Put away the pink socks and breast cancer awareness lapels, Roger Goodell. The bacterial cesspool you call workplace justice is staining a great cause by association.
The National Football League has no business pretending it cares about serious women’s issues. Not when its players are rewarded with contract extensions and minimal discipline after leaving women purple and blue.
Their think-pink campaign is nothing more than boardroom penance from a bunch of unsorry suits. The check will clear and they’ll put out a press release, but we’ll know better.
Giants kicker Josh Brown got suspended one game for beating his wife. One game. Tom Brady’s water boys deflated footballs and he got a quarter of a season. You get two games for abusing your own body with PEDS, but half that for abusing your wife’s body with haymakers?
The NFL does not care if its players give their wives the tackling dummy treatment. NFL authorities only care if they get caught not caring about how their Ray Rices and Greg Hardys and Josh Browns manhandle their significant others while on the company payroll.
Every time the moral high ground presents itself to the commissioner’s desk, he goes the way of Earth’s center. All the public service announcements in the world won’t wash away that legacy.
No wonder NFL viewership has toilet-bowled this fall. We’d rather watch something more civil and humane.
Like the presidential race.
Selective memories – Speaking of flaming dung rockets, did you hear The Donald defend his hatred of women as “locker room talk” five news cycles ago?
We read about football players around The League say they’ve never heard such filth.
My eye, they haven’t.
Some of us spent five days a week in NFL locker rooms from 2006-2010. Lots of guys were great. Most were unnoticeable.
Some were junior-high pigs. They passed porn around like it was candy. One player asked a female reporter if she liked what she was seeing when his everything was there to see. Another swung his equipment by hand directly behind another female reporter and thrust his hips back and forth.
Spend five minutes within earshot of Warren Sapp. You’ll spend the next hour cleaning your ears out with fiberglass sandpaper.
Add another name to ’Dogs list – Fresno Bee teammate Marek Warszawski named his list of replacements for Fresno State football coach Tim DeRuyter, who has entered the “Weekend at Bernie’s” stage of his time on campus.
We know Hirer-in-Chief Jim Bartko goes way back with Jeff Tedford, and we know Lane Kiffin isn’t an option because he only falls up. We’re going with someone who didn’t make the list.
He’s an alumnus. He called offensive plays at UCLA. He outlived four Raiders head coaches in eight years with Oakland, so there’s staying power.
The Bulldogs don’t need a bright, youngish coordinator, or DeRuyter would’ve worked. They need a recruiter who knows California and what used to be the Fresno State way of finding undersized kids like Skipper in outposts from Kerman to Brawley and making all-conference stars out of them.
With that, we’ll let you return to your regularly scheduled 1-6 season.
Harbaugh vs. Saban, please – Dear Michigan and Alabama,
Please don’t do anything stupid between now and January. Like, lose a game. We want the college football title to be decided not by these two teams, but by a midfield stare-off between Jim Harbaugh and Nick Saban.
First to laser-eye a molten hole through the other’s nose bridge wins.