Tara Connor sorry, busy

Extremely hot and very much embattled Miss USA Tara Connor told Today Show’s Matt Lauer that she “was” not only a drinker and a Miss Teen USA maker outer, but she’s tried coke and “other stuff.” We assume that by other stuff she meant parlay cards and office confidence pools.

Our Down and Distant staff took a breather from trying to improve upon “The Stranger” to call Miss Connor’s to get her thoughts on the Super Bowl, and maybe even a prediction for the game. Turns out the Tara is very busy with all the interviews, appearances and the denying she’ll ever take her clothes off for Playboy, to take our call. So one of Tara Connor’s people answered for her in what appears to be a form letterThoughtful. Thanks Tara. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll continue to think that you’ll be watching the game from Score’s doing shots of Absinthe out of Miss Teen USA Katie Blair’s belly button. But that’s just me.

For your viewing enjoyment, Miss Connor’s swimsuit portion of the competition.

Even when sauced, prices at new Ali Center seem very high

I visited my wife’s family in Louisville last weekend. It’s an opportunity to let my kid visit his cousins while I hang out with my father-in-law, Bob, long enough to get drunk and ensure my wife’s maximum rage. The hairy eyeballs that girl’s got on her, you wouldn’t believe. When I finally came dragging in on Saturday afternoon, well, I haven’t felt that awkward since that time I ate peyote then told racist jokes at vacation bible school.

While on my visit, I stopped by the Muhammad Ali Center, which opened in November of 2005. I didn’t have time for the full tour, since Bob and I needed to get back to the bar for six more vodka drinks and four cigars so we could be ripped and stinky for sister Betty’s homemade Mexican dinner. But I wanted a T-shirt from the place because Ali is the coolest. I’ll go on the full tour some other time—let’s say the time after my wife tells me that if I drink with her dad again she’ll hit my foot with a ball peen hammer.

I went into the gift shop looking for a white or gray cotton T-shirt with a logo on the breast—just the Ali logo. Well, I guess I’m just a shitkicker from West Virginia by way of Ohio, ’cause I couldn’t find much that I liked. A shirt with two-foot-tall magenta letters spelling out “The Greatest” isn’t that appealing to me. The Ali Center emblem, which looks like the flag from some central African nation (not that there’s anything wrong with it) isn’t right for me, either. I also wasn’t that hip to the fact that there were no price tags on any of the merchandise.

I got a gray shirt with a photo of Ali sitting in a bank vault pointing at a huge stack of money with that wide-eyed look that he had. It cracked me up. Possibly, at this point, I should have been catching on to the irony of the photo.

I took it to the front desk and they brought me out a fresh model from the back. The woman at the register then said, with a straight face, “That’ll be $42.50 with tax.”

Hey, up in Columbus, we don’t pay those big city prices, so I was a bit shocked. But I could feel by the woman’s look that if I didn’t pay up soon, I was either a skinflint or a skinhead, or both, so I went with my best poker face and handed her my Visa.

I’m told that concert Ts are often in the $30 range and merchandise at sports venues can be that much, too. I guess I’m not surprised—Robert Plant and Jimmy Page were getting $28 for concert T-shirts 16 years ago. And I understand that I’m helping support the Ali Center.

Just thought I’d drop a word for the wise, so you can flip the script if you need to—if you go to the Ali Center, you’ll find out that he still packs a wallop. Watch out for his right cross in the gift shop. Like Sonny Liston, you won’t see it coming.

We barely knew ye.

We’re very lucky today to have available to us today the services of Madame Wiscre Bisquet, world renowned animal spirit channeler. We are excited to be the first to speak with dear recently departed equine hero, Barbaro. Madame Bisquet, we are seated in a circle and have our incense burning, so whenever you have him just let us know.

OOOOOoooooooooBarbaro can you hear me.

Barbaro: Yeah, who the hell is this?

Down And Distant: Holy shit, wow, who knew this would work? Hey Barbaro, it’s the boys from sportsy blog, Down and Distant. How do you feel?

Barbaro: Ight, I guess. What do youse want, yo? I’m waiting on a mutha of a line here. You’d think they’d have a separate line for celebs and shit.

DaD: Tough day, huh?

