Guest Post: In Defense of Rexy

Note to our reader: From time to time this humble blog will have guest posts written by true sports fans who also happen to be friends or acquaintances of mine (essentially the same premise as Grantland). These posts could touch on any topic, but will most likely address some aspect of the guest writer's favorite teams. Today, in response to N.Y. Daily News columnist Mike Lupica's recent criticism of Jets coach Rex "Bootsy" Ryan, I am proud to offer this guest post by lifelong Jets fan, and champion of all those who are financially privileged yet still chintz (inside joke), Father D.P. McGillicutty.


Let's get one thing straight. I'm no fan of Mike Lupica. He is by all accounts unbearably smug. The Donald is somewhere right now complaining about the smugness of Lupica. The head shot Lupica rolls with at the top of his column -- the one with the look of barely restrained disgust -- leaves no room for doubt. He is smarter than you, and he wants, nay needs, you to know it. If you don't believe me, just watch any episode of Sports Reporters that he ever appeared on. Ever. (Incidentally, I am 100% confident that he takes credit for the success of PTI, Rome Is Burning (why is Rome so good on radio and so terrible on television?), Around the Horn (I want to punch that host in the face), and every other sports television show featuring sports writers.) And whoever at the Daily News let Mark Cuban's dwarf brother start writing political op-eds needs to die a horrible, horrible death. All of that said, Lupica's column yesterday about Jets HC Rex Ryan caught my interest -- not so much for what it says, but for what it portends.

The gist is that Lupica's sick of Rex Ryan boasting about everything without delivering a championship. Fuck you, Lupica. Wait, that's supposed to be the end of the column. Anyway, his daily dose of sanctimonious drivel was notable to me because I'm a Jets fan. Have been my whole life. (Yes, I have seen that draft video on YouTube. I also watched my team in the AFC championship game the last two years, jagoff.) But here's the point: I admit that Rexy got a bit of a pass his first year as Jets HC. At the end of the day, he didn't need it, but whether or not the Jetsies made the AFC Championship game, he was going to finish the year on the media's good side simply because he was not Eric Mangini. (Full disclosure: I was FULLY on board with hiring Mangini at the time -- what a mess.) And maybe he did get a pass on the whole foot fetish saga, though it wasn't exactly a Marv Albert scenario. But it's clear the tide is turning.

With the new found competency of the Mets front office and the Yankees looking playoff bound as always, the sports writers need themselves a target. And let's face it, another hit piece on Tom Coughlin isn't selling any papers. So that puts Rexy in the cross-hairs. But here's the problem with that: in two years, the guy has twice managed to plow through loaded AFC playoff fields to get to the conference championship game with the 'Chize (ed. note: Jets QB1 Mark Sanchez) at the helm. So everybody calm down. The guy has gotten my team to perform at a higher level than any Jets HC in my lifetime (including Parcells - my fingers just burst into flames). As far as I'm concerned, he can say whatever the hell he wants. Also, and I'm not saying it's necessarily intentional, but I see some genius in Rexy's approach. Think about it. Is there any coach of the league (with the possible exception of that chicken-shit turncoat in New England (ed. note: Patriots coach Bill Belichick)) who actually gives the media less meaningful information than Rexy? He talks and talks and talks, but what insights can you really draw from a guy that says nothing but good things about every player on his roster and constantly predicts victory. None. So if Lupica and his hair hat really want to bitch about something, maybe they should bitch about what Rexy ISN'T saying.

Guest Post: A Rebuttal In Favor of Larry English's College Choice

Note to our reader: From time to time this humble blog will have guest posts written by true sports fans who also happen to be friends or acquaintances of mine. These posts could touch on any topic, but will most likely address some aspect of the guest writer's favorite teams. Today, in a response to this blog's post yesterday questioning Chicago-native Larry English's once-upon-a-time decision to attend Northern Illinois instead of the University of Illinois, I am proud to offer this guest post by Michigan alum and renowned Big Ten football expert, Tatt Mareeco.

Dear Bevormo,

Larry would have loved to have played for the Illini. Sadly, Larry was a late bloomer or someone that the scouts just dropped the ball on. He was a 2 star recruit according to Rivals. The list of schools with interest in him was as follows: Northern Illinois, Toledo, Iowa, Ball State, Bowling Green, and CMU. You should apologize to Larry for being baselessly mad at him. You should also thank him for not going to Iowa where he apparently would have wreaked havoc on your Illini, or in the alternative would not have developed into the now Charger beast you believe him to be today.

Regards,
Tatt Mareeco

Thanks, Tatt. This blog always welcomes the opinions of others. And you're right. It's certainly possible the Illini knew about English coming out of high school and just decided he was not a worthy recruit. Unfortunately Ron Turner never left his sofa his last few years as Illini head coach so I doubt English was even considered by the Illini.

But your point is well taken. Ronnie T.'s blatant attempt to get back into pro football by refusing to recruit for the Illini is no reason to hate on Larry English.

Consider me upbraided.

Guest Post: A Bucco Remembrance

Note to our reader: From time to time this humble blog will have guest posts written by true sports fans who also happen to be friends or acquaintances of mine. These posts could touch on any topic, but will mostly likely address some aspect of these guest writers' favorite teams. Today, in honor of the Pittsburgh Pirates home opener at PNC - incidentally one of baseball's finest ballparks - I am proud to offer this guest post by noted Bucco aficionado, Geleaux.



Omar,

I don't need to tell you this, but our beloved Buccos open up PNC Park for the 2009 season today against the dreaded dis-Astros. It reminds me of the day we met, a day I'm sure both of us remember well. Hearken back to the spring of 1978, if you will, and, well, who wouldn’t? The Stillers were in midst of a brief intra-dynasty Super Bowl break, a time that would make the upcoming championships even more sweet. The mills were pounding out tariff-protected steel at incredible rates. [I remember, as if it were yesterday, the sweet smell of burning metal permeating my parent's AMC Hornet (it was green - perfect) as we drove to the ballpark. That smell would linger on, even after we closed the windows, turned off the fan, and begged sweet baby jesus to make it stop.] And you had just finished your first full year in the bigs, a year that saw you swipe 53 bags, a performance that electrified the Burgh and foreshadowed your epic 1979 campaign in which you finished 15th in the MVP voting. So choice.

As you recall, my sister's 3rd grade class was invited to a game at venerable Three Rivers Stadium that season, and as if that wasn't cool enough, it included a meet and greet with the great Omar Moreno. Although I was only in kindergarten at the time, my kind sister allowed me to tag along with her class. I'm sure her decision was not influenced either by the raging guilt she felt after winning a raffle to become the Pirate's Bat Girl for a game the previous season (alas, my entry, while equally well penned and heartfelt, fell upon deaf ears) or by my parent's outright demand that I be allowed to attend, lest I lock myself away in my room for hours on end crying sweet tears of injustice, only to be drawn out by the siren song of a cucumber salad and Benny Hill reruns.

The meeting itself, albeit brief, is etched in my mind, primarily because my pillbox hat is askew in the only remaining picture of our dalliance. No doubt one of my sister's well meaning yet mischievous classmates was to blame, but I cannot shake the memory of you staring off into space while I awkwardly attempted to shake your hand. It was my first interaction with a real major league ballplayer, and it was sublime. So today, of all days, I'd like to thank you, Omar Moreno.

Good luck, Godspeed, and Go Buccos,

Geleaux