Oh, dear God no. It’s the offseason again. That endless stretch of seven months with hardly any real football in sight. You’re hurt. You’re angry. You’re hateful. We understand. At KSK, hating things is what we do best. Which is why we have our perennial offseason series: THIS WEEK IN FU. This week: M*A*S*H.

You see that, M*A*S*H? You see the rating for Sunday night’s game? That is fucking right. 106.5 million goddamn viewers. Finally. FINALLY. At long last, I never have to hear the name of your goddamn show affiliated with the title of most-watched show of all time. God, how I hated that. It’s like seeing the Patriots win the Super Bowl 27 years in a row.

I have an irrational hatred of M*A*S*H. I’m well aware that many consider it one of the finest sitcoms of all time, a show that managed to be both savagely funny and socially conscious all at once. Then again, fuck all that, because I hated M*A*S*H. When I was a very small kid, there weren’t many TV channels to choose from, and fucking M*A*S*H occupied 80% of the programming across all of them. Never before or since has a sitcom chosen to introduce itself with the single worst, most wrist-slittingly depressing theme song known to man. I would rather hear REM cover three hours of Coldplay’s music than be subjected to the M*A*S*H theme song ever again. It’s horrible. It’s the audible equivalent of being trapped with your very worst relative for an interminable stretch.

M*A*S*H occupies that bizarre realm of sitcoms from 1970’s and 1980’s that induced suicidal thoughts within minutes of them coming on the screen. “Barney Miller,” “Love American Style,” and “Rhoda” all induced similar feelings of horror and nausea. If you were a child in the 1980’s and you were sick and home from school, these were the programs you were stuck with. And I resent that. I resent that today’s children who are trapped here in DC with 9,000 inches of snow have cool shit like porn and Korean knife rape videos to check out while comfy in their beds with the runs. I had M*A*S*H, and that is bullshit.

So FUCK YOU, M*A*S*H. Die. Football should have trumped your old ass ages ago, and now it finally has. A reporter for the Washington Post said M*A*S*H’s record was still more impressive, because the country was less populated then. No really. This retard said that:

With all due respect to the Saints and the Super Bowl, the “M*A*S*H” finale is still the more impressive ratings feat, because when the show signed off the air on Feb. 28, 1983, the country had about 75 million fewer people than it did on Sunday. (The Census Bureau puts the current population at 308 million.)

Yeah, well you can fucking blow me, lady, because most people don’t even fucking watch TV anymore. So I find it impressive that a football game, in the era of endless diversions, can trump a record set by a show that was watched by millions of people who had literally no other choice. Eat shit and die.

M*A*S*H can suck it. The only time I will ever hear that show mentioned again is when some football team ahs a lot of injuries and the analyst has no better analogy to use. Goodbye to your ratings record, you old piece of shit show. Enjoy your rightful place in TV history’s dustbin.

Note: Drew is unavailable today, so I’ll be tackling PK duties this week.

When we last left wistful reader Peter King, he was extolling the virtues of Brookline Booksmith, despite his fondness for the Kindle. So what about this week? Will Peter be satisfied with his stay at the Doral Resort and Spa? Will he be disappointed by South Florida’s lackluster support of their hometown hockey team? Read on.

It’s right, it’s fair, it’s just, it’s good, it’s shocking. You were not dreaming…

It’s the special release of Uzuri African Blend from Peet’s!

As the fifth team bus — the one with mostly family and friends of the team — sped from the stadium to the Intercontinental Hotel in downtown Miami for the most raucous of postgame parties, this merry band of Saints partisans sang and chanted and Who-Datted to their heart’s content.

These fans lead the league in Who-Dattedness

“Oh when the Saints … come marching in …”

Uh…those aren’t the lyrics.

It got quiet for a minute, and Carville piped up loudly: “I still can’t believe we won the Super Bowl!”

He’s normally so reserved!

In the middle of the rolling party, someone else piped up: “Can you believe we called that onside kick?”

No, it caught everyone totally off-guard.

Oh, I can.

Because you’re a liar.

It had Sean Payton written all over it.

Just like Peter’s composition book.

“Ambush,” Payton said cavalierly, almost diffidently…

It’s funny because those words are basically antonyms.

In this case, Ambush was so mind-blowing because:

a. Morstead never attempted an onside kick in a game before Sunday night in his life.

Really?

b. Morstead never practiced onside-kicking until 12 days ago.

Isn’t that what training camp is for?

c. Morstead can be a bundle of nerves.

But none of this stopped Peter from seeing it coming.

Payton knows how lethal Peyton Manning is, and he knew he ran the risk of giving the Colts 30 extra yards if the onside kick failed, but he knew it wouldn’t fail.

Because Peter told him so.

He put his trust in the hands of a kicker, Morstead, kicking the first onside kick of his life, and in a special-teamer, third-year safety Chris Reis, perhaps the most anonymous of the 45 Saints who dressed Sunday. Morstead because he was the kicker, Reis because he was the feistiest of his kick-chasers

He has the guts of a catburglar.

and would scratch and claw for the ball if he had to.

And the mentality of an actual cat.

The ball at first lay underneath Reis’ legs as bodies flew in trying to get it. “I was able to get the ball into my hands and just cradle it here,” Reis demonstrated for me later in the locker room, with his hands cradled around his stomach, slightly bent over.

Quasi-Madonnaish.

“White ball!” Reis heard one official yell in the mayhem. The Saints were wearing white. Good.

Saints. White. Good. Okay, I think I get it.

“Blue ball! Blue ball!” he heard another official yell. The Colts were blue. Bad.

If you say so. This is all very confusing.

“The Colts were punching at it and grabbing for it, trying to get it out. But I didn’t care if they broke all my fingers.”

Peter felt the same way when he snagged the last Kit Kat bar in the press box.

“I can’t believe it,” said Morstead, a rookie from SMU. He’s a tall kid, wiry and athletic and thoughtful.

He’s all sinew and brain.

What happened, fella, is you and Chris Reis just made a play that was the biggest one in preventing Peyton Manning from winning his second Super Bowl…

Because it’s always about Peyton.

…and sent your city into orbit.

Oh yeah, that too.

I thought Indianapolis lost this game as much as the Saints won it.

Who dat say dey gonna let the Saints win?

GM Bill Polian told me outside the stadium after the game you can’t blame Garcon because he got “jacked” at the line of scrimmage.

And you told him that’s some bullshit, right?

Maybe…

No. No maybe, that’s bullshit.