Barbaro: I’ve had better, you know. Damn. Go in for another little touch up surgery and boom I end up here. I’m not even sure what the fuck happened. You?

DaD: Uh, well, so um, not really. What are you looking forward to doing now that you are up there? You are “up” there, aren’t you?

Barbaro: I guess so, the weather’s kick ass, and I’m pretty sure I can see a field of alfalfa on the other side of the gates. Which rocks. To answer your other question, GET LAID.

DaD: Uh…

Barbaro: That’s right, bub. I left the mortal coil with my cherry in tact, dig. It was all “got to go train, Barbaro” “Go run here, Barbaro, go run there” “there’ll be plenty of time for girls later, Barbaro.” What a bunch of crap. I done what they said and never even got a sniff, not even on that sway back palomino bitch from 3 stalls down.

DaD: That’s pretty heavy.

Barbaro: Ain’t you a freaking wordsmith. Yeah it was “heavy.” You know I won the Kentucky Freakin’ Derby. I coulda quit right then and there and been set for life. Nailin anywheres between 5-8 mares a week. That’s a lot of horse sex. You gettin it that much there, chump?

DaD: Horse Sex? No.

Barbaro: Asshole. What do you want, I’m busy.

DaD: We’d love to hear who you think is going to win the Super Bowl? Got a favorite?

Barbaro: Well, I should really be pulling for Manning and the Colts. Get it, Colts? Horseshoes? Plus Manning looks like he could be my cousin. “Hey Peyton, why the long face?” God damn, I always loved that one. But I’m pulling for Da Bears.

DaD: The Bears, really? Why?

Barbaro: Two words. Rex “Sexy-Rex-the-Sex-Cannon” Grossman. That’s why. He’s my hero. He is slinging that sword of his around like a freakin ninja. He’s packin too. I would have loved to hang with him. Get ya some Rex! I gotta go, I’m almost in plus I think I see Eddie Arcaro. I’ve always wanted to meet this little dago.

Zzzzzzzzzz: (paranormal dial tone.)

Incognito Southpaw

Steve Young, Matt Leinart, Ken Stabler, Boomer Esiason. What do these men have in common? They pull more wool than a Senior Citizen's Center. Well, that and they are all southpaws. Yeah, there are some more, but to be honest with you I didn't want to take the time to look people up so deal with it.

This morning I discovered something quite interesting. I too am left handed. I don't believe it either. I was buttoning up the cuffs on my shirt and had no problem with the right arm (buttoning it with the left hand), but the left arm gave me alot of trouble. I've had this problem before and just never addressed it, but today it hit me. I'm a fucking southpaw. Dear God. I've never noticed how good I actually am with my opposite hand. I do everything (and I mean everything ladies) with my right hand. Write, eat, drink, throw, swing, smack hot cheerleader ass, I mean everything and I'm damn good at it. What if I would have known this earlier? Maybe I would be the Tiger Woods of the left-handed world. By that I mean I would do the things Tiger does right-handed, left-handed. I solely blame three people for this curse that I have, my parents and God. Why did they not tell me that I was a lefty? They just let me lead this life of lies for the last 25 years. And God, I didn't see this coming at all. That's not a funny trick to play on someone. I got word him and Mary had a sidebet going on how long it would take me to realize this. Well, congrats Mary. I talked to Joseph and he said you had 2 to 1 that it would be between 25 and 30. Apparently the Big Man had me finding out before 20. Well, the jokes on you sir. You made me too dumb to find out that early. Is that possible?

Oh well, now that I am officially a lefty (but not loosey) I am going to start perfecting my left handed techniques. So far today I have spilt a drink on myself and mushed a half-eaten breakfast burrito on the side of my face. I also wrote some numbers down for a few of my stores and I'm pretty sure that in heiroglyphics it means "Pharoh smoke donkey yam bags." I'm still working out the kinks, but I think day one went well. I'm also going to try typing with only my left hand and see if I can get a workout like that. Until next time.

opoomn

Blinky Blinkster Update #2

UPDATE: Alert DaD reader "Bakes" took time away from searching the web for naked pictures of Madam Speaker to let us know that CNN is reporting that Pelosi was blinking at a rate of 85/bpm.

