FinsNation

Meet the New Nerdy White Dude, Same as the Old Nerdy White Dude

With Randy Mueller no longer around, reports have been surfacing everywhere that Bill Parcells is targeting Dallas Cowboys VP of Scouting, Jeff Ireland (awkward looking gent shown above) to take over the GM job for the Dolphins. Ireland is highly regarded around league circles as a dude who knows his shit when it comes to evaluating talent.

But the Herald's Armando Salguero confirms that Cowboys owner Michael Jackson Jerry Jones is a surgically enhanced douchebag of the highest order, saying that if Parcells wants Ireland, he may not be able to get him until after April's draft.

"Dallas owner Jerry Jones has said he would like to see Ireland 'advance himself,' as long as it doesn't affect the Cowboys before the coming draft."

What good would that do us then? What a Texas-sized asshole.

Reports have also said that Parcells wants Cowboys assistant head coach Tony Sparano (this guy. not this guy) to take over the Fins' head coaching job. Sparano could be interviewed as early as this week.

It's obvious Parcells is targeting his guys to come work for him. And that most of those guys are coming from Dallas. Jerry Jones is gonna shit. Yeehaww you rubber faced motherfucker!

Speaking of Dallas. Dallas is the name of Bill Parcells' daughter (she must be a stone fox!). Dallas is married to one VP of Player Personnel for the New England Patriots, Scott Pioli. Just throwin ' it out there.

**
Update [1:21PM]: Jay Glazer is reporting that Ireland is coming in tomorrow to interview for the GM spot.

The Muel Is Gone, Cam Probably Next

And so the purge begins...

As first reported on PFT last night, the Herald's Armando Salguero is now reporting that the decision has been made by Bill Parcells to can Randy Mueller. He could be gone by as early as today. Salguero also reports that Parcells has already told Wayne Huizenga that Cam Cameron will also be given the boot. The report says that Parcells has heard stories that Cam surfs the web too much, making sure his players are giving the right answers to specific questions on the team's official website. There have also been reports recently that some of Cam's decisions have been based on what he's read on the web from angry media and fans.

"Parcells told Huizenga he doesn't want a coach that is worried about blogs or website interviews. He wants a tough-minded, hard-driven football man who is more concerned with football than facade." (emphasis mine)

Looks like FinsNation.com is losing a reader this week. Damn. Fucking Parcells and his build-a-winner agenda! May your prize racehorses all contract anthrax and die and get turned into a batch of nation-wide recalled glue because it's glue laced with anthrax!

Asshole.

Shine On You Crazy Mormon

Cam Cameron is going to get fired. Not so much because he's an idiot. But because he refused the will of God. Cameron defiantly decided against starting John Beck against the Bengals in the final meaningless regular season game and, instead, started Cleo Lemon because he gave us the best chance to win (Ed. note: someone! get me a vomit bag!) So God had to intervene. He smote Lemon with a hip injury (Ed. note: like Jacob!) and opened the heavenly gates of stardom for Beck to come in and do his thing. Lemon goes down, Beck comes in. On the very first play, Beck fumbles the snap, allowing Cincinnati's Chinedum Ndukwe (Ed. note: spell check just took a shit!) to recover the ball and run it back for a 54 yard touchdown. I'm not gonna lie to you. After that play, I was ready to hop on the next plane to Iowa so I could find Mitt Romney and punch him in the nuts.

It seemed, for that brief moment, that perhaps The Mormon was going to go the way of Tim Couch. Another highly touted quarterback prospect who fumbles his way out of the league and then succumbs to the lure of steroids so he could continue to suck but at least be really buff and muscular while sucking. But Beck was able to recover from the devastating start. And the dude was able to lead the Fins to two touchdown drives the likes of which John Joseph Smith himself would be proud of if only he understood what football was. (Ed. note: perhaps if we showed him some clips of the Redskins or Chiefs).

