Fins Nation: A Miami Dolphins Blog With Dick Jokes

Cam and Randy Bring In A Motivational Speaker

Boys, coach Cam and I feel you need an extra oompf to get a little pep back in your step.

That's right Randy!

You need a little inspiration from someone we all respect and admire, well frankly, like a god around these parts.

That's right Randy!

So, coach Cam and I have called in a special guest to speak with you to help motivate and put a foot in your caboose. So to speak, heh heh heh.

That's right Randy!

Because we can do this, fellas! We just need the right motivation. Right coach?

Um, and, well, our guest is a tad upset about our 0-11 start. And I think you'd all agree that there's nothing like a good old fashioned pep talk.

That's right Randy!

Yup. So without further adieu, I give you the greatest Miami Dolphin ever: Dan Marino! Dan?

Holy motherfucking Moses. That didn't quite turn out like I'd imagined.

I... I think I just shat myself.

When Life Had Meaning

Tired of the weekly shitshow known as the 2007 Miami Dolphins? Sick of the revolving door of starting quarterbacks with as much talent and arm strength as Buddy Hackett over the years?

Well climb in, buckle up, and grab a cold one from the glove compartment/mini-fridge, as I fire up the flux capacitor and send us back to the magical season of 1984. It was not the world George Orwell envisioned. Far from it. (Pfft. Orwell. Fucking Debbie Downer.) It was a time of glory, majesty, wonder, and zipper ankle jeans. A time when the Number 13 became a lucky number for us all, and the NFL record books took a beating as if Ike Turner himself had strapped on the pads and helmet.

Steelers.com, celebrating the Pittsburgh Steelers' 75th anniversary, is running a series of articles chronicling their playoff history. This week: the 1984 AFC Championship (Played in the Orange Bowl, which is hosting its very last game this weekend. A tear.). Even though I was just a little Dude, I remember it fondly. Read it. It's awesomeness.

"Being that Marino was in just his second NFL season, opposing defensive coordinators still were searching for answers to his unique skill set. The conventional wisdom always is to attack a young quarterback, but Marino�s quick release and nimble feet, plus his rocket arm, plus his veteran�s savvy were making this strategy the football equivalent of juggling nitroglycerin � eventually, something was going to blow up in your face....Marino completed 66 percent of his passes and averaged 20 yards per completion, which translated into 421 yards and four touchdowns.... 'There was no way,' said Malone, 'that we were going to compete � or any team that year � was going to compete in a passing matchup with Dan Marino and the Marks Brothers.' "

That was the year, man. The year The Right Arm of God came into our lives and cemented his legacy forever.

Damn, I miss that shit.

(by the way, Mondesis House has the greatest Dan Marino pic ever! Gangsta!)

When Life Had Meaning

Tired of the weekly shitshow known as the 2007 Miami Dolphins? Sick of the revolving door of starting quarterbacks with as much talent and arm strength as Buddy Hackett over the years?

Well climb in, buckle up, and grab a cold one from the glove compartment/mini-fridge, as I fire up the flux capacitor and send us back to the magical season of 1984. It was not the world George Orwell envisioned. Far from it. (Pfft. Orwell. Fucking Debbie Downer.) It was a time of glory, majesty, wonder, and zipper ankle jeans. A time when the Number 13 became a lucky number for us all, and the NFL record books took a beating as if Ike Turner himself had strapped on the pads and helmet.

Steelers.com, celebrating the Pittsburgh Steelers' 75th anniversary, is running a series of articles chronicling their playoff history. This week: the 1984 AFC Championship (Played in the Orange Bowl, which is hosting its very last game this weekend. A tear.). Even though I was just a little Dude, I remember it fondly. Read it. It's awesomeness.

"Being that Marino was in just his second NFL season, opposing defensive coordinators still were searching for answers to his unique skill set. The conventional wisdom always is to attack a young quarterback, but Marino’s quick release and nimble feet, plus his rocket arm, plus his veteran’s savvy were making this strategy the football equivalent of juggling nitroglycerin – eventually, something was going to blow up in your face....Marino completed 66 percent of his passes and averaged 20 yards per completion, which translated into 421 yards and four touchdowns.... 'There was no way,' said Malone, 'that we were going to compete – or any team that year – was going to compete in a passing matchup with Dan Marino and the Marks Brothers.' "

That was the year, man. The year The Right Arm of God came into our lives and cemented his legacy forever.

Damn, I miss that shit.

(by the way, Mondesis House has the greatest Dan Marino pic ever! Gangsta!)

Vote Marino!

This is completely meaningless and arbitrary. As is everything that ESPN does. But let's do it anyway. Nation, get out there and vote. As of now, Dan Marino ranks No. 3 just behind Brett Favreh and Joe Montana as the Greatest of All Time. Surely we can change that!

Vote Marino!

13

 

Vote Marino!

This is completely meaningless and arbitrary. As is everything that ESPN does. But let's do it anyway. Nation, get out there and vote. As of now, Dan Marino ranks No. 3 just behind Brett Favreh and Joe Montana as the Greatest of All Time. Surely we can change that!

Vote Marino!

13

 

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