way, I'm completely convinced the "commentators" for the half-pipe competition make up the names of the moves. Perhaps you have to be there, but aside from those that fell or wobbled, I could not for the life of me figure out how Shaun White's run was that much more spectacular than the rest of them. Also, it did freak me out a bit when they showed the "old" home videos of Shaun and while they still had that requisite blurry, stalker behind a tree look, it struck me these were probably shot in the nineties. This is why I probably don't get snowboard related sports.

The Olympic sport of half-piping aside, I still I can't quite work up the requisite lather to watch on a daily basis. I gave it the ole college try. While everything went to hell over the weekend with the snow, there wasn't much to do but watch the Olympics, still no amount of Bob Costas's basso profundo or Jimmy Robert's very special stories (does that guy ever get tired of the treacle?) could keep me from studying the wood grain on the walls. And really, does anyone ever understand the symbolism of the opening ceremonies? Besides serving as a gigantic geography lesson for the world, these things make zero sense.

Maybe my lethargy is just the sports themselves. I never skied, snowboarded, curled, skeletoned or luged except for the collegiate variety. No, most winters, I was inside a heated gym playing basketball. Certainly I don't feel this level of ambivalence to the summer games. Are they just more familiar? More accessible? I know you don't need special equipment or a long set of rules or a panel of judges to run a hundred meters. Simplicity and familiarity are why I probably will watch the men's ice hockey and I enjoy the speed skating despite the sometimes revealing nature of those skin tight suits. So maybe it's not the sports, but rather those Bode commercials. Or maybe it's just the fact that the centerpiece of the Winter games is figure skating and while I admire how ridiculously hard it is, I just plain don't like watching it. It's too subjective, looks too much like ballet, involves makeup and looks more like a skill than a sport. And Michelle Kwan's spotlight grab and NBC's fawning all over the pathetic story didn't help. There's a reason why figure skating is always on opposite Monday Night Football. You're either a football person or a figure skating person or Scott Hamilton.

By now you've probably found your favorite site to check up on the Games, so I'll spare you those, but for the truly sadistic here is a blog highlighting the last place finishers in each event.

There are times when sometimes the "blog" gets neglected. The tail end of last week was one of those times. Oh sure, we could just say we were too busy at our real jobs, slightly lazy and completely disinterested in the boring sports stories to take the time to write. But that would be a lie.

No, the real story is far more complex. See, my honorable SportsBlah co-founder/co-writer Mike D. was overcome with a wave of volunteerism. And despite the advice of friends and family, he simply had to travel, immediately, to some far-off foreign land to help fight hunger. Hunger amongst birds. Armed with nothing but a warm blanket and the milk from his teats, he fed each and every osprey, dovetail and finch that fluttered over to his makeshift camp. Mike held them and caressed them and fed them until their lil' bird bellies were full. And as they flew away, reborn with food and hope, Mike's shouts of "fly freely, sleek bird of this foreign land, fly free" filled the land. And as he stood there, in his highlighter green spandex suit and beer helmet, his shouts of encouragement would often turn to the tears of joy. And the birds flew off. One by one. Each slightly more confused than the other. But full. Full of milk. Full of life. Full of love. All because a man took a few days out of his life to help those less fortunate.

As for me, I spent the weekend washing my balls. They're big.

Anyway, I've got a link here that is guaranteed to make you forgive us. Seriously, 60% of the time it works every time. (That doesn't make any sense.) Here you are my friends. Ron Burgandy auditioning for SportsCenter, circa imaginary 1979.

Ok, back to regularly scheduled sports nonsense on Tuesday.

Picking the "best" is always subjective. Ask 10 people what the best of anything is, and you'll probably get 10 different answers. Unless, of course, the question is "Who is the best baseball player of all time?" In that case, the answer is always Don Mattingly. But that's a bad example, because that's pretty obvious. Everybody knows that. I mean, there are kids in foreign countries who speak their foreign languages who know this. Just point at a bat or a glove and then ask, by yelling as loudly as you can,"WHO'S THE BEST EVER?" And they'll just look at each other, mumble something or other then say, "Don Mattingly". It's pretty awesome. But in most cases, defining the "best" of something is based solely on personal opinion. You may think the "best" tv show was Golden Girls. You may think the "best" movie was "2 Fast and 2 Furious". And you may think the "best" moment in your life was when that dominatrix who lived above the laudromat by your old apartment let you smell the inside of her prosthetic leg for only 3 bucks. Everyone has a different take on things.