Beck was able to finish the day 13 for 21, for 135 yards, two touchdowns and a 96.3 passer rating. He rushed for his first touchdown and threw his second to Derek Hagan (Ed. note: he caught it!). When Beck had his groove going, he demonstrated a killer quick-release and showed a lot of moxie when the team was in no-huddle mode. Sadly enough, it took an injury to Lemon for us all to see what we originally needed to see prior to this game anyway. Coming into this week, there were doubts about Beck. Let's face it, in his last few starts, he resembled the piss-boy more than he resembled the heir to the Marino throne. Now we at least have been reassured that Beck can play the quarterback position when he gets the help (Ed. note: thanks Lorenzo Booker!) and gets into a rhythm (Ed note.: thanks Ted Ginn!). Thanks to the fact that Cleo Lemon can't scramble worth dick, and was able to get banged up, Beck was able to come in so that we, and particularly Bill Parcells, could see that he is just fine and that if we build around him, The Mormon can be a successful quarterback for the Miami Dolphins. Go get em, John! And for Godsakes, stop fucking fumbling the ball!!! Rub your hands on your magical underwear before every game, would ya!

Update: Thanks to Brandon from Utah (surprisingly enough, NOT a Mormon) for the John/Joseph Smith correction. John Beck, Joseph Smith, Joseph Beck, John Smith...they're the same guy!

Dear Bill... Get Ocho Cinco

Hey there Big Tuna. Caught you watching the game from a luxury box today. Lookin good in your school bus yellow, blue striped Izod! Did you have a big pretzel? For my money, the big pretzel is the best thing you can have at Dolphin Stadium. It's toasty, it's salty (or cinnamony), it's filling and it's big. And it goes down nice with a Budweiser or Bud Light draft. Anything else is too expensive with very little filling. The wings? The fries? The pizza? Pfft. No thanks. Unless you're the kind of person that likes to fart rocks for the rest of the afternoon. Big pretzel, Bill. That's the way to go. Big pretzel.

Anyway, I also wanted to ask if you caught a glimpse of Chad Johnson (pictured above) today? He finished the afternoon with 131 yards and 2 touchdowns. He hails from down here. Went to North Miami Beach Senior. And cheered for the Miami Dolphins. He's also pretty good. In case you haven't noticed, we're seriously depleted in the 'pretty good' department down here.  Well, Chad has made no secret that he'd like to be a Dolphin. And that he would welcome a trade. Oh ... but ... you did say that you don't want any "hoodlums or thugs or problem children" down here. And that you're big on character guys.

Never mind, then. I guess I can see where you're coming from with that. I can see why you didn't want Terrel Owens when you were with Dallas last season. He's just like Randy Moss. And we can see what kind of shenanigans those two rabble-rousers have wrought down upon their respective teams this year. Tomfoolery!

Yea, so I guess we're fine with Ted Ginn, Justin Peele, Derek Hagan and Marty Booker. So ignore everything I just said. Except the part about the big pretzel. Trust me on that one.

A cold Coors Light (and a big pretzel!) to commenter Jerry O for the tip.

This Will All Be Over Soon...

 
So this is it. Final game of the clusterfuck that is and was the 2007 season. Anyone out there give a shit? I mean, really. Anyone? Other than the fact that this may or may not be Jason Taylor's last hurrah in a Dolphins uniform, there really isn't too much to get worked over about.

Fins Nation seems to be more abuzz with the arrival of Bill Parcells' foot (the one that will be keen on kicking some serious front-office ass in the coming weeks) than they are about the Bengals coming into town this Sunday. The Tuna -- yes, that's his nickname, let's just accept it -- hasn't said anything about what decisions are going to be made, but all indications are that Cam Cameron's days here are numbered. And don't think Cam doesn't know it. Why else would he be starting Cleo Lemon over The Mormon in the most meaningless game of the regular season? Because Cam is going down swinging. The Tunabomb is about to drop and he knows it. It's like Hitler's last days. Hunkered down in a bunker somewhere below the practice bubble, cradling a copy of "Fail Forward Fast" and telling Cleo and Trent that he'll love them both equally til the bitter end.

It's been a long, arduous journey, this 2007 season. And by "long" I mean "fucking." And by "arduous" I mean "shitty." One where we've learned a bitter truth about our Miami Dolphins. They suck, end of story. But hope has arrived in the shape of man-titties. And that, perhaps for the first time ever in the history of mankind, is a good thing. So, this Sunday, as you watch Cleo Lemon scramble around before getting sacked for a 12 yard loss, and as you watch Cam put on his best fart-face when trying to decide what to do during a 1st and Goal, and as you catch a glimpse of Levi Jones turning Joey Porter into his own personal hand puppet, just keep telling yourself, "This will all be over soon... this will all be over soon..."

