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.

Then you ladle this creepy soup over a pile of… spaghetti. You top that with the ingredients you forgot to aren’t supposed to actually put in the chili… beans (kidney) and onions. Top with a pile of shredded cheddar and serve with… oyster crackers. That’s right, oyster crackers. My God. Talk about disappointment on asphalt. Alton Brown probably thinks this is perfectly acceptable.

But I digress. Intentionally. Why? Because this has to be the single most boring week of training camp/preseason I can ever remember. Seriously, what the hell? Seems there’s jack squat noteworthy going on in Jackson this week. No waterpark hijinx, no ill-conceived turkey drop promotions, nothing.

I suppose it’s possible that I’ve missed it. Lately I simply can’t stomach the message board scene for more than about 5 minutes before I start to feel like my head is about to explode. I had set out yesterday to compose the message board dirge that I’ve tried to write several times in the past, but doubt will ever see the light of day. Too many people whom I like and respect might interpret it as insulting, and I’d hate that. Suffice to say that I think I’ve come to the realization that eventually everything jumps the shark. Perhaps it was inevitable, but it’s still a shame.

Meanwhile, nola.com’s T-P copy/paste section seems to back up the perception that there just hasn’t been a whole lot going on. All we’ve gotten since Monday’s Buffalo recaps have been the ubiquitous, trite puff pieces on various players and the largely useless Camp Confidential pieces with their “Get to know this guy… while you still can” bios and “These guys are still injured” lists, conveniently spread over five ad-view generating pages. Cha ching! The bright side is that we haven’t been subjected to Peter Finney yet this week.

Further boning me is the fact that the Bengals just don’t interest me in the least. I’m not sure why. They were actually my very first “second-favorite team” back when I was a kid. Before you stone me, please know that now that I’m a grown up, I no longer have a “second-favorite team.” But round about Super Bowl 16, the first Super Bowl I can recall paying attention to, I took a liking to the Bengals’ uniforms, Ken Anderson’s bitchin’ beard, and the hope that they’d pound San Francisco’s dicks into the dirt. That didn’t work out very well, and since then I’ve never been able to muster up much give-a-damn about the Bengals one way or the other. I blame Boomer Esiason.

Unfortunately, the Saints and the league don’t seem to give much of a shit that the Bengals don’t interest me. So the Saints are headed up there anyway, despite my protestations. I won’t be able to see it Saturday night, instead having to rely on RealNetworks’ streaming audio to tide me over until the NFL Network’s Sunday rebroadcast. But on the plus side, JIM HENDERSON!!!! Fuck yeah!

Here’s what I’ll be watching listening for and taking note of Saturday night:

The fact that half of Cincinnati’s roster consists of LSU boys
Holy crap, they have even more LSU boys than Buffalo and New England. Where have I been? Kendrick Allen, Bennie Brazell, Skyler Green, Nate Livings and Andrew Whitworth. Kendrick Allen, of course, doubles up as a former Saint, and they also have former Saints Jimmy Verdon, Nate Lawrie and Shayne Graham. The Saints, of course, have former Bengals Brian Simmons and Kevin Kaesviharn.

Filler rant: What the fuck is so hard about K-A-E-S-V-I-H-A-R-N? Just learn it already, it’s not fucking advanced calculus. Look at it, memorize the letters involved and their arrangement, and stop making an ass of yourself on the message board of your choice. And what’s with everybody on the radio and/or tee vee not named Jim Henderson (mis)pronouncing it CASE-VA-HORN? And don’t tell me it’s the South Louisiana accent. I grew up in South Louisiana. A’s aren’t pronounced as O’s as a matter of course. No, these dudes are visualizing it in their heads spelled with an O as they say it. Egregious douchebaggery.

Matt Baker! That name again is Matt Baker!
And you thought you didn’t know shit about Jason Fife. This dude started for one year at North Carolina, signed as a UDFA with Houston, spent a year on Dallas’ practice squad and… well… that’s about it. He looks like this:

Coach Payton says he’ll play most of the second half while Jason Fife stands around with his thumb up his ass and all the ladies scream for Der Kommissar.

At any rate, yeah, it’s Matt Baker. He fucking LOVES Cincinnati style chili.

Say, how long can I pad this post by typing “Screw Flanders.” over and over, before you stop reading?

Screw Flanders. Screw Flanders. Screw Flanders.

Jamie Martin
The 37-year veteran from Weeeeeeber State University, who once played for the fuckin’ Los Angeles Rams, finally gets a chance at a quarter with the first string, quite possibly for the first time as a Saint. The QB situation is really a head-scratcher. On one hand, like I said in the Buffalo recap, the idea that Coach Payton is gonna go into the season with Super Bowl aspirations, while carrying one of Jason Fife, Tyler Palko or Matt Baker as his second string QB is just ridiculous. But on the other hand, in a VERY small sample size as a Saint, without being privy to much of practice, has Martin ever done anything to impress? In the least?

Look, I respect the hell out of the guy. He seems like a damn fine upstanding American, he has played well in relief for the Rams, he has made a nice long career for himself as a journeyman career backup, everybody seems to love the guy. And given the other three options with a grand total of zero games of experience combined, you have to figure Martin is hands-down the best option.

But on the other hand, aren’t you already 100% rock-solid sure of what you’re gonna see Saturday night? 4-11 for about 25 yards, 0 TDs and probably an INT? Something like that, right?

Jack Hunt pwning the haters once again
3 receptions for 52 yards? You ain’t seen shit yet, homes. Of course, I suppose there’s a chance that they’ll hold him out on account of the hammy issues. I’d know if the T-P would tell me. But hey, at least I know all about Mike Karney’s difficulty finding well-fitting jeans. At any rate, enjoy the Haterade while you can, bitches. Because Dev’s about to throw about 1200 yards all up in your grill. Whatever that means.

Brian Ferentz
His dad’s name is Kirk. Kirk coaches the Iowa Hawkeyes. The Hawkeyes painted the visitors’ locker room pink. See, it’s a mind game. Or something. Jeff Faine could, and might, kick his ass. In related news, fuck you Ronnie Prude.

Pierre Thomas
I’m not exactly sure why. All I know is that he has Chef’s and Ashley Morris’s full endorsement. A few days ago I asked Chef to smarten me up a little on the basis for the Pierre Thomas love, but he’s moderating the shit out of my comment. I’m hoping to figure it out this weekend. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against the guy. I hope he kicks truckloads of ass. But so far, he’s been flying about 1000 feet below my radar. I plead ignorance.

By the way, does that actually work? Because about 10 minutes ago I ran out to the mailbox and found out that I’ve been called to jury duty next month. Fuck me.