Fins Nation: A Miami Dolphins Blog With Dick Jokes

Favre, Marino: Gunslingers

 

As most of you regulars here at FN have probably already figured out, I am a huge Dan Marino fan. I love Dan Marino in a way that can only be described by some in the medical field as "obsessive," or as my girl would put it, "creepy." When old men talk about their childhood heroes like a Micky Mantle or a Joe DiMaggio or a Jim Brown with awe and reverence, that's me years from now rambling to my grandkids about Marino as they pretend to listen and care, while they take all the loose change from my pants and false teeth from my night table because they think it's so hilarious. Damn little punks!

Marino is my hero. He defined my childhood. I grew up playing sandlot football on Saturday afternoons, imagining I was him and watched him work his magic on Sundays while crying every single time his teammates failed to help him get to and win a Super Bowl. Every time I met with a challenge in life, I imagined how Marino would handle it, and it would get me through. The man was simply amazing. And simply the best. (See? Creepy)

So when his TD record falls to Brett Favre this Sunday, I might just weep. Because Marino deserves better. But such is life. Anyway, I pass you along to this outstanding piece by ESPN's Len Pasquerelli -- a man I usually abhor because, most of the time, he comes across as a pompous know-it-all dick. But today's piece just won him some Dude points. Which isn't a gay thing or anything. It's just my way of saying, "Maybe you're not so bad, you fat self-important bastard. Maybe you're just awright with me."

"...In Favre, there was the same self-assuredness I had witnessed in Marino from his days at St. Regis to Pittsburgh's Central Catholic High School (my beloved prep alma mater) to the University of Pittsburgh, then to the Dolphins. Favre and Marino shared the kind of inherent moxie that, combined with their talent, eventually allowed them to assault the NFL record book.

Both were, obviously, leaders. And on the football field, they were risk-takers, throwbacks to a time before dink-and-dunk passing paradigms. They were strong-armed quarterbacks for whom the term "West Coast offense" meant that, well, you could just about heave the ball from one coast to the other."

Ode to a couple of NFL gun-slingers

 

Favre, Marino: Gunslingers

 

As most of you regulars here at FN have probably already figured out, I am a huge Dan Marino fan. I love Dan Marino in a way that can only be described by some in the medical field as "obsessive," or as my girl would put it, "creepy." When old men talk about their childhood heroes like a Micky Mantle or a Joe DiMaggio or a Jim Brown with awe and reverence, that's me years from now rambling to my grandkids about Marino as they pretend to listen and care, while they take all the loose change from my pants and false teeth from my night table because they think it's so hilarious. Damn little punks!

Marino is my hero. He defined my childhood. I grew up playing sandlot football on Saturday afternoons, imagining I was him and watched him work his magic on Sundays while crying every single time his teammates failed to help him get to and win a Super Bowl. Every time I met with a challenge in life, I imagined how Marino would handle it, and it would get me through. The man was simply amazing. And simply the best. (See? Creepy)

So when his TD record falls to Brett Favre this Sunday, I might just weep. Because Marino deserves better. But such is life. Anyway, I pass you along to this outstanding piece by ESPN's Len Pasquerelli -- a man I usually abhor because, most of the time, he comes across as a pompous know-it-all dick. But today's piece just won him some Dude points. Which isn't a gay thing or anything. It's just my way of saying, "Maybe you're not so bad, you fat self-important bastard. Maybe you're just awright with me."

"...In Favre, there was the same self-assuredness I had witnessed in Marino from his days at St. Regis to Pittsburgh's Central Catholic High School (my beloved prep alma mater) to the University of Pittsburgh, then to the Dolphins. Favre and Marino shared the kind of inherent moxie that, combined with their talent, eventually allowed them to assault the NFL record book.

Both were, obviously, leaders. And on the football field, they were risk-takers, throwbacks to a time before dink-and-dunk passing paradigms. They were strong-armed quarterbacks for whom the term "West Coast offense" meant that, well, you could just about heave the ball from one coast to the other."

Ode to a couple of NFL gun-slingers

 

What in the Wide, Wide World of Sports is going on round here???

