Wasif's World

My, oh, my! Didn't 2010 go faster than an Olympic luge course in Vancouver? I mean, it’s as if 2010 was “The Tonight Show” and we were Conan O’Brien. First off, I want to thank all of you who, upon my request to text me your most genteel holiday wishes, complied ... except for “Brett in Minnesota,” from whom I have revoked all future cell phone privileges for apparently misreading the word “genteel.”

Okay, before we get started, let’s get something straight right now –- I’m very confused about calling these the “2011 NFL Playoffs.” The season all took place during 2010, so wouldn’t they be the 2010 playoffs? Though the Saints won it all in 2010 (for the 2009 season) so that would make it confusing if you called these the 2010 playoffs and the Saints didn’t win.

At least in basketball and hockey, you’ll say the ’08-’09 season. That eliminates all confusion, but takes a while to say.

That said, you’ve read the “experts” and their predictions. They give you their best guesses as to what will happen during these forthcoming NFL playoffs, but none of them expand upon what could happen. So allow me to do that for you now:

WILD CARD ROUND:

New York Jets @ Indianapolis Colts

What Could Happen
Rex Ryan instructs his team to set up “the wall” against the other team’s gunner on kickoffs, but once his coaches put their feet out there, Ryan begins to fantasize about what they look like inside their shoes; wondering if there’s toe knuckle hair or how calloused they are or ... sorry, I got carried away. He loses focus on the game and without his guidance, Mark Sanchez gets called for a record 19 delay-of-game penalties in a row taking a first-and-goal situation from the Colts’ 1-yard line to a first-and-goal from their own 4-yard line. Sanchez finally gets the play from the sidelines, which is a pass, drops back, and is sandwiched by Dwight Freeney and Robert Mathis for a safety, the eventual margin of victory for the Colts.

What Will Happen
The only feet Ryan will be worried about is Peyton Manning who manages to stay on his all game long, leading his team to victory.

Baltimore @ Kansas City

What Could Happen
Ray Lewis gets so fired up before the game against Kansas City that his head explodes and the game is delayed 20 minutes while the grounds crew cleans it up.

What Will Happen
Ray Lewis and the Ravens defense manages to stifle the Kansas City offense. Meanwhile, on the other side of the ball, Joe Flacco has trouble getting things started thanks to the rabid Arrowhead fans. Special teams play powers Kansas City to a narrow upset. The Ravens are not so surprised when they are told after the game that the Chiefs are made up of many ex-Patriots. "Great, now I hate Kansas City too," mutters Terrell Suggs.

New Orleans @ Seattle

What Could Happen
The "12th Man," the Qwest Field advantage works for the Seahawks. It is so loud there that Drew Brees can’t function. He throws an uncharacteristic three picks and Seattle decisively upsets the defending Super Bowl champs.

What Will Happen
The "12th Man," the Qwest Field advantage works for the Seahawks. It is so loud that Drew Brees can only lead his offense to score 40 points against Seattle. Pete Carroll is so excited by this display of efficiency, he hugs Brees after the game.

Green Bay @ Philadelphia

What Could Happen
The game in Philadelphia will be postponed three days because of the threat of a snow flurry. In the interim, Aaron Rogers bumps his head on the night table next to his bed during a fitful dream about Brett Favre returning to Green Bay next year, thus sustaining a concussion.

Michael Vick, meanwhile, goes shopping for a dog at the local shelter. Attempting to pet a cute pekingese, it bites him because it knows of his reputation. Vick is hospitalized with rabies. Kevin Kolb and Matt Flynn lead their respective teams to an uninteresting Green Bay upset in front of only 2,500 fans because everyone was confused about when the game was actually going to be played, including Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell, who's justifiably pissed.

What Will Happen
Michael Vick, back in the playoffs for the first time since 2005, will do what he did with Atlanta and surprise the Green Bay Packers, a team expected by many to be playing in February. The Eagles win a close, low-scoring affair.

Result: New Orleans, Kansas City, Philadelphia, Indianapolis advance.

DIVISIONAL ROUND:

Indianapolis @ Pittsburgh

What Could Happen
Roethlisberger has déjà vu as he hands the ball off to his running back near the goal line and Mendenhall fumbles. It’s recovered by a Colts cornerback who rumbles down the field only to be tackled at midfield by Big Ben himself.

What Will Happen
The injuries to Manning’s Colts finally catch up with them and he is unable to pull this one out after James Harrison knocks four more Colts out of the game, including an equipment manager on the sideline, earning him $400,000 worth of fines.

Kansas City @ New England

What Could Happen
New England meets New England-West as the Chiefs come to town. Charlie Weis and Romeo Crennel get confused and spend the first half of the game on the Patriots sideline calling plays for Belichick who, being a genius, decides not to correct them. Matt Cassell just hands the ball off on every play during that half, and the Chiefs still gain a respectable 80 yards on the ground heading into the locker room, though the Patriots hold a 35-0 edge in points.

What Will Happen
Belichick usually doesn’t do very well against his former apprentices and this Chiefs squad is full of them. They know everything about “the Hoodie” right down to the flavored fiber supplement he takes in his apple juice the morning of the game. It’s a dog fight, but one that is eked out by the Patriots because the Chiefs find themselves in awe of Brady's flowing locks instead of worrying about Alge Crumpler's mowing blocks.

New Orleans @ Atlanta

What Could Happen
A New Orleans and Atlanta rematch proves to be everything it’s cracked up to be. Tempers flare as it did in the last game and Atlanta wins on the final drive as "Matty Ice" throws to Tony Gonzalez in the back of the end zone.

What Will Happen Hm, that’s pretty much what will happen.

Philadelphia @ Chicago

What Could Happen
Philly finds a defense that is slobbering for some fresh meat. Michael Vick provides them that opportunity. On the first play from scrimmage, Vick scrambles to avoid Julius Peppers and finds himself in the arms of Lance Briggs who holds him up long enough for Peppers to arrive. The two of them each pull an arm off Vick before Brian Urlacher, behind a full head of steam, bulldozes the quarterback, earning a 15-yard helmet to helmet penalty as he knocks Vick’s helmet off . . . with his head still inside. Appreciative Bears fans applaud when Vick walks off under his own power.

What Will Happen
This is a tough game to pick. Jay Cutler is a wild card. Both teams are used to the cold. Devin Hester and DeSean Jackson are both very dangerous. But in the end, defense will prove the word of the day and that means Chicago will triumph.

