Ten Foot Mailbag
It is true that every kid in that acting family was born with Cutler’s punch-me face, now that you mention it.
I am pleased to present to you now the All-Time Ginger Quarterback Power Rankings.
Art Modell, the former Cleveland Browns and Baltimore Ravens owner, died Thursday at the age of 87. I’ve known of few men more vehemently hated by a fanbase—that of the Browns—than him.
Oh, hello, football. Didn’t see you there. How’ve you been? I hope well. You look good.
I don’t idolize athletes, and I don’t encourage others—kids or otherwise—to do so either.
I’ll be as impressed or appalled at some new sports fashion statement as anyone else and use it for comedic ammo, but it doesn’t affect the way I consume a game.
You waited and waited and waited, and finally it came back Thursday night. And you who were so excited for a Bears preseason football game got exactly what you deserved. First, there was no Cutler, Forte, Peppers, or Urlacher.
I want to go off here. I want to rant about guns and capital punishment and failed parenting and how something like this just makes my heart sad and my bowels livid, but I won’t.
Memo to Jay Paterno, son of dead disgusting person Joe Paterno: Step away from the interviews.
Just when the Sox were beginning to make people have serious doubts whether they are legit contenders, they go and take five of seven from the Yankees and Rangers.
Sixty hours. That’s how long it has been since I last lit a cigarette.
Full disclosure—I’m banging this drum again to anger people who don’t want to think. Call me a troll, I don’t care. People have to get angry at being wrong about something before they begin to consider converting to the correct side.
Welcome to The Score Interrogation Ro… I mean, the Ten Foot Mailbag (I’m not welcome at The Score studios.)
So while I’m doing nothing constructive, my nothing will be way more awesome than your something. Sucks to be you… until 4pm every day when I have to deliver pizzas.
Bringing a glove to a game as an adult means you desire to catch and keep a ball. It also means you’re a huge loser.
Kerry Wood is supposedly retiring. I’m not surprised at the decision, though I am at the timing. Sort of out of nowhere, even though anyone who has played tee-ball could see Wood just doesn’t belong in the game anymore.
Kane is a grown man. Whatever he wants to do he can within the confines of the law and his professional contract.
Yeah, I said it. I saw The Empire Strikes Back as a kid and thought, “What the hell is this crap?” Though the Colt-45 guy’s clothes were pretty pimp.
Today’s date is 4/20. For mature people that date means nothing more than it’s Friday, and we’ve survived another week that has taken years off of our lives. For wastes of organs, the date means some unofficial, lame celebration of marijuana, as though its proponents “celebrate” any less on other days.0
Several times this year I’ve found myself thinking about what The Score means to me. I didn’t begin listening to the station until about 10 years ago, so I can’t say I’ve taken in the whole twenty years of eccentric glory.