My first ever Dolphins experience in Dolphin Stadium (then referred to as Joe Robbie, or The Joe, or The House of Pain) was against the Oakland Raiders. I had caught the Fins in action as a child in the Orange Bowl (referred to as The Place Where You're Standing Way The Hell Too Close To The Other Dude In The Urinals) but this was the first time I'd stepped into the new place. It was going to be a magical time. This was going to be a real NFL experience with a big ass stadium filled with thousands of fans. It was going to be like the Orange Bowl but bigger and without the $5 parking in some old Cuban lady's house and the constant fly overs of commercial (as well as gun-runners and drug dealer) airplanes coming to and from MIA.

But the experienced was ruined. Or, as my buddy Crabtree from the Midwest likes to say, "runed."

The Raiders had Jeff Hostelter at quarterback back then. Remember that guy? How is it that we live in a world where that guy gets to retire with a Super Bowl ring and the Great One gets stuck playing with Aubrey Beavers and Sammy Smith? Fuck and fuck.

Anyway, the experience was almost ruined by this one Raider fan broad who would constantly shout in a drunken stupor, "Come on Hoss!!! Come on Hoss!!!" All. God-damned. Motherloving. Day. "Was she hot?" you may be asking yourself as you read this and sip your mid-morning coffee. And I'd say to you, dear reader: Shit and No. She was as white-trash as they come, complete with pot belly, two chins, unwashed hair -- with highlights -- and jean shorts! I'm not sure if she was actually from Oakland but, if you've ever been to Oakland you'd know, the odds are very well stacked in the favor of a "why yes she was."

The Dolphins were down most of the game and our defense was once again bending over and taking it like a dude at a prostrate exam. So we had to hear more of, "Come on Hoss!!! Come on Hoss!!!"

Of course, in the end, our hero came through. Dan Marino had one of his patented 4th quarter comebacks -- you know, the kind that Brett Favre apparently does every week and even in the off-season, which you obviously know since you have a TV and Internet and therefore have seen ESPN, FOX Sports, Peter King and John Madden. Number 13 led the Fins to sweet victory, silencing the dragon lady and her beer stained Bo Jackson jersey in the process. To cap it off, Hostetler and his 70's porn star mustache threw a pick to seal the game, which of course prompted our whole entire section to shout ... well, you know.

So here we are, many a year later. Raiders at Dolphins. No Marino and no Hoss. Both the Fins and the Raiders suck, Marino's TD record is about to fall, and Zach Thomas may or may not play because his brain is bruised. Meanwhile, Daunte Culpepper returns to Miami to show us just how shitty we'd really be had he stayed (shittier than 0-3? Why yes!) and the Joey Porter Korean Android has shown to have a glitch in its hard drive because now it's going around guaranteeing wins.

It's a strange world, indeed. A world gone mad. A world where Jeff Hostetler wins Super Bowls, Dan Marino gets hosed again, two once proud NFL franchises suck ass and good folks like you and I have to suffer the indignity of it all.

My advice, go watch a movie this Sunday. 3:10 To Yuma was exceptionally awesome.

And ... go fins....

 

What in the Wide, Wide World of Sports is going on round here???

My first ever Dolphins experience in Dolphin Stadium (then referred to as Joe Robbie, or The Joe, or The House of Pain) was against the Oakland Raiders. I had caught the Fins in action as a child in the Orange Bowl (referred to as The Place Where You're Standing Way The Hell Too Close To The Other Dude In The Urinals) but this was the first time I'd stepped into the new place. It was going to be a magical time. This was going to be a real NFL experience with a big ass stadium filled with thousands of fans. It was going to be like the Orange Bowl but bigger and without the $5 parking in some old Cuban lady's house and the constant fly overs of commercial (as well as gun-runners and drug dealer) airplanes coming to and from MIA.

But the experienced was ruined. Or, as my buddy Crabtree from the Midwest likes to say, "runed."

The Raiders had Jeff Hostelter at quarterback back then. Remember that guy? How is it that we live in a world where that guy gets to retire with a Super Bowl ring and the Great One gets stuck playing with Aubrey Beavers and Sammy Smith? Fuck and fuck.

