Prediction for UFC Rio: Aldo vs. Mendes

I won’t take too much time to thank myself for nearly calling a perfect pay-per-view last go-round. However, I will shake the hand of all waiting in line for my calling the first-round devastation of the buzzkill that is Jon Fitch. I shouted and fist-pumped right along with the rest of the TapOut-adorned crowd, and I didn’t give one tiny bit of a damn. Fitch lost, and I effin’ lost it.

With the impending retirement of “Baby Jay” Penn, limbo of Clay Guida and decline of Forrest Griffin, I seem to have room at the top of my favorite fighter list. I’m looking at you, Johny Hendricks. Tell your beard he’s invited, too.

On with the picks.

Edson Barboza def. Terry Etim, Unanimous Decision, Round 3
Unless Etim has been drinking Tasmanian devil blood, he’ll drop this one. It’ll be close, but he’ll drop it.

Etim, a Brit, has notched a number of submission victories, but most have come after he knocked the piss out his opponent, then slapped on a rear naked like a Christmas bow. As killer as his instincts ate, I’ve seen him outclassed at times in the UFC (See: Tibau, Gleason). That was a few years ago, granted, but Etim is still a middle of the pack lightweight who is a bit too slight of frame to throw death-dagger punches like a Sam Stout or a Melvin Guillard.

His opponent, Barboza, has some dirty leg kicks and his boxing is cereal-sans-milk crisp. The Brazilian last struggled with TUF Season 9 winner Ross Pearson – who has never been knocked out – but he dropped enough bombs to knock Pearson back to the days of finger painting. Barboza will weather Etim’s early storm and notch a third consecutive decision victory.

*Bonus prediction: Dead front leg, a swollen eye and Fight of the Night honors.

Erick Silva def. Carlo Prater, Unanimous Decision, Round 3
Silva last lost via decision five years ago. That ain’t changing Saturday night.
Silva is solid all-around. I’ve only seem him fight once, so I can’t really say what he’s best at. To me he fights like a stronger, more athletic Kenny Florian (without a nose beckoning to be destroyed). He impressed in his fight against Luis Ramos, but Ramos was a UFC nobody. His sophomore effort comes against a veteran – of fighting, not of the UFC — who owns a few solid wins.

Prater has 40 career pro fights, and he holds wins over Carlos Condit (2004), Spencer Fisher (2004) and Melvin Guillard (2003). He has the look and build of a fighter, but the record of an average athlete. I YouTubed a few highlight videos of him to get a sense of his fighting style. Snoozefest.

It was like watching a highlight reel for a long snapper.

Given the lack of quality footage and info on Prater, I’ll make this call as fairly as I can: Silva trains with the Nogueira brothers. Prater’s camp keenly calls itself “Thugjitsu.” Hmmm.

I’ll take the up-and-coming Silva to wreck Prater’s UFC debut. A solid, entertaining contest but a decision for Silva.

Rousimar Palhares def. Mike Massenzio, Submission (armbar), Round 1
Massenzio is one of the fellers you see in the middle of the card every few months and think,”I know the name, did I go to high school with that guy?”
Chances are if you know the name but no fights ring a bell, he’s a solid, but boring, average UFC competitor. Sure enough, he has gone 2-3 in the UFC, gaining the loss trifecta (losses via TKO, Sub and Dec) along the way. His most impressive feat was submitting Drew “My-first-fight-was-a-TKO-loss-due-to-exhaustion” McFedries by Kimura back in 2008. Massenzio will not pull to .500 with this matchup.

Palhares looks like the lovechild of Big Nog and Mark Muñoz. He has lost only three times in his career: Once was his third career fight, two were by decision and two were to former UFC middleweight contenders (Hendo and Marquardt). He submits punchers, wrestlers, kickboxers and even other Brazilians. The only folks he can’t submit are quality American grapplers (Dan Miller, Jeremy Horn). What he certainly doesn’t do is lose to also-rans like Massenzio.

*Bonus Prediction: Submission of the Night honors.

Anthony Johnson def. Vitor Belfort, KO (punch), Round 1
I hope this slobberknocker turns in a simultaneous hook, whoever’s head hits the mat first double-KO because that’s what we’ll need on the heels of two decisions and an arm tug.

I’ll keep this as short and sweet as this KO of the night fight is sure to be: Belfort’s hands once looked Oregon fast and ‘Bama powerful, so Johnson game plan like he did for Dan Hardy and take the lay-and-pray route. I don’t think he pulls it off in the bigger weight class. Belfort with a first round KO.

Those were my initial thoughts. But after going back to some Rumble Johnson footage, my gut is telling me to take the former welterweight. Johnson smashes Belfort’s jaw with a Thor’s Hammer right, first-round KO.