Serious Football content Update #1

We here at Down and Distant thought we’d get into the act and get our interview on with folks that might know what they are talking about. Genius literati like the boys over at KSK have been doing this for quite a while. We actually thought of it first but were having some computer issues, our internet was down, we had the flu and we suck.

So, in maybe our only attempt at interviewing a celebrity/sportsperson about the Super Bowl, we used our connections from Ole Miss to take a few minutes with NY Giants QB and Peyton's brother, Eli Manning. We met at Eli’s off-season home in Louisiana.


DaD: Eli, thank you so much for taking time to sit down with us today. Before we get to the Super Bowl talk, how is the off-season treating you?

EM: Hi my name is Eli Manning. That’s short Elisha, E-L-I-S-H-A. Yea.

DaD: Ok, well. It’s nice to meet you Eli. Let move on to your initial thoughts following the Colts victory over the Patriots, which granted your brother a trip to Miami and the Super Bowl.

EM: I’m this many. (Holding up two fingers on each hand and a Casper the Friendly Ghost Pez dispenser.)

DaD: Indeed. Do you think Peyton was able to shake the “Can’t win the big one” talk with that performance or does he have to win next week?

EM: My daddy is Archie. He footballed too. Just like me and my brothers. ‘Cept one brother got sick. His back doesn’t feel good. PeyPey is going to the Super Bowl.

DaD: Right. That’s why we are talking today. Would you like to talk about ‘PeyPey’ and the Super Bowl today? Who do you think is going to win?

EM: I might get to go to the Super Bowl if I clean my room. I hate cleaning my room. I have a “FatHead” poster of Sean Salisbury on the wall. Wanna see?

DaD: Sean Salisbury? That’s just weird. Seriously. Big game coming up. Is your brother going to win.

EM: I’m allowed to drive a car.

DaD: Oh for Christ’s sake, this is ridiculous. I’m out of here.

As I’m walking out.

EM: I have to pee.


I think that went well. Well enough to try again some other time.

For those of you Eli defenders who are saying "Eli was a Academic All-America, and on the Dean list and Honor roll." Eat it. I don't buy it.

They've Got Bush…They've GOT Bush

It's not just a rallying cry from Revenge of The Nerds (1984, Comedy, 1 hour 31 minutes, 20th Century Fox) anymore - although one could argue the NCAA is comprised of a gaggle of nerds. No, it looks like after a few months on the back-burner, the dam has broken on the Reggie Bush scandal at USC. I hope Petey and his prophylactic pals have rolled-up their pant legs, because a tsunami is about to rock Troy. As a zealous Buckeye apologist who has recently seen similar situations at my alma mater - and acknowledging that these are ALLEGATIONS - it still looks pretty bad for SC. The figure I have seen thrown around is $280 LARGE in rent, cash, and gifts given to Bush and his family over several years. Who does he think he is? Chris Webber? Time out, Reggie - say it isn't so!

There will be a lot of investigation in the vicinity of Watts over the next 12-18 months and if there is audio tape evidence and/or testimony from several of the people who were served subpoenas, then I think SC will be losing lots of hardware.

While I have always hated cheaters (that means YOU, Jim O'Brien), it is situations like this that cry for some type of individual penalty. If USC loses their Pac Ten and National Championships - and Reggie's Heisman, there ought to be severe repercussions for Bush, himself. Failure to harshly penalize the individuals in these situations - simply reinforces the risk/reward trade-off a student athlete faces when considering accepting gifts. It seems like there is no individual downside - with the obvious exception of the opprobrium and scorn from teammates, fans, and the public. One need look no further than the case of Boban Savovic at Ohio State. Along with Jim O'Brien, they two of them cost OSU plenty in many ways - both tangible (banners and hardware) and intangible (reputation). But what happened to Savovic? Zip, zilch, nada.

Anyway, it looks like the NCAA is about to close the deal…and get Bush. Add that to the list of things that sound dirty, but aren't (unlike Reggie's hands, in this case).

For The Love of God, Why Pluto?