Result: New England, Pittsburgh, Chicago, and Atlanta advance. CHAMPIONSHIP ROUND

Pittsburgh @ New England

What Could Happen
Hines Ward is upset that he was knocked out of the last game against New England. James Harrison is upset that he didn’t knock anyone out on New England. Troy Polamalu is upset that his equipment manager left his Head & Shoulders back at Heinz Field and he’s forced to use a generic CVS brand shampoo. Charlie Batch is upset that he’s not starting this game as he feels he’s made a compelling argument by beating Tampa Bay in Week 3. Fueled by emotion, the Steelers return to yet another Super Bowl. What Will Happen
The Steelers rack up 150 yards running, but manage to give up 200, including a Tom Brady run for 22 yards on a third-and-twenty. Shayne Graham kicks the deciding field goal and the Patriots return to the Super Bowl on the heels of a three-point nail biter.

Chicago @ Atlanta

What Could Happen
Julius Peppers knocks Matt Ryan out of the game on a legal hit that he is flagged for. His backup, Chris Redman, manages impressively but Ryan, though unable to lift his throwing shoulder, defiantly and heroically returns to the game. Even knowing that all he can do is hand off, the Bears are somehow unable to stop Michael Turner who scores the final touchdown with under two minutes remaining and Jay Cutler throws his third interception of the game to seal the Bears’ fate.

What Will Happen
In a boring, low-scoring affair, Ryan’s two interceptions make him and his team just that much better than Cutler’s three interceptions and the Falcons earn a “dirty bird” dance back to the Super Bowl.

Result: New England and Atlanta advance. SUPER BOWL XLV

Atlanta and New England

What Could Happen
The Super Bowl is postponed two weeks as the league and the NFLPA finally come to an agreement about expanding the season to 18 games. They decide it should start immediately and every team is ordered to play two more games. After those games are over, the New England Patriots and the Atlanta Falcons will meet for Super Bowl XLV.

Parity in the NFL leads to the two No. 1 seeds facing off against each other, defying the norm. Atlanta starts off with an onside kick, that is recovered by a Falcon and it goes from there. The Falcons frequently drop 11 men into coverage and cause Brady to throw four picks. Miraculously, the game comes down to the final play with the Falcons up by two and the Patriots needing another miracle from their kicker. It’s Shayne Graham who is iced three times by the Falcons who have not yet used any of their time outs for just such an occasion.

Graham is ready, but the snap is muffed and Graham picks it up. He scrambles and manages to loft the ball up toward Deion Branch who alertly goes out for the pass. Branch catches it, but is stopped at the half-yard line surpassing the Titans-Rams Super Bowl as the closest finish ever.

What Will Happen
Ah, who are we kidding? This is the easiest game the Patriots face during the playoffs, if not all season and it’s a 45-3 snoozefest. Outraged by his team’s performance after the game, Arthur Blanks opens up the checkbook and signs free agent quarterback Michael Vick.

There you have it. The ifs, ands, buts, or whats of the 2011 (though an addendum to 2010) playoffs. Take this one to the bank! (While there, you might want to open a CD account. Rates are pretty good right now.)

I’m not gonna answer more questions for the rest of this year. If there’s gonna be an interview, I’m gonna conduct it. So I’ll answer my own questions; axe myself the questions, give y’all the answers.” – Randolph Tiberius Moss 10/31/10

And thus Randy Moss -- athlete, journalist, tantrumist -- summoned in the era of the self interview, thus making the Bob Costases, Dan Patricks and Roy Firestones obsolete. (And yes, they are all plural because they were cloned a long time ago, ever since technology made it possible.) We shall look back on these days with historical reverence for it is when the landscape of broadcasting changed.

I now present to you a compilation of some of Randy Moss’ greatest interviews conducted of himself, by himself, and quite frankly, for himself. I believe you will find these to be very revealing of a man who all at once is a brilliant receiver, a difficult personality, a misunderstood child, a mediocre karaoke artist, and an amateur puff pastry chef.

Without any further adieu, the Randy Moss Interviews (DVD pre-order available now through Amazon):

Could I describe the incident with the buffet table my last week with Minnesota? I got totally misunderstood there. The food was delicious. Tinucci’s, man, I love that place! I said, “I wouldn’t feed that to my dog.” My dog eats dog food. Do you know what would happen if I gave him ribs and chicken and [expletive]? I’d be cleaning up after him all night. Man, I gotta think about myself. I need at least eight hours of sleep if I intend to come in here next week and take double teams to free up Percy Harvin. I can’t go pooper scoopin’ all night. Think about it.

My mom used to feed me kitty litter until I was 7. We weren’t even that poor and didn’t own a cat. But no reporter ever bothered to ask me that.

Does everyone have skeletons in their closet? Yeah. Is mine an actual skeleton? You better believe it.

I think I get a bad rap. Wherever I go, people say “Randy’s doggin’ it” and “Randy’s messin’ up on purpose.” I laugh it off. Do I sometimes wet my pants from laughing? Sure, who doesn’t?

Heck yeah, I’d have sex with Tom Brady! That’s a two-minute drill I’d love to be a part of. But to answer your question, I do think the electric car can definitely provide relief to a global climate that is under terrible strain from car emissions.

Who do I think killed Kennedy? Three words: Lyndon Baines Johnson.

I’ll tell you what gives me the wind something awful, that edamame [expletive]; though I’ll run faster when I eat it, so it’s not all bad.

How do we get rid of blue as a color? I hate that color. It should stay in the ocean where it belongs.

Those Chilean miners, man. I was pulling for them the whole way. I once climbed inside my clothes dryer when I was a kid. I got stuck in there for a week, so I could relate to them in some ways.

I’ll sing Tupac in the shower and sometimes I sing the theme song to “Josie and Pussycats.” It all depends on the mood I’m in. And yes, I believe my dogs are stealing from me ... Not all of them, just the Doberman.

I’ve always been fascinated by photosynthesis.

Craziest thing I’ve ever done? Let’s just say I christened the Lincoln Bedroom during a middle school class trip to the White House.

Would I take a bullet for Randy Moss? You’ll have to ask Randy Moss that one. I have no comment.

I’d definitely do Snookie from “Jersey Shore,” wouldn’t you? That chick’s crazy ... and orange. I’m all about life experiences, man. How many times in my life would I get to [expletive] a crazy, orange chick? That’s as close as I can get to [expletive] an alien, man. “Life experiences” - that’s the Randy Moss motto. That, and “always be crazy.”