Jose Aldo def. Chad Mendes, TKO (punches and kicks), Round 2
Aldo has been – for him, and what I’ve come to expect from him – less than impressive lately. He’s one of sport’s best strikers, he’s fighting in his home country and he has floored plenty of wrestlers like Mendes. His cardio will be better than it was against Hominick and his killer instinct won’t be missing like it was against Florian.

Mendes is Urijah Faber-lite. He fights on Faber’s team, in his old weight class and uses his speed and conditioning to wear other fighters down. If he wants out of Faber’s six-inch shadow, he’ll be on the lookout for the leg kicks Aldo used to chop Faber down to the booster seat bunch. Mendes’ best chance is to channel his inner Chael Sonnen, and hope Aldo comes in with bruised ribs. The Team Alpha Male standout is powerful, but if Faber couldn’t get his hands on Aldo, neither will he.

Aldo will test the waters for a round, his adrenaline will kick in as the crowd cheers his name. After Mendes attempts a flying knee, he’ll get pissed and handle his business.

If this one gets boring goes to decision, expect news regarding a change in weight class for a big-name fighter, possibly Anthony Pettis.

*Bonus Prediction: Knockout of the Night honors, and a glassy-eyed Mendes trying to wrestle the referee post-stoppage.

UFC 141 Predictions: Git you some, Brock.

The holidays ain’t no time to work on a fight-pickin’ column.

On top of ringing the register in an hectic retail setting, I battled – correction, am still battling – a daytime, sniffling, sneezing, sore throat so-I-can’t-taste-my-food sinus implosion. And then there’s travel. Drive back home to drive around the hometown seeing the friends and family who make that hometown what it is. (Sorry to all I missed, the phantom girlfriend and I shall return by the end of January. Amends will be made.) Then drive back to Orlando to take down Christmas decorations both at home and at work, continue battling cold, accommodate visiting drunkards and try to enjoy the college bowl season despite the fact that my team is barely an also-ran.

There’s my excuse, you hyenas, so now let’s make some abridged picks. We’ll score it the same as last time, unless I pick as poorly as last time, in which case I won’t tally any points and you’ll have to break a mental sweat to bust my balls.

Jimy Hettes def. Nam Phan, Submission (rear naked choke), Round 2
Phan’s a fan favorite from the Ultimate Fighter who has twice gone to war with Leonard “The Human Punching Bag” Garcia. Jim Hettes is an undefeated submission bad ass who most recently gave the anaconda treatment to Alex “Bruce Leroy” Caceres. I want to go with Phan because I’m more familiar with him, but he’s kind of a wild card. You could call him well-rounded, I call him all-over-the-place. And you could call Hette – who has finished all nine of his pro fights by submission – a one-trick pony. Well I’ll take a pony with a trick over trickless one. Hettes sweeps, takes Phan’s back and sinks in the rear naked.

Alexander Gustafsson def. Vladimir Matyushenko, TKO (punches), Round 1
What happens when a pinless hand grenade is dropped onto a whirring table saw? A big effin’ noise, I reckon. These two bastards are have been on a tear. Gustafsson has finished three straight in the Octagon since getting choked out by contender Phil Davis. Matyushenko KO’d two chumps since being handled by 205-lb. champ Jon Jones .

In your classic Swedish-Belarusian tilt, here’s what I foresee:
Round One:
5:00 – 4:45: Circle, circle, self-face-tap, circle, circle, duck, circle, circle, shoulder stretch, circle, circle, circle, one guy briefly jumps in place.

4:44 – 4:00: A jabless storm of leg kicks, haymakers and hooks that leaves one Gustafsson rocked, on queer street, in a world of hurt. You get the the gist. He turtles, pulls guards, and somehow survives.

3:59 – 3:32: Matyushenko slows his assault from the top, avoids half-assed submission attempts and the fight is stood up. Circle again, fellers.

3:31 – 3:28: The Swede lands a big shot – let’s guess it’s a good ol’ right hook that lands smack on Matyushenko’s ear. The Janitor drops.

3:27 – 3:06: Gustafsson trounces the older Belarusian, as Joe Rogan explains why the stoppage is controversial while Mike Goldberg asks him to clarify what a stoppage is.

Johny Hendricks def. Jon Fitch, KO (punch), Round 1
There’s sensibility and then there’s my hatred for Jon Fitch’s fights. I feel like the only way to derail Fitch’s lay-and-pray train is by catching him with a knee as he shoots or by throwing standup mediocre enough to confuse his cheekbones into hurtling into your fist. Hendricks feasibly could pull this off. So I’m going with it.