Driving home in the quicksand I call the Dallas Tollway, I was thinking of how I could turn this craphole Super Bowl into something enjoyable to watch. Well, since the 'ol JC himself let me down, I decided that drinking heavily will probably help. I know Peyton "my brother looks like a piece of broccoli" Manning is looking for a SB title, and that would solidify his place in the HOF. Or would it?......
I started really pondering that and I came across a startling fact that could mean that no matter how important he is to football, he might not get in. Remember Pluto? Yeah, the "Pizzas" in the sentence on how to remember all the planet's names.
My (Mercury)
Very (Venus)
Exceptional (Earth)
Mother (Mars)
Just (Jupiter)
Sent (Saturn)
Us (Uranus) ha
Nine (Neptune)
Pizzas (Pluto)
What the hell are we supposed to do now? Maybe keep everything and just change the Neptune one to Neosporin? Nyquil? Non-Alcoholic Beverages? Dear Jesus, where does it end? You can't just play around with the equilibrium of the universe like that. I mean, I love Uranus and I can't get enough of it, but where does it really end? (Don't act like you didn't see it coming) Maybe it's never good enough for NASA, but Pluto will always be number one in my heart and number two will always be for Uranus. (ok, that's the last one)
So I ask, no, beg of you my humble followers, take this into consideration when criticizing Peyton "I look like one of those trees that talk and throw apples in of the Wizard of OZ" Manning. He may get through his career and never win the big one, but don't let that be enough to make him your Pluto. He's definitely Uranus.

neptPOON

Nothing Ever Lasts in Sports

As I watched Peyton Manning FINALLY lead his Colts to the Super Bowl last night, I was reminded of Tom Petty's song "Even the Losers" because it seems, unlike me in college, every team gets lucky sometimes (patience Cleveland fans, patience). Conversely, sustained excellence is also very, very difficult to find these days. In recent memory, lots of perennial losers (or at least non-champions) have had their day in the sun. The Northwestern Wildcats in the 96 Rose Bowl? The other "worst" college football teams EVER - Kansas State and Rutgers - starts winning? The Saints in the NFC Championship Game? The Boston Red Sox come from 3 games down against the Yankees to win the ALCS and, subsequently, the World Series? Notre Dame ALMOST beats USC? It's utter madness…which, it bears mentioning, is very different from "Udder Madness" which was one of the more regrettable in-room movie purchases I made at The Red Roof Inn in Madison, Wisconsin in 2002. Mid-way through the second viewing, I knew it was the worst $12.99 - er, I mean $25.98 mistake of my post-pubescent life.

But I digress.

The Colts victory was especially ironic because while Peyton finally got over the hump, the same game may have finally pushed Michigan Man Tom Brady and his (androgynous?) Pats to the back-burner. What a good run the Pats have had - one of the best ever, probably. But the Pats and their fans found out that hard way that while New England's run lasted much longer than the flavor from a stick of Fruit Stripe gum, it may be over for a while.

Super Early BS Super Bowl Prediction: Shufflin' Crew 28 - Horseshoes 27

Sorry Peyton, but nothing ever lasts.

Nancy Pelosi has something in her eye

Like every good American I watched the State of the Union address last night. And like every good American I watched it at a bar with the sound turned down and the Hockey Skills challenge on the other TVs. Please don’t salute me I’m merely doing my civic duty.

My fellow patriots in attendance and I noticed something in Madam Speaker Nancy Pelosi. She was blinking like her eyes were trying to escape from her head. Perhaps she was blinking out Morse code….Man this tool-bag is such a moron I’d love to reach up there and flick his ears.” We counted several times and she was blinking at such a high rate that she was sometimes 30 to Cheney’s one.

UPDATE: Alert DaD reader "Bakes" took time away from searching the web for naked pictures of Madam Speaker to let us know that CNN is reporting that Pelosi was blinking at a rate of 85/bpm.

Just a little sports story I wanted to share with you.

Later this week we send out search parties for Buffer and Savant. Maybe we can get their lazy asses to post herein. How bout a little something on the Bears, JB? Losers.

Cherry Poppin' update #1*

Eleven days later and the shock of it hasn’t yet passed. I just try to compartmentalize the memory, keep it repressed, keep churning forward, focus on the basketball team and the inevitable disappointment it will bring in March.

Jim Tressel let us down. The program has the stink of bologna sandwiches, cheap cigarettes and jungle butt on it. We were humiliated by the smegma of America’s penis. I do not like this feeling, and it won’t go away.