I hope you’ve enjoyed your first-hand glimpse at a truly fascinating individual brought to you by the one man who knows him best -– himself. We now return you to the “Brett Favre Saga” to find out which body part he damages next week.

Here’s an interesting article I came across on the web detailing Tom Brady’s recent car accident on Thursday, September 9. It sure does shed some light on the Patriots’ offensive field general. I thought I'd repost it here.

AP – Boston
New England Patriots quarterback spoke Monday morning for the first time about the car accident he was involved in on Thursday morning, saying he was “scared more than being rushed by Ray Lewis” when his Audi sedan crashed into a minivan which, according to witnesses, had run a red light.

"I'm telling you, when it happened, I didn't even know what to do, because you're just in shock," Brady said during his regularly scheduled interview on Boston sports radio station WEEI on Monday morning. "I was kind of sitting there in the car, looking around, trying to get my bearings.

"And then I got out of the car and I saw a woman had suffered cardiac arrest from the scare. I knew I had to act quickly so I initiated CPR and got her vitals back to normal. It was nothing anyone couldn’t learn in two hours at the neighborhood community center. Then I was looking in the other car to make sure they were OK.”

“The guy next to me says, ‘Hey, do you think we should call 9-1-1?’ And I said, ‘God, that would be a good idea, wouldn’t it?’ So I did what anyone else in my situation would have – I used mental telepathy to contact the paramedics.”

Brady, who escaped from the accident unharmed, said the paramedics acted professionally at the scene, attending to a passenger in the minivan who needed to be hospitalized before requesting autographs from the New England signal caller.

Attorney Samuel Reef told reporters that 49-year-old Rogerio Rodrigues’ condition has worsened. The Fall River resident was lying down in the back of the minivan driven by his adult son when the collision happened.

Police waited for “the jaws of life” to extract the victim from the vehicle, but short of time, Brady just ripped open the roof with his bare hands in order to free Rodrigues.

Brady said Monday that, aside for his safety at the time of the crash, he also feared for the well-being of another bystander, a woman who was out walking her pet tiger near the intersection where the accident took place.

"After the paramedics arrived, I saw a woman and I said, 'Are you OK?' And she said, 'Yeah, I'm fine, but I’ve lost my baby." After locating the scared tiger atop a tree along Commonwealth Avenue, Brady climbed up to retrieve it. “The lady’s kitty was up in the tree. What was I supposed to do, leave it there?”

The three-time Super Bowl champion admits to being frightened by the possibility of having to answer to a higher power on that day. “I was just thinking, 'How am I going to -- I've got to call [Coach] Belichick, I'm going to be late [for practice].’”

When reached for comment, the typically reticent Belichick said, “He was late to practice, that’s all I know.”

Before being checked and cleared to leave the scene, Brady noticed the minivan had knocked over a street lamp which he then repaired with some sort of heat-vision.

Upon reaching the Patriots practice facility in Foxborough, Brady was pulled aside by owner Robert Kraft to inform him of his new $72 million contract extension, which Brady promptly donated to a charity helping smuggle families out of war-torn Darfur and setting them up in Hollywood to forge careers in the movies.

“It was surreal. People think I’m somehow superhuman and don’t get affected by all this, but I’m just like everybody else. I was so excited that I was able to come home and see my supermodel wife Gisele and my son ... that felt good," Brady said. "I got in a crash, I came home and I said, 'God, I'm just fortunate to be able to be here.' That's really a blessing."

Police say part of what may have helped Tom was his seat belt ... the other part, of course, being his Justin Bieber-like hair and matinee idol good looks. “It’s one of those intangibles that many people don’t think about when they get in their cars,” officer Frances Pearson said.

The lesson he learned from all of this?

"Man, wear your seat belts," Brady said. "And just try to be me. That's all I can tell everybody. You never know."

Let’s take a step back to look at the NFL in this the lead-up to the Super Bowl.

In a league where job security is as improbable as Heidi Montag making it a week without plastic surgery, Tom Cable and Norv Turner both will return next year to once again lead their respective teams to early offseasons. Congratulations, fellas!

Now, I’d like to address one of my fans, someone calling himself “swyner,” who wrote to me after my previous piece, “Your an idiot … This guy Brett is a superstar and the Vikings are the best team in football.”

Don’t you hate it when the “best team in football” gets beaten by those lesser teams? And I appreciate your observation, “swyner,” but you didn’t tell me what, of mine, is an idiot. You left out a few words. Did you mean to say “Your financial advisor is an idiot?” “Your parolee neighbor is an idiot?” Using the possessive “your” necessitates a conclusion to the noun phrase you’re attempting. Hey, I’m always here to help my readers.

Now on to pressing matters – Did anyone think Brett was not going to throw the ball to the other team? It’s what he does. Strong arm, tough player, not a great decision-maker. When you see the sun come up day after day, you kinda come to expect it.

That said, we should look at this objectively; Brett Favre is a Hall-of-Famer. He makes plays other quarterbacks not in the Hall of Fame can’t or couldn't. (He also makes plays quarterbacks who are in the Hall of Fame didn’t or wouldn’t. And that’s why we’re even having this discussion.) He’s still one of the greatest of all-time and the prefix “Hall-of-Famer” will never be withdrawn from his name.

As much as I joked about revoking his status due to blowing Super Bowl berths (now twice), he doesn’t deserve that ... though he has exactly as many rings as Brad Johnson does.

On the flip side, I heard someone refer to Philip Rivers as a “future Hall-of-Famer” the other day. Now that commentator should have his credentials rescinded.

Brett told Chris Mortensen, by the way, that it’s “highly unlikely” he’ll return next season. Uh, yeah, is there anyone buying that one?
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We’re going to be deluged by “experts” making their game predictions this next week. Half (approximately) will say one thing, the other half will say another. So either way, a large percentage of them will be wrong. How about we stop calling them experts please?

If you went to a doctor, an expert in the medical profession, and he said you had a hernia; then you got a second opinion from a doctor that said you actually only had hiccups, you probably wouldn’t consider one of them an “expert” anymore.
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Around this time, people take a moment to reflect upon recent Super Bowls and that will inevitably bring up the belief by some that Bill Belichick’s teams didn’t deserve to win because he “cheated.”