Donald Cerrone def. Nate Diaz, Unanimous Decision, Round 3
A few weeks ago, I saw a list of the best fights of 2011 and I was legitimately confused. Did this list-compiler not realize what was on the horizon? Sure Dec. 30 is pretty late in the year, but it’s still technically 2011, right? Diaz is the guy who tried to fight the entire Ultimate Fighter house. Cerrone calls fighters out pretty much every time he hits the Octagon. His hatred of Cole Miller and Jamie Varner is pretty well publicized. The only potential matchup more volatile than this would be Chael Sonnen versus Junie Browning versus Matt Serra.

Obviously this Fight of the Year list maker failed to comprehend this aspect. Lucky for me, my head isn’t buried in the sand. I was not the least bit surprised to hear that Diaz, when approached for a handshake by Cerrone, slapped Cowboy’s hand and called him a punk ass. Then, at the pre-fight press conference, Diaz swatted Cerrone’s cowboy hat clean off his head. These are two crazy bastards with Mel Gibson tempers. It shall be a good one, but I give the edge to Cerrone, who has been heating up, while Diaz can’t seem to win the big one.

Alistair Overeem def. Brock Lesnar, TKO (punches), Round 1
I can’t stomach Lesnar. He’s a massive, powerful, athletic ox of a dude — I get it, so was Tony Mandarich. But he’s not a mixed martial artist. He can pull it off if he gets Overeem on his back quick and keeps him there, but that’s it. Lesnar has shown that he can’t hang on his feet. Velasquez demolished him. Carwin bludgeoned him until the ‘roids wore off (or lactic acid, whatever his excuse was ).
Unless Overeem’s (alleged) steroids fail him as well, the Dutchman will tee off on the five-gallon bucket Lesnar calls a head and finish this bout in time to shower and catch LMFAO at his after-party. Big tree fall hard, Brock.

UFC 140: Jones vs. Machida Picks

Not sure why I haven’t ventured here yet, but I reckon it’s about time. My obsession with half-naked, male violence — as certain ex-roommates and current girlfriends would put it — isn’t exactly classified information. Today, my friends, let’s talk broken noses, shattered wrists and battered, swollen eyes.

For two UFC events last year, I put together a pick-’em style pool for a group of friends. It worked fairly well each time, especially since I went yard and won the second pool (Thank you, KenFlo, for choking in the big ones). For my internetization of said pools, I will use the same picks format, which is as follows:

Choose fight winner, 3 points

Choose method of victory, 2 points

Choose round of victory, 1 point

Here’s what I’m calling for the the first six fights this Saturday at UFC 140: Jones vs. Machida.

Mitch Clarke def. John Cholish, Submission (guillotine choke), Round 1
First fight of the night will be anything but a snoozefest. Two skilled submission fighters trying to earn a spot on the UFC lightweight roster does not equal boring, professor. Too bad you and I won’t see it. I’m giving this one to the Canadian Clarke because he has finished two opponents with the guillotine and Cholish’s lone defeat was of the same variety. Plus, Toronto’s Air Canada Centre is the venue. Homefield advantage goes to Clarke.

Rich Attonito def. Jake Hecht, Unanimous Decision, Round 3
Not the most intriguing fight on the card, but it will be free on Facebook. I’m going with Attonito, a UFC four-fight veteran, over the younger Hecht. Why? My gut says so. Neither seems to be a surefire finisher, and if newbie nerves bothered Rampage his first time in the Octagon, I’ll bet they knock Hecht off kilter just enough for him to concede the first two rounds.

Mark Bocek def. Nik Lentz, Submission (triangle choke), Round 2
I could argue that three of Bocek’s four losses are to Frankie Edgar, Ben Henderson and Jim Miller. I could argue that he’s fighting in his hometown of Toronto. I could even argue that he’s one of the most skilled jiu-jitsu fighters in the UFC today. Unnecessary. His opponent is nicknamed “The Carny.” That is all.

Walel Watson def. Yves Jabouin, TKO (punches), Round 1
Shot in the dark. Bell will ring, they’ll circle for 25 seconds, measure up and find range, then go Rock’Em-Sock’Em Robots on each other. Either one will fall, or they’ll go the distance. I’m guessing the former.

Dennis Hallman def. John Makdessi, Unanimous Decision, Round 3
Makdessi has nine pro fights under his belt. Hallman has three million. As long as he doesn’t come out in nut huggers again, Hallman will take the fight to the mat, neutralize Makdessi’s kickboxing and work his way toward snapping an arm. I don’t think he’ll get the sub because “The Bull” is tough. Nevertheless, Hallman should roll.