So what I'm really trying to say is that I've created a list. A "best of" list highlighting my favorite Super Bowl XL ads. Yes, I know ... this is a totally original idea that no one on the internet or in nationally circulated newspapers has ever thought about doing. It's so brilliant, your genitals might explode. I mean, how did no one think of this, right? So, yeah, a list. Totally fresh. Thumbs up. By the way, as if my classy headline didn't give it away, I thought the ads kinda sucked this year. And by "kinda sucked" I mean "blew pretty hard". There were a few good ones, but on the whole, rubbish. Anyway, here were my favorites, if anyone gives a flying wad.

The "Best" Super Bowl Ads:

1. "Crime Deterrent", Sprint - Hilarious and unexpected. Best ad of the night. The whole room laughed, vigorously. Of course the "whole room" consisted of me, a bag of Fritos and a half-inflated penguin with an embarrased look on its face. Oh, but there was laughter. Maybe a little too much of it.

2. "Hidden Bud Light", Bud Light - Again, hilarous. This was one of the first spots of the night. I thought it was going to be an indication of good things to come. Then the Diet Pepsi ads came on. Those disasters squashed all hope right there. Too bad, because I like Jay Mohr. Maybe he should have auditioned for this one.

3. "Turbulence", Ameriquest - When I saw the clumsy gal start to climb over the sleeping gent, I thought she was going to throw up on him. Or maybe unzip his fly and give him a few pumps. But considering how silly the FCC has been, that last option was obviously just a pipe dream. Whatever that means.

3b. "That Killed Him", Ameriquest - Replace the doctor and his words with the guy, a knife and a tomato sauce covered cat and presto, you have the same exact ad, exactly 1 year later, for the same exact company. But it's a funny idea. So we give them a pass. Also, balloons are fun.

4. "Stick", FedEX - Lately, cavemen are appearing in ads like penises are appearing in Paris Hilton's vagina. Although, if our mezozoic friend doesn't kick the little dinosaur on the way out, would we even remember the spot? I guess it doesn't matter because he did and we do. Well played, FedEx, well played.

5. "Secret Fridge", Bud Light - What would have been funny would have been if a urinal swung into that apartment, and all those guys started drinking out of it with crazy straws. Get it, because Bud Light tastes like piss?!?!? See what I did there? Hi-OHHHHHHHHH! This was a funny ad. It amused me thoroughly.

Also worth mentioning was the the "I'm going to Disney World" spot. Jerry Porter was great. The Emerald Nuts spot was wonderfully bizarre. Oh, and the Sierra Mist airport spot with Jim Gaffigan and Kathy Gifford was amusing as well. Not top-5 funny, but worthy of mention. Nice that Gaffigan didn't start whispering to himself during the middle of the spot too. Dumbest schtick in comedy short of glueing toilet seats to tricycles or being named Carlos Mencia.

So, yeah, that's about it. Football is over, finally. Let the baseball talk begin.

Wow, that was a fun Super Bowl, eh? Bppppppppth. Yesterday's post (by Mike D.) did a nice job painting a picture of the collective SportsBlah feelings towards the game, so I won't go into it. But there is one thing I want to talk about. See, most critics/Seattle fans are blaming the refs for the Seahawks loss. Which is just some good natured, ol' fashioned "taking it like a man". I mean, it was absolutely the referees. Seattle took advantage of every opportunity that presented itself and they just had the game taken from them by awful officiating. That was it. Or was it?

See, after the Steelers victory I emailed my good friend Brian, a diehard Steelers fan, to congratulate him. He wrote me back the next day and, well, told me a little secret. You ready for this? Ok, here goes. My friend Brian ... Well, he was singlehandedly responsible for the Steelers winning the game. Yes. Go figure. How? Read it for yourself.

Week 14. I was in Buffalo for the NE game. We were tailgating, there were vendors selling stuff (99.9% Bills stuff, including the lovely "F--- Brady tee shirts). I got to the last dude, crusty old guy (picture a set up like the old dude from Gremlins). He had all Bills stuff, except one not-what-you'd-call-handsome Steelers hat (as shown). $10. Sold. I put it on, almost got in a fight with a Bears fan before the game and then Pitt beat Chicago. Convincingly I realized I had a powerful hat. Too bad for Vikings/Browns/Detroit. I've worn the thing every day. When I get out of work. On the weekends. Every day. Even in 80-degree Florida weather. My kids think it's part of my head.