I love how the legend of this grows every day. It’s to the point where the story is that Belichick himself was on the sidelines of the other team’s closed practice with a camera. I think he even asked Andy Reid to have the players run through a play a second time just so he could shoot it from another angle.

The man is a genius, after all. He was so smart that he showed his team all these video tapes (that he took himself) and told his team not to beat the opponents too badly so no one would suspect their illegalities.

And that’s why Brady and his Bunch won each contest by only three points, including two with last-minute field goals. That was all part of Belichick’s master stroke. With the footage he had, including one shot through the keyhole of Donovan McNabb’s hotel room as the quarterback admired himself in the mirror, the Patriots could’ve won by 80 points easily, but that would’ve tipped people off to foul play.
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I really don’t care who wins this year as I have no fish in the tank, so to speak, no spice in the soup, no gun in the locker room, no ... okay, you get the point. I just want to see a good, clean game. Last year’s contest, though exciting, was still marred by controversy.

After driving the length of the field, the Steelers left the Cardinals with very little time for Kurt Warner to do a little magic of his own. But that should not have meant the game was over.

Holmes, after making a great catch in the corner of the end zone, used the ball as a prop in an effort to celebrate. Excessive celebration, 15-yard penalty. (Another one of the rules that probably shouldn’t be a rule, but it is.) However, it wasn’t called. Whoa! Why make a rule if you’re not going to enforce it? That’s like saying, “Intentional grounding, but y’know what? We’re just gonna let it slide this once. First down and 10!”

It would’ve pushed the kickoff back 15 yards, presumably giving the Cardinals better field position with which to work.

Then, after a few plays, Warner fumbled the ball in what was clearly not a fumble. But since there was less than two minutes remaining, it was an automatic booth review. (I understood why they called it a fumble, so there would be something to review. If it wasn’t called a fumble, then there’d be nothing to review.) So let’s just go up to the --- huzzah what now? The Steelers are being given the ball?!

What part of automatic booth review do you not understand? Did the booth guys go home? Were they relieving themselves after four quarters of large Miller Genuine Drafts? Or were they just Steelers fans?

I’m not saying the Cardinals would’ve won, but with Kurt Warner and Larry Fitzgerald on their team, there’s no better finish I would’ve liked to see. And I’m still waiting for the league to pick up with that game. Perhaps they could play that last minute as the pre-game next Sunday.
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My early prediction for Super Bowl XLIV, before I've pored through the myriad statistics and listened to the experts, is for either the Saints or the Colts to prevail. Though I wouldn’t put it past Belichick to find a way to somehow steal the crown from both teams. He is, after all, a diabolical supergenius who must have something up his sleeve.

As I watched another Baltimore Raven get whistled for a penalty simply for looking at an opposing player wrong, and longing for the days of actual football instead of the Jim Irsay “no touchies” rules, I pondered where my allegiances lay.

My New England Patriots are out, much to the delight of fans of teams who haven’t won in a while ... or ever, which is understandable as you take the position of Let Someone Else Have a Chance. But there are other positions one can take this dilemma.

In Brotherhood Always

One person ventured to guess that I’d be rooting for the J-E-T-S because they were fellow AFC East gladiators. Yeah, I’ve heard that logic before, but I’m not a tree-hugging hippy. If the Jets were banished from the division or the league, I wouldn’t feel too bad.

You get the sense that the only reason they spell out their name is for practice like a child (or Kelly Bundy, perhaps) spells out C-A-T. And do their fans deserve any sort of success? I mean, they boo players at the draft; guys who haven’t even played one down for them yet. Oooof!

So no on the Jets.

The Enemy of Your Enemy is Your Friend

It’s a good policy during wartime and every week in the NFL is wartime. However, it’s vague in football since your team has so many enemies.

If the Colts are playing the Jets, then shouldn’t I root for the Colts? First off, they’re more of a threat to New England’s standing than are any AFC East rivals. Plus, they’ve played each other once a year consistently now for a long time, almost like an honorary Grudge Bowl.

And please refer back to the first paragraph where I’m still upset the rules were changed at the endorsement of Jim Irsay and ratified by other owners to prevent actual touching in this men’s professional league. A blog for another time would be to analyze the success of the Colts offense minus all the pass interference penalties of which they are the beneficiaries. How much of their net yardage comes from these, once rare, now abundant, calls?

No on the Colts. I hope that game ends in a double forfeit.

Root for the Team that Beat Your Team

I was obviously rooting for the Ravens, right? I mean, Boston is the team that invented the “Beat LA” chant when it became clear the 76ers were going to be the ones to take on the Lakers in the championship series during the early 80s. It’s a way to say, “Hey, at least we lost to the eventual champs.”

But the odds were against these Ravens because they actually hit people and, as we now know, hitters never win, and winners never hit in this NFL. (The rule says nothing about puns, however.)

No, I didn’t root for the Ravens ... and I’m glad.

They’ve Earned It

The San Diego SuperChargers have earned it, haven’t they? They’ve come close the past couple of years and been snake-bitten each time. But there’s probably a reason for that. Norv Turner is their coach. It’s hard to get behind a team with Norv Turner as the coach. I believe that Jerry Rice once referred to Turner as the worst coach he’s ever had. That’s from the greatest receiver in NFL history, so I’m going to side with him.

But don’t let that stop you from offering the man a three-year contract extension, San Diego. That’s just good business.

No thanks on the Chargers. I don’t want to be a two-time loser this postseason after my Patriots already lost.

No Connection to My Team

Arizona was a good choice, if only because there’s no connection between that team and mine. Plus, I don’t know any Arizona fans so there would be no one to rub it in should they win. That’s always a selling point.

Come to think of it, are there any Arizona fans? Hmm ... I could be the only one.

Nah, I couldn’t handle the pressure. No, on Arizona.

Individual Dislikes

I dislike Brett Favre. There, I said it. I may be the only one who thinks he’s overrated. Plus, I still hold it against him for causing the Pats to lose the Super Bowl. I’m not talking about Super Bowl XXXI either, as the Packers deserved that win, but the Big Dance in 2008.

In the NFC Championship game against the Giants, this “game-changer” decides to hurt the ball into the air, to no one in particular, in a driving wind during overtime. They should’ve revoked his Hall-of-Fame status right there. The interception allowed the Giants, a team that could beat the Pats to do just that. Thanks, Brett Fav-rah.

No, on the Vikings.