Jared Hamman def. Constantinos Philippou, TKO (punches), Round 3
I support any and all who turn C.B. Dollaway’s lights off. Hamman will get it done in an exhausting slugfest.

Krzysztof Soszynski def. Igor Pokrajac, TKO (punches), Round 1
Your classic Polish vs. Croatian pairing, eh? Soszynski, “The Polish Experiment,” looks every bit of a mad man. His last three fights haven’t been too showy, but I feel like he’s due to take someone’s head off. Unfortunately for Pokrajac, he’s on deck. I’m going with Soszynski, one of the few fighters to ever finish Stephan Bonnar.

Mark Hominick def. Chan Sung Jung, Unanimous decision, Round 3
It was tempting to take “The Korean Zombie” via submission given Hominick’s old tendency to get caught, but I can’t shake the real-man stuff “The Machine” brought when he fought champion Jose Aldo. I don’t think Hominick will finish Jung — let’s face it, you can’t KO someone who’s brain is always sloshing around — but he’ll be the lead in this dance. Jung will seem slow to Hominick after fighting the champ.

Brian Ebersole def. Claude Patrick, Split Decision, Round 3
Here’s what will happen: Ding ding ding! Circle right. Circle right. Circle right. Feint. Circle left. Change levels while circling left. Low kick that swings so short of contact, the kicker spins to regain footing. Repeat. Eventually, this fight will get to the ground. The faster that happens, the better for Ebersole. Both fighters are 31, but Ebersole has four times as many fights. He has more submission victories than Patrick has bouts. He’ll find a away to continue his hot streak, but it will not be pretty. Bust out the beer pong for this one.

Tito Ortiz def. Antonio Rogerio Nogueira, Unanimous Decision, Round 3
I’m not a fan of Tito, but it’s tough not to root for the guy after his fight against Bader (let’s forget about Rashad for a moment). Tito walked to the Octagon pumped on some sort of raging testosterome, tears streaming down his face. Those weren’t ‘fraidy-cat, poon tears, those were I’m-fixin’-to-tear-yo-house-down tears. Ask Ryan Bader how that worked out. Tito sticks, moves, grounds and pounds his way to a decision because Lil’ Nog has looked more than a lil’ lost during his UFC stint.

Frank Mir def. Minotauro Nogueira, TKO (punches), Round 2
I realize it’s a pretty steep bet to call for a Nogueira to get his lights turned off, but here’s the thing: Liddell was king of the counter punchers until his jaw devolved into Jell-O. Big Nog looked good against Brendan Schaub, but I thought Schaub was hesitant. Prior to that fight, Nogueira looked sluggish. He always has the chance to pull the come-from-behind victory, but I think Mir is too smart and seasoned a fighter to allow that. Their jiu-jitsu skills cancel each other out, and Big Nog’s last of explosiveness will leave him vulnerable. Mir to the house for Lesnar, round third.

Jon Jones def. Lyoto Machida, TKO (elbows), Round 4
An obvious selection, but let me say something first. People are forgetting just how dangerous Machida was. He KO’d Rashad, who in late 2008 and early 2009 looked like the quickest, baddest man on the planet. He clocked Thiago Silva and rushed for the finish with the kind of blood lust you don’t expect from a guy who’s always backing up. Let’s be clear: Machida is a bad bitch. The reason you’re doubting him? The greatest (light heavyweight) fighter alive since the best fighter retired, Jon Jones. You know as well as I do that it would take a monumental lapse in concentration — see Serra vs. St-Pierre 1 — for Jones to lose this one. Jones is faster than Rampage, stronger than Shogun and his reach will prevent Machida from closing in to land any real power shots. Once Machida gets inside, Jones will play the part of python, chucking the Brazilian to the mat and swinging those elbows to pick up another title defense.

‘Til next time. Enjoy the violence.

The fallacy of being an NFL expert

The NFL’s Week 13 is underway tonight with a Seabags-Shmeagles snoozefest, which means Skip Bayless has pissed you off three times and NBA fish out of water Stephen A. Smith has spent each hour since Sunday shouting down any and all Tim Tebow proponents. This also means it’s evaluation time.

This week’s target? Merrill Hoge, Tebow Enemy No. 1. Mr. Hoge is Herm Edwards-lite. He wants to be brash and berating, but his corn-fed quadruple Windsor knot is the loudest thing about him. In his role as expert last week, Hoge inaccurately picked four games out of 15.

