I am Conrad Bain and once again I've been invited to blog for you today. As some of you may know, over the weekend the host of this site reportedly suffered an injury at an amusement park while riding a giant waterslide. The details I've received are sketchy, but I've been told he underwent emergency surgery in which doctors had to remove over seventy-five feet of his colon.
This weekend I lounged on the French Mediterranean in the company of the lovely Elaine Joyce and Suzanne Pleshette. I'd planned on remaining at my villa through Thursday, but upon receiving news of Hater's accident I chartered a Leer back to the States without hesitation. Speaking of which, if anyone in the front office is reading this, I need to be brought up to speed regarding the reimbursement of my expenses, as well as the tedious subject of per diem. I've sent an email to the curious little wooden fellow who occasionally writes here, but have received no answer. Likewise, when I sent my assistant to inquire with Steve Bisheff, he returned disheveled and shaken, the victim of a violent beating from a dog-eared notebook. Please respond when you can, but there's no rush regarding money matters. The Bain Man has made major moves and receives huge rezie daps all dizay ya heard me.
Now Wattle You Do?
It's become grimly fashionable around this site to poke fun at Norv Turner's skin condition, but I refuse to follow suit. No, not because I'm nice. I just don't wish to be factually inaccurate. A little bit of research shows that it's not a skin condition at all, but a wattle... a caruncle-covered throat flap that turns bright red during courtship rituals or when Norv is upset.
And after Sunday, Norv has plenty to wattle over. With his team now at 3 - 6, the Raiders need to put together some momentum if they're serious about having home-field advantage throughout the playoffs.
He Would've Sunk The Putt, Anyway
Nice of the NFL to give Alstott and Tampa Bay a gimme on their 2-point conversion at the end of the Redskins game. I am closer to being mistaken for a Carolina lesbian than that ball was to crossing the goal line. Seriously, that call was so flaky that if you shaved its head and put a cowboy hat on it, Renee Zellweger would marry it.
Silver Cotton Candy
It's a pretty common knowledge around the water coolers of this blog that, if you take your fingernail and scratch through the top coat of The Hater Nation's black and gray logo, a big blue star will appear underneath. Just saying, is all...
Those who watched the Bears and 49ers battle at Soldier Field were amazed at the havoc wreaked upon the game by the Chicago''s trademark November winds. Many people believe the city's storied gusts originate on Lake Michigan, but that's a myth. The real reason Chicago is battered by constant winds is because not a single one of the city's 2.8 million residents has ever shut their mouths.
Oh, And His Coach Is Retarded
Brett Favre takes a lot of crap around here. To read this blog, you'd think Favre's dad had a heart attack and drove his truck into a tree to improve Brett's press.
Give Favre some credit. He's kept the Packers in most of the games until the inevitable train wreck, and he's done so with a ragtag cast of clodhoppers, some of whom haven't carried a pigskin since junior high school. It's rumored that if you're in the checkout line at a Green Bay area Piggly Wiggly, and the bagger asks you if you need help carrying your bags, and you say "no thanks", Mike Sherman will be waiting at your car with a contract and a pen.
There are a couple things that probably will never happen, but if they did they'd make me really happy. One of them would be to see Jessica Simpson and her husband thrown from a ten-story building. The other would be to see an NFL team, any team, go unbeaten, thus killing the annual non-story of how the old Miami Dolphins all toast each other every year after the last unbeaten team loses. The Colts are seven games away. Is it wrong for me to root for Indy to pull the trigger and send those Dolphins geezers to their graves, bitter, despondent and forgotten?
No more wrong than promising Kimberly the car keys after I'd already given them to Willis.