Team Dislikes

There’s a saying in football that’s as old as the hills and it goes like this – “I hate the Cowboys.”

So, no on the Cowboys.

Pity

How ‘bout ‘dem Saints? Anyone rooting against these people has no soul. Their city was washed away for crissakes! Hurricanes almost ripped apart their stadium. Their fans were forced to become refugees. They deserve something good.

Pity is always a driving factor in building allegiances. Schadenfreude is usually employed to choose who to root against. It’s the practice of wishing something bad happens to a team rather than something good. You might know it better by its street name – being a Hater.

Well, the Saints provide you with reason to root for a team rather than against. They’re this year’s feel-good bunch.

At the risk of alienating this fan base with my run of recent fan luck, this is a team I can get behind ... or not. I really am just watching as a time-waster before the upcoming draft.

Patriots fans are worried. As well they should be. Is this the end of their magical run of greatness? The team that dominated the decade, the team that set all sorts of records, the team that set a new bar of perfection in a season over which other teams must now jump has suddenly become (gasp!) mortal.

Unthinkable as it may have once been, it’s now a reality. I mean, we’re talking about a team that put itself in the same conversation with the Steelers of the 1970s and the Walsh/Montana, Seifert/Young 49ers.

New England won three championships, but was essentially four minutes away from five in seven years. If Reche Caldwell (he of the googly eyes) catches the wide-open, coverage-breakdown pass and runs into the end zone versus the Colts in the 2007 AFC Championship game, New England more than likely goes on to beat Chicago in the Super Bowl. And, of course, there were the events of one year later, during their undefeated season, when they lost the Super Bowl on a miraculous catch from David Tyree. (I mean, seriously, who catches a ball against his helmet?)

Then Touchdown Tom Brady gets hurt, the potent offense grows somehow stagnant, they sputter into the playoffs with all sorts of things wrong with them, and here we are; they’ve gone from perennial Super Bowl favorite to once-was, apparently with no more bullets in the chamber. It’s the classic depiction of the rise and fall of a dynasty.

Rome went the same way. Remember when Caesar’s offensive linemen gathered around him and stabbed him, right there at midfield, as he was about to hand off to Augustus, their scat back? “Et tu, Hog Hannah,” he uttered.

However, there’s reason to believe it may not be the end at all, but rather a hiccup in the finely-oiled machine that is the New England Patriots.

Patterns in sports are not too uncommon, as they are for imperial kingdoms as well. The Patriots, for instance, were a 14-point underdog to the purely powerful and potent “Greatest Show on Turf” one winter’s day back in 2002. They eked out a three-point win. Flash ahead six years and the Patriots

possessed a record-setting offense that was favored by 14 points. The Giants won by 3.

This is just one example of the repetitive plot lines that permeate sports. The mystery, however, is which pattern a team will follow, and that is what keeps gamblers and prognosticators on edge. To wit, I present to you, the New York Yankees. (Pardon the smell.)

Take a look at the larger picture and you may find that this certain baseball team from the Bronx serves as a remarkably similar model for Patriots fans to observe.

Picture it – the Bronx, mid 1990s; a core group of youngsters hit the scene and win multiple championships out of the gate.

And they were poised to win more. Jeter, Posada, Pettitte and Rivera had many years left in them. They were in the World Series for the fifth time in six years, in 2001. They lost in seven games, with their once perfect superstar, Rivera, blowing the save. The loss shocked the once infallible Empire.

Then came another losing trip to the World Series in 2003, and their monumental collapse to Boston in 2004. Their fans didn’t know what to make of this. That year, Buster Olney declared they were dead in his book, “The Last Night of the Yankee Dynasty.”

Sure, they kept winning games, enough to make the playoffs, but they couldn’t seal the deal as they had once done without difficulty. These Yankees weren’t the same.

But as we all know, the Yankees were not done. They were merely reloading.

The Patriots are that team now. Brady, the quarterback, and Belichick, the coach, the two most important cogs of a football squad, are still in place. But they’re struggling. It is the darkest night of their dynasty, as New York's baseball boys faced in the middle of the decade.

In baseball, free agency played a key role in putting the Yankees back over the top. They spent and spent and spent, and their investments came to fruition. It helped that they still had their core, though.

In football, the draft is the tool team executives and head coaches look to in order to replenish their gridiron warriors. And the Patriots have more premium draft chips over the next two years than any other team does. So don’t count them out.

With the addition of some studs during one whirlwind offseason to the solid foundation already in place, the team might be back on top like Navin Johnson at the end of “the Jerk.” Couple their potential draft coup with an uncapped season and you may be looking at the remake of “A Yankee Tale.”

Now, I know you’re all reacting emotionally right now – they’ve lost too many key ingredients; the league’s built on parity; Belichick’s grown too arrogant – but you don’t know the future. And neither do I (save for that one recurring vision I have of never getting a shot with Rachel McAdams). I’m just saying that a Patriots Rebirth is possible.

It looks dark now – and represents a wonderful opportunity for the Buster Olneys of the world (is there more than one?) to craft some very poignant prose about the summation of the Patriots path – but perhaps such fare is premature. Care to put money down on it, Augustus?

It's blasphemous, I know. I will be looked upon with shame; probably ostracized, never to be regarded with respect again. But I don't care! I'm busting at the seams here and I can't hold it in any longer. I'm coming out of the locker room here, publicly, in front of all of you. I love Peyton Manning!

I'm a Patriots fan. I have been ever since I started being one. So that's why this is a forbidden love that should never be uttered in these circles.

It represents a great leap for me. You see, throughout my young childhood and subsequent adult childhood, I've always hated the enemy.

For instance, Magic Johnson was public enemy No. 1 when I was growing up. It got to the point where I would deny any truth to his greatness. "Did you see the half-court fadeaway off the in-bounds Magic hit yesterday at the buzzer?"

"Yeah, I did. It was luck."

He did it every time, though. Yet it was always luck in my eyes. It took his retirement from the game to realize how great he truly was.

Patrick Roy was a thoroughly overrated goalie. At least, he was when he played, but after he left the ice, he was one of the best of all-time.

Derek Jeter is a selfish player that is only propped up by the media. However, I'm sure that when he retires, I'll ... no, I pretty much am gonna undercut any of his accomplishments until the day I die. That guy's gotta be taking some sort of illegal supplement.

But Peyton ... oh, Peyton! I may be married to Tom Brady, but I'm gonna go Tiger Woods with Peyton Manning.