Anyway, the experience was almost ruined by this one Raider fan broad who would constantly shout in a drunken stupor, "Come on Hoss!!! Come on Hoss!!!" All. God-damned. Motherloving. Day. "Was she hot?" you may be asking yourself as you read this and sip your mid-morning coffee. And I'd say to you, dear reader: Shit and No. She was as white-trash as they come, complete with pot belly, two chins, unwashed hair -- with highlights -- and jean shorts! I'm not sure if she was actually from Oakland but, if you've ever been to Oakland you'd know, the odds are very well stacked in the favor of a "why yes she was."

The Dolphins were down most of the game and our defense was once again bending over and taking it like a dude at a prostrate exam. So we had to hear more of, "Come on Hoss!!! Come on Hoss!!!"

Of course, in the end, our hero came through. Dan Marino had one of his patented 4th quarter comebacks -- you know, the kind that Brett Favre apparently does every week and even in the off-season, which you obviously know since you have a TV and Internet and therefore have seen ESPN, FOX Sports, Peter King and John Madden. Number 13 led the Fins to sweet victory, silencing the dragon lady and her beer stained Bo Jackson jersey in the process. To cap it off, Hostetler and his 70's porn star mustache threw a pick to seal the game, which of course prompted our whole entire section to shout ... well, you know.

So here we are, many a year later. Raiders at Dolphins. No Marino and no Hoss. Both the Fins and the Raiders suck, Marino's TD record is about to fall, and Zach Thomas may or may not play because his brain is bruised. Meanwhile, Daunte Culpepper returns to Miami to show us just how shitty we'd really be had he stayed (shittier than 0-3? Why yes!) and the Joey Porter Korean Android has shown to have a glitch in its hard drive because now it's going around guaranteeing wins.

It's a strange world, indeed. A world gone mad. A world where Jeff Hostetler wins Super Bowls, Dan Marino gets hosed again, two once proud NFL franchises suck ass and good folks like you and I have to suffer the indignity of it all.

My advice, go watch a movie this Sunday. 3:10 To Yuma was exceptionally awesome.

And ... go fins....

 

Should 54 Call it a Career?

Time to face up to a tough question. Should Zach Thomas hang up his over-sized helmet and call it a career?

Former Herald beat-writer Alex Marvez thinks so.

Thomas missed last Sunday's 31-28 loss to the New York Jets after suffering what is classified as a minor concussion from the previous game against Dallas. Dolphins coach Cam Cameron sounds optimistic that Thomas will receive clearance to play in Sunday's matchup against Oakland.

Still, maybe Thomas shouldn't return � ever � even if he passes a litany of tests.

Commendably, Thomas was always candid and insightful during my eight seasons as a Dolphins beat reporter. But his eyes were sometimes glazed and speech slower in the aftermath of a major head blow.

It's a tough question, no doubt. Zach is 34 years old and he's played his career at full throttle -- every down, every play, going after every player like a heat-seeking missile. And concussions are serious business. But as good as Channing Crowder (apparently) was last week, playing in Thomas' slot, it was pretty damn obvious Zach was missed. I'd hate to see Zach walk away. I'd hate to see my Dolphins devoid of yet another face-of-the-franchise-who-retires-without-a-ring. But I'd be equally upset about seeing Zach, 7 to 10 years from now, drooling at the side of his mouth and greeting every one he sees with a "Hello Betty!" That would be far worse. And the Dolphins' all-time leading tackler has enough money to buy the Dolphins (hey, wait a minute!), so it's not like he needs to keep playing to pay the bills or put his kids through college.

Still, no one takes care of himself better than Thomas. And he's not stupid. He knows the deal and I think he knows that when his body -- or in this case, his brain -- tells him to quit, he'll listen and obey. Plus, the guy doesn't play for Bill Belichick, who makes dudes play with partial brain-damage because, fuck you, I'm the Homeless Genius and I have 158 rings and sleep with married women so you'll do what I say and like it! Zach is a physical specimen and treats himself as such by taking extra care of himself and his body.

As an undersized 1996 fifth-round draft choice, Thomas has always sought an edge in physical and mental preparation. He purchased a hyperbaric chamber for accelerated healing from injuries and had blood analysis done to design an optimal diet for athletic performance. Plus, no Dolphins player spends more time analyzing game film.