The hat works.

During the Bengal playoff game I wasn't wearing the hat, Pitt was down 10. I put on the hat, Pitt scored less than two minutes later.

The weekend of the NE/Denver game I was in Florida, I had the hat on all day, took it off for the NE game, they get smoked. Sitting there with my 86-year-old grandfather, sipping scotch, watching Brady play like crap, laughing like wee schoolgirls. It was a thing of beauty. Except the whole schoolgirl thing. Then came the Colts (I had the hat on the whole time. In Florida, on the plane home, at the end, during "The Tackle") Then in Denver when it looked like the Steelers were going to choke, the wife suggested the kids wear the hat. I put it on them and then Plummer started being Plummer.

Last night was no different. When it looked like the Hawks were coming back, I ran up stairs and put the hat on each sleeping kid. Then back on my head. You know the rest.

I should have been MVP.

I mean, how awesome is that? Does Seattle think it could have defeated the Steelers, Brian AND the hat? Highly unlikely. So maybe everyone can stop blaming the officiating and put blame where it really belongs ... the magic of the hat. The hat trumps all. But if that doesn't work, maybe Seattle should be blaming the shoddy play calling, the dropped passes, the missed field goals, the invisibility of Shaun Alexander, the three big plays by the Steelers and the key interception. But that's no fun.

So, hey, anyone who feels "robbed", just blame the hat. You can. It's undefeated, you know. Just click on the picture, wave your fist and go, "Ooooh, hat." Go ahead. It'll make you feel better. Honest.

Tie me to Greg's second hand sofa and force me to watch the first half, but never show me the score, and I would have bet my left nut it was only a matter of time before Seattle broke through and put the Bus's career to bed with a mild sedative and a sloppy Cowher kiss instead of the Lombardi trophy. Of course, Seattle has been living with that feeling since '76 with only a pocketful of rain to show for it. The game for all intents and purposes was over by halftime, perhaps even after the first quarter, when Seattle strolled up and down the field and simply could not score. They let Pittsburgh hang around and eventually the Steelers made all of three big plays and won the game.

Secretly I harbored hope that this would be a good, if not great, game. A hot sixth seed versus, weak schedule or not, a 13-3 team. Surely these two would combine for an entertaining game. Surely I was wrong. Perhaps we've been spoiled the last couple years. Love 'em or hate 'em, the Patriots and their opponents offered some good football and some good drama. In fact, the only real stinker this century has been Ray Lewis doing his spastic dance on the Giants's face in 2001 and really how bad is it to watch any New York team lose? Sure Tampa/Oakland was a blowout, but there was at least some scoring. XL was a throwback to the sleepy Super Bowls of the mid-nineties.

Yesterday's game was utterly pedestrian in just about every respect. Poor coaching: What was Holmgren doing at the end of the first half and how could Seattle not be ready for the El play? Poor RB play: take out Parker's run and I can't remember another going for more than 15 yards with most of Seattle's ending up in Walter Jones's jock. Poor QB play: Big Ben did his best to still let Seattle win and Hasselbeck had his trademark boneheaded throw, something he'd avoided most of the year, at the worst time. Poor officiating: Weak offensive interference on Jackson, questionable TD call and when Stevens finally held onto a ball a non-existence holding kills the drive. Al and John? Well, they were as absentminded as any other Monday game. Aaron Neville? It was a blessing when Aretha chowed down on his wispy alto. The Stones? Not bad. Actually I was pleasantly surprised, but still no comparison to U2's performance in '02. If it were a normal Sunday game, I probably would have switched it off at the end of the first quarter and finished folding the laundry in silence.

So thus ends the 2005 NFL campaign. A sputtering end in my mind. Joey Porter was right after all. The Bus got his extra large spotlight. And I'm left with arena football till the fall.

Oh boy. Super Bowl today. How will I possibly contain my excitement? It's too bad the NFL can't step in and be like, "Um, yeah ... about the Super Bowl. We're, um, we're gonna start the playoffs over again and, you know, see what we get." Of course, that's me being a silly goose. The Steelers are actually an entertaining team. The Seahawks on the other hand ... Watching them play is like hurling yourself onto a live tranquilizer grenade. "Oh look, they're running off-tackle left. Who saw that coming?"