…but I watched the replay a couple of times early this morning, and he was well away from the jacking when the Manning pass clanked off his hands.

Thank you. And thank you for typing “the jacking.”

I hated the decision by the Colts, on third-and-one in the final minute of the first half with two timeouts left by the Saints, to run into the middle of the line.

It’s not like they were running into the teeth of the ‘85 Bears.

Manning’s got 10 conversion throws that he can get one yard with in his saddlebag, and the call is Mike Hart burrowing between a couple of sub-300-pound blockers — Jeff Saturday and Ryan Lilja. Hart got stoned for nothing.

Nobody gets stoned for nothing. Oh, you mean he got stopped. Yeah, that happened. You know, they probably should have thrown the ball there! Sorry, I too got stoned. And it wasn’t for nothing. It was to make this column tolerable.

I don’t like how they would have left themselves 89 yards to go in 45 seconds with one timeout to get a touchdown.

As opposed to calling one of Peyton’s “10 conversion throws that he can get one yard with,” that would have left them with 89 yards to go in 45 seconds.

I know the logic is, Make sure you don’t give the other team a possession before the end of the half. Run the clock. Well, they didn’t convert. And the Saints got a possession. And the Saints scored.

Your logic is no match for my hindsight.

Third: the onside kick. Not to beat a dead Colt, but you simply can’t make that mistake in a game of this magnitude.

The mistake was letting Hank Baskett on the field.

Drew Brees was brilliant. He had a true MVP performance.

But the Colts lost the MVP just as much as Brees won it.

This game puts him in a league with Manning and Tom Brady at the top of the league’s quarterback pecking order. It’s a trifecta now, not a daily double.

A trifecta is when you correctly pick the first three finishers of a race, in order. A daily double is when you pick the winning horse in two different races. I believe the term your looking for is a “three-horse race.” But let’s not let that get in the way of you saying what everyone else has been saying all year.

Now for the Hall of Fame section.

I decided to vote for a player I had previously denied because another voter whom I know and respect said, ‘C’mon.’ Good enough for me.

Sharpe’s a mystery to me too…

Is he eligible for the trifecta?

A mystery, except that so many of these guys are good. I fear it’s so difficult to compute these crazy numbers that wideouts and tight ends are putting up.

Sharpe had 813 career receptions. 813! We need the guy from NUMB3RS to tell us what that means. And none of that scientific mumbo-jumbo, give us an everyday analogy that anyone watching CBS on a Friday night can understand.

I did not support the Denver running back because I felt his numbers and impact were shy…

And he never returns my texts.

I called Little Saturday night…

Good phone call. Lofty phone call. But a Hall of Fame phone call? Sorry, not for me.

Quote of the Week II

“Not bad for number 24.”
– Sean Payton to me, before taking the podium to do his postgame press conference.

In the offseason, I ranked the 32 teams from top to bottom, and I ranked the Saints 24th on my list.

Wait a minute. Coaches actually read this crap?

“I think Russ is the greatest guard to ever play pro football,” Starke said after Grimm went in to the Hall of Fame. I disagree, but as I said earlier in this column, Grimm’s the guy I’m happiest for after this year’s balloting.

You never said that.

1. New Orleans (16-3). At 10:05 p.m., soon after the Saints won the Super Bowl (can’t believe I just wrote that), my friend Josh Norman, who lives in New Orleans, texted me thusly: “Utter delirium in New Orleans right now.” At 10:28 came this: “I’ve been all over the world and I’ve never seen a celebration as epic as this. This is beyond words. The earth is vibrating.”

It’s an earthquake. SOMEBODY SAVE THE NORMANS!

2. Indianapolis (16-3). I know everyone’s concentrating on the Colts not being able to convert third-and-one late in the first half, gifting the Saints with three points before halftime, and for allowing New Orleans to recover an onside kick. But for my money, the Pierre Garcon drop midway during the second quarter was just as big.

Also big: The second half.

3. Minnesota (13-5). So if Brett Favre does retire, who’s next? McNabb? Vick? Pennington? The one name I never hear for the starting 2010 QB job in the Twice Cities is an interesting one: Tarvaris Jackson.

That’s because it’s not interesting.

4. New York Jets (11-8). I’ll bet you a lot of money Rex Ryan gave his middle-finger apology through gritted teeth and hated every word of his statement.

And I’ll bet you a lot of money that Rex Ryan thinks Peter King is a twat.

9. Baltimore (10-8). If I’m the Ravens, I pounce on Donte’ Stallworth with a totally incentive-laden contract. It’s just what they need…

Another player who settled out of court with a dead guy’s family.

10. Philadelphia (11-6). Breakout Eagle of 2010: LeSean McCoy.

Breakout movie of 2010: Avatar.

14. Cincinnati (10-7). Terrell Owens in stripes will happen the day I run an ultra-marathon.

He said run, not walk.

But more than that, he’s a great football player, with no weaknesses. Scouts now have to look twice at 6-foot quarterbacks who are very smart. I know I’d have my eyes open.

Somebody get Eric Crouch on the phone, we might have been wrong about him all along!

Really though, Brees was the first pick of the second round. It’s not like he was written off as a shrimp who could never compete in the NFL.

Late in the third quarter, Hartley was an MVP candidate, with 46-, 44- and 47-yard field goals, the first time in Super Bowl history a kicker has had three field goals outside the 40-yard line. Not bad for a second-year guy who played college ball at Oklahoma.

He says that like Oklahoma is some obscure Division II outpost.

There are many things in the world I do not understand…

What’s with everyone driving everywhere? Surely they’ve discovered the unbridled joy of walking.

Why is there a hockey team adjacent to a shopping mall in the middle of Luxuryville, Fla.? Rick Gosselin and I went to the Panthers-Flames Friday night…

Surely they could have built it closer to Shantytown.

(yes, we are hockey loons)

I was told there would be icing.

Mmmmm-MMM! Here, try this. It’s delicious! No, it’s okay: there’s plenty for everyone. This feast will last all day, my friends.

(By the way, everyone I watched the game with was rooting for the Saints, and we were all actually disappointed at the Colts’ red zone failure with 55 seconds left. We were really savoring the desperation.)

[image via]

Oh, how we’d missed you.

(image via)

Pregame: Drunk Colts fan tails Saints fans on the upper concourse, serenading them with the makeshift parody “When the Saints Go Crawling Home”

Postgame: Drunk Saints fan attempts to reunite taunting banner made by Colts fan with its owner. I am not sure he is actually committed to this endeavor.

