I’m not ashamed to admit it. Well, actually, I’m a little ashamed to admit it. No sense in denying it though. The Saints have got me right back where they want me. Again.

It’s been a month of love, deception, greed and… starting now… unbridled enthusiasm. I can’t help it.

Maybe I’m just a simple country boy, some might say a cockeyed optimist, who’s getting caught up in the high-stakes game of world diplomacy and inter-conference intrigue. And perhaps it will lead to my downfall, as it did for Billy. Maybe it really is more a question of attitude than politics, and were I not so enthusiastic, I could avert disaster. But what fun is that? I’m a Saints fan, dammit. Barreling headlong into disaster is what I do best. So screw it, might as well go balls out with it. 19-0, female doges! Continue Reading…

Oh, you’ve gotta be shitting me. See, this is just my luck. I’ve had this game circled on my calendar for two months, TWO MONTHS(!!!), quivering in anticipation of the long-awaited Sex Cannon vs. Jason David showdown. An epic battle of wits and will. Dueling virtuosos showing no mercy. It was gonna be fuckin’ THUNDERDOME, I tells ya.

But noooo. Apparently the Houston Texans will have to find some way to get by without The Cumslinger’s considerable talents indefinitely, and the New Orleans Louisianians finally took Jason out behind the barn and did what had to be done. Son of a bitch. Now just how in the hell are we supposed to amuse ourselves Saturday night? Thank god for Joey Harrington. And Sean Payton’s challenge flag. Maybe Poochie will be tweeting some of that unintentional comedy gold from the sideline. Continue Reading…

I’ve been drivin’ all night, my hand’s wet on the wheel
There’s a voice in my head that drives my heel
It’s Coach Payton callin’, says "I need you here!"
And it’s half past four and I’m shifting gear

And you thought the Saints’ kicking situation couldn’t get any more ridiculous. You have to wonder what was so fuckin’ urgent back in March that it required Garrett Hartley to drive overnight from Dallas to New Orleans with, apparently, not a moment to spare to stop at a convenience store for some Trucker’s Choice. Did he space on the date? "Oh shit, dude, I’ve gotta be at work in like 8 hours! In New Orleans!"

Ever the quick thinker, Garrett had the brilliant idea of bumming some of that Ivy League Crack from his frat brother Kegmeister Jeff, and quicker than you could say "You’re sure these aren’t the roofies, right?" he was eastbound & down, loaded up and truckin’. No word on whether he had time to put on some pants and wash off the body glitter. Continue Reading…

I’d like to thank whoever replaced the stack of 1937 Reader’s Digests on the tank of Pete Finney’s toilet with a 2009 Saints schedule.

Pete was so shocked to discover that the Saints are playing Cincinnati Friday night, he dropped the quickest deuce of his life and made a mad pantsless dash to his Remington Standard typograph machine to drop a second deuce — this one, on us.

Pete’s been… uh… listening… to what the kids seem to refer to as the tweets and twitters, and it’s got him all confused and irritable. These kids these days… too darned hotsy-totsy to use a telegraph, are they? Why I oughta… See, in my day see, getting a telegraph from your favorite dame inviting you out to a swanky juice joint for a little hooch and some heavy petting was the cat’s pajamas, I tells ya. Why I remember there was this one flapper broad named Mabel…. Continue Reading…

It’s game week, bitches! Or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof. Hey, it’s August. I’ll take what I can get for now.

At any rate, Susanna Hoffs leads the Bangles into the Superdome Friday night for what promises to be the undisputed must-see concert of 1986.

Why are the Saints constantly playing these assholes? Material is getting harder to come by. I’ve already bagged on former mayor Jerry Springer, the bimonthly race riots, the northern Kentucky location and that crazy shit they seem to think qualifies as something resembling "chili." I’ve made countless WKRP references. Hell, I’ve even done the Bangles gag before. How much Cincinnati-themed schtick can one douchebag with a blog be reasonably expected to spew forth onto these here internets? I mean, it’s not like they’re Cleveland. I’m not even sure they’re Akron. "Who dey?" indeed. Continue Reading…

Well, Ed Daniels has finally accomplished the impossible: he has actually managed to out-claptrap Pete Finney. Guh. Great work there, Ed. Not an easy feat, to be sure.

Evidently, Ed’s worried that the innards of Saints fans might be at an immeasurable fever pitch, and our gushing euphoria might ooze out all over his winter stash of acorns.

I checked WebMD, and it seems Ed’s right. They advise that this condition be treated with heavy doses of condescension.

Now, in Ed’s defense, this is 21st Century America, and I suppose these days you can’t assume that your readers are able to figure out the difference between fact and opinion on their own. But we’ve been reading Ed long enough to know that what this is really about is a "realist" doing what "realists" do: constantly piss all over everyone else’s good time remind us all as a public service that IT’S ALL GONNA GO TO SHIT SOONER OR LATER!!!! You know, for our own good. You’ll never be disappointed if you just stay miserable all the time. Continue Reading…

Good thing the Saints didn’t trade Lance Moore and allow Jack Hunt to depart in free agency to "make room on the depth chart" for superstar in waiting Adrian Arrington, eh?

I just don’t understand why they’re letting him "play through it." Sit him down already, the guy is far too valuable to risk further injury. He’s a hall of famer, for crying out loud. Surely I didn’t just imagine Onome Ojo’s presentation speech when Arrington was inducted.

Fortunately for us, Mike Triplett is pretty sure that Robert Meachem is ON A DAMN MISSION(!!!) to assume his rightful spot on the wideout pecking order. No, seriously. For real this time. I swear, I’m not fucking with you here. Meachem’s totally about to "break out" or something. Evidently Pete Carmichael Jr. has changed up some of the terminology in the playbook, and "32 Z Cuatro Left 6 Hambone" is now known as "Dude, run straight ahead 10 yards, then stop and turn around." Awesome. Why are they just now thinking of this? Stupid Doug Marrone.  Continue Reading…