Behold the beard

Beard it up! (AP Photo)

Beware, PGA golfers. Your Tiger-free world is about to come crashing to a halt.

Sure, Tiger Woods hasn’t won a tournament in two years, he’s only played nine terrible holes of golf since the Masters and Rory McIlroy has established himself as golf’s new white knight. But this week at the AT&T National, Tiger unveiled his secret weapon to regaining his crown.

The beard.

Behold the wonder and majesty of the facial fur. It may not connect, but it isn’t a Texas beard with wide open spaces. This, faithful readers will propel him to the top again.

But why would Tiger, who once said on Twitter when asked why he doesn’t grow a full beard said “I can barely grow a goatee,” rock the bank robber look? Simple … Rocky 4.

If you haven’t seen the movie, then leave this blog, never look back and stop being my friend because you’re obviously an idiot. If you have, here’s a recap…

After Rocky’s friend Apollo Creed dies at the hands of roided-up Russian Ivan Drago, Rocky moves to the Soviet Union to conduct awesome training montages and regain his boxing strength that so many people thought he had once lost. More importantly, Rocky also grew out a beard for his training.

The Rocky training beard is something near and dear to my heart. During my training for the triathlon last fall, I myself grew out an awesome, sexy beard that propelled me to finish the race. The Rocky beard is scientifically proven.

But the Tiger, Rocky connection doesn’t end with facial hair. During the movie, Rocky is overcome emotionally with the loss of his dear friend, an event that many wondered whether Rocky could overcome to win again?

Sound familiar? Like a recent divorce of a famous golfer?

Or what about the talk that Rocky was too old for the younger, physically superior Drago? Does it sound like the talk that Tiger has a new, young challenger in McIlroy who will destroy the once dominating golfer and keep Woods from claiming the all-time Major title record?

Sure, all this is circumstantial. Rocky is a movie and Tiger is real life. But Tiger’s beard is blurring those lines, and in the movies, experience always wins out.

Here’s how the rest of the golf season will play out: Tiger, while continuing to grow his facial hair, will miss the British Open but will come to Atlanta full of bearded energy and take the PGA Championship. Then it’s on to Augusta, then San Fransisco for the US Open, then Royal Lytham for the British Open, then South Carolina for the 2012 PGA, then Nicklaus’ record, then the White House, yeaahhhhhhhh!!

For now, though, Tiger needs to rest the knee, heel the Achilles and get the beard going full strength. Tiger will heal. His knee will get better. And when it does, with the Rocky beard, he will overcome his adversaries and get back to major victories.

And that will be a beard getting it done.

We, we, we, all the way home

This may come as a surprise to most, but today I actually watched a soccer game!! OMG!!

In all honesty, I actually watched MOST of a soccer game. I took a 50-minute break in between the Women’s World Cup game between the United States and North Korea. I know you’ll be shocked, but I did not miss a goal in my absence.

But that’s not the point of this column. I could write a novel about why soccer is not exciting to watch, but what got me is color commentator Julie Foudy continuous use of the word “We.”

There was a constant stream of “We’re passing the ball well, er, the US is passing the ball well,” “We need to, um, the US needs to defend the corners,” “These points are important to our, um, their chances to advance.”

Foudy is a former US soccer player and a captain of the US national team, so I can understand the bond she has with this team. And while she’s in the media and is supposed to be independent and unbiased, I will forgive her connection with the team and her use of the word “We.”

We can?!? All of us?!? Even that guy over there?!?

Fans, on the other hand, are a different story. When watching a game with people, I am always amazed, and usually perturbed, by fans’ commentary and their use of “We.”

“This is a big play for us.” “What are we doing on offense?” “Why can’t we run the ball?” “Damnit, Les, you’re ruining our team.”

Do you put on a helmet and uniform each week? Do you practice with the team? If the team wins the BCS, Super Bowl, World Series or whatever, do you get a ring? No? Then you’re not a We.

I understand the connection people have with sports. Unless you’ve not watched TV in the past decade, you’ve seen the countless stories about the bond the city of New Orleans has with the Saints, and despite living 500 miles away from the Big Easy, my 24 years in Louisiana will attest to that claim.

Still, I’m not a We.

Maybe YOU want that guy on your team, but I don't. He's slow and can't catch!

I am not a member of the New Orleans Saints. Chances are, I never will be (But if you’re reading this coach Payton, I can be one hell of a water boy for you). Therefore, I have no business calling myself a We.

We, as fans not players, need to understand the difference between 300-pound football players and 300-pound football watchers. We, as fans, need to develop at least some sort of separation between ourselves and our teams.