In a related story, yesterday I had one of those Jimmy Dean chocolate chip cookie dough pancakes wrapped around a sausage for breakfast and two Double Bacon Whopper with cheese meals and fries for lunch. For dinner, tacos! But I had a Diet Coke, so it was all balanced out.

Should 54 Call it a Career?

Time to face up to a tough question. Should Zach Thomas hang up his over-sized helmet and call it a career?

Former Herald beat-writer Alex Marvez thinks so.

Thomas missed last Sunday's 31-28 loss to the New York Jets after suffering what is classified as a minor concussion from the previous game against Dallas. Dolphins coach Cam Cameron sounds optimistic that Thomas will receive clearance to play in Sunday's matchup against Oakland.

Still, maybe Thomas shouldn't return — ever — even if he passes a litany of tests.

Commendably, Thomas was always candid and insightful during my eight seasons as a Dolphins beat reporter. But his eyes were sometimes glazed and speech slower in the aftermath of a major head blow.

It's a tough question, no doubt. Zach is 34 years old and he's played his career at full throttle -- every down, every play, going after every player like a heat-seeking missile. And concussions are serious business. But as good as Channing Crowder (apparently) was last week, playing in Thomas' slot, it was pretty damn obvious Zach was missed. I'd hate to see Zach walk away. I'd hate to see my Dolphins devoid of yet another face-of-the-franchise-who-retires-without-a-ring. But I'd be equally upset about seeing Zach, 7 to 10 years from now, drooling at the side of his mouth and greeting every one he sees with a "Hello Betty!" That would be far worse. And the Dolphins' all-time leading tackler has enough money to buy the Dolphins (hey, wait a minute!), so it's not like he needs to keep playing to pay the bills or put his kids through college.

Still, no one takes care of himself better than Thomas. And he's not stupid. He knows the deal and I think he knows that when his body -- or in this case, his brain -- tells him to quit, he'll listen and obey. Plus, the guy doesn't play for Bill Belichick, who makes dudes play with partial brain-damage because, fuck you, I'm the Homeless Genius and I have 158 rings and sleep with married women so you'll do what I say and like it! Zach is a physical specimen and treats himself as such by taking extra care of himself and his body.

As an undersized 1996 fifth-round draft choice, Thomas has always sought an edge in physical and mental preparation. He purchased a hyperbaric chamber for accelerated healing from injuries and had blood analysis done to design an optimal diet for athletic performance. Plus, no Dolphins player spends more time analyzing game film.

In a related story, yesterday I had one of those Jimmy Dean chocolate chip cookie dough pancakes wrapped around a sausage for breakfast and two Double Bacon Whopper with cheese meals and fries for lunch. For dinner, tacos! But I had a Diet Coke, so it was all balanced out.

On Location FN Report: Roro Hits New York

Well, here it is. Roro Kid hit Giants Stadium this past Sunday for the Jets-Dolphins debacle and filed this special on-location FN report (with pics and jokes!). Enjoy:

Wow.

I sometimes drunkenly boast to my friends that I�m likely the only person they�ve ever met that has thrown a football to a real life dolphin.  Not Mandich or Marino, but some distant relative of Snowflake (or at least I like to pretend) during a trip to the Miami Seaquarium when I was just about 9 years old.  That dolphin caught nearly every goddamn pass I threw at that crazy fucker.  It was uncanny and probably one of the more impressive things I�d seen up until that point in time. That kinda sealed the whole �which-NFL-team-should-I-root-for� question. 