Don’t forget to console Monkey Business on Battleship Manning. Be sure to be succinct. He so often is with us.

And a sincere congratulations to the Who Datters. Now we can all hate you.

I could see those sombreros being hindrance once the game begins. But you know how the Mexicans love the Breesus.

All week, it seemed that the Saints fans would easily overwhelm the fat humps in the stands today, but we failed to account that each fanbase would reflect the character of their hometown. The Who Datters showed up early in the week and partied late into the nights. The Colts fans showed up yesterday and in many cases this morning. Efficient, focused and obscenely obese. Very, very obese. Also, someone should have told them the jersey and khaki shorts look wasn’t a requirement for admission.

For those around, I am liveblogging this game – just not for KSK. Swing by The Sporting Blog if you want to follow along. Be advised that language restrictions are considerably more strict around those parts, and fewer comments will get through as Chris Littmann and I actually have to pay close attention to the proceedings and work. Should the paucity of dick jokes not gibe with your live blogging tastes, there’s always the comment section here. Or, y’know, you could talk to the other people at your party.

Miami is of course the place to be this week, with locals and visitors taking advantage of the sun and fun before tonight’s spectacle. Unlike our own Mr. Ape we are unable to experience the scene first hand, so instead here’s a brief photo tour of goings on in south Florida.

Apparently they couldn’t find the beach.

Come on, gays. You’re going to have to wear a lot less to turn heads in that crowd.

Marisa Miller spent most of her week making quarterbacks feel uncomfortable in the pants. Eli later filled an entire shopping cart with Axe products.

GAH! Back to Indianapolis with you! And put on some sweatpants. The baggy kind.

Images via Yahoo!

Another snowy weekend means another dose of tropical sexiness from the NSFW FYBG.

Gambling and gratuitous sexiness, quite possibly my favorite kind of mashup. Unless you count Usher and the goat. Which I do.

YouTube Doubler

Alright, so it works a bit better on the Youtube Doubler site. But if you start the second video three seconds after the first one you’ll get the idea. I fucking love the internet.

Oh that’s right, I’m supposed to pick this week’s game. I’m told it’s a pretty big deal.

Earlier in the week we went over some of the prop bets, so all that’s left is to pick the spread and the point total. I may not like it, but I have to agree with Tony Dungy’s take on the game. That means I like the Colts to cover, with the total score going over. And yes, that would suck.

Here’s some additional sexiness to carry you through a long weekend. Her name is Gabriella Grecco, and she is ridiculous.

There’s more over at Fuck Yeah Brazilian Girls. Like this (NSFW). And be sure to keep up with Ollie for all of your meteorological needs throughout the snowmageddon.

Drew Brees: I can’t believe it, Pierre. We’re in the Super Bowl! All that hard work from the past year, from the past FOUR years, has paid off! Now we get to take the biggest stage in sports!

Pierre Thomas: Yup.

Brees: Now we gotta take down Peyton Manning.

Thomas: Yup.

Brees: Won’t be easy.

Thomas: Nope.

Brees: Well, I have faith in Coach Payton.

Thomas: Coach Payton know what time it is.

Brees: He’s got a solid plan. I have faith in him. And I have faith in US. We didn’t come this far just to let the folks back home down. I can tell you that.

Sean Payton: Okay, men! Listen up! Brees! Thomas! Everyone! I want all eyes on me. Right now.

Brees: What’s up, Coach?

Payton: Men. You are now two days away from the biggest game of your lives. This isn’t gonna be like any game you’ve ever played. All your hopes. All your dreams. Everything you’ve ever wanted is going to be within your reach on Sunday night. Now, I know this is Miami. Big fun down here. But I want you men focused. I want you concentrating. You and I know damn well that other team has been here before and is treating this game like its all business. I need you to do the same. That’s why I brought someone special to come in today to talk to you.

Brees: Who?

(door flies open)

Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?

Brees: Rex Ryan? You brought in the coach of another team?

Payton: I know it’s unusual, but Coach Ryan here can offer us some valuable advice for beating these Colts.

Ryan: Oh! Oh, men. MEN. What a day I had down here in ol’ MY AND MY! My brother used to call this place MY AND MY because he’d see some of the pussy walking around this joint and have nothing left to say but MY AND MY!

(drinks two liter bottle of soda, lets out 9-second burp)

Ryan: Did you boys know you can’t shoot at the Hispaniolas down here? My Daddy used to get his gun and sit on his porch in Oklahoma and shoot at any Hispaniola that walked by. Can’t do that down here. And seeing some of the fiery Hispaniola pooooontang, I can see why! YOU GUYS KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, AM I RIGHT?

(slaps random player on the back)

Brees: Kind of.

Ryan: Ah, Mr. Drew Brees. Been waiting a looong time to meet you, boy! I’ve seen you play, and for a faggot QB, you ain’t half bad! You are one cool shit, you know that Brees? How many TDs you throw this year, Breezy?

Brees: I don’t remember, sir.

Ryan: Bullshit.

Brees: I just remember it was a lot, sir.

Ryan: He just remembers it was a lot! HA! That is cool shit. You are cold as an old shit, you know that, Brees?

Brees: Yes, sir.

Ryan: I bet the pussy just follows you around all day like a rain cloud. Even with Easter Island sitting there on your face. Doesn’t it? (sniffs) I bet you fuck girls like a cannibal!

Brees: Actually, sir. I’m married and…

Ryan: Oh! Oh! Oh, ol’ Breezy here gets himself some wifey pussy! WIFEY PUSSY IS THE HOTTEST PUSSY OF ALL! THAT’S GREAT HUSTLE!

(slaps Brees on the ass, hard)

Brees: Ouch!

Ryan: Now, why’d you go get married there, boy? Good-looking people shouldn’t get married! I only got married because I needed someone around to button my pants!

Brees: Well, I love my wife, sir.

Ryan: Look at this fella. Answering every stupid question I throw his way. COOL UNDER FUCKING FIRE. I like you, Breezy. Now, first order of business here: NICKNAMES. BREEZY, your new nickname is Ice Man! And Pierre, your new nickname is Frenchie!

Pierre: Yes, sir.

Ryan: Now, Coach Payton here asked me to come in and speak to you boys. And I said yes. And you know why? Because I love that town of yours! Everything there is blackened, EVEN THE WOMEN! I met a light-skinned black girl down New Orleans way that would light your dick on fire if you saw her! I nicknamed her Almond Joy, because she’d be great with a little bit of white and a little bit of nut in her! YOU BOYS KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I’M TALKING ABOUT!