How can you not like him? He's one of the best quarterbacks ever to lace 'em up on the football field, and a self-deprecating pitchman with brilliant comic timing off it.

Tell me you didn't bust a gut laughing at his "Saturday Night Live" performance when he said, "I'm gonna go home, bake some snickerdoodles, and make out with my French-kissing puppet."

I'll admit it trumped Tom Brady's Kermit the Frog impression, or his delivery of the line "No funnel cake! ... Bear!"

Now some is a factor of the show's writing. Tom appeared on the show when the new cast was just beginning to gel; Peyton, as they were hitting their stride.

Do I believe TB could have nailed the scripts Peyton was given? Without a doubt. He was great on "Entourage," so there's no reason to believe otherwise. But Tom's more the heartthrob and model than Peyton is. The middle Manning is more the straight actor/comedian/performer, not to mention Hall of Fame-bound team leader.

I'll be shocked if offers don't pour in from networks with acting gigs once Peyton's done on the field. And I'm not talking Michael Strahan's weak starring- vehicle.

I envision something with a logline like, "The perfect quarterback who can't do anything wrong, retires to find, in life after football, he can't do anything right." And hilarity will ensue! I'll watch . . . even if it's on the CW.

I'm rooting for Peyton. I wanted his team to go 19-0 and surpass the record set by my man Tom. I want Peyton to get injured next year so that he can get a "Comeback Player of the Year" nod like Tom has. (But nothing too crippling. Maybe just a chronic hang nail or something.)

Tom sets the bar and Peyton matches the jump. It's great to see. Like Larry and Magic. And I'm glad I can finally appreciate something like this while it's happening.

I believe in Prop. 18! A fan should have the right to love whoever he wants, regardless of team jersey! I just hope my fellow Pats fans don't block passage of this law.

After rigorously defending the fact that the decade has one more year in it, I have nonetheless decided to abandon my cause and write my End of the Decade blog. (Expect another one next year.)

Though for the record, decades end in 10. Let’s review the facts: When the Julian and Gregorian calendars switched over to Anno Domini – or Adrian Dantley as is the English translation – they did so at Year One. There was no Year Zero. Hence, the first new year’s celebration was January 1, 0001. And ten years later less one day, the decade ended on December 31, 0010. So we’re jumping the gun a little bit.

Although on the surface, it seems an inconsequential argument, but look closer to witness its necessity in navigating the all-too-important matter of how many championships the New York Yankees have won this decade in comparison with the total for the Boston Red Sox. As things currently stand, the tally is Boston, 2 – Yankees, 1. (Argue this fact if you will, but as we know, the Julians and Gregorians were never wrong ... except for that whole overreaching of the Roman Empire thing ... and probably also for betting long on the Latin language instead of short selling it.)

Anyway, it’s still been nine years since the last time we looked back a ways, so it got me thinking that I should open up my time capsule (a “Welcome Back, Kotter” lunch box in the back of my closet) to look at what I said about the impending “oughts.” Here’s the letter I wrote and stashed away on December 31, 2000 (the end of the 90’s, according to the early Italians):

12/31/2000
Dear Self,

Hey, how’s it going? Are you over Becky Lantana yet? Boy, you really screwed that one up, didn’t you?

Okay, enough small talk. I really didn’t think we’d make it through the decade. I mean, how many times can one person watch the Yankees win the World Series without taking his own life in the most disgusting manner possible? It’s just not fair! Spread the wealth a little bit, huh? The Red Sox and Cubs and White Sox haven’t won in over 80 years. You would think that at least one of them could win, even if only by accident!

(Though I’m not sure, but some of those Yankees looked to be on some sort of chemical substance that helps athletes perform at a higher level unnaturally. Hmm, well, I’m sure I’m just being paranoid. The increase in offense can most likely be attributed to better training and keeping the baseballs in a humidor.)

Seriously, I can’t take it anymore! For the sake of my health and my sanity, I am hereby renouncing my allegiance to the Red Sox. I know that I do that every year, but this time, I mean it! What more do I have to give? How can one fan be so unlucky?

[Disclaimer: In the event of an ownership change and comeback from 3-0 playoff series deficit, all claims, decrees, and statements regarding allegiances are to be rendered null and void.]

Look at my track record: I follow the Red Sox – 82 years without a title. Oh, but hey, they always make sure to get our hopes up before dashing them, so that's nice.

Then there’s the Patriots – oh, that’s a real treat. They make the Super Bowl only as a punching bag for the eventual winners. And they hired a guy who resigned as head coach of the New York Jets at his introduction press conference! Oh, yeah, that instills confidence. I give him two years, tops! And didn’t this guy fail in Cleveland?

I will admit, I don’t know what the Celtics are doing these days since I won’t watch current games, but choose to pop in old videotapes of the "Big Three" from the 80’s into my VCR instead. I wish there were some channel on television that showed classic sports events from the past just to protect me from having to witness such a monumental fall from greatness.

Oh, and lest I forget, the one chance I had to pick a team on my own, one that would be mine through thick and thin – I was born in Boston so I was forced into that family – I had to go out and accept Syracuse University’s offer to attend college there. And what happened the night I sent them my enrollment letter? They become the first No. 2 seed to lose to a No. 15 seed in the NCAA tournament. If that’s not a bad sign, I don’t know what is.

It’s gotten to the point where I’m considering going to grad school just to have another team to root for. Maybe I’ll go to Notre Dame. They’re a lock to be great every year!

Aside from my own miserable fortune, there are some things around the sports landscape that have caught my eye. For instance, I’ve been very impressed with Tiger Woods. I mean, this guy is perfect at everything. Does he have any flaw at all? If he does, I’m sure we’ll never see it ... on the golf course, at least.

On the tennis courts, I enjoyed watching Agassi play his guts out in the last few tournaments, especially during his Australian Open win over Yegev -- Yevgev -- Yagenvy – uh, over Kafelnikov. Andre was amazing! He played like a meth addict out there.

And I think now that the Rams have won in St. Louis, it would be hilarious if the Baltimore Ravens would win the Super Bowl. (Take that Los Angeles and Cleveland!) But they’ve got Trent Dilfer at quarterback and we all know from last year that offense ... wins ... championships!

Not that I’m big into the whole college football scene, but I gotta say that this BCS system really seems to be taking hold. I think the powers that be finally got things right. I love the fact that virtually any team with a reasonably decent record can claim a share of the national title.

