It's Jim Rome, Ladies and Gentlemen

What's up, I'm Jim Rome. Welcome to a special online edition of Rome is Burning. My producers back at the Worldwide Leader were trying to come up with a way to bring arrogant douchebaggery to a larger audience, so naturally, I said 'Internet.' Damn, I'm awesome. I've been way out of the loop lately as far as bringing my unmatchable knowledge to my millions of fans, so let's get this thing rolling. Here is what I've been burning on over the past few weeks:

The Indianapolis Colts

Wow, I mean seriously, did you guys not get the memo? All of this playoff choking was supposed to be behind you. Don't you remember? Sucking hard against New England in the AFC title game, only to bait them into letting you run away with the victory? Wasn't this monkey off of your back? Especially after you beat Sexy Rexy and the Not-Ready-For-Prime-Time-Defensive-Players in one of the worst Super Bowls in recent memory (thank you for providing an even worse game 2000-01 Ravens/Giants). I guess not. No wait, I'm Jim Motherfucking Rome, I know not. Because you boys absolutely laid an egg against a severely depleted Chargers bunch. And you were even spotted seven points thanks to a ridiculous phantom holding call that robbed the Bolts a 95-plus yard pick six. And I realize the Chargers defensive unit has had your number for quite some time, but come on, did you honestly let Billy Volek and Norv Turner out-clutch and out-class you? I mean, Bob Kravitz said it best, you guys are the Atlanta Braves of the National Football League. You tear it up in the regular season only to fizzle out when it matters most. And speaking of your Jekyll/Hyde routine each year come January, I'm gonna switch gears and burn on someone else:

Merril Hoge
I know he is my colleague (you know, now that I'm a full-time ESPN man...thanks to having my ass canned by FOX), but what a tool, and believe me, I know a tool as well as anyone. Let's take hairstyle for example: I rock the slicked back gel look, and I know this is the universal sign for "Dick-Stain," but get a load of Merril Hoge. The mofo is working the flat-top. I guess this would be the universal sign for "Unintelligent Twat." My apologies to Howie Long (which brings me to a very interesting question: does Merril Hoge jerk off to A) Long B) 1980's Arsenio Hall C) Peyton Manning or D) Bill Cowher...my answer? It's a trick, he likes to mix it up).

Maybe I'm being a little to stereotypical with the hair, after all, I like Arsenio. But seriously, Hoge is to smart football analysis as Jamie Lynn Spears is to properly practicing birth control. Let's take a situation from earlier in the regular season when it came time for Hoge's NFL power rankings. Heading into the Colts/Pats showdown, Hoge declared Indy as the league's best team. Foolish in hindsight, but semi-respectable at the time. After New England wins, do they take over the top spot? Of course not, because that would be the logical thing to do. Instead, assface elects to put the Steelers atop the list. Based on what, you may ask? A hunch. I call bull shit.

But this egregious offense is not why I'm burning on Hoge. No, the real reason derives itself from an interview taint breath gave to an Indy radio station just before the playoffs. As you know, New England had just completed the first 16-0 season in NFL history, but when asked to pick a Super Bowl winner, Hoge goes with the Colts. Again, this is a respectable decision. But he proceeds to say that the Colts string of five seasons with at least twelve victories is more impressive than 16-0 and a potential 19-0 season. I'm angry. I wish there was a small child that I could verbally harass to make me feel better. Instead I'll just go on a rant that will make you think I'm an even bigger asshole than you thought: Jeez, Merril, where did you pull this idea out of? That big, gaping, cock-contoured rectum of your's? It wouldn't be quite as stupid if the Patriots didn't actually have more regular season victories in this time span...but they do. Why don't you go join Mercury Morris and "wait on his bride?" (Speaking of which, was there a more bizarre soundbyte than that? And I loved how the WWL cashed in on this crazy piece by using him for Patriots analysis...that's objective journalism. If only I hadn't gotten fired by FOX...but I digress. And I would burn Morris if there was a worthwhile paragraph to write about him. But there is not. Trust me. Seriously, I asked his family and even they agree that their father and husband is a raving crazy person who deserves no public recognition.)