(everyone cheers)

Ryan: Next order of business: BOUNTIES! $50 to the first guy who takes a bite out of that fucker Freeney’s ankle. AND NO PUSSY BITES! I want you biting down until you lose a crown! Also, $1,000 to the first asshole to take a shot at Manning’s knee two minutes after the whistle has blown! WHISTLE? I DIDN’T HEAR ANY WHISTLE. BLOW HARDER NEXT TIME, REF! YOU BIG FUCKING QUEER!

(chews 8 bags of Red Man at once)

Brees: Sir, I think we can beat the Colts without resorting to cheap tactics.

Ryan: Bullshit, Ice Man. I just played those fuckers two weeks ago. And we got OUR FUCKING ASSES KICKED. That Manning fucker is like a robot! A robot that can’t get decent pussy! Even the Conquistador didn’t have an answer for him!

Now, you boys here have Gregg Williams as your defensive coordinator. And let me tell you something about Gregg Williams: He is a penis. That man is just one giant fucking penis. But Coach Williams and I share a philosophy, one you’re gonna need come Sunday.

Brees: What’s that?

Ryan: ATTACK! ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK! ATTACK!

(inhales loudly)

Men, this Manning fucker will fucking kill you and eat you if you sit back. We need to send the fucking house. We need to send the whole fucking block. I want all of you ATTACKING! PURSUING! DOUBLE A GAP BLITZ! DOUBLE A GAP BLITZ! I WANT YOU TO KILLLLLLLLLLLLL!

Brees: But won’t he burn us if we blitz?

Ryan: Boy, you’re gonna get burned anyway. The only way to stop it is to make that fucker BLEED. To put the fear of God in him. To break and claw and maul. He needs to hear the hoofs galloping towards him. HE NEEDS TO KNOW THE FUCKING MACHINE OF WAR IS COMING FOR HIM AND ONLY HIM.

Brees: But how do we do that?

Ryan: There’s only one way. Men. MEN. I need you to stop being Saints. For one night. FOR THIS NIGHT, I want you to forsake Sainthood. I want you to become…

Brees: Whoa.

Ryan: A Saint has mercy. You cannot have mercy. A Saint has compassion. You cannot have compassion. A saint loves all creatures great and small. You cannot love all creatures great and small. Men, you must become SINNERS. I don’t want you men to be Mother Theresa out there. I want you men to bend Mother Theresa’s hot little skeleton over the bench and have your way with her. We play a violent game. We play a game full of sin. Full of greed and power and selfishness. And that’s what I need out of you. I need you to forget about being the good guys two days from now. I need you to forget about being America’s fucking Sweethearts and the Little Team That Could. I need you to be sinners. I need you to be men who will stop at nothing to fulfill only their most base desires. VIOLENCE. BOOZE. PUSSY. Don’t play for your city. Don’t play for your families. Don’t play for your fans. Play for that insatiable beast inside all of you that desires nothing more than its own fulfillment. On this day, I want you men to forsake niceties. And I want you to find that evil inside of you.

We all have evil in our hearts, men. There’s not a man in this room who hasn’t dreamed of killing another man, whether he’s willing to admit it or not. We have consciences that keep that evil from ever surfacing. But now. NOW. I need you to let that blockade loose. I need you to let that evil deep down inside you grow, and pulse, and break free, and come out and FUCKING MUUURRRRRRRDERRRRRRRRRR everything and everyone in sight. I WANT BLOOD ON YOUR LIPS! I WANT EVIL IN YOUR EYES! I WANT DEATH AND ANGER IN YOUR THOUGHTS AND NOTHING ELSE! WILL YOU DO THAT?

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: WILL YOUR FORSAKE SAINTHOOD?!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: Will you renounce your humanity for just one night, AND BECOME THE FUCKING BEASTS THAT NATURE MADE YOU? WILL YOU CRUSH? WILL YOU HURT? WILL YOU FUCKING KILL?

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: Then say it with me WHO DAT!

Everyone: WHO DAT!

Ryan: WHO DAT!

Everyone: WHO DAT!

Ryan: WHO DAT GON FUCKING FISTFUCK DEM COLTS!

Everyone: WHO DAT GON FUCKING FISTFUCK DEM COLTS!

Ryan: You are!

Everyone: WE ARE!

Ryan: You men are fucking WINNERS. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. You are big giant fucking winners with giant golden cocks, and you will go out there, and you will fucking crush those piece of shit Colts, and you will fulfill your destinies. YOU WILL WIN, AND THEN WE’RE ALL GOING OUT FOR MARGARITAS AND ALLEYWAY PUSSY! I want you to beauxne some ladies! ARE YOU WITH ME?

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: FUCKING SINNERS ON THREE ONE TWO THREE!!!!!!

Everyone: SINNERS!

Ryan: Oof! That was good! I gotta go give some asshole the finger!

(licks three day old bit of frosting off of wrist)

Brees: That was different.

Photoshop by LSUFreek

I ran into The Conquistador at the Madden Bowl party tonight in Miami. Guy has so much poise he didn’t even know what to say when I asked him about his poise. The full interview tomorrow will be up at The Sporting Blog.

Beef Moe, however, he’s never at a loss fo’ words. Fo’ sho’.

People, people. How many times do I have to tell you? There is NO SEX IN THE BALL ROOM. The image here is via Twervert, which is a NSFW site for those of you still at the office.

Featured this week: Vikings fan grumbling, fornication for fertilization, a slam-dunk fantasy trade, an email that’s practically a country song, fat humps, the NFL draft, the fantasy draft, and a gay little high school anecdote from yours truly. Let’s dive in.

Gentlemen,
Football first…. Is it OK to be uncommitted to any one NFL team? I love the NFL, but I have never been able to pin my true affiliations to one team at any point in my life. I grew up in Minnesota, but have come to hate the Vikings for a variety of reasons, most of them political and because I live among their douchebag fanbase and have really only latched on to a couple of other teams tangentially. In the heat of the battle, I say I am a Colts fan (my family is from Indiana, I went to school there etc.), and I am, but not as full fledged as I could be. Do I need to pick a team for good, or can I go on just watching as much football and enjoying every game as I do now?

There are going to be some very loud dissenting opinions here, but I actually think it’s okay to not have a dedicated team. Especially if you play fantasy football, you’re better served to not have allegiance to one franchise.

