Confession: I came dangerously close to titling this post: “I can feel it coming in Pierre tonight, oh Lord.”

How wrong would that have been? I’d have had to punch my own self in the groin. There are just some things that you shouldn’t say in public, and bad puns off Phil Collins references have to be right near the very top of that list.

At any rate, last night those of us who are not only Saints fans but also shameless HOMERS(!!!!) got to enjoy a nice heaping plate of Triple Happiness. The Saints’ preseason has mercifully come to an end without any kind of significant misfortune, LSU took it to Sly and the Family Croom to the tune of 45-0, and… um… uh… I know there’s a third thing. We’ll go with Ryan Perrilloux not doing anything last night to get himself kicked off the team. Yeah. (At least nothing that’s being reported yet.)

It was a good night to be a fan of the two Louisiana-based football teams that count. That is, unless you’re one of those perpetually-miserable assholes who call themselves “realists.” Actually, those guys are happy too this Friday afternoon… they’re happy because they got themselves a triple dose of shit to bitch and moan about: the impending release of Pierre Thomas, the implosion of Olindo Mare and… um… uh… well, I guess there’s always Les Miles. Continue Reading…

Sorry about not writing up a preview yesterday. I was planning to, but most of my down time yesterday was spent embroiled in a bit of an internet controversy!!! (insert suspenseful music here)

It begins, bitches! LSU is all set to notch #1 of their 14 consecutive wins for the 2007 season as they head to Scott Field to take on Sly and the Family Croom.

Meantime, the Saints (kinda) will be facing the Miami Dolphins (kinda) in a light workout so that the coaches can tell all the guys they cut tomorrow that they had a shot. Continue Reading…

Thursday night the Saints smacked the Chiefs around so hard it nearly knocked all the racism out of their team identity. There’s a press conference scheduled for tomorrow to announce that they’re now the “Kansas City Native American Tribal Leaders.” Or something.

A lot of people seem to have been trying to minimize the trouncing since Thursday night. Oh sure, we’re all excited about the way the Saints have performed the last two times out. But apparently it’s hip to hold your exuberance in check and keep in mind that the Chiefs suck. Brodie Croyle sucks. Larry Johnson and Priest Holmes didn’t play. Their o-line lost Will Shields, Willie Roaf is retired, and on and on.

I’ll grant you all those things. But the thing is, if you’re gonna dock the Saints due to the level of their competition, you also need to give them extra points for thoroughly dominating. This wasn’t exactly a squeaker. If the Chiefs suck, then the Saints did exactly what they should have done: shoved it down their throats and left them for dead. Continue Reading…

Courtesy of ass-kicking Snopes.com, did you know that our friend here, the actor known as “Iron Eyes Cody” from the unforgettable 1971 eco-ad was actually a Kaplan, Louisiana born second-generation Italian-American named Espera DeCorti?

He’s crying because Brodie Croyle sucks.

Saints vs. Chiefs tonight, starters for three quarters! Except for Drew. And Colston. And Jack Hunt. And Jammal Brown. And Mark Simoneau. And Jason David. Meh, we’ll comment anyway. Have at it, fools…

So what was your favorite moment of the Matt Baker era?

Thursday night the Saints head up to the part of the Louisiana Purchase now known as Missourah, The Blow Me State, to battle Herm Edwards’ Chiefs.

Ah, Kansas City. Where the only thing on the dinner menu more popular than the ribs is the giant bowl of crystal meth.

Yes, Kansas City. Where Joe Montana and Marcus Allen went to die. (Actually, Montana is very much alive. But not to worry, you won’t disturb him. He’ll be in his room masturbating.)

I’ll be dead in the cold, cold ground before I recognize Missourah, home of the world’s most buttoned down, plastic fantastic, no character, forget-about-the-meat barbecue sauce on the planet. Masterpiece my ass. Brisket > ribs anyway.

Which is why it’s going to be such a thrill to see listen to the Saints put it to the Chiefs the way Abe Lincoln put it to Valentine Tapley’s ability to get chicks. Continue Reading…

Do other teams’ fans go this apeshit over their second string quarterback?

My guess is that they probably do. Doesn’t make it any less annoying though.

So much drama over a guy who’s not even gonna see the field for any significant time until about week 12 when Coach Payton starts resting his starters, and maybe not even then if Coach decides he wants to let his players go for the 16-0.

Seriously though, people, it’s time to get a grip and start getting used to the fact that Jamie Martin is this team’s second string quarterback at least for this season. Not Tyler Palko, not Jason Fife, not Drew Bledsoe or Jeff George or Guido Merkens. It’s Jamie Martin. Deal with it. Continue Reading…

Saturday night (seems like ages ago now, doesn’t it) the Saints went up to Cincinnati and put it to the Bengals in just about every way permissable under Ohio law.

First, allow me to demonstrate my firm grasp on the obvious: the Saints’ offense is going to be straight up loco come September.

Much like the merciless pepper of Quetzlzacatenango, grown deep in the jungle primeval by the inmates of a Guatemalan insane asylum, this offense is gonna have opposing d-coordinators coating the inside of their mouths with candle wax so as not to taste it as it’s shoved down their throats. That, and crapping their pants. Oh there will be plenty of pants-crapping. And we will laugh and laugh as we bask in the warm, glowing, warming glow of general superiority. Continue Reading…

I’ve got a rock’n syndrome, and the only prescription is more shakuhachi flute.

It’s Matt Baker Time, bitches! 

In other news, Kenny Chesney begins serving a four-game suspension for wearing a non-league sanctioned 6-pound belt buckle, and taping over his name on the back of his jersey and writing “Minnie Pearl” in its place.

Fortunately, Chesney was allowed to give the team the now-commonplace celebrity motivational pep talk. The theme was lucrative post-NFL career opportunities, with Chesney suggesting that the players use their free time now to write a catalog of mindlessly-patriotic ballads for future release, and getting to know Sean Hannity asap.

Game commentary follows, theoretically…

Ah Cincinnati, the most charming northern Kentucky town not named Springfield. Marge Schott. Pete Rose. Venus Flytrap. Jerry Springer. Race riots. Procter & Gamble with their creepy little satanic logo.

But hey, the high Saturday is supposed to be 81, so I’m sure the Saints aren’t exactly bitching about having to go back to Ohio for the second time in two weeks. The downright chilliness should be worth having to choke down a heaping plate (yes, plate) or two of the most fucked up “chili” concoction ever conceived by man.

Cincinnati chili is some crazy shit. To do it “right” you have to run your ground beef through a food processor first, so that it turns into some kind of freaky beef grits kind of thing. You do not brown the ground beef (what are you, stoopid?) The beef is boiled in the soupy mixture of spices, which include your standard non-fucked-up ingredients like chili powder, cumin, tomato and cayenne, and… wait for it… cinnamon and cocoa. I shit you not. Continue Reading…

A few weeks ago, some dope on a blog mentioned in his camp preview that Tyler Palko stood a better chance of recording a top-40 pop hit single about Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart than he had to stick on the Saints regular season roster.

The identity of that idiot blog dude isn’t important. Seriously, it’s not, so don’t even bother trying to figure it out.

Suffice to say that that guy woke up this morning with his left eyebrow still raised, and could only assume that it had stayed that way all night. Very interesting stuff last night. Very interesting indeed.

Of course, the urge amongst the gen pop seems to be to go ahead and name Der Kommissar the second string QB immediately. Easy there, cowboy. It’s patently absurd for a contending team to have an undrafted rookie for a second string QB. Palko fans need to sit tight and just be happy that he slathered himself in a thick coat of turk repellant last night. Let’s see where it goes from there.  Continue Reading…