Perhaps Merril Hoge is just sick of the Patriots, as much of their success has come at the expense of his old team, the Pittsburgh Steelers. Or maybe he is jealous that he wasn't involved in a Super Bowl victory, and he therefore has to live vicariously through his beloved Steelers and/or Colts in order to take down the Pats. Who knows? What I do know (and I know, I don't think, because I'm Jim Rome, and I don't need proof or evidence to back up what I say) is that there are many a sensual night spent at the Hoge compound thinking about Peyton, Big Ben, Coach Cowher, and Coach Dungy. Which conveniently leads me to my next burn: everybody's favorite coach.

Tony Dungy

I'd like to preface my next rant (screw that, I'm the Jim Rome...my next sermon) with the disclaimer that I do believe Tony Dungy is a very good person. It's just that I think he is a better person than he is a coach and he gets a free pass because of it. I mean, look at his tenure in Tampa Bay, obviously he is a good coach, because he turned them into contenders. But it took him getting the boot to bring in Jon Gruden before his fellas were able to claim a title. Maybe it was bad luck and the team would have won it anyway. Or maybe the Bucs needed a coach who could handle the pressure of big games.

And boy did it ever appear Dungy couldn't handle the big 'uns. Seemingly every year in his tenure with the Colts ended in heartbreak. And lest we forget that his team took such an ass beating at the hands of the Pats in the first half last year that it ultimately led to their victory. Maybe he finally figured out his big game strategy "lull the opponent into a false sense of security." Or maybe he finally got lucky, because it isn't like Indy is short on talent. But in another big game this year, Dungy's Colts failed to rise to the occasion, weakly defending their Super Bowl title by losing at home to the Chargers.

Maybe, just maybe, Dungy hosed his team from the outset...keep in mind, reports of this being the "Dungy Farewell Tour" this post-season came out a few days before the game. Like this wouldn't be on the minds of every single one of his players? Of course, great teams rally around their coach in a situation like this and give it their best performance. The Colts, well, you saw it. But do you blame Tony Dungy? Being the most awesome person in these great states, I can say with certainty, yes, hell yes, you most definitely do. Why? Because the man had his kids transfer to a Tampa school system for the second semester. Like that cat won't find its way out of the bag. Some dipshit at the school is bound to publicly say "hey, if he is gonna live in Florida when he retires, and the season's almost over, and he moved his family back to Florida, isn't he gonna retire?" Oh wait, the dipshit did...one of Dungy's son's football coach.

And don't give me any man-cow feces about Dungy's family being more comfortable in Tampa. Since when is transfering schools, in the middle of the year, mind you, a stress-free task. It's not as if his boys have the Jim Rome Aura in which you can snap your fingers and have complete strangers punch themselves in the face and make unknown, attractive feministas bend over and assume the position. If they did, this would be a different story. But alas, I'm going to assume (wait...declare) that this was not the easiest transition in the world. But he is Tony Dungy, so he gets a pass for the distraction and the enormous choke-job.

Of course, we follow up the Colts' season with the now familiar routine of "I'm gonna meet with my family and we are going to caucus and hopefully come up with a satisfactory decision regarding my future with this organization." Seriously, did I ask Mrs. Rome for permission to join ESPN after I was given a pink slop by the FOX folks. Hell-to-the-hell-to-the-hell-to-the NO! Of course, I don't have a Mrs. Rome (she would cut down considerably on my poon quotient). But believe me, I would have just ran home and said "papa goin' to ESPN!" And that would have been that. But Dungy is a family man (or, as Jim Rome refers to it: pussy), so he sought their counsel, leading to a week of "will he or won't he" discussion in the Circle City.

