By F. Shawn Fitzgerald

Welcome Bag Fans!

So I just ate a whole bag of Skittles and I am tweaking on sugar. I’m trying to see just how fast I can write all of this and still sound semi coherent. Here goes:

On a weekend that saw Umberto’s bachelor party fall prey to the vile blue liquid referred to as Absinthe, I was watch cars turn left and yearning for more beer. Safe to say that attending races with parents ranks somewhere above sleeping in a tent when it’s 32 degrees out but definitely below seeing Social Distortion with 20 people and blacking out all weekend. The stories cannot be divulged, but I "heart" Ryan Crane on Absinthe.

In other news, I had a wonderful trip to Buffalo last week. After giving 6 back to back presentations in 2 days, I noticed it was snowing outside. Snowing a lot. I mean there was a fucking LOT of snow alright?! The hotel lost power, tree branches were breaking, and you couldn’t really drive on the road. A LOT OF FUCKING SNOW! So, I contemplated staying there and flying home the next morning. We went to the airport to see if we could get out and the power was out there too. I have thoughts of Richie Valenz running through my mind. I most definitely do not want to be the next Corey Lidle. We get on the plane 2 hours late and it is a propeller plane! My window is covered in snow. I do a rough calculation, and there is probably 3 pounds of snow caked on my little window. They begin to de-ice the plane. I feel a little better. The lady I am traveling with pops a Klonopin and immediately passes out and begins drooling on me. We take off and all I see out the window is white. All I can think of is the Ozzy song, snowblind….although I realize this is about cocaine and not actual snow, I can’t shake it. The heat is on full blast. The propellers shake the plane, the rough air shakes the plane. I realize I am probably going to throw up on the plane. Bad times. For the next hour and a half I rock back and forth trying to think of anything but throwing up. We circle LGA for 20 minutes and I am choking down puke. We finally land and the lady wakes up and wants to talk. I explain that I am about to puke. She is drugged and doesn’t know what to make of this. I twitch in the cab on the way home. I reiterate to myself that I am no mariner and I am no pilot. It turns out that it was good that I left Buffalo as there are 2 feet of snow there and the city is in a state of emergency. I would still be there now eating back hotel wings and drinking myself into oblivion. I hate Buffalo.

I'm tied for the lead in the win column with Joe-Joe. Lenny is going for the record for the least wins ever of 8, set by me last year.

On to the games!

Joe-Joe (6-6, PF:303, PA:318, TDs:37 )

Philadelphia Eagles 24 vs. New Orleans Saints 27 ***BAG GAME***
Philly is banged up like a Chinese sex slave in a downtown massage parlor. Yet they soldier forth doling out happy endings that are not always so happy. With sandpaper hands they finished up this game losing to NO in the final seconds. No lotion, no oil, just chaffing and discomfort. They must work for another 5 years or their families will be killed back in China.

San Francisco 49ers 19 vs. San Diego Chargers 48
LT lit up the pink miner 49ers for 4TDs. The dude is back on track. San Fran meanders through their schedule much like any of us on our way to 7B at the end of the night. I’m not quite sure how I’m moving along, but I know I’m trying to get to the destination. The foggy mind making you throw concrete into the street, or throw full Coors Lights at a passing petticab is inexplicable but necessary, much like the interceptions and fumbles. The destination is the key. The end of their season is the same as my last beer of the night. We know there is rest at the end of the tunnel.

Shawn (6-5, PF:226, PA: 219, TDs: 24)

Philadelphia Eagles 24 vs. New Orleans Saints 27 ***BAG GAME***
Much like Adam Vinatieri in the 2001 Patriots Super Bowl Victory in New Orleans, John Carney stepped onto the field and booted a 31 yard FG as time expired to win the game. As they say in the ‘hood, the Saints are “for real, on the reals. Word!”. Like a cockroach escaping the Raid can, New Orleans squirmed out from under the cleansing hand of God and has rekindled the debauchery full force. College kids will be returning to litter hotel room floors with Whip-It canisters, vomit in gutters, pee on each other, and ogle bare breasted chicks trying to pile on the beads. Good times. Even Emeril is getting in on the act. Brees and some other Saints stopped off at Emeril’s restaurant after the big win and were received with a standing ovation. BAM! Sadly, no one wanted his fucking “essence”, Anthony Bourdain called earlier to tell him he is a bitch, and then he burned his gumbo, so he hid in the kitchen and cried. He is not welcome on the sidelines at Saints games.

