Mr. X hails from
Parts Unknown, where the men are still men and the women are damn happy
about it. Blessed with bulging biceps and a rapier-like wit, he can
beat you sensless with brain or brawn; pick your poison. Above all
else, Mr. X is a keen fantasy sports analyst and even keener narrator
of the human condition.
OK. Let's get the pleasantries out of the way: Happy New Year, farmers. May your crops be bountiful and your wives less beastly this year! There, I've properly greeted 99% of this site's readers. For the 1% that are not from the South or have actually graduated from grade school, let's move on to my incredibly insightful observations...
The Wildcard games this week played out the way I expected they would, with the exception of the Cardinals-Packers game. While I'm not here to make excuses for the Packers, I do have to ask one question: were the zebras watching the same overtime that I was? Geez, I saw not one, but TWO penalties by the Cardinals against Aaron Rodgers. The first one was a very obvious helmet-to-helmet hit by Bertrand Berry; had it been called, it would have offset a holding call and left the drive at 2nd and 10 from their own 20, instead of 2nd and 20 from their own 10. Then on the game-ending play, Cardinals' DB Mike Adams clearly was holding on to Rodgers' facemask. That's a 15-yard penalty and automatic first down, folks. Man, referee Scott Green needs to be beaten more than those mouthy housewives you run into at the shelters. Yes, I know, that was mean and uncalled for, but I had money on that game.
Now that he's been shut down in consecutive weeks, will Chad Ochocinco change his stupid name back to Chad Johnson? Look, I talk tons of crap but I back it up. For example, I refer to my readers as rubes and not a single one of them has proven me wrong. The only thing Ochocinco has backed up in recent years is that really obnoxious truck he had built for himself...
I read where Mark McGwire issued a statement admitting he took steroids during his 70 home run season. So what. First, it's not any sort of revelation. Just look at the guy; about 10 seconds after he retired, he looked like a deflated sex doll. Second, what's the big deal? I think that if these guys want to take steroids in order to better entertain me, then be my guest. I mean, if you start to come down on them, what's next? Banning stupid flat-chested broads from gaining a bit of self-esteem by getting enormous implants? And not the saline ones, they suck. Stick to silicone, it looks better and feels better when placed over the ears.
I've already seen some other sites begin with their 2010 Fantasy Football Mock Drafts, projecting who the top picks will be. Really-- you're going to do a mock draft now, when a half-dozen coaching spots are still shifting? Before you know which coordinators will be in place? Listen up hayseeds: that sort of "analysis" at this stage of the season is as ridiculous as giving my girlfriend the right to vote. It sounds like a good idea, until you realize that no good can possibly come of it.
Can someone explain to me what the hell was going through the (tiny) mind of Gilbert Arenas? I know this will come as a shock to all you cowboys living in Texas or some other sort of southern outpost, but bringing guns to your place of business is usually frowned upon in civilized society... even if it's for comedic purposes, as Arenas claimed. Seriously, the guy was already suspended once for violating the NBA's gun policy (can you believe that a league has to actually have a gun policy?)-- did he think that no one would notice he stashing his cache in his locker? And did he think he would help his case by making the "blazing guns" symbol with his fingers right after he got caught? When you look up "Idiot" in the dictionary, you'll find two pictures: Arenas and my girlfriend. But at least my dopey girlfriend look good in a thong...
Mr. X hails from
Parts Unknown, where the men are still men and the women are damn happy
about it. Blessed with bulging biceps and a rapier-like wit, he can
beat you sensless with brain or brawn; pick your poison. Above all
else, Mr. X is a keen fantasy sports analyst and even keener narrator
of the human condition. 