Not too bad, right? Let’s see where he jacked himself up:
– SF over Bal (Result: Bal 16-6)
– SD over Den (Result: Den 16-13)
– Sea over Was (Result: Was 23-17)
– Phi over NE (Result: NE 38-20)

Likely reasons for Hoge-umental failure? Hoge too loyal to his own tweets. Picking San Fran over Baltimore is essentially picking Alex Smith, Gore, Crabtree and Ginn over Flacco, Rice, Boldin and Torrey Smith, because the defenses are a wash. At no point in your fantasy draft would you take any of those Niners over their respective Ravens matches. Hoge went San Fran on this pick because he has raved about Patrick Willis and company, and likely wanted to back himself up.

Picking the Chargers over Denver? Maybe a smart pick if analyzed weapon-for-weapon as above (Rivers-Mathews-Jackson-Gates over Tebow-McGahee-Decker-Fells every time), but you can’t pull that move off so easy under the circumstances. Read: Denver gutted out three toughies in a row (they’ll never be easy with a QB tossing end-over-end punt balls to his receivers), while the Chargers limped in with five straight for the “L” column. Surging defense against an ass-dragging QB? Swallow your Tebow hate for a minute, Merrill, and open your puppy eyes up to the blessed son’s shine: The Chargers are soft and the Broncs, while ugly, are not.

Coin-flipping Seattle over Washington? I’ll admit that I got this one wrong, too. Seattle at home against Sexy Rexy and the skidding ‘Skins sounds like easy pickins, so Hoge gets a pass here. Seattle’s a coin flip every week, and he flipped wrong.

Here’s the weird one. Going against the regular season hero Patriots AND also picking favor of non-traditional Vince Young? Hoge’s too old school for sprinkles on donuts, much less QBs who rock the sidearm. And given the Eagles baby-butt-soft D and the Pats offensive prowess, I’m a bit confused. Hoge’sopenly hating on VY and DeSean Jackson’s recent development of alligator arms make me think the dude was just shooting in the dark to give us the big “I told you so” if Philly pulled it off and to rile us up no matter the outcome (otherwise known as a “Bayless”).

So there you have it. Next week we’ll take on another talking head, to be determined tomorrow. Til next time.

A New, If Not Original Segment: Football

While watching Friday’s Cal-Arizona State game, I am doubting myself. Not because I refuse to walk away from a close game I couldn’t care less about, but because of how much I really watch sports TV. It’s a borderline addiction. As soon as the idiot box clicks on, ESPN perks up. But watching the sports TV isn’t why I’ve become a self-doubter. It’s that I actually listen to the Dilfers, Schefters, Herbstreits and Matiches filling the half-hour time slots.

They’re ex-players, coaches and scouts. They know the sport. They’ve felt the pressure. They can describe the big game. Turns out, though, that every last one of ‘em is full of shit. How many times has Lee Corso’s mascot session been wrong? The World Cup octopus has a better lifetime record, I’m sure.

If the folks who claim to know the game best can’t pick the winner every time, then I can sleep easy knowing I got blown out (yet again) in fantasy football. But let’s not allow these yappers all the recognition without consequence.

Right here, right now, I’m starting a tally. I want to remind everyone midseason that, back in August, Dan Patrick (non-ESPN, but whatever) said the Bengals may not win a game all year, and, more importantly, let’s remind everyone which August prognosticator foresaw the 49ers as stronger than the Eagles (got nothing for you on that one).

Check back from time to time, let’s give credit where it’s due and swiftly strip it away from anyone who shouts loudest without a real clue (looking at you Keyshawn). I’m thinking of calling this “Hindsight.” Toss me some feedback or predictions a few days before games are played, and I’ll try to get it out in the open in an organized, snarky fashion.

‘Til next time.

Note: I would tackle college football, but we’re past the point of craziness I think. The last two weekends have overflowed with devastation. However, I will say that the preseason AP poll had my UF Gators ranked ahead of Auburn, West Virginia, USC and Houston. But they also had the ‘Noles at No.6, ahead of nearly everyone, especially Wake Forest, Clemson and Virginia (all of which were not ranked.)

Scenario. Please, indulge.

[Setting: Sporting goods retailer that also buys used goods from customer. The lighting is poor. Floor: cluttered with crunchy batting gloves, rusty dumbbells and a variety of other decade-old sports junk some 11-year-old never wanted anyway.

Scene: Employee (mid-20s, lanky, listless and coffee high-wired) is quoting customer (early-50s, tall, thickly mustached, fanny-packed, Italian or some other type of volatile) for used equipment. Customer's son (less than 10, bushy-haired, most definitely snot-nosed) doing his best Tasmanian devil impression in the background.]

“OK, sir, I’m all set. I can cut you a check for $18 for the lot of it, or — if you prefer — I can get you a trade value of $22. That way, all this stuff is out of your closet and a few extra bucks stay in your wallet.” Something clangs in the background. It sounds expensive.