If you look up “Pot calling kettle black” on google, that last sentence will be your first hit.

I am guilty of this beyond belief. During a game, I am Drew Brees. I am Les Miles. I am Jordan Jefferson (with maybe a stronger arm). I am LSU and the Saints, but I shouldn’t be, and I acknowledge this. (Acknowledgment is the first step toward recovery, right?)

I know that disassociating yourself from your team is hard, nearly impossible, so exceptions can be made.

If you cry when your team loses in triple-overtime to a terrible team, you can use We. If you want to march down your wedding aisle to your team’s fight song, you can use We. If you paint your face, or better yet your chest, team colors because you’ve got to support the team, you can use We.

But only temporarily. Because while it’s impossible to disconnect from your team during the three hours it’s on the field, after the game is over, fans need to return to their normal lives at their normal jobs that are not on their team’s staff.

After all, if there’s one thing Obama taught us, it’s “Yes WE can!”

Douche of the Week: Animal Edition

In an effort to raise ratings, Briantology decided to follow TV networks and present Douche of the Week: Animal Edition. Because everything is better with animals, right?

Douche of the Week Second Runner-Up … The Coyote

Isn’t he adorable!??!?!?! In New Orleans, these coyotes have been sneaking around neighborhoods, eating pets, scaring kids, lifting Acme product sales and wondering where the hell the bitches at roadrunners are.

Is this a doucheable offense? No, but I wanted to post the picture of the poor little cute coyote on the site. He looks a lot like Hartley when he’s sleeping, and that will win you an award any day of the week.

Douche of the Week Runner-Up … This Cow

In Iowa (of course), a 60-year-old woman died after she was attacked while feeding corn to her cows. Apparently, a rogue cow went Zinedine Zidane and headbutted the woman, killing her.

But wait, it gets better. From the AP story:

KGAN-TV reports deputies stood guard to keep cows from rescuers at they attended to Fee.

The cows wouldn’t even let the EMTs help the poor woman. Talk about mad cows! What could possibly cause this udder case of anger? Maybe they wanted, you know, actual grass instead of corn byproduct. Or maybe they had enough of the woman’s cold hands when they were being milked.

UPDATE: According to this , the woman died of a stroke, not the cow. Thanks, KCRG. Way to bring me down.

Douche of the Week … A Dead Marten

From Washington state, a 33-year-old man carrying a dead weasel marten knocked on some poor guy’s door and punched him out.

According to the story the weaseler went to the guy’s house to find his ex-girlfriend and:

According to police, the male victim asked the alleged assailant “Why are you carrying a weasel?”. The man replied, “It’s not a weasel, it’s a marten,” before allegedly punching him in the nose.

Lesson of the story, know your weasels. A marten is a member of the weasel family by the way. So maybe the weasel marten isn’t a douche, but he was an accessory to doucheness. And post-modem doucheness will almost always earn you a gold medal.

Savior of the Week … The Missing Macaque

New thing this week where we honor the things that have made this week bearable.

Sometimes I walk into work and struggle to write clever headlines on terrible transit transportation tax stories.

And then sometimes I go to work, open my arms, and the clever headlines fall from the skies like gifts from heaven. Such was the case this week.

This week, it was learned that a macaque, a small monkey, escaped from the Yerkes center in Lawrenceville. Officials were not too pleased that the media learned of the missing monkey. Day one of my headlines:

Then the Yerkes people said it was the first time this has ever happened. Not so fast my friend, according to a local man. Day two of my headlines:

Thank you, Lord. This little monkey has put fear in a lot of people, but it saved my week. Bananas all around!

I ♥ you, Les

You’ve just been given a “Get out of a bad two-minute drill for free” card with this.

Haiku corner

Haiku land says hi,
This is where I write poems
And your mama jokes

I am your slave

I was given the challenge of expressing one of my greatest loves in poetry form, so I want to share with you all a few of the haikus I wrote about the wonder that are sunflower seeds.

Salt goodness in shell
Black, white and tasty all over
Sunflower seed love

Outside shell so tough
Inside tender as baby
Contradiction seed

Salty addiction
Need to stop, seed keeps calling
Hi, my name is Brian

Seed so salty good
Diet Coke cup so empty
Drive fast to QuikTrip

Flower is yellow
Sunflower seed black and white
Rainbow in stomach

Seed calms salty itch
Need returns from Mac mouse clicks
Apple destroyed me

Place, bite, crack then spit
Work brings a tiny seed of flesh
Getting hosed by seed

Big bag for one buck
Money can’t buy happiness
But seeds are so close

Your mama big
When she wears a yellow dress
Sunflowers face her