Cleveland Browns vs. Bye
Charlie Frye sits home and wonders if he could hang with Willie Nelson. Willie is a million years old. His bus got pulled over while he was on tour in Texas and he was found with several pounds of mushrooms and weed. Can you imagine your Grandpa tripping out and rolling Bob Marley size joints before playing to your other grandparents and drunk college kids? Charlie can’t either. He decides that he will just keep sucking at football so he can be replaced and carry a clipboard for a few years, until he is finally released and he can become a feed salesman back in his home town of Willard, OH. I fucking hate Ohio.

Randie (4-7, PF: 203, PA: 287, TDs: 24 )

Green Bay Packers vs. Bye
Favre took the weekend off and wonder what the fuck he was thinking by coming back. He has been living on his reputation much like CBGB has for the last 20 years. His super bowl victory over the Patriots at the Superdome was his Ramones “I Wanna be Sedated” moment (he may actually have been sedated at this time as he was addicted to vicodin…no wonder I liked him back then.) Sitting on top of the word and chugging beers like a champion of gluttony. Then there were the lean years of hanging on and losing to Denver (the last gasp of Talking Heads). Now we are witnessing the lost years, bands named Lubricated Goat and Rabid Roy gracing the stage to empty houses. Favre should retire and move to Vegas like CB’s, but I don’t think he’ll sell as many t-shirts to people from Cleveland…

New York Jets 20 vs. Miami Dolphins 17
So, the Jets D starts off the game picking off every Joey Harrington pass in sight (Note: Did anyone catch the picture of Joey Harrington during introductions? Um, I’m pretty sure he was half way through a 4-tab acid trip when that picture was snapped, check it out when you get a chance), then proceeds to drop into the prevent and almost blow the fucking game. They went from ruling the playground to cringing at the bike rack at 3:00 waiting for a beating. Inexplicable. That collapse was almost as fantastic as Arizona’s on Monday night. However, Arizona proved they are professional losers. Leinart was forced to hand in his winner card when he was drafted. He is now contracting herpes from Paris Hilton (who was recently assaulted by one Shana Moakler, who I attended high school with) and blowing 17 point sleads with 14 minutes to play. Good job buddy.

Herr Leonard Herold (1-9, PF: 122, PA: 273, TDs: 13)

Houston Texans 6 vs. Dallas Cowboys 34
TO fights with his position coach all week then publicly declare she won’t talk to him anymore after a fight they have gets linked to the media. Then he goes out and catches 3 TD in a win over a haphazard Houston squad. The Cowboys locker room is the equivalent of a middle school dance at this point. TO is yelling at anyone that will listen and creating drama. Bledsoe is schmoozing the hottest chick in school all night, dancing with her, making out in the coat room, sticking his hand up her shirt…then, the chick takes off and never talks to him again. Parcells is wandering around trying to separate the kids dancing, and thinking about his retirement home. Meanwhile the rest of the kids mill around with their heads down waiting for Stairway to Heaven to come on…

Denver Broncos 13 vs. Oakland Raiders 3
The Raiders are as bad as you can imagine. We should know by the end of the day today if they will trade Randy Moss to a contender. Would it be so bad to start pulling fans out of the black hole and letting them play special teams? I’d love to see some 350 pound guy in face paint running down the field and getting leveled by the opposing teams gunner. The plastic studs on the shoulder pads digging into the field, the rubber skulls rolling along in slow motion as Al Davis shakes his head and his librarian beads clink off his glasses. All Raider fans should receive a free kick in the groin before walking in the stadium. They suck balls. Lenny should have to wear the shoulder pads outside of his garbage bag if they go 0-16. I put this forth as a motion to the rest of the bag crew. What say you?