Ah, congratulations to the Baby Horses, for prevailing over a team with the equivalent of a high-school junior varsity starting quarterback. Not the most awesomest display of prowess, from either team, on either side of the ball, but at least we can put the whole Peyton Manning is a Big Fat Choker angle to rest now, and find something else equally pointless and ridiculous to chatter incessantly about.

Maybe it was my fault for dozing off, but it seemed like, yet again, there were a decided lack of those awesome Super Bowl commercials that we hear so much about, that millions of non-football fans tune in to see, because it is the Super Bowl and since ancient times it was deemed that the most awesomest commercials in the history of awesome commercials are aired then.

All I can remember of late, though, is everyone complaining afterwards that the commercials, in fact, suck big ones. Come to think of it, it seems like that’s been the case for many a year, causing me to wonder where exactly this notion of awesome commercials came from, if the reality is the sucking of big ones, year after year after year.

Mass hypnosis? A plot by the monkey robot overlords to lull us into a false sense of security right before they spring their dastardly trap? Hmm…

So here, for your viewing pleasure, is the video they wouldn’t show at Cannes — Legalize Dem, our own tribute to Ricky, Onterrio, Ramonce, and all the other ganja loving footballers out there. Rastafari!

As you will see:

Oscar Wilde wrote a novel called The Picture of Dorian Gray in which a soulless pretty boy keeps a portrait of himself in his attic. The trick is is that the soulless pretty boy does not age; his portrait does. So that, by the end of the book, he looks the same as he did years before, and the painting is now of a decrepit, disfigured old man.

Barry Bonds is a soulless less-than-pretty boy who keeps a copy of his 1987 Fleer rookie card in his attic that has withered so much in the past 20 years as to make Barry resemble Sammy Davis Jr’s less-muscular, less-physically able cousin.

Oscar Wilde was sleeping with someone, not his wife, who screwed him over by talking him into suing that guy who said he was gay. (That guy was the lover’s father.)

Barry Bonds was sleeping with someone, not his wife, who screwed him over by talking to those guys who wrote that book.

Oscar Wilde was a great, great writer. Dorian Gray is pretty great; Salome is moving; and there are few
things in the English language funnier than The Importance of Being Earnest.

Barry Bonds was a great, great baseball player. He had speed. He had power. He could hit for average. He could draw walks. He could play defense. He could throw (Sid Bream notwithstanding.) He won the National League MVP three times before the whole injecting-himself-with-horse-plasma stuff started.

So, there ya go. Oscar Wilde and Barry Bonds are nigh unto indistinguishable. Please stay tuned for the next edition of oddSnark’s Comparisons of Late-Victorian Gay Literary Rock Stars and Contemporary Athletes in which we show you how Robert Louis Stephenson and Tony Siragusa are pretty much the same guys.

If you’re not into tracking meaningless fights between mediocre fighters, you might be unaware that John “The Quiet Man” Ruiz will be taking on Nicolay Valuev, aka the Beast From The East, this Saturday in Germany. As you might have guessed from the name, Valuev’s Russian, and that’s about all most fight fans in the US know about the guy.

He didn’t cross my radar until he beat Clifford “The Black Rhino” Etienne back in May. (If you like your boxers criminal and you’re not familiar with Etienne, that’s too bad — he’s pure thug.* Imagine Tyson with a third of the boxing skills and three times the crazy.) But I digress.

Here’s a picture from the Valuev-Etienne fight:

Good luck, Quiet Man. Remember, you’re the better boxer. Keep your hands HIGH and show his knees no mercy.

*Not all black rhinos are thugs. oddsnark does not endorse punching rhinos (the punching of rhinos, that is — a punching rhino would be cool). Anyhoo, we like rhinos. Support the rhinos.

Irvin claims that the pipe belonged to an unnamed friend of 17 years who left a Houston rehab center and came to Irvin’s house in Carrollton for Thanksgiving. Not wanting the pipe in his house (cause yo’, drugs are bad), Irvin said he planned to drive somewhere the next day and throw the pipe away but forgot.

And why was Irvin inviting a friend with a crack pipe into his home for Thanksgiving in the first place?

“I know the type of demons they have to fight and I am going to help them, because it’s the only way I can keep them from getting to my family. I have to clean up my friends because they are around my boys. It’s upsetting.”

Ahh, now I see. So you’re just trying to protect your family, which is why you were speeding, with a crack pipe in the car, along with an outstanding warrant for your arrest for a previous speeding ticket you never bothered to pay. It was all for your boys. Gotcha.

(Damn, Mike, that is one fine suit.)