Prediction: Dolphins 24 - Bengals 31
Parcell's Foot 48 - Dolphins Front office 3

Oh, and, Let's Go Giants!

Dear Cleo, So Long and Thanks For All The Suck!

Hi Cleo Lemon. Hello. How are you? Let me first just say, thanks for all the memories. It's been real. You had some decent games for us here and there over the last couple of seasons. Hell, you helped us avoid infamy by leading us to our first and only win this season. And that was sweet. Fantastic. Real nice. High five. C'mon... high five. Cool.

Now ... it's time for you to go. Mainly because you infuriate the shit out of me.

Clearly there's a depth perception problem you need to address as soon as possible. I mean, seriously dude. What the fuck? If you ever find yourself in a burning building and an hysterical mother pleads for someone to please save her baby and toss it down towards the fire fighter's safety net, politely decline and ask her to come up and do it herself. Because if you do it, the baby will end up in the sewer. Or a garbage can. Or the rooftop of a taxi cab. Or it may not make it out the window at all. You see where I'm going with this.

Also, there's your propensity for holding onto the football while you scramble backwards for 9 or 10 yards before the opposing defense overtakes you like an unstoppable swarm of angry bees. Remember that safety you took against the Bills a few weeks back? Yea. We can laugh about it now. But don't. Because it's not fucking funny. That play is who you are, my friend, in a nutshell. Then, of course, came Sunday's game against the Pats. Sure, they put up 28 quick points in the first half. But still. Our defense came out and pretty much jammed a yule log up Brady's ass and man-handled their offense in the second half. Dreamboat threw two interceptions and fumbled once. That's 3 turnovers from Mr. Can Do No Wrong. 3 balls Mr. Sean Salisbury's Wet Dream coughed up for you (woulda been 3 INTs had Randy I Fucking Loooove To Push-off Moss not held Jason Allen's arm.) Yet you did nothing with any of this.

And twice we had the ball at their 5. Twice. And how many points did we come out with during those two times? None. Zero. Zilch. In fact, one of those times you saw that your receivers were all covered and decided to run it in. That was a fantastic decision on your part! Well done! Good show, sir! Except that you stepped out of bounds at the one and failed to stretch the ball over the pile on. Who does that? Seriously, Lemon. Who the fuck does that? Who? I'll tell you who. The same fucking guy that waits to be sacked in his own endzone. He does that. Jesus you're a fucking moron. I won't even get into why you spiked the football on first and goal with 1:11 left in the first-half, except to say that when I saw you do that, I literally shit my pants.

So, fuck off Cleo Lemon. I hear Chicago loves to sign mediocre quarterbacks. So, have it.

* * *

-Side note to Greg Camarillo: Another TD, eh? The legend of the Golden God grows every week. We salute you, you magnificent  bastardo!

-And as for you Patriots fans who e-mailed me or left a comment saying we would lose 49-10, or 55-17, or 77 to 3, or Wes Welker 83 - Dolphins 13: First of all, Jesus Christ. Not a clever one among you. Not a one. Secondly, fuck you! You know, deep down in places you won't talk about at parties, you dread facing us. And our day is gonna come, assholes. Mark it down. Also, as has been stated here by a couple of badass commenters, if the Pats do finish 16-0 this season, they will not go all the way. 16-0 will pretty much guarantee a loss in the playoffs. Ooga-booga, motherfuckers. Karma is real. Take it from us. We know. Now go celebrate your 15-0 record by playing grab-ass or whatever it is you facking wicked queahs do.

-As for you, Jason Taylor: You are a man, sir. You are also an animal. You're a Manimal. Six tackles, and a sack. Once again you will have Tom Brady waking up in a state of delirium and fear for the next five days. They said you were done. They said you lost your passion and will to win. They said you just didn't care enough to play hard for the Dolphins. They can all go shit in each other's mouths. For you, once again, proved them all wrong. Awesomeness all around, my friend. Awesome and ness.