The anticipation reached a climax this past Monday as Dungy scheduled a press conference to enlighten us all with his decision. I was getting ready for a night on the town (no doubt soliciting sex from a lady of the night), but I noticed ESPNews program alert for said press conference--45 minutes. I decided to wait it out (partly because I was hoping to hear The Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go" as Dungy's intro music). I'm at a fever pitch of anticipation and with five minutes until the big D comes on, I decide to switch to the NFL Network to kill time during a commercial break. What do I see? A headline: "Sources Say Dungy Will Stay." How anti-climactic! I could have gotten my hair halfway ready for my night on the town with all the time spent watching an empty podium.

Frustrated, I returned to the WWL to see if the sources were wrong (they weren't) and stayed long enough to see Dungy explain how this whole "perpetual one-year extensions...if I want 'em" thing works out...particularly for the highly sought after Jim Caldwell. He must be a loyal SOB, because I could picture Dungy doing this dance for a couple more seasons, perhaps forcing Caldwell to inherit a "just a tad far removed from title contention" team on the decline. Needless to say, this would be a no-go if Jim Rome were the Colts' assistant head coach.

Now it’s time for Alone with Rome, and today my guest is the Phoenix Suns whirling dervish, Leandro Barbosa and his “such-a-good-friend-it’s-borderline-homosexual-especially-given-the-age-difference-because-one-is-the-young-confused-foreigner-and-the-other-is-the-gentle-mature-old-assistant-coach” Dan D’Antoni.

JR: How goes it, gentlemen?

LB: It goin’ bera, bera good. Basketball been bera, bera good to me.

DD: I’m just as happy as can be, how ‘bout y’all?

JR: I’m good, I’m good. So, let’s kick this baby off, you guys have been on a roll this year, as you once again have stormed out of the gates in the regular season. Have you been sticking to the same formula as usual, or are you mixing it up since you lost Kurt Thomas, pretty much the only guy who seems to be able to guard the now-legitimate Andrew Bynum?

LB: This season been bera, bera good to me so far.

JR: Nice, what say you, Danny boy?

DD: Aw shucks, I don’t know if we really changed anything from last year. I mean, we’ve still got that core of three all-stars and four or five studs who would start on any other team, so we’re just hoping we can use the same blueprint as we’ve had in the past.

JR: Which is?

DD: Run-‘n’-gun, Jimmy.

JR: Any chance that it holds up in the playoffs this year?

DD: As long as that yella coward Donaghy ain’t reffin’ no games, he-he-he.

JR: So you maintain that you should’ve won the title last year?

DD: In a word: yes I do.

JR: That’s three words. Does it not make any difference to you that historically, offense-first teams flame out in the playoffs? Especially when you put that and the fact that San Antonio has always had your number in big-time games?

DD: (silence)

JR: Lee-baby? C’mon, hit me with something.

LB: Tim Donagby, no been bera, bera good.

JR: I guess you all could be upset with one thing about the officiating scandal.

DD: And what’s that, sonny boy?

JR: If Donaghy happened to be black, you could parlay that into a couple of more rigged MVPs for Steve Nash…y’know, since the NBA would have to revert to the post-brawl tactics to appeal to the mostly white fanbase.

DD: Hey, hey, hey you slanderous sumbitch…Steve Nash earned those awards. Who cares if he is a liability on defense and that he nullifies over half of his assists with turnovers, he is the heart and soul of this team.

JR: Kind of like he was in Dallas, a team who finally made it to the Finals without Nash in the lineup.

LB: Steve Nash been bera, bera good to me.

JR: All right, let’s move on. I don’t want the coal-miner’s daughter to flake out on me. Leandro, I heard you had quite the prank pulled on you last week. Care to elaborate?

LB: I be asleep in my hotel room and the phone rings. It is an unknown caller who tell me to come to Steve Kerr’s room…I was traded to the New York Knicks.