All right, that’s all I got. Enjoy New Year’s Eve in this hopeless town with hopeless teams. Just remember, tomorrow is another year and with it, more hope for a positive outcome. You know what they say, “You can’t spell hopeless, without hope.” (Or is it “Hope is halfway to hopeless?”)

Oh, and give it a couple of months. Maybe Becky will forget what you did.

Yours truly,

You

It’s the 50th anniversary of the American Football League and for it, the league has been parading out throwback uniforms of its original teams. Just when you thought you’d seen it all, you find colors you thought should never have been made public.

And we have certainly seen a lot in the past 50 years. That includes one stretch of consecutive games won in one season that remains unsurpassed ... unless you include that streak that did surpass it.

Ah, here we go again: The NFL season extends into its winter months, and we start hearing about how no one has equaled the record of the Miami Dolphins 1972 “perfect” season. (You have to put “perfect” in quotes because an asterisk is too discriminatory. And their accomplishment still deserves praise, just with a dose of clarification.)

For you see, their fabric of greatness, of invincibility, has a tear in it. Records were made to be broken and the etiquette of such a process features the “passing of the torch,” so to speak from the holder to the breaker. Like when Roger Maris’ family was on hand as Mark McGwire was about to break their patriarch’s record. (Boy, I bet they wish they had that weekend back.) This is common practice.

But the 1972 Dolphins, once equated with the gold standard of excellence and perfection, are now synonymous with spiteful men uncomplimentary of the talented young upstarts moving into their metaphorical neighborhood, desperately trying to cling to glory, reluctant to acknowledge they’ve become obsolete. Like the father who is reduced to cheating in an effort to continue beating his son in chess once the boy learns the deadly art of en passant.

Yes, what the Dolphins did was impressive. And for many years, it stood untouched. Every year, they would toast themselves when the last undefeated team suffered a loss.

For those of you unfamiliar with their achievements – and that may very well be anyone under 40 – they won 17 games in a row, in one season, without a loss. Seventeen games! Fourteen regular-season games and three in the playoffs. That’s pretty impressive. At least, it was before other teams started doing it. (I am adding the Colts to the list because I’m confident they will become the second team to go 16-0 during the regular season since they’re facing the Jets and Bills to end the season.)

But the goal posts have been moved. The NFL season was shorter then than it is now. And yet, we continue to hear the media make mention of this team that has done what no other team has done, except that what these other teams have done is, in fact, more impressive than what the Dolphins have done.

It’s the equivalent of Paul Hines, organized baseball’s first Triple Crown winner, snubbing Ted Williams because Teddy Ballgame didn’t win the award during the Dead Ball Era. Hines was dominant in 1878, smashing four home runs – Yes, FOUR! – and a whopping 50 RBIs, while batting .358. Now that’s a Triple Crown winner!

And, of course, the 2007 New England Patriots most famously won 16 games in a season, then continued to win another two before finally meeting the loss column. Eighteen games in a row! That's one more than the Dolphins, mind you.

Yet instead of talking about the Pats not winning their 19th game, we should be wondering if the Dolphins could win 18 or 19. We’ll never know because outside of former Fins running back Mercury Morris’ mouth, they don’t have the speed to keep up with this decade's Colts.

Yes, in 1972, they won 17 in a row. And that 17th game was the Super Bowl. The Patriots also, in 2007, won their 17th game in a row. It just wasn’t the Super Bowl. And they continued to win. Seventeen. Eighteen. It wasn’t until No. 19 that they lost. And that’s less impressive than the Dolphins?!

The argument here, by the few supporters of the Dolphins' fading cause, is that the Pats didn’t win the Super Bowl that year. It’s a matter of semantics.

And if that's their point, then I present to you the 1985 Bears won more games overall and demolished anyone in their path, save for the Dolphins in Week 12.

Similarly, the previous year's Niners in 1984 lost only in Week 7. Both of them went on to win the Super Bowl with 18 total wins, one more than the Dolphins. They were not perfect, but they won more games than did Miami.

The Pats don’t have a ring from their perfect regular-season campaign, but they have three others from less “successful” runs.

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather have 18 than 17.

The 1972 Dolphins at one point showed dignity and class, as any Don Shula coached team would. They were revered by the media who relished the opportunity to look to them when speaking of perfection. But now they’ve become an inside joke, the punch line on many a media outlet. “We’re going to talk to the ’72 Dolphins, who hold the fifth-longest streak in the NFL for consecutive games won, about what it’s like to be dominant.”

Could the Dolphins have won an 18th and 19th game? Well, as we’ve seen, it’s pretty tough to do, so conventional wisdom would suggest no, but it’s entirely speculative.

And if the Colts lose in the playoffs, would they be labeled worse than the Dolphins after winning more regular-season games in a row than any other team ever and more in the same season than anyone but the Patriots before them?

I am undefeated in my Fantasy Football career. A 1.000 winning percentage. Sure, I’ve played only once, but I’m not bragging about it every minute ... except for here.

It’s time to move on. The Dolphins didn’t lose a game during their 17-game season. Nor did the Patriots. Nor will the Colts. And the Bears and Niners won more games total than the Dolphins.

Does Mercury Morris still want to toast his standing as the fifth-best team of all-time? What’s the drink of choice there? Seagram’s wine cooler? How about a bottle of Charles Shaw wine, a.k.a. “Two Buck Chuck?” Or just swig a bottle of tequila to make the hurt go away. You’ve been surpassed. Be gracious and quit bogarting the torch. Pass the dutchie. The wonder ball goes round and round … It’s time to acknowledge there’s a new gold standard in the league, and it ain’t the gold of the Broncos throwback uniforms. Yeech!

I want to start a rumor. I mean a juicy, prime rumor; something with legs.

Now it’s got to be sensational but believable. It can’t be that LeBron James is an alien. That theoreticallycould be believable if you consider how young he still is and how mature his body is. But his growth is still within the realm of reason considering the extremes that genetics can reach for some people. (Plus, you probably don’t want to align yourself with the weirdos that believe aliens exist and are planning to take over the world through professional sports anyway. They’re the same people that keep backing the Twins to win the World Series.)

It can’t be too obvious like baseball players are still using performance-enhancing drugs.

Or it can’t be too subtle like David Ortiz is actually 40 years old. Most people believe that to be fact so it won’t fly as a rumor.