But, who knows. It could be entertaining. Either way, there's beer. And wings. And commercials. Oh and the Rolling Stones will be there too, lip-synching at halftime. Can you tell I'm really fired up for this? I mean, wow. If these positive words and this raging erection aren't giving it away, I don't know what is. But I suppose I shouldn't complain. It's football and for all I know it could be the greatest game in history. Monday morning I'll spring out of bed and race to the ol' blog to write, "what a glorious Super Bowl that was. Simply delightful. Oh, what a Doubting David I was."

But I'm not alone here. The indifference around this game is staggering. (Yay! parity). Although, on cue, ESPN is pumped. They're ready to go. Their website is bursting with excitement. Big banner. Compelling stories. My favorite headline so far has been, "Super 'Hawks or Sea Frauds?" That's a good one. What the hell is a "Sea Fraud?" If Pittsburgh wins, will the follow up story read like this? "This year the Seahawks proved to be sea frauds, like the legendary Martin Wallace, the long-famous tax evader/sailing enthusiast." Ridiculous. And they've got 6 hours of coverage planned. Read that again. Six hours of Berman sound effects and passive aggresive homo-erotic tension between Steve Young and Tom Jackson. Awesome. So much for watching figure skating.

As for the game, I don't think this is going to be that close. The Seahawks have had the easiest path to the Super Bowl. Their regular seson schedule was a joke. Then they got to play the Redskins. Then a Panthers team that came with a detailed instruction manual taped to the back of Steve Smith's jersey (Your welcome. Sincerely, The Bears) And when the only trash talking comes from Jeremay Stevens, that's never a good thing. The Steelers on the other hand, they've had it tough. They're hungry, their D is strong, they've got playoff experience and they're armed with a whole slew of other cliches that I don't feel like typing. Oh, and there's the whole Bus sub-plot too, which isn't old at all. Prediction: Steelers, 31-17.

A rhetorical question, sure, but sometimes I wonder. I spend an embarrassingly large portion of my day online reading sports related ephemera, but I've never willingly clicked on a story of his. I get enough of him and Paige when I sneeze and my finger accidentally bumps the remote to ESPN2 and I'm forced to watch retina burning seconds of their Cold Pizza schtick. Do you think their friends and family cringe? Do they even watch?

All of that aside, I'm a masochist and sometimes need a break from the Bobs, so I clicked on his recent link that was left plastered on the ESPN homepage earlier this week. I got exactly what I expected. A whiny diatribe about how this is a boring Super Bowl and how he can barely bring himself to go (for free) to his 31st consecutive NFL championship. Ahhhhh! Besides the endless hype machine, this is definitely one of my biggest pet peeves leading up to The Game. Writers either, one, complaining about a boring Super Bowl which roughly translates to 'I'm annoyed the storylines are not walking onto my notebook', two, writers complaining about the site of the game, three, media stories about how big and crazy media day is and finally, any story by Kenny Mayne. The last one was added after the completely unfunny fish monger turned Seahawk trash talker. Come to think of it, I'm not sure that was even his bit, but I mentally label all SC "comedy" bits, Mayne things. Am I delusional or were his bits funny at one time?

I'd love to get my hands on page hits or traffic data for ESPN.com writers. Despite how much they continue to chuck behind the Insider wall, or revamp their site to squeeze in more advertising, ESPN is still my de facto site for sports news. Masochist, remember. In no particular order, these are the writers whose stories I'm most likely to click on:

• Simmons - His reliance on five jokes continues to grow, but when he's on, he's still great


• Whitlock - Sure I disagree with him 90% of the time, but he writes well and I appreciate the opposing or different view


• AP - Is there a harder working writer in the profession today?


• Clayton/Mortenson - Good, solid NFL insider (with a little I) reporting. Only a matter of time before it's behind the pay wall


• Stark/Olney - Stark the reporter, not the inane stats guy. Olney, as he proved with the Theo returns story, has solid MLB sources


• Gammons - Definitely given to hyperbole and tender feelings for just about everyone, but still worth the time if you've got a grain of salt


• Chad Ford/Marc Stein - If you've got to read about the NBA, you might as well read it from a good reporter

Beano Cook and Bill Walton - Just to see what bizarre non-sequiters the after effects are spawning. I distinctly remember Beano working not one, not two, but three different WWII references into one college football column that maybe ran maybe four hundred words.

I've never clicked on Scoop Jackson.

Red Sox right fielder, Trot Nixon, sprays GM Theo Epstein with a celebratory golden shower after winning the 2004 World Series.