DD: He came to my room crying his eyes out…we held each other for about two hours.
JR: Obviously it was just a joke, but did you learn anything from it?

LB: You bet…when Mr. Kerr tell you to swallow, you had better swall…

DD: No, no, no, Lee. The thing we told you to say.

LB: Oh, I so sorry. It was to never check into a hotel without an alias.

JR: Creepy stuff, folks. Almost as creepy as the dreadlocks on the trainer for the Denver Nuggets.

DD: And how.

JR: (shoots a cold stare to DD) I’m wrapping it up, never talk when I’m bringing my sexy to the camera. (turns back to camera with a smirk) Well, that’s gonna do it for Alone with Rome, any last words boys?

LB: This interview was bera, bera good to me.

DD: I think that sums it up for the both of us.

JR: All right, my people. We’re gonna take quick break, but sit still, because I’ll be joined in the forum by patronizing asshole, Doug Gottlieb and loose cannon, Dana Jacobsen.

***
Hi, I’m Don Shula, former coach of the ’72 Dolphins, and I want to tell you something that I believe in. No, not that the New England Patriots are dirty cheaters—which they are—instead, I’m gonna talk to you about Nutri-System. This revolutionary dieting technique allowed me to lose thirty pounds from my physical physique, yet amazingly helped me put countless more on to my morbidly obese ego. Now, I no longer labor to do routine tasks like walking to get the mail and climbing a flight of stairs, just ask my wife:

Hi, I’m Mary Ann Shula, and I’ve benefited from Nutri-System in two ways. Not only have I lost some unwanted weight from my frame, but I also get to experience sex from the bottom again, now the Don’s weight loss has helped him gain more stamina in the bedr—

That’s enough Mary Ann. Okay sports fans, you know what to do. Get off your asses, pick up the phone, and order yourself some Nutri-System, you will thank me later…and apparently so will your slam hound. I mean significant other.

…

Go Giants!!

***

Welcome back, all. I’d like to send a big hello to my two forum guests, Doug Gottlieb and Dana Jacobsen. How are the two of you doing?

DG: I haven’t felt this good since I was playing basketball at Oklahoma State for the great Eddie Sutton.

JR: Dana?

DJ: (sips from a flask) Fuck Notre Dame!

JR: Okay, on that note, let’s move on to the discussion. As you all know by now, the New England Patriots set all sorts of individual and team records en route to a perfect 16-0 regular season. Many argue that without a Super Bowl title, all of this regular season success will all be for nothing. Thoughts?

DJ: Fuck the Patriots!

JR: Dougie boy?

DG: Well Jim, one of the things Eddie Sutton told me when I was his point guard at OSU was that every single regular season game matters. I think this rings true for the NFL as well.

JR: How does that answer the question?

DG: (smirks) I think it’s pretty obvious, Jim.

JR: Watch your tone, mofo. I’m Jim Fucking Rome. If an answer is not obvious to Jim Rome, then it isn’t obvious. So you mind elaborating on the point a tad more? You know, before you head back to Game Night with Freddie Sibel. Jesus, how do you wake up in the morning knowing that aside from ESPN 2 college basketball coverage, you work the graveyard shift for a radio station?

DJ: (hiccups) Fuck ESPN 2!

JR: First Take airs on ESPN 2…

DJ: (mulls this over, then shrugs and takes another sip from her flask) Fuck ESPN…one?!

JR: Step off, bitch. I burn shit on ESPN 1.

DJ: Oh yeah? (sips from flask again) Fuck ESPN 1, fuck Rome is Burning, and fuck Jim Rome! You can stick your tiny little cock in my—

(Technical Difficulties: Please stand By)

(straightening his tie)

JR: Sorry for the disturbance folks, I guess it’s just you and me Gottlieb.

DG: Well, as I was saying before Ms. Jacobson rudely interrupted me, Coach Sutton said every regular season game matters. I think if this is true in the NFL, then the regular season record should matter—perfection stands regardless of the outcome of the Super Bowl.