Brows should not furrow in such a manner. Not for less than $25. This was a brutal, never-before-seen furrowing usually reserved for firings, break-ups or life-altering decisions. The man’s mustache climbs upward as he obnoxiously clears his throat and crosses his arms. He’s watched a lot of one-hour network dramas. He knows how to be mad.

“Are you kidding?” Another background crash and clang. The employee can see a piece of slat wall dangling unnaturally.

“Do you know how much I paid for this stuff? This hockey stick was like 80 dollars. This baseball glove? Easily 40 bucks. And this is the same racquet Borg used to win the French in 1979. And you’re telling me you can give me $22?”

The ball glove is shit. The leather is cracking, and the inside is nauseatingly damp. The blade of the 80-dollar hockey stick is worn to an eye-gouging width, and is probably now better suited to slay vampires than handle a puck. And most importantly, the Borg racquet — the Borg racquet!— is made of 30-year-old wood. It’s only place is the wall of a tennis enthusiast’s man cave.

“Actually, the $22 would be on store credit. The check value is $18.” The employee is familiar with both client interaction and the English language. Yet this waste of breath is what escapes his mouth first. His pale, semi-freckled cheeks flush in preparation. Three aluminum baseball bats crash to the ground, ringing. The little bastard picks his nose and keeps running.

“Eighteen dollars?” shouts the mustache. His hands gesture with dramatic, unnecessary vigor, like he’s arguing a yellow card. “Eighteen dollars for a tennis racquet that won the goddamn French Open? Do you have any idea what you’re talking about”

The mustache is shouting. Customers are staring. The employee feels his ears heat up. Good times. Nothing like trying to calmly explain yourself with an apple-red face. He talks a little too fast.

“Actually,theamountsIgaveyouwereforthestickandtheglove. Thewoodenracquetdoesn’tcomparetotoday’scompositetechnologyandismoreofacollector’sitemthananything.Itmayhavemorevalueonline, sir.” Whew. His chest is third-time-having-this-conversation-today tight.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, kid. Let me talk to the manager.” Ahh, there it is. Everyone knows that lanky twenty-somethings are never the boss.

“Well, sir, you’re speaking to him.” He tries to say it without a hint of tough-shit sarcasm, but it never quite happens that way. He knows it’ll piss off the customer in that my-suburban-Wednesday-is-ruined kind of way, But let’s face it, there’s not a lamer, more superficial way to be pissed. The employee — err, manager — knows what comes next.

“YOU?” The mustache is paired with the wide eyes of insulted disbelief. “Well you’re not going to be open very long running your business this way, I can tell you that, son. I know for a fact that you’re gonna sell this hockey stick for 50 bucks, this ball glove for 30 and this racquet for at least $20. You’re gonna give me $18 so you can sell it for a hundred bucks. I was born on a Tuesday, son, but that doesn’t mean I was born this Tuesday.” Funny how you become a stranger’s son when he’s in a huffy-puffy mini-rage. Also funny how the racquet — the Borg racquet! — went from a major championship winner to being worth 20 bucks.

Customers are still staring, but now they’re pretending to look at equipment for a sport they’ve never heard of. The damn kid is creeping around the expensive stuff now. There are buttons to be touched, which only leads to good things.

“Sir, I understand where you’re coming from. I’ve been there before. I can assure you that, while we will sell your things for more than 18 or even 22 dollars, we will not mark these items up quite that much. Now, what can I do to make you happy?”

The oldest, laziest,ego-strokingest response the retail world has ever known. It usually works. Like offering a free cocktail to the fat guy who can’t fit in the restaurant booth.

“Can we do an even $25?” What the hell is even about $25? And what happened to the stuff being worth $100? Is this mustached blowhard even listening to himself?

A series of high-pitched mechanical beeps shoot through the air, followed by a whirring noise. The damn kid has turned a perfectly cluttered store into the backseat of 16-year-old girl’s car.

“Tell you what, sir, I’ll write you the check for the trade-in value I gave you, but that’s really all I can offer.” The whirring noise picks up its pace. The employee fights a smirk.

“OK, I really just want to get rid of this stuff. It’s been sitting in my garage for years, so what the hell.” The mustache has calmed. The other customers have happened upon sports equipment they can actually identify. One piece of fireworks remains. The whirring continues to increase.

The employee sribbles a $22 check he never really wanted to write. The whirring noise reaches a deafening noise as the mustache finally decides to glance around for the damn kid.

