California – which, for all intents and purposes, is a separate nation-state, like Texas or the NCAA – is in the process of declaring surfing as its official state sport. First the immigration issue, now this.
Couch Slouch: When you get to the big leagues for the first time at an advanced age – like Roy Hobbs – there usually is a good backstory. Brandon Mann is a backstory hall of famer.
Couch Slouch: Kurt Warner, Ben Roethlisberger and Tom Brady are three of the iconic NFL quarterbacks of the last 20 years: One is retired, one talks about retiring and one will never retire.
Couch Slouch: When I was growing up in the late 1960s playing kick drums, kickball and kick the can, I had a dream that one day there would be dozens and dozens of professional soccer teams in America. Actually, it might’ve been a nightmare. Either way, it’s come true!
Couch Slouch: Approaching my third week of boycotting the 2018 Winter Olympics, I want to say something that, frankly, nobody really wants to hear; in fact, when I brought this up the other night while eating at my parents’ house, my mother told me that I would have to use the drive-thru window the next time I came over for dinner. So here we go: The Olympics ideal is, well, hooey-and-a-half.
Couch Slouch: In a spiraling, soulless America that I call home, I sometimes have trouble remembering all the stuff that I now boycott – Starbucks, Anheuser-Busch, boxing and MMA, resort fees, convenience fees, Pilates, new age music, Facebook, the MLS aggregate-goal playoff format, airport restrooms, Velveeta, cryptocurrency, kale, Skip Bayless… And, of course, the Olympics.
Couch Slouch: As a public service, I usually provide an annual Super Bowl Viewing Guide (for Super Bowl Parties of Six or More). But this year, all of you are on your own – in short, I recommend Cheez-Its, fried squash blossoms and Yuengling – because I procured an exclusive interview with New England Patriots coach Bill Belichick.
Couch Slouch: As we enter 2018, Couch Slouch wishes it were 1918. Not so we could be at war with the world again, not so Jim Crow laws could rule the South again, not so women couldn’t have the right to vote again; rather, so we could live in a pre-TV universe in which talking heads weren’t talking UNTIL THEIR HEADS EXPLODE.
Couch Slouch: In the spirit of the holiday season – and to augment the GOP tax bill’s attempts to put more money into all of our pockets – this entire column will be an expanded $1.25 Ask The Slouch Cash Giveaway.
Couch Slouch: Roger Goodell is the $500-million man. With NFL owners okaying his four-year, $200-million contract extension last week as Protector of the Shield, Goodell will cross the half-billion mark in earnings since becoming commissioner.
There are two documents that dominate American life in matters small and large – the Constitution and the two-point conversion chart. The former is fundamentally sound and widely revered if somewhat flawed; the latter is just flawed.
Nobody – including myself – wants to hear me weigh in on this national anthem business. But, during a misspent adolescence and an even more misspent post-adolescence watching untold, inconsequential sporting contests, it is possible I have heard “The Star-Spangled Banner” more often than any other individual born in the waning days of the Eisenhower administration.
My old friend and former colleague Michael Wilbon – we haven’t spoken in years, since he ascended to a higher social and professional stratosphere – used to often talk about how Washington, D.C., was a bad sports town and Chicago was a good sports town, and he’d go on and on and on about bad sports towns and good sports towns.
Like the rest of you – well, not the rest of you but those who don’t work and those who prefer to sleep in – I have been watching MLB’s postseason in the middle of the day and the middle of the night.
I am no longer invited to dinner parties, largely because sometime between the foie gras and the fried chicken, inevitably I launch into a tirade about taxpayer funding of stadiums, and, frankly, this was spoiling a lot of people’s appetites.
Tom Brady, in the midst of his involuntary month-long NFL sabbatical, is notorious for being a busy bee, so he has filled his idle moments by writing a journal. Because Couch Slouch has shown unwavering support for the 39-year-old Patriots quarterback during the entirely of the Deflategate debacle, he graciously agreed to share with us diary excerpts of one of his recent Bill Belichick-free Sundays.
Whether I’m at a coffee shop or the gun range or Pilates class, I always get the same two questions: 1. How come you’re so much better looking in person than on TV? 2. What’s wrong with college football?
Dos Equis retired its most interesting man in the world – and, yes, he was very, very interesting – and replaced him with an equally bearded, much younger, Spanish-speaking, MacGyver-like, maybe-as-interesting French guy.
Before unveiling this year’s NFL Team of Destiny – I understand that Team of Destiny announcement parties are all the rage at Big Ten and SEC frat houses – Couch Slouch would like to put in a good word or two about the historically inept New Orleans Saints.