JR: I respect that.

DG: And remember, the best teams don’t always win the titles, luck is a factor. You know, back at OSU Coach—

JR: Sutton! We know, we know, another valuable life lesson from Eddie Sutton.

DG: Are you saying I’m predictable?

JR: Pretty much, yeah. You wanna mix things up, though? Why don’t you mention something about Eddie Sutton going all Dana Jacobson on us while driving on an Oklahoma highway.

DG: I’ve blocked that out of my mind. Coach Sutton is an honorable man, regardless of any little traffic ticket.

JR: He was driving while intoxicated.

DG: Eh, same difference.

JR: (glaring at Gottlieb for about thirty seconds, abruptly shifts his focus to the camera) Well, that’s all the time we have in the forum today, I’ll be back after this commercial break for my final burns.

***

Stuart Scott:

What’s up, players? Coming up on Sportscenter we’ll examine the wide open Western Conference playoff race in the NFL, predict the amount of time it took Tom Brady to enter Gisele’s townhouse, take off his protective boot, throw a couple touchdowns in the bedroom? Y’know what I’m saying? My boy went bunny-badooka on his lady friend’s va-jay-jay…boo yeah! Oh…what? We’re taping this live? I thought we were just shooting a promo for later. When did we ever do live promos? Does that make sense to you? What? We’re still on? (nervous/depressed) In addition, we, uh, will have a look at the NBA midseason awards, an update on the Santana trade talks, and some new info about Sydney Crosby’s ankle.

(Na-na-na, na-na-na)

***

Welcome back and now its time for my final burns.

Look, I understand that we are supposed to root for the aw-shucks, Frankenstein-looking, cousin-loving quarterback Peyton Manning against the All-American, golden boy Tom Brady, but I want to shut some critics up. Many want to question the single season touchdown record’s validity due in part to the fact that Manning got his in half of a game less than Brady. These people can go service a throbbing pork sword. It would be one thing if Brady played in the Gillette Dome, but he doesn’t. He has to brave the elements—have you ever experienced a New England winter? I have, thanks to the Worldwide Leader refusing to move the headquarter from Bristol motherfucking Connecticut—to throw his touchdowns. Sorry Peyton, Tom never had the luxury of turning up the thermostat when the weather became inclement—and inclement weather did play a factor…I still want to know whose cock Eric Mangini had to suck to be able to play in a blizzard in order to stymie a hall of fame ass beating. If Brady could have played in a dome over half the time, he might have put up sixty TDs. Golden Boy’s 50 trumps the In-Bread’s 49 any day of the week. Speaking of in-bread quarterbacks, my next burn will send a shout-out to Green Bay, Wisconsin.

I’m talking, of course, about Brett Favre. I have only one phrase to say: “he blew it!” Yes folks, your precious gunslinger cost you a trip to the Super Bowl. Not only did he play with a thumb up his ass, the interception he tossed up in overtime would have nullified even a perfect performance. It was that big. It was so huge that even Peter King is still in shock. To prevent his brain from shutting down, he has completely blocked Favre’s poor play out of his mind—amazing how the human body protects itself, isn’t it? Hence, his MMQB column on SI.com failed to even mention Favre’s poor performance. He also let LT off the hook, too, which brings me to my final burn: Mr. Tomlinson.

Look, I’m not going to say much, only that you have been up Philip River’s ass all year long whenever things have failed to go your way, yet he gets surgery to play to get surgery. You sulked on the sidelines…for the second week in a row. That’s what I call a franchise player. All I can think is that Rivers and Antonio Gates must both be thinking the same thing: “fucking pussy.”

Well, that is all for me, folks. I’d like to thank my forum guests Doug Gottlieb and the lovely Dana Jacobson. I will see you all at the same time tomorrow. Until then, I am out.