Now, there’s a caveat here: you need to accept that you’re lower on the totem pole of fandom than anyone who’s dedicated to one team. With the way you described it, you inhabit some dirty gray zone between “fairweather fan” and “bandwagon jumper.” Feel free to cheer for the Colts, but if you happen to talk any shit to a real Saints fan this Sunday, you deserve to be choked out with Mardi Gras beads by the Krewe of Zeus.

Sex…. More of a broad, societal question. Why do people look at me like I’m some kind of asshole when I say I would prefer a girlfriend/future spouse not to be overweight? Sue me if I actually want to do stuff with her, and an out of shape girlfriend isn’t going to be able to partake in the same activities. As a Colts fan, I’m sure you can see why this is a frequent issue.
- Some Asshole

That’s only a broad, societal question in the Midwest. But I think your problem is the way you phrased it. Instead of saying “No fatties allowed!” try this: “I’m an active person, so I’m looking for someone at least as physically fit as I am.”

Gents,
Football first: Being a Lions fan, I’m really rooting for Jimmy Clausen to tear it up at the combine so the Rams will take a chance on him and let Ndamukong Suh fall to No. 2. Being a Notre Dame fan, I feel that it would be the first good thing Clausen has ever done for me. Is there any chance of this happening?

None whatsoever. Just be happy you have Stafford — at least you know for sure your team won’t be drafting Rick Mirer 2.0.

Now sex, which is the real reason I’m writing to you. You know how when you’re younger you have this picture in your head of your dream girl, and she’s not always an actual person, but a lot of times just a combination of qualities you like all put together? Well I recently met the girl that I had pictured in my head as a kid. She works for the hockey team I cover, so I see her a lot. I don’t have a picture, sorry, but just think a young Yasmine Bleeth (before that hideous mugshot). If our conversations are any indication, there’s definitely an interest coming from her, which would be totally awesome if … I wasn’t married.

/sad trombone

I’ve been married for 3 1/2 years, and there’s no way I’m cheating on my wife, despite the fact that I just met the girl I’ve been masturbating to when porn was not available for the last 10-15 years. So I guess my question for you would be, is there any way for me to stop thinking about this other woman? Should I just try avoiding her as much as possible?

Yes.

Should I invite my brother to town so he can fuck her and I can then live vicariously through him?

That too.

Or do I simply suck it up and keep storing images of her in my head for future masturbatory sessions?
Thanks,
Mr. Struggling With His Loyalty

Whatever it takes, man. Welcome to the Suck. Sorry about your life.

Dear KSK,
Football:I lost in the playoffs in an ESPN.com league because my team got hosed on scoring, due to lack of fractional points. The commish says there is no setting for fractional points on ESPN.com leagues. Is there honestly any benefit to NOT having fractional points? I can’t think of any.

If memory serves me correctly, our own Big Daddy Drew prefers round integer scores. But he also thinks Bob Mould is a rock god, so what the fuck does he know?

Here’s what bothers me about leagues that don’t use fractional points. Let’s say Fred Jackson runs for 57 yards and gains another 28 yards with a couple of catches. In my Yahoo league that doesn’t do fractional scoring, that translates to seven points, even though Jackson gained 85 yards. GRRRRAAAHHHH!!! FUCK YOU, IT’S ONE POINT PER TEN YARDS. God DAMN it, that pisses me off so much. People might complain about decimals being complicated or whatever, but it’s the most accurate depiction of fantasy football’s interpretation of stats.

Sex: So I was in a relationship with a girl and I made the mistake of trying to move to another state to keep it going with her after about 3 months of dating. We had sex every night for like 3 months straight and had a ton of fun together, we really clicked. She was really sweet and enjoyed being around me all the time. I was captivated with her and naive enough to think that it would work in another place. She was only around my town temporarily but I honestly fell in love with her, so I quit my shitty, going nowhere job and moved to be closer to her while she finished school.

Despite her enticing me and sending me positive signals, once I moved she wanted nothing to do with me. She treated me like an asshole and it was a rough six months or so after I moved. It took a while but we eventually became friends and tried to put it behind us, but there was still some tension sometimes. Once she found out I was leaving she got really close to me and we started reconnecting again, I thought there might be a chance for a relationship again someday.

But then I found out she lied to me about cheating on me once while drunk with a dude she used to hook up with. It was shortly after she left where I was and shortly before I moved up to be with her. She lied to me about it when I asked her if there was anything still between them, she said no there wasn’t and continued to make it seem like she wanted to be with me. She was never going to say anything about it and I had to confront her in order to get her to confess. If she would have been honest with me I would have not moved and gotten myself into a big mess both personally and professionally, since she obviously wasn’t fully committed to me. I struggled to find work and everything else seemingly went wrong, I feel like I was cursed.

You’re not cursed. You just got hoodwinked by a member of the opposite sex. It happens to all of us at one point (or at many points) in our lives. I can empathize.

I’m trying to figure out how to still be friends with her.

Why the fuck would you do that? Goodbye, empathy!

I don’t know how to think positively about her anymore. All the good times we had are blocked by the disappointment. I don’t want to be reminded of how wrong she treated me, I’m a really nice guy and she took advantage of that to the fullest in retrospect. I wish I could go out and date some other girl immediately, but I’m broke, unemployed, and live with my parents (loser trifecta). Also, I can’t get the image of her getting banged by the other dude out of my head, it’s haunting me. And since it’s got to be over between us for good now, I also find myself getting angry at the dudes she will bang sometime in the future, even though they don’t exist yet. She took my virginity (late bloomer) and she had been with other guys before and it didn’t bother me to know that, but from now on it seems I will hold a grudge and I don’t really want to. Any advice how to stop thinking about it?
Thanks,
Ben J.

Well, you can start by not wallowing in self-pity. “Wah wah wah, I got burned by someone I was dating, and now my life is in ruins and I have nowhere to go and everything’s terrible.” Pick yourself up by the bootstraps, son. Everything that you might need to turn your life around — a job, your own place, good times with friends, a dating life — NONE of those things come readily to someone who feels sorry for himself. Yeah, you got a bad beat this time, but it’s not like you had the nicest concrete house in Haiti.

So turn it around with effort and a good attitude. If you can’t find a job, try volunteering in the time you’re not interviewing. Not only does it expose you to people who are less fortunate than you (making you feel grateful for things like parents who let you live in their house rent-free), but on the off-chance that you meet a girl that you like, you can say, “Well, I’ve been volunteering at the no-kill animal shelter until I find work” instead of “I moved because of a girl and she cheated on me and I can’t get work and my life is cursed.”