Weather Calls for 20% Percipitation, 100% Douchebaggyness

This week has been one big love-in for The Golden God and Man-Boobs. But now it's time to talk some football, which is a little unfortunate because I was rather enjoying all the good-vibes banter. But, it's back to the business of ass-kicking. And boy do we have ourselves a whopper of an ass to kick this week.

As I noted earlier this week, the NFL tipped their hand in showing just how much they love the Patriots and their so-far perfect season by moving this game -- which was originally scheduled for 1:00 EST -- to 4:00 EST. Roger Goodell was creaming his pants at the prospect of 14-0 facing off against 0-14. And don't give me that shit about flex games. Everyone knows the majority of Sunday's games are played at 1:00. The NFL wanted to get this shit on as many televisions as possible (ironically, their own network reaches only like 14 people nation-wide). But the Dolphins crashed the party by beating the Ravens last week. Again, fuck you NFL. I cannot state that more implicitly. Fuck. You. NFL.

So now it comes down to the lowly one-win Dolphins traveling to beautiful cold-ass-fuck-shit-wind-and-sleet-thank-Christ-I-live-in-Miami Foxboro to take their shot at ending the Patriots' perfecto and protecting the honor of the '72 Dolphins. Can it be done? Will it be done?

Well, this just in: The Patriots are a pretty good football team. Which is fine except that it's a team comprised of the biggest douchebags that have ever walked the face of the planet. Their quarterback is the biggest douche of em all. His name in Swahili litterally translates to: "He Who Is Lord of the Douches." It's true. I found it on Wikipedia. Not to mention their fans. Oh Jesus. Most hated fanbase in all of America. And mind you, this is a list that includes Philly fans, New York fans, Detroit fans, and the occasional Lakers fan. That's a mighty big achievement, Boston sports fans! Meh. They still don't get it.

As for the Dolphins... Winning changes everything. This team has adopted a new attitude and a new slogan for winning, as opposed to the most recent, but since discarded, slogan: We Suck Monkey Ass And It Shows!

Some fans are hoping the Fins can carry this momentum into Sunday and pull off the impossible. Hey, the Ravens almost did it and we just beat them! But the Dolphins are undermanned, still have issues in the secondary and are placing cardboard cut-outs in the middle linebacker position. They still have Cleo Lemon and they still have an aging defensive line. The odds are stacked against us like never before. Which means... no, they can't do it.

Unless, of course, they can.

Dolphins 24-Patriots 21

Because, fuck them.

Tuna Anyone?

 

When your franchise is drowning, don't throw them a life-preserver. Throw 'em some man-boobs!

Greg Camarillo saves our souls from ruin and suddenly the flood-gates of dewy goodness have opened up for us in abundance. The interwebs have been going apeshit all day Wednesday -- including here in the comments, totally robbing my comic strip comedy gold thunder. The reports were ongoing all day. "Bill Parcells is going to Atlanta." "No, he isn't, he's coming here." "What the fuck you talkin' bout Willis? No he ain't!" "I'm tellin' you he's coming here for fucksake!" And so on.

But Armando Salguero of the Miami Herald has finally, officially, indubitably, made it official: Bill Parcells is the new man in charge of football operations for your Miami Dolphins.

Holy. And shit.

Parcells has accepted a four-year deal with the Fins and will be The Big Cock in town. Which means Cam Cameron and Randy Mueller's job security have pretty much gone from eating a pound of Mylantas a day, to stomach blowing up John Hurt-style.

My initial reaction to this news was simple. I was quietly optimistic on the outside, tap dancing with arm twirls and jazz hands on the inside. My feelings were then summed up when my buddy Layne asked me about the whole thing. Yes that's his real name. Layne's a Patriots fan. He's also a complete douche.

Layne: Hey, did you hear the news about Parcells to the Dolphins?

Me: Yea. It’s just so serendipitous.

Layne: What’s serendipitous?

Me: You know. That we came this close to going 0-16 after having such a crappy off-season and things were looking so bleak and we’ve been the laughing stock of the NFL. Then, in the wink of an eye, we have a guy who’s known for turning bad teams around running our football ops.

Layne: No. I mean, what does serendipitous mean?

I've been leery of wanting Parcells as our head coach. His ornery guy act grew tiresome pretty quickly in Dallas. And the last thing we needed down here was another asshole yelling at reporters after every loss and making shit even more miserable than they already are. But as long as he's in the front-office, calling the shots with our drafts and off-season signings, and focusing solely on the on-field talent and scouting and nothing else -- then I am all for it. And I'm pretty damned excited about it.