I haven’t been this ashamed since that day last November when I left my 16-year-old stepson in the house by himself while I went to the store. I went out, started my car, then realized I’d left my wallet in my bedroom on the night stand. So, making no real effort to come back into the house quietly, I trudged through the front door and up the stairs to the bedrooms.

As I crested the top landing, there was ole’ Ryan, naked, on the floor, bridging so hard Dan Gable couldn’t have put his shoulders back on the ground. Why naked? Why on the floor? Why the dishrag from the kitchen? Why with the door open? How did it happen so fast? Christ, I was only out of the house 30 seconds.

He looked at me with a poker face and asked, “What?” Startled, I quickly ducked into my bedroom. Now, I have a theory (one of many)—there are two kinds of guys in this world—ones who get busted whacking their yam bags, and ones who do the busting. Since I was the one fully clothed and flaccid, I’ll claim membership in Category Number Two.

I yelled into his room, “Uh, dude, if you’re doing something that would make you uncomfortable if other people saw you doing it, how about closing the door?” He replied that he didn’t know what I was talking about, then closed the door.

Now that I have Ryan’s four-inch root emblazoned on my frontal lobe, I think I’ll go watch some footage of Charles Barkley’s golf swing so I can guarantee I’ll have no capacity for concentration on the golf course this spring.

Nothing is worse than surprising someone while he’s making balloon animals with his monkey bits. Except losing to an SEC team in the national championship.

PorkChopU

*Cherry Poppin' Update #1 - Welcome TRM aka PorkChopU alternate alias to be determined later. His words and post. We'll get this posting/blogger/ookie cookie figured out at some point

Giving a city something to lift their spirits.

I don’t have a rooting interest in either of tomorrows NFL playoff games I find reasons to root for someone. Britney pictured herewith is reason enough to root for the Saints. (I’m also putting her picture on here as an internet-peter slap to Poon for not posting his last entry here, she’s from New Orleans by the way. Take that Poonie Longstockings)

I’m not buying in to the Post-Flood guilt that I’m supposed to. Gee I’m really sorry that your crap hole city was wracked by a epic flood that made everyone move. The place was a dump before, but at least the crime was not as bad as it is now. Now you are just as likely to get decapitated there as you are in Baghdad. So, I’m sorry for your shit, but it isn’t enough to get me to cheer for your football team. Oh by the way, attention to every news/sportscaster in the lower 48, STOP IT. I know the city was ravaged; I’m tired of hearing about. Callous? Maybe. Care? Not.

It is also not because your team has a dismal to nonexistent playoff history. Suck it. Talk to the Browns fans. They’ve sucked too.

As for Da Bears, the only allure they’ve ever held for me is the SuperFans and wishing for failure for Jim McMahon has ever done.

So the Saints it is. Thank you to Britney for bringing this all into focus and giving us all a Saturday morning reason to ease our drawers down. As if…

Later: Who do I hate more Peyton Manning or Tom “I’m a super-hunky, super-model dating, former Michigan QB douche” Brady? Screw him, Go Colts.

Weekend. Beers. Now.

It's a brand new day

As the venerable William Shakespeare once said, “Let’s kick this bitch in the grill and start a new blizog. Beeeeeaaaaatttttch.” Pretty sure it was him, but it could’ve been Boutros Boutros-Ghali. Anyway, welcome to Down and Distant. We’ve gathered together some funny dudes and me to try to take a run at the real greats in the business, such as With Leather, Kissing Suzy, Ebay and comic books. It’s ambitious to be sure. So let’s call it an experiment. That way, if it fails we can say we weren’t ever really committed to it, delete it from the blogosphere and deny that it ever existed.

I won’t spend much any time introducing the degenerates who will be taking time away from their loitering at the local Build-a-Bear or cruising the area cafeterias at 4pm looking to pick up a little GILF to humbly post here. You’ll get to know them soon enough. We'll have some semi-regular features, such as The Down and Distant Weekly Steamer and the Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful award and so on. (And by 'so on,' I mean I'm tapped out and hope that my boys can come up with some gold.)

What better way to start off this desparate cry for help sports-o-tainment blog than a clip from an upcoming ice skating movie. It’s a Will Ferrell joint. Think Zoolander meats Ricky Bobby, then add John Heder, fancy outfits and skates. Are you feelin’ it? I’m all in.


PK

(HT: With Leather – I love/hate you for your genius)