Magical Mystical KSKers,
We’ll start with fantasy and keep it quick, I lost my championship by 1 point and I’m ready for FF to be out of my head. My question: Fitzgerald for Chris Johnson’s a sure thing, right? Johnson’s current owner said he’d make this trade if I wanted it. I’m in a PPR league, and God knows what horrid things could happen to Chris Johnson, but who knows what kind of quarterback situation the Cards could have without Queef Warner? Trade or no?

Do it. And let the English see ya do it.

To the sex. I’m 20 and a sophomore in college, and I’ve learned enough about myself to know I do not want a relationship any time soon. These 21 year old girls talking about getting married make my soul die, but it happens more often than I thought it would. Finally, though, it seems that I have found a girl willing to have steady sex with me without a relationship. The thing is, I know she wants one, but I think she’s telling herself if she keeps letting me pork her I’ll eventually say ‘ok, let’s date.’ She’s very decent looking and the sex is good, but I’m starting to feel guilty. To the question: can our little fuck buddy scenario keep going on under the pretense that I’m in college and who gives a fuck? Or am I a total dick for fucking a girl who wants a relationship whilst knowing there will never be one.

You’re not a total dick, but you need to realize that there’s a limit to how long the “friends with benefits/fuck buddy” arrangement can last. It’s an inherently unstable balance to maintain. There’s nothing wrong with trying to keep a casual thing going, but if you feel the dynamic changing, you owe it to her to make your intentions clear.

Oh, PS, usually when we hook up we leave the other’s respective apartment, but 3 times she’s stayed the night at my place, and in the morning it’s numbingly uncomfortable. Anything I can do about that?
Lots of purely heterosexual love,
Robert

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen someone complain about awkwardness in the morning. You people are crazy: the morning is the perfect time for round 2. It’s freakin’ HARD to get laid, man. If you’re a single man and you wake up with a woman in your bed, I shouldn’t have to explain to you why the 2-for-1 special is a good deal.

Hey guys, longtime reader, first-time writer-inner…
Football: since fantasy is over, and all football is over except for the Super Bowl (how can you not love the over on 2.5 announcer mentions of “Hurricane Katrina” ???), here’s a general football/media question — do you guys agree with me that TV announcers and commentators should maaaaybe, just maybe, put the “Adrian Peterson has a soul-crushingly strong handshake” story to bed until AP/AD decides to stop fumbling the fucking ball a zillion times a season? How obnoxiously oblivious or detached does a talking head have to be to keep pounding the handshake thing while Peterson KEEPS PUTTING THE BALL ON THE TURF? I’m no Vikes fan, but I’d think they’d be more annoyed by this story angle than anyone. Furthermore, perhaps Peterson should consider easing up on the handshakes, so as not to tire out his precious fingers, the better with which to grip the ball?? Your thoughts (especially you, husky)?

Sorry, Husky didn’t weigh in on this one. Drew callously ignored your plea for help. Which means you get only me, and I don’t particularly care. Purple Jesus fumbles because he has holes in his hands, you know.

If I remember correctly — and it’s entirely possible I’m wrong, but I don’t feel like looking it up — Al Michaels was calling the NFC Championship Game, and he talked about the irony of Peterson fumbling so much when he’s widely noted to have such a strong handshake. That seems like a reasonable thing to say on the air, if you ask me. And you did.

Sex: It’s a cliche but true – happily married with a good sex-life, but sex while trying to get the wife pregnant is wayyyyy less sexy than normal, instinctive, impulsive, fun sex for pleasure with same said wifey. Any tips on how to make the babymaking as sexy and fun as it used to be when it wasn’t homework?
Signed,
Fucklion

Again, I asked our married-with-kids writers to share their feelings on this one, and no one said anything. I guess no one cares about your plight.

My thoughts? Engage in anything that doesn’t make it rote. Just because you’re trying to get her pregnant doesn’t mean that you can’t start with an extended oral sex session. As far as I know, lingerie isn’t a contraceptive. And you should see if she’s down for some dirty talk. “I’m gonna get you pregnant, bitch!” sounds like a fun thing to say during sex (just as “Knock me up, Daddy” would be sexy to hear).

Dear KSK,
Sex first: I finally got with a girl I’ve wanted since high school over winter break. She had finally broken up with her dickhead boyfriend of five years. Everything was good: Sex was okay, enjoyed spending a lot of time with her, she even visited for the weekend when I had to go back to school early for work.

We texted/called pretty much every day once she went back to school and she got me a shitload of cool stuff for my birthday. I went on a little bit of a bender during my birthday week, we still talked occasionally (that I remember, I was absolutely hammered for about a week straight, my best friend came up to visit and things got out of hand) Since my birthday week bender she has completely given me the cold shoulder. Doesn’t answer my calls, texts, I even Facebooked her to see what the deal was. Nothing. What really makes this weird is she’s a really cool chick, it’s not her style to act crazy, get jealous or be high-maintenance.

Actually, she sounds about as low maintenance as a girl can get. You don’t even need to call her!

This shit is driving me crazy. I’ve narrowed the possibilities down to four things:
1) I said something to her that pissed her off while I was blacked out.
2) She got back with her boyfriend or got a new guy at her college and doesn’t want me to visit. (I had planned on visiting for V Day)
3) Her phone is broken and she’s busy. A stretch but she goes to Madison law school and seems to be studying or partying 24/7.
4) I knocked her up. I didn’t use a condom the first time we had sex, I was drunk and just kinda forgot. Plus the girls in the past I’ve had sex with have been on birth control, putting on a rubber isn’t a habit of mine. (I know I sound like an idiot)

1) The most likely scenario. That was pretty stupid.
2) Also possible.
3) Not a chance. Everyone makes time for texting and Facebook, and no one goes three days without getting a new phone after their old one breaks.
4) You’re a fucking idiot. Since you never use a condom, it’s entirely possible you gave her an STD. Yes, can have one and not know it.

Help me out here. WTF do I do? I don’t want to go into crazy stalker mode and keep blowing her up but the cold shoulder is stressing me out big time.

Well, you went to high school together, yeah? Don’t you have any mutual friends who might know or be able to find out what went down? Regardless, the bottom line is this: she ain’t interested.

A quick non-sex related anecdote: In junior high/high school, I had a best friend who lived around the corner from me. After hanging out non-stop for two years, he one day stopped speaking to me entirely. For the longest time, I never knew why I was on the outs. A couple years passed, and sometime before I graduated high school a friend told me that he stopped being my friend because I denied him a sip of my soda at a concert (I don’t recall that ever happening — it was probably too loud for me to hear him).