This season I�m kinda hoping for some Quantum Leap-ish ability to go back in time and steal that goddamn football from myself and punt it as far as I can.  I can�t tell you how fuckin� SICK I felt watching that game from the rather sweet seats we�ve sat in these past two seasons via some very nice Jets fans (they still make us pay a hefty monetary and psychological ransom for this privilege, natch).  In fact, I�ll confess that I did something I have NEVER done before:  I left early.  With a 6am wake up call for an equity research conference the next morning, I figured I�d had enough.  Again, I have never done this.  Not even during the most boring Marlins loss so you can imagine how bad this must have been to watch.  I felt like ESPN.com�s Gregg Easterbrook writing �Game Over� in his cocky, pretentious notebook over and over and over again ad nauseum the second CHAD FUCKING PENNINGTON managed to out-scramble our supposedly stout defense and score a RUSHING touchdown.  That was it for me.  I got up, thanked the Jets boys that own the tickets (his family�s had them since they were at Shea), shook their hands and got the fuck out of there.  Terrible. 
On to the pics:

More>>

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On Location FN Report: Roro Hits New York

Well, here it is. Roro Kid hit Giants Stadium this past Sunday for the Jets-Dolphins debacle and filed this special on-location FN report (with pics and jokes!). Enjoy:

Wow.

I sometimes drunkenly boast to my friends that I’m likely the only person they’ve ever met that has thrown a football to a real life dolphin.  Not Mandich or Marino, but some distant relative of Snowflake (or at least I like to pretend) during a trip to the Miami Seaquarium when I was just about 9 years old.  That dolphin caught nearly every goddamn pass I threw at that crazy fucker.  It was uncanny and probably one of the more impressive things I’d seen up until that point in time. That kinda sealed the whole ‘which-NFL-team-should-I-root-for’ question. 

This season I’m kinda hoping for some Quantum Leap-ish ability to go back in time and steal that goddamn football from myself and punt it as far as I can.  I can’t tell you how fuckin’ SICK I felt watching that game from the rather sweet seats we’ve sat in these past two seasons via some very nice Jets fans (they still make us pay a hefty monetary and psychological ransom for this privilege, natch).  In fact, I’ll confess that I did something I have NEVER done before:  I left early.  With a 6am wake up call for an equity research conference the next morning, I figured I’d had enough.  Again, I have never done this.  Not even during the most boring Marlins loss so you can imagine how bad this must have been to watch.  I felt like ESPN.com’s Gregg Easterbrook writing ‘Game Over’ in his cocky, pretentious notebook over and over and over again ad nauseum the second CHAD FUCKING PENNINGTON managed to out-scramble our supposedly stout defense and score a RUSHING touchdown.  That was it for me.  I got up, thanked the Jets boys that own the tickets (his family’s had them since they were at Shea), shook their hands and got the fuck out of there.  Terrible. 
On to the pics:

More>>

o
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1-15? My Balls say Yes!

WARNING: ANGRY RANT AHEAD...

A few years ago, my nephew Jonathan and I were playing catch with his football out in the backyard of his East Hartford, Connecticut home. My big brother and his family live up there. My brother has always had a fascination with inflating things to their maximum capacity. As kids, any time we'd get a beach ball or a soccer ball from our grandfather, it would last about 23 minutes before exploding after nipping the corner of the coffee table in our living room. So my nephew's football felt like it had been dipped in iron thanks to my brother, the Mad Inflater. It was Thanksgiving, so there was a chill in the air and foliage on the ground. My nephew was at that awkward age in life when a young boy starts to become a man. His voice changes, he gets hair where there was once none and he starts noticing tits. He also got a lot stronger than when he was just a little goofball. So my little nephew, who was now in the throws of becoming a man-child, chucked his rock-hard football at me with all his might. Because I asked him to. "Gimme some heat," I said. Well, the football came, my friends. And it came with a vengeance. It also came low, since it weighed about as much as a fire hydrant. It crashed threw my icy numb fingers and landed directly on my groin, point-first. Needless to say, that shit hurt like I was giving birth to a baby rhino. Good thing it was cold too. I required no ice for my balls but the pain lingered for the entire weekend into New Years. It was a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend. I bring up this heart warming family holiday story as an anecdote to illustrate how, after yesterday's game, I felt as if the Dolphins had just heaved a rock-hard football at my testicles in the dead of winter.

As I woke from my Hennigan's induced haze this morning, it occurred to me. We could conceivably finish the season 1-15. Not hard to figure, even when you're hungover. I predicted a Dolphins loss this weekend because it doesn't take Jimmy the Greek to figure it out. We can't stop the run, Jason Taylor has been completely emasculated and the Joey Porter Korean android finished the day with a measly 3 tackles, 0 sacks, and 0 interceptions.