It can’t be redundant like Terrell Owens has been killing dogs for years. Michael Vick already brought us down that road. First off, people are bored with it. You won’t receive the same reaction Vick got. Secondly, there’s precedent so it won’t be as alarming. And finally, Vick was a rising star, Owens is a plummeting one.

And it can’t be superfluous like Steve Phillips had affairs with a dozen interns. What’s one to a dozen? It’s the first one that’s shocking. Any additional affairs are just piling it on like the Patriots to the NFL bottom-feeders. Plus, Phillips’ infidelity count is already rising as he’s admitted that a second one occurred eleven years ago, so the damage is done.

Although, a good marital hanky-panky rumor can go a long way, (the writer thought to himself as he rubbed his hands together menacingly). And while I’m on the subject, what is it with good-looking, successful men having affairs with less-than-attractive interns? I mean, Phillips used to get paid a lot of money to evaluate talent, correct? Now I’m not saying Brooke Hundley is homely, but ... no, wait. I am saying that; in no uncertain terms. And she’s a Yankees fan. (I had to throw that one in there.)

But, I digress. So what kind of rumor could I start? How about one on how I was lucky enough to be given the opportunity to write for this site? It’s personal, it’s topical and some of you wonder that every time you read me. Am I related to the boss? Did I sleep with him? Am I the boss? There are so many ways I could go with that one. Though I’ve already lost you.

The key to a juicy rumor has it involving someone who you admire so much, who you put so much faith into, almost partaking in idolatry, that you are never more excited when you see this person fail at the hands of his own hubris. “Damn, I used to worship him. How could anyone be so full of themselves?” you wonder aloud without review of your first sentence to find the answer.

Conspiracies are the best. If you can combine a rumor and a conspiracy – woo doggie! – that’s like hitting the five-team parlay! The Patriots only won the Super Bowl in 2002 because, in light of September 11th, the league wanted them to. It was patriotic. (Of course, the New York Yankees lost the World Series a month after the tragedy to the hands of the – wait, lemme check my notes here – the Arizona ... Diamonds? ... Oh, Diamondbacks! Who even knew they had a team there. Well, either way, they must be pretty darned patriotic there in Arizona to be awarded a world championship like that.) So that disproves the validity of that thought.

Or that the Lakers only won the NBA championship in 2009 because all prime contending teams outside of Cleveland suffered devastating injuries to their stars. Okay, so that’s not a rumor as much as it is spiteful commentary.

Back to the rumor mill. I’m sorry to harp on this so much, but I can’t say enough how much I love rumors. From those as the trade deadline approaches, to those on “TMZ,” a rumor, no matter how crazy, can add a little spice to your day. A rumor is like a tell-all book, except that those are usually true and once they’re verified, they become uninteresting.

“What’s that? Magic Johnson doesn’t like Isiah Thomas after all? But what about all the pre-game kissing? I could’ve sworn they were lovers.”

Once a rumor is proven unsubstantiated, it loses steam. The news that Tom Cable didn’t assault his former assistant smashed any hope the Raiders had this year of becoming newsworthy short of Al Davis walking on the field mid-game and dropping his pants to the camera.

Well, I’m stumped. Here’s hoping the world of sports provides something juicy for us this week.

I'm sitting at my home (a beautiful palatial estate with the ocean in view, not unlike that of Hearst Castle along the Central California coast) about ten years in the future. My six-year-old son sits across the table from me eating a big ol' bowl of jello, lime flavored, (his daddy's favorite). An NFL game is on the television in the background. My son looks up from his dessert.

"Daddy, tell me about the greatest football team in NFL history."

"Well, champ ..." (my father called me "honey" and "sweetheart," so I am definitively NOT going to go that route with my little guy. It'll be nothing but "Bulldog" and "Killer" and maybe even "Sue" just to toughen him up like Johnny Cash's dad did).

"Well, champ, that would be the 1972 Dolphins, the only team with a perfect regular season and a perfect postseason."

"Oooo, wow, so no team has ever won as many games as they did?"

"Uh ..." I paused, "no, there are several teams that have won more than them. The '85 Bears, the '07 Patriots, just to name a few."

"But they didn't win them in a row, right?"

"Well, the Patriots won more games and had an undefeated season too, and won as many games during the postseason that the Dolphins won."

"So the Patriots are the greatest football team of all-time, then."

"No, no. See, the Dolphins do this toast every year once each team gets a loss."

"Even if the team wins more games than them?"

"Uh, right." I scratch my head, which is my poker tell for "I got nothin'."

"What are they toasting?"

"Dammit, I knew he was going to ask that," I think and try to come up with a reasonable answer. "Uh, I guess the fact that they can buy champagne."

I chuckled at my own line. But then I noticed my son looking at me curiously, so I had to explain, "It's a drink adults drink when they run out of orange juice."

"Who has the most home runs in baseball?"

"That would be Barry Bonds, son. You were already born when he set the record."

"Oh, cool. So he's the best home run hitter of all-time."

I got a chill for a second as I could see where this was going. "No, that would be Hammerin' Hank Aaron, son."

"But he doesn't have as many home runs as Barry Bonds."

"Correct." He didn't even need to say anything. Just the look on his face hastens my explanation. "Well, see, ... uh, Hank Aaron got all his home runs the natural way. And Barry Bonds got a lot of his the unnatural way." Even more silence as I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead. And then very rapidly, "There was a man named Victor Conte who ran a chemical factory in San Francisco named BALCO and he gave people like Bonds the "clear" and the ... -- oh, boy -- how's that jello, son?"

"It's good," and without pausing, "and who has the most hits?"

"That," I said proudly, "is Pete Rose, a man they called Charlie Hustle. He played the game like an old-timer, just excited to be out there on the field, giving it his all."

"He sounds great. Can we see his picture when we go to the Hall of Fame?"

"Oy vey." My heart goes down into my stomach. I get up to check the kitchen cabinets. "Where does mommy keep the aspirin? Daddy's head is hurting a little bit." "Daddy?"

"What?!" I snap as I pop a couple of Tylenol back. "Er, I mean -- yes, sweetheart?"

"Memphis made it to the NCAA Championship game in 2008, right?"

"They lost to Kansas, yes."

"So why is it, when you look in the record books, it says they have zero wins?"

Sometimes I forget he's reading at a fifth -rade level. "Eat your jello, son."

Boy, I do not look forward to those father-son chats. When's he going to ask about the easy stuff? Like sex.