Phreak Show: The Time Has Come

There is nothing sexier than forcing two best friends fight to a graphic, slaughterous death....
Well, not THIS one, obviously.

There is nothing sexier than forcing two best friends to fight to a graphic, slaughterous death.

So when Eagles QB Kevin Kolb is at war with Packers QB Aaron Rodgers amidst the raucous ejaculations of the Linc this Sunday, keep in mind he is only doing it because the NFL schedule says he has to.  The reality is, the pair would much rather spend a Sunday afternoon building a birdhouse together in the driveway.  Instead, their career choices have put them on a collision course toward each other, pitting friend against friend, not unlike when brothers would find themselves inadvertently knifing their kin during the Civil War.

Of course, they haven’t known each other nearly as long as, say, a set of biological siblings.  Nor are they even really good friends.  But when Kolb took over for what’s-his-name, it was simple for him to draw comparisons to when Rodgers took over for an equally forgettable QB in Green Bay, and since then they’ve been inseparable, bonding over their similar inheritances of NFL teams who until recently were sporting beloved, high quality talent in the QB slot.

And by “inseparable” I mean “talked on the phone and texted a bunch of times.”  But that can be a big deal, too.  Remember junior high?  Yeah.  So.

The NFL countdown isn’t the only one initiated; some folks consider NHL training camp to be just as important as football that actually counts.  “10” is the magic number, or I guess “8” now, since that post I just linked to went up two days ago.  Whatever, math is for Republicans.

Well, not THIS one, obviously.

But with the Flyers arming themselves for another year of raping my emotions, the real test is to see how the defending Eastern Conference champs spent the offseason.  Did they sob gently into pillows?  Sob violently on the subway on the way to work?  Sob even harder in their cubicle at work, to the point that the assistant manager had to come down and ask for them to please be so sad a little more quietly?

No, of course they didn’t react the same way as a normal person would have to a Stanley Cup loss.  They cleaned the blood off their jerseys, took Pronger’s gun away from him, and became TV stars.

At least, Ian Laperriere did, when he starred in his own commercial.  But you can’t see it.  Not yet, anyway.  The ad, for the VERSUS (one of those words with correct spelling in ALL CAPS) network, refers to Lappy getting hit in the face with the puck, inches from his eye–by his own doing, of course–during Game 5 of the Eastern Conference Quarterfinals.  So it might be a bit too early to claim there’s no violence.

See here for a verbal description of the video, if you really feel like it, or have some time to kill, or are sobbing at your desk because the assistant manager is in Tahoe with his family this week and you can get away with it.  Or if you’re like me, and you demand video footage of Lappy NOW, check out this video of him being beloved by former teammates.  Skip to :24 for some hockey-yelling that redefines the term “unintelligible.”

And if the hockey machine is whirring to life, you know basketball isn’t too far behind it, except in Philadelphia, in the standings.  But before you start making those classless Sixers jokes about how much they suck like you always do, you should know that a lot of people who actually know what they’re talking about are saying that the Sixers could very well crash the NBA playoffs in 2010-11.

They just have to answer a few questions first, especially regarding the center position.  Namely this one.

It won’t be Samuel Dalembert, that’s for sure, even though he’s held the position since the part of my life when I thought the Power Rangers were cool (EDITOR’S NOTE: Yeah, since 2003… when you were 16.) Jordan Sams at Liberty Ballers does a spectacular job as always in breaking the issue down to its three real candidates (Spencer Hawkes, Elton Brand, and Marreese Speights), and you should go check it out if you really care at all.

Or you could stick around here and read some shit about the Phillies and then a joke about boobs.  That’s all I’ve got planned.

Oh, those crazy Phils!  Look at them, crawling into first place over the Atlanta Braves for first time since May 30.  That’s right, after spending their summer farting around, getting horrifically injured, or just plain not producing, the Phillies finally sucked it up, shifted to small ball, and, with 22 games remaining in the season, put themselves in a position to vault into the playoffs.

Ryan Howard and his yearly assault on September (Six RBI in last night’s contest alone) went off without a hitch, and with the holy trinity of Roy Halladay, Roy Oswalt, and a truly remarkable resurgence of Cole Hamels (the man hasn’t allowed a run in 25 innings–almost three straight baseball games, for those of you playing at home), things seem to be on track.

Where that track leads, of course, is solely up to them.  This time of year, baseball is hitting its fever pitch, and as the days get shorter, crisper, and cooler, it can at times be the one thing to get excited about.

And then, you know.  There’s tits.

Justin is the lead writer of That Balls Outta Here: A Philadelphia Phillies Blog, the NL East columnist for Sports Talk Soup, and the guy behind those “Balls to the Wall” articles you’ve heard so much about on Call to the Pen.  He also wrote this  self-aggrandizing blurb in the third person.

Images courtesy of Newsbusters.