The Dolphins averaged 7.1 yards per play to the Jets 4.2, and still lost. Seeing Ronnie Brown shred the New York defense for 211 total yards was great, and it was what we've all been calling for. And Trent Green had another solid performance stats-wise. But let's not fool ourselves. The Jets defense is among the worst in the NFL. So we need to temper our enthusiasm. Travis Daniels gave up a second TD in as many games, proving once again that no man can pick talent quite like the incomprable Nick Saban. And Andre Goodman was let go by the Lions, so no further analysis needed there.

Top to bottom, this is a horrible team. I got a lot of flack for my "negative" writings and predictions during the pre-season. What you gotta say now, Mr. Rourke? Because it's no longer "Smiles everyone! Smiles!" We may be at the ass-end of suckville, but I didn't drive us here. I don't write "negative" stuff just for the sake of doing it. I'm not a pessimist. I'm a realist. And the reality is the Fins are among the worst teams in the NFL right now. Now, we're staring at an 0-3 season with an aging defense and an offense that has maybe one good player. Ronnie Brown. That's it. Stop telling me Chris Chambers is a number one receiver. HE'S NOT!!!!

The Dolphins are 0-3 along with the Atlanta Falcons and St. Louis Rams (ed. note: and Saints). We're headed straight for another top 5 or even top 3 draft pick. And as the rest of the schedule looms, there simply isn't one game I can look at and say, "oh yea, we should win this one!" Not a single one. We could conceivably end the season with 1 win. One. Uno. The playoffs are no longer a possibility (as if they ever were) and players don't magically get better with age. If I knew we were going to suck this bad, I never would've endorsed us picking Brady Quinn or even John Beck last April, since Brian Brohm will be there for the taking. (ed. note: No, I don't want us to draft Brohm. We have Beck. I like Beck. You can stop sending the e-mails now.)

Still with me? You're a trooper and a masochist. That's why you and I are like this (pointing to my eyes with two fingers, then pointing at you with two fingers, over and over again)  Okay ... Let's take a look at the remaining schedule and see how things just may roll out:

The Raiders: They have both a better defense and a better overall offense.
The Texans: They almost beat the Colts this week and they have a real quarterback. And if Andre Johnson is back for that game, his fantasy owners are going to have a collective orgasm.
The Browns: Their defense stinks but they're offense features two play-making receivers in Braylon Edwards and Kellen "I'm a Soldier" Winslow.
The Patriots: Ha.
The Giants: Again, crappy defense but an offense our defense has no chance of stopping.
Buffalo: Ok, we might have a shot to win this one. Oohhh... we can beat Buffalo! Get the parade route on Brickell Avenue ready.
Philly: They have a white guy that can outrun our entire team. How sad is that?
Pittsburgh: We might have a less-gay football team, but they'll kick our ass all over Yinzer town.
Jets: See Dolphins Week 3 results
Buffalo: In December?
Ravens: Our offense has no chance against their D.
Pats: Only if they're resting their best players... and even then they'll beat the shit out of us.
Bengals: Um...no.

So ... top 3 pick here we come. Oh, and speaking of, Ted Ginn Jr. had 1 catch for 15 yards yesterday.

My balls thank you, Miami Dolphins.

pp

1-15? My Balls say Yes!

WARNING: ANGRY RANT AHEAD...

A few years ago, my nephew Jonathan and I were playing catch with his football out in the backyard of his East Hartford, Connecticut home. My big brother and his family live up there. My brother has always had a fascination with inflating things to their maximum capacity. As kids, any time we'd get a beach ball or a soccer ball from our grandfather, it would last about 23 minutes before exploding after nipping the corner of the coffee table in our living room. So my nephew's football felt like it had been dipped in iron thanks to my brother, the Mad Inflater. It was Thanksgiving, so there was a chill in the air and foliage on the ground. My nephew was at that awkward age in life when a young boy starts to become a man. His voice changes, he gets hair where there was once none and he starts noticing tits. He also got a lot stronger than when he was just a little goofball. So my little nephew, who was now in the throws of becoming a man-child, chucked his rock-hard football at me with all his might. Because I asked him to. "Gimme some heat," I said. Well, the football came, my friends. And it came with a vengeance. It also came low, since it weighed about as much as a fire hydrant. It crashed threw my icy numb fingers and landed directly on my groin, point-first. Needless to say, that shit hurt like I was giving birth to a baby rhino. Good thing it was cold too. I required no ice for my balls but the pain lingered for the entire weekend into New Years. It was a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend. I bring up this heart warming family holiday story as an anecdote to illustrate how, after yesterday's game, I felt as if the Dolphins had just heaved a rock-hard football at my testicles in the dead of winter.