Here’s the point of that gay little story: it didn’t really make me feel any better to know. It didn’t give me closure, it didn’t fix what had happened, and I had already moved on as a person. Of course, for you, the hurt is new, and you’ve got the added facet of long-desired (and finally acquired) pussy. Maybe you can try casually reaching out over Facebook in six or eight months, but for now you should cut down on the binge drinking, wear condoms, and accept the possibility that you may never know why you got the cold shoulder.

Inigo: I must know.
Man in Black: Get used to disappointment.

Football: I just laid $100 on random ridiculous prop bets for the Super Bowl. Somehow I feel like this will make the game easier to watch as a Vikings fan. Did I just piss a bunch of money away?
-Viking McRawdog

Not necessarily. Unless you bet the under on the number of times Archie Manning is shown on camera.

Leaders of Men,
Start with fantasy first. Is Matt Forte even worth a keeper for next year? I’m only losing a seventh round pick for him, so it’s still good value. But frankly, I’m sick of starting the stiff. There are really no other keeper options on my team, but he was so bad last year that I’d prefer not deal with him.

If you don’t have anyone worth keeping, you should hold on to him. I know, I know — he was the turd in the fantasy punch bowl this year. But a sophomore slump isn’t unusual, and you can always treat him like a 7th-round pick: a guy you’re not compelled to start, but one who can produce pretty good numbers in the flex spot. Besides, the Bears just hired Mike Martz, and — hahaha, sorry, I can’t finish that sentence without laughing.

Now with the sex. I’ve been dating a girl for a couple of months. She is always down to fuck, which is fantastic. It’s probably the best sex I’ve ever had and she seems to enjoy herself as well. The problem is that she has never gotten off with another guy. She says it’s a mental block, not physical, and can’t really explain why. The last time we were together I almost got her off until she made me stop. I think that once I get her off it will be a burden off her chest and everything will be all good, but I don’t want to push the issue if it’s something she doesn’t want to do. How would you guys handle it?
– A.J. Weston

Don’t sweat it, and enjoy the rides. She’ll come when she’s ready.

People, look at that. The Weather Channel made a lighthearted reference about New Orleans and a hurricane. Do you know what that means? It means that it’s hurricane season — for jokes! Yes, for too long, our nation has been quietly respectful of the Hurricane Katrina disaster that flooded New Orleans. You might even say that hurricane jokes were imprisoned for years after being wrongfully convicted of murder. But now it’s on, baby. The Weather Channel said so.

The red lines moving to the southeast represent the white people leaving New Orleans for the Super Bowl.

If Hurricane Whodat is comprised of Cajuns arriving from New Orleans, this could be the worst storm to hit Miami since Andrew.

WHO DAT!  WHO DAT!  WHO DAY DERE WASTIN’ PRECIOUS AID MONEY?

The National Guard is prepared to reinforce the dams with sandbags and Colts fans.

I was gonna buy a luxury suite at the Superdome, but the carpet didn’t match the rapes.

Ironically, the one thing that still needs rebuilding in New Orleans is LSU’s swim team.

In a related story, a man was thrown from a pick-up truck in Hurricane Whodey.

What’s the only thing that runs slower than Peyton Manning? FEMA.

George Bush doesn’t care about Cubans.

Woo-hoo! The Saints are in the Super Bowl! Road trip! I knew this FEMA mobile home would come in handy!

And in soccer news, the San Jose Earthquakes are expected to play in next year’s MLS Cup in Port-au-Prince.

(image via)

NWSHU5C6BZT6

Episode 23. Arguably our finest show ever, although I personally would never make that argument. @PUNTE and @Brandon_ROTU highlight a botched audio playback segment while scrambling to find the Elusive Brad Childress Jazz Clip, and then chats ensue with “boots on the ground,” after discussing the latest Twitter feed sweeping the English-speaking world, starting with Lindsey Hockman, a Jets fan and Indianapolis native (our “Fat Hump” bureau chief) recovering from her team’s loss in the AFC title game. PUNTE discusses his upcoming Super Bowl weekend in Vegas as part of a charity effort for the Sharon Osborne Colon Cancer Program. @TheCajunBoy, our Louisiana native, comes in to talk about how much (or how little) the Saints really had to do with the post-Katrina rejuvination of the city. And we make a handful of prop bets that even Vegas would find ridiculous. Listen on the embedded player, or click on the red logo for the mp3 file, and subscribe to HOUSE OF PUNTE on iTunes.

Dennis Haskins, aka Mr. Belding from “Saved By The Bell” is going to be at the poker tournament, and Brandon says that he’s going to send me a Bayside T-shirt to wear in front of him. I’ve suddenly developed the great fear that Mr. Belding and I are going to wind up in a ditch someplace together, both completely naked. Sure, he’s an actor whose glory days are behind him, but what’s my excuse?

“He didn’t even say anything about shrimp cocktail! No honorary cedilla for him! We just learned what those are because Garkonia has one! Peyton should have a cedilla on every letter. But a CAPTAIN’S cedilla!”

-Derique from Munçhie

The origin story of Jerome Bettis is at long last revealed! Try to contain your shock and/or fallout of your cranial explosion.

The full interview with Le Autobus is available at The Sporting Blog. I promise that only the first few minutes are dedicated to unfathomable sexual acts you will never be able to unsee.

Anthony Bourdain: I’m Anthony Bourdain. I cook. I write. I travel. I eat. I do oceans of cocaine. And I’m hungry for more.

Bourdain (narr): Miami. The very word itself conjures images of undercover cops wearing linen shirts with only two buttons buttoned, flamboyantly gay Cuban manservants roller skating down South Beach in short jorts, and old ladies swerving in front of you on the roads. But there’s more to this city than its clubby, up-all-night exterior. I’m not here to see the Will Smith Miami. No, thank you. I will pass. Will Smith is a queer. I’m here to see the guts of Miami. The juicy offal bits of Miami. The stewed heart and kidneys of Miami. The distended and deep fried anus of Miami. The stuff that other tourists here would usually ignore. This is, after all, home to one of the US’s largest immigrant populations. And with all those immigrants comes food. Lots and lots of food. And hopefully, some cocaine too. Helping me on my journey will be the always game and always frisky Jeff Garcia, former quarterback for the Tampa Bay Bucs and someone who loves this town as much I as hope to.

Gay Zorro: GAY ZORRO!