As the employee scrawls his signature, the damn kid thuds, bounces and shoots off the back of a thousand-dollar treadmill screaming at 11 miles an hour. He scrapes to a halt in the fetal position. His face is a mess of terror, embarrassment and dog-pissed-on-rug-ness. Tears well up.

The employee rips the check from the checkbook and saunters toward the kneeling mustache, who is collecting the his pride and joy from the carpeted concrete floor. He hands the mustache the check and yanks the safety key from the treadmill. The whirring simmers, cools and stops. The headache-inducing pair dust themselves off and let themselves out quietly.

He turns toward front counter and bursts into laughter. Customers are staring again. The next seven hours will fly by.

Unnecessary Roughness: A Nation’s Misused Aggression

It’s late September — the middle of football and election seasons, as well as the beginning of the ever-irking lovebug season — and resentment and complaints are in no short supply.

I wish I could say this is a new trend, but it’s as old as I am, almost definitely older. The weird thing I’ve noticed is that the tensions accompanying these seasons (with the exception of those pesky bumper splats) are reaching new heights in intensity. Not to discount the ability of swarms of lovebugs to make you voice-crackingly, stutteringly angry, but lovebug irritation can’t really break a certain threshold. And as proud as I am to be a Gator, I would like to issue an unofficial apology for those gooey little bastards yet again.

On the other hands though, football and elections have always stirred the conversational pot. Seems like now, though, the pot gets stirred a bit too much, and by the time the porridge is piping, some over-informed Palin-’Nole or Barack-iCane dumps the pot over the head he who dareth oppose his argument.

What happened to open discourse? Why do we perceive and believe in a single correct answer to every question? America needs a two-week refresher course in practicality.

You can’t root for the right football team, but you can root for the team you identify with most. Even better, you can change your mind as you grow up, relocate or enter a new tax bracket.

I grew up a Florida State fan, and I loved watching them beat the Gators. Then I enrolled at the University of Florida in Gainesville. At our freshmen orientation, they made us do all those ridiculous cheers. The “Chomp”. I felt stupid. I had never been so uncomfortable in my life. Four and a half years later, I don’t give a second thought to displaying two sweaty armpits to Chomp right along to “Gator Bait.” But that’s football. What’s frowned upon is never confused for treason.

I was a disgusting little front-runner as a lad. Rooted for the Buffalo Bills. And the 49ers. And the Chicago Bulls. That explains why I hitched myself to the Bowden bandwagon (not to mention they still have just about the sickest helmets in college football). Oddly enough, though, I can’t stand the Cowboys, Red Wings or Yankees.

But when I moved, I reevaluated. I lived in Gainesville and was surrounded by the Orange and Blue, the enthusiasm and lifelong Gators fans. I went to a game, and I was hooked. I still like the ‘Noles, but none of my friends remember that. When the Gators eventually lose to FSU again, I know I’ll never hear the end of it. But that’s football, the little-engine-that-did gets in the former big dog’s face after he pulls the upset.

Unfortunately, the rules of sports begin and end there. Life has no rubber matches. You don’t get to repeat second down when you miss a mortgage payment. And the game most certainly can end on a defensive penalty.

I get too worked up about sports. I’m especially defensive about the Gators. During their lackluster season-opener against Miami (OH), I got a barrage of texts from FSU fan-friends about our newfound suckitude, and I was legitimately pissed off. Why? Partly because I’m over-enthused, but mostly I forgot that it’s just football. That’ll happen.

Oddly enough, I don’t make that same mistake during election season. Well, it’s not odd to me, because there is no correlation. There’s no parallel. The two do not intertwine or intersect. The closest parallel that can be drawn is that — taboo alert! — there’s no right choice.

You like the spunk of Tea Party movement? Good for you.

You think every Wall Street executive who took a million-dollar bonus during the recession should be thrown in the big house? Rock on.

You want Big Government to stay out of your wallet so you can start up a new BP station just off the interstate? Live the American dream, sir or ma’am.

Those are called opinions, and no matter what anyone says, believes, thinks or shouts loudest on TV, they cannot by definition be proven wrong.

This is where the line blurs. With the help of viciously partisan broadcasting, quickening Wi-Fi networks and a glut of vapid, half-assed information sources (Wikipedia), the pot of porridge has turned from tasty conversation and potential learning experience to a weapon of segregation.

You voted for Obama? Marked with a smirk, an inaudible “tsk-tsk” and a voiced “What do you think about that now?”

You supported the War on Terror? You’re no patriot now.

You backed the stimulus package? All that money and my General Motors family is still in the poor house.

The commonality among these? Each response really only says “You were wrong.” The words don’t need to be said, but they’re heard more clearly than anything else.