Parcells is just what this organization needs. The Four Horsemen of the Crapocalypse (JJ, Dave, Spielman & Saban) sprayed their diarrhea all over this franchise, leaving us all with no place to take a shit in peace (wow that metaphor just took a life of its own). Now Parcells is here to not only clean up their mess, but completely tear down and build back up.

That number one overall pick in April just went from "Oh shit, how are they gonna fuck this one up?" status, to ... "Oh shit, what magic will Parcells pull out of his ass with this one?" status.

Behold the power of the man-boobs.

By the way, I'm on vacation, which explains why I haven't posted anything til now. Got a shitload of e-mails asking me where I'm at when the news broke. Got one that asked me if I was dead. Thank you, sir, for your concern. (Keep bringing the updates in the comments. You guys have been bringing it strong to the hoop all season, especially yesterday).

Also, KSK has a great take on this story.

JT Makes The Pro Bowl

You see this man? He has balls of steel. Sure he's had an up and down season. But when the steelness of his balls kick in, he can dominate and win games all by himself. So perhaps they just needed a little oiling up. Witness the field goal block against the Ravens Sunday (above). JT doesn't block that kick, we're walking around our apartment in our boxers with a noose tied around our neck and bloodshot eyes from all the Jack that needed consuming to numb the pain. But that is not the case. JT blocked the kick, the Fins ended up winning the game. All is right in the Universe.

So for his reward, JT is going back to the Pro Bowl! It's his and his balls' sixth trip to Hawaii (2000, 02, 04, 05, 06, 07). Woot!

Also, as a side note: Remember the fantasy league SporTech's JD invited some of us to join? Remember all the flak I took for drafting Jason Taylor too high? How I was gay for Jason Taylor? How I had a man-crush on Jason Taylor? How I dreamed about Jason Taylor loofahing my back in the shower?  Yea... Well, his 19 points over the weekend helped me kick some serious dorky ass and catapulted me into the SporTech Fantasy League Super Bowl!!!

Suck on that naysayers! Doom indeed!

So, to re-cap -- Jason Taylor: Balls of steel. Handsomest man I've ever laid my eyes on.

The '72 Dolphins Came Along, And They Brought Motivation With Them

"We're the 1972 Miami Dolphins! Hurumph! Hurumph! Hurumph!"

Lost in all the Greg Camarillo: Golden God! madness yesterday was the fact that the living members of the 1972 Dolphins were at the game Sunday. The team was honored at halftime and had been hanging around Dolphins facilities all week, watching practices and telling reporters, trainers, the audio/video guys, the guy who's responsible for draining the jelly out of all dozen of Keith Traylor's jelly-donuts, and anybody else who’d listen, that Wayne Huizenga shouldn’t sell the team. Some have credited their presence with the big win over Baltimore. But I think the Fins’ finally winning a game had less to do with Perfect Season mystique and more to do with creepy old dudes popping up in the middle of a two-minute drill session, annoying the shit out of the players and babbling endlessly about why Mr. Huizenger is such a terrific guy. This is where the motivation came from. What current player wanted to hear a bunch of pruney old douchebags ceaselessly reminding them what a shitty team they were and that the ’72 team could beat them if they played right now? Jason Taylor went so far as to promise Coach Shula that they would beat Baltimore.

"Jason Taylor promised legendary coach Don Shula that Sunday would be the day the Dolphins avoided a different kind of milestone than the one the undefeated 1972 Dolphins celebrated at halftime."

Sounds great on paper when you read it. But I think JT’s tone was probably more like yours and mine when our grandmother bitches at us about not calling her enough.

I’m sure there were plenty of moments during the past week when Dick Anderson would appear out of nowhere and just start berating Lance Schulters for no specific reason and calling him a ‘buttercup’ and a ‘daffodil.’ And you gotta love that shit. How can you not? Those ’72 guys are old school. The kind of guys that used to train with Charles Atlas and box kangaroos. Anderson is like 108 years old. But I bet he can still lift a sack of potatoes right over his head, just like in the old days.

Anyway, the '72 Dolphins are the tits.