Bourdain: So I think about Miami and I think about, you know, dipshit kids dancing half-naked in clubs.

Gay Zorro: Thees ees not the real Meeami. The real Meeami… ees deefrint. To understand the real Meeami, you mus be willeeng to go a leetle bit out of your comfort zone.

Bourdain: Where are we going now?

(smokes 90 cigarettes at once)

Gay Zorro: I show you. You gonna like thees. I goeeng to start off very easy on you.

Bourdain (narr): Where we end up is Joe’s Stone Crab, a Miami institution. Opened in 1918 by Joe Weiss, it has been serving up huge plates of succulent crab meat for nearly a century.

(looks indifferent setting until food arrives)

Bourdain: Oh my God, look at that.

Gay Zorro: Thees… bess crab you ever have.

Bourdain: (eats) Oh, man. That is good. That is just straight fucking sex right there. That’s like, fucking on heroin good right there.

Gay Zorro: Thees because crab is fresh. Ees not sheeped in from Thailand. They catch it this day, you eat eet fresh.

Bourdain: It’s just so good. Like fucking in the bathroom good. I really like it. This is the kind of food that I’d love to eat at 3AM while drunk. And stoned. And with a roll of quarters stuck up my ass. I mean it’s really good. I’d love to eat this while drunk, stoned, and sniffing ethanol.

(cameraman tries to have a claw)

Bourdain: FUCK YOU DOIN’, MAN? YOU HAVE TO SHOOT! Only I get to eat!

(eats 90 lbs. of crab, gains no weight)

Bourdain (narr): Okay, okay. I’m definitely getting into Miami right now. Visions of old people playing shuffleboard in oversized black sunglasses are quickly fading from my memory. I think… no, I’m certain… I’m actually beginning to like this town! Maybe it’s the 17 beers I had at lunch!

Gay Zorro: You like?

Bourdain: Absolutely. I’m almost ready to drop a gratuitous reference to the Ramones to establish myself as a punk rocker among food show hosts. Where next?

Gay Zorro: Bess Cuban sandwich you ever have. Come.

Bourdain (narr): We hail a taxi and enter the bowels of Miami. That part of town that has been unofficially annexed by Cuba. And that’s just fine by me. You can see it in the faces. You can hear it blasting from car stereos. That unmistakable sound of a lively people, recreating their culture in a land freer than the one they call home. And Jeff proves a helpful and good storyteller, and an enjoyable travel companion along the way.

Gay Zorro: All these people came here on boat. All of them. They reesk life. They reesk not seeing family again. To come here. So you can eemagine the joy they feel to be here, AND BE FREE! TO BE WHO THEY WAN! AND TO BE VERY GAY IF THEY CHOOSE!

Bourdain: It’s almost a rebirth of their spirit.

Gay Zorro: Exactly.

Bourdain: Well that’s nice. NOW WHEN DO WE GET TO EAT AND THEN SNORT COKE OFF OF PIZZA PANS?

Bourdain (narr): Jeff takes me to a hole in the wall in the seediest part of town. Paco’s has been here for over 30 years, and they’ve been making Cuban sandwiches for hungry day laborers ever since. This sandwich was invented over a century ago in Ybor City, and its ingredients remain constant: ham, roasted pork, Swiss cheese, pickles, mustard, and Cuban bread. Simple ingredients, mastered over a long period of time.

Gay Zorro: Try thees.

Bourdain: Oh my God, that is good. That is so fucking good. That’s, like, rape-your-grandma good.

Gay Zorro: TONY!

Bourdain: No, really! Just, “Bend over, Nana. I gotta have a Cuban.”

Gay Zorro: YOU CRAZY!

Bourdain: The ham and the pork just go so well together. That is just sex in a bun right there. That is edible fucking. That is orgylicious. By the way, Food Network? Run by pussies. They’d never let us go to a place like this. Food Network eats shit. And Paula Deen is a fat cunt.

(eats 30 sandwiches, drinks 30 beers, somehow loses weight)

(spends 20 minutes poorly reenacting final shootout of Scarface for his own amusement)

Bourdain: Where to now?

Gay Zorro: GAY CLUB, OF COURSE!

Bourdain (narr): Leather? Chains? Sweaty men kissing each other out in the open? OH I CAN’T WAIT FOR THAT! Okay, this is not necessarily my milieu. But Jeff is a pleasant host, and I’d hate to poopoo his good time. Still, this is not exactly the part of the trip I was most looking forward to. We still have lots of eating to do. AND I NEED MORE COCAINE!

Finally out of the club, and Jeff’s appetite for pork of another kind finally sated, we hit something a bit more my speed.

Bayside Market, Miami’s largest and freshest food market. Home to some of the world’s best seafood, and butchered meats as well. And I try it all.

Bourdain: What’s this?

Vendor: That is the eye of the sheep.

Bourdain: LOVE sheep eyes.

Vendor: And this is shark’s tooth in broth.

Bourdain: LOVE eating shark teeth.

Vendor: And this is human foot stewed in wine.

Bourdain: LOVE human feet.

Vendor: And this is illegal whale meat, ceviche with lime juice.

Bourdain: LOVE illegal whale meat.

Vendor: And this is squid penis.

Bourdain: LOVE squid penis. Look at that. Look at that color. That’s like eating out Nigella Lawson’s pussy, right there.

Bourdain (narr): Okay, so we finally got the good stuff. But still… WHERE’S MY COCAINE? And isn’t there a football game being played somewhere around here?

Bourdain (narr): Ah, Land Shark stadium. Home to the Miami Dolphins, owned in part by that Troubadour of Middle-Aged wet dreams, Jimmy Buffett. I fucking hate Jimmy Buffett. But I like football. And I love tailgating. And perhaps there’s a dealer in the parking lot. So let’s go.

Saints Fan: WHO DAT! WHO DAT! WHO DAT!

Bourdain (narr): Okay, so maybe coming to the parking lot was a bad idea. And I never did find any cocaine. (Just kidding! I totally did! Miami is crawling with good dealers!) But I think, with Jeff’s help, I was able to see the true soul of a city. The people driving the engine that allows all the Hiltons and Kardashians of the world to come down and have their fun in the sun. I was wary of Miami before I came here, because I thought it was all style and no substance. But there is a substance to this place. There’s a real, true, and earthy quality if you look hard enough. Good food, made by people who sat on the ocean surface for days at a time just to be able to come here and make it. You can taste it in the Cuban sandwiches, and the squid penis.