Afterward, conversation heads south. Voices raise. Cheeks flush. Sensibilities circle the drain. And for what? Telling someone they’re wrong doesn’t make you right, and it certainly doesn’t predict your ability to be correct in the future. The Gators looked like crap in Week One? Good luck in Week Two against Oklahoma. If I had said that, would I have the upper hand in Week Three? Sure. What happens if UF loses to the ‘Noles to close the regular season? I just ran a long, exhausting lap to realize something that should’ve been apparent at the start.

Right answers don’t exist in politics or football. Reasonable compromises do arise from time to time. And voting for someone does not mean you back everything they do.

Let’s stop recounting what might have been because, for as much as we like to think it would be better — that the recession would be long gone and we would all be back to our guaranteed holiday bonuses — we are all clueless.

We’re a big country, so we should probably start acting like one. If Fox News, MSNBC, the National Review or the New York Times told you the world was flat, would you believe any of them?

I’ll have a grain of salt with my news coverage, please.

In the unlikely event of/that…

… the Mile High Messiah starts for the Denver Broncos in Week 1, I hope he doesn’t get embarrassed in his hometown.

… the Jaguars start the 2010-2011 season with a loss, I’ll accept it if and only if Tebow plays a significant role. There’s no reason they shouldn’t beat a Scheffler-and-Marshall-less Broncos squad.

… I don’t laugh the next time I watch any episode in the sixth season of the “Simpsons”, I will go longer than a week without watching a single episode. That would be a record. The sixth season produced so many upper echelon episodes that some (“Lisa’s Rival”) even spawned T-shirts.

… yada, yada, yada. Same goes for Stephen Colbert and all his Cuba cash.

… Steve Nash takes an elbow to his other eye, he will drift from the slightly-ugly-to-ugly pool and into the all-out Crypt Keeper pool. That said, go Suns.

… the Orlando Magic lay another egg, I wish upon the Celtics (and abruptly anointed King Rondo) an unraveling to equal that of their Beantown buddies, the Bruins.

… the Philadelphia Flyers win Lord Stanley’s Cup, I will admit that they deserved it — especially if they can out-muscle the Sharks or Blackhawks — but will never pretend that Philly is not one of the ugliest cities in the U.S.

… you read this, high-friggin’-five!

‘Til next time, my friends.

Maybe Next Year

The Milwaukee Bucks’ over-before-it-began-Cinderella run was the highlight of the NBA Playoffs so far, for me anyway. Milwaukee’s run was cut short by the dastardly Atlanta Hawks, but the slogan that punctuated their Game-7 ousting — “Fear the Deer” — will probably retain its luster.

Thanks to an erraticWisonconsonian deer the Bucks’ too-easy cheer will likely survive through the offseason.

Things We Do

Guilty. You caught me. I acknowledge their terribility — a trait not shared by conjured words — but I use them anyway. Hey, if the shoe fits, right?

I love cliches because I’m lazy, and they’re easy. But there are few pesky language-related bastards that grind my motha-flowerin’ gears. I try to maneuver around Latin phrases, namely “per se”. These things have their time and place, but until I’m in a courtroom defending someone or nailing some scumbag’s ass to the wall, they remain shelved.

I’ve already made my distaste for abbrevs (that is, abbreviations, to those who aren’t syllable-conscious) pretty well-known.

That brings me to a third portion of hate that is doled out simply for it’s appalling lack of creativity. Just because something is a scandal of some sort, you are not permitted to simply add “-gate” to the end.

The Watergate scandal, appropriately named after the Watergate hotel, started the craze. Since the early ’70s, though, the -gates are out of control.

Spygate, Nipplegate, Troopergate, Monicagate (or for that matter Lewinskygate, Sexgate, Tailgate and Zippergate), Guzzlegate, both Grannygates, and my personal least favorite, Kanyegate.

A bit out of hand, I think.

At the very least, we could try to attach better openers to our new favorite suffix (though granny- and guzzlegate both sound pretty sweet). A few ideas:

– Granolagate, if a corrupt oats baron tries to corner the healthy snack market

– Burgundygate, if and when “Anchorman” reaches the point where quoting it makes anyone within earshot physically ill

– Dynamitegate, see above

– Kioskgate, if a cell-phone or perfume sales gnat from a mall isle uses his/her inconvenient positioning for ill gains

– Gungangate

– Punchout!gate, if fictional NES video opponents feel they’ve been created based solely on racial stereotyping (honestly surprised this has yet to happen)

Unfortunately, despite my whining, I propose no solution to this irritating habit because I know I’ll continue to use tired cliches and make loser-y bad jokes. Let’s just hope the -gate names get funnier.