As I woke from my Hennigan's induced haze this morning, it occurred to me. We could conceivably finish the season 1-15. Not hard to figure, even when you're hungover. I predicted a Dolphins loss this weekend because it doesn't take Jimmy the Greek to figure it out. We can't stop the run, Jason Taylor has been completely emasculated and the Joey Porter Korean android finished the day with a measly 3 tackles, 0 sacks, and 0 interceptions.

The Dolphins averaged 7.1 yards per play to the Jets 4.2, and still lost. Seeing Ronnie Brown shred the New York defense for 211 total yards was great, and it was what we've all been calling for. And Trent Green had another solid performance stats-wise. But let's not fool ourselves. The Jets defense is among the worst in the NFL. So we need to temper our enthusiasm. Travis Daniels gave up a second TD in as many games, proving once again that no man can pick talent quite like the incomprable Nick Saban. And Andre Goodman was let go by the Lions, so no further analysis needed there.

Top to bottom, this is a horrible team. I got a lot of flack for my "negative" writings and predictions during the pre-season. What you gotta say now, Mr. Rourke? Because it's no longer "Smiles everyone! Smiles!" We may be at the ass-end of suckville, but I didn't drive us here. I don't write "negative" stuff just for the sake of doing it. I'm not a pessimist. I'm a realist. And the reality is the Fins are among the worst teams in the NFL right now. Now, we're staring at an 0-3 season with an aging defense and an offense that has maybe one good player. Ronnie Brown. That's it. Stop telling me Chris Chambers is a number one receiver. HE'S NOT!!!!

The Dolphins are 0-3 along with the Atlanta Falcons and St. Louis Rams (ed. note: and Saints). We're headed straight for another top 5 or even top 3 draft pick. And as the rest of the schedule looms, there simply isn't one game I can look at and say, "oh yea, we should win this one!" Not a single one. We could conceivably end the season with 1 win. One. Uno. The playoffs are no longer a possibility (as if they ever were) and players don't magically get better with age. If I knew we were going to suck this bad, I never would've endorsed us picking Brady Quinn or even John Beck last April, since Brian Brohm will be there for the taking. (ed. note: No, I don't want us to draft Brohm. We have Beck. I like Beck. You can stop sending the e-mails now.)

Still with me? You're a trooper and a masochist. That's why you and I are like this (pointing to my eyes with two fingers, then pointing at you with two fingers, over and over again)  Okay ... Let's take a look at the remaining schedule and see how things just may roll out:

The Raiders: They have both a better defense and a better overall offense.
The Texans: They almost beat the Colts this week and they have a real quarterback. And if Andre Johnson is back for that game, his fantasy owners are going to have a collective orgasm.
The Browns: Their defense stinks but they're offense features two play-making receivers in Braylon Edwards and Kellen "I'm a Soldier" Winslow.
The Patriots: Ha.
The Giants: Again, crappy defense but an offense our defense has no chance of stopping.
Buffalo: Ok, we might have a shot to win this one. Oohhh... we can beat Buffalo! Get the parade route on Brickell Avenue ready.
Philly: They have a white guy that can outrun our entire team. How sad is that?
Pittsburgh: We might have a less-gay football team, but they'll kick our ass all over Yinzer town.
Jets: See Dolphins Week 3 results
Buffalo: In December?
Ravens: Our offense has no chance against their D.
Pats: Only if they're resting their best players... and even then they'll beat the shit out of us.
Bengals: Um...no.

So ... top 3 pick here we come. Oh, and speaking of, Ted Ginn Jr. had 1 catch for 15 yards yesterday.

My balls thank you, Miami Dolphins.

pp