After months of searching for a source of thin-sliced pastrami (sorry, Hilshire Farms, but rippping the pastrami off the cow, packaging it, and then calling it "thin-slice" just doesn't cut it.) , The Ford finally gave up and bought some packages of corned beef.

Long has The Ford disdained corned beef as a lesser variation on pastrami. (It's basically pastrami minus the smoking process.)

But tonight, The Ford made himself his first corned beef sandwich -- corned beef, mustard, mayo and Muenster cheese, on dark rye.

Delicious. Just delicious.


(Yeah, that was a lame post, even for The Ford, but, well, it was a freakin' awesome sandwich. Here, enjoy the Anne Hathaway as The Ford tries not to flash back to the afternoon he made the mistake of taking a nap in the theater hosting an afternoon showing of "The Princess Diaries." Really, the only thing creepier than going to sleep in an empty theater and waking up surrounded by 12-year-old girls is then watching a pretty good movie, and then trying to nonchalantly meander out of the theater filled with said 12-year-olds, all of whom are a full two feet shorter than you. Creepy all around.)

How in the holy hell is Oregon No. 24 in the AP poll while The Official Alma Mater is 25th? Sure, the Ducks beat, um, um, um... Oklahoma?
But the Cougs would have, if, say, they'd had the Pac-10 refs the Ducks got that weekend/

Meanwhile, the Cougs did beat one top-25 team: The Ducks.

The Cougs' 3 losses? No. 6 Auburn (26 points), No. 9 USC (6 points) and No. 10 Cal (18 points). The Ducks' two losses? The Cougs (11 points), and hey, No. 10 Cal (21 points).

So have your fun, AP voters.

The Ford's plenty glad to see the Cougs back in the top 25 for the first time since 03, but, seriously, if you're gonna be stupid enough to leave the Ducks there, too, what's the damn point?

Well, the Tigers lost. As did the Stars, on Friday. (For the record, The Ford was backing the Tigers with his hat. Fat load of good that did. David Fucking Eckstein. Jeff Motherfuckin' Weaver. Bah.)

But, Saturday? Saturday, it was The Official Alma Mater coming up HUUUGE, getting their sixth win and becoming bowl-eligible for the first time since the 2003 season. And, y'know, with three games left, against Arizona State, Arizona and the F'Uskies? Yeah, The Ford's gonna be spending a few days in a nice place, drinking and bonding with a few thousand Coug fans. San Diego? El Paso? Hell, The Ford'll take Phoenix or San Francisco, too.

Um, go Cougs.

Tomorrow, The Ford faces a tough decision: Which hat should he wear?

Should he wear his Tigers cap, with the entire season on the line, hoping that a week without it -- its 1-1 record over the weekend earned it a much-needed Verlander-like rest -- will have restored its karmic mightiness?

Or should he wear his Dallas Stars cap, as The Official NHL Team hosts the hometown Red Wings?

Normally, this wouldn't be a debate; it'd be the Olde English D all the way.

But The Ford's noticed that, when he's rooting for two teams in two sports, the one not supported by his clothing tends to win. The one endorsed by his headgear or sweatshirt tends to lose. Thus are the karmic scales balanced, The Ford believes.

Of course, this has really only been tested this year on Saturdays with The Official Alma Mater going head-to-head with The Official Sports Mistress. And in that case, um, one team is, well, good, the other is, well, The Official Alma Mater. Their wins are few and far between anyway. (Editor's note: Not as few as in past years though. Cougs are totally Taguchi. That is to say, SO going to a bowl.)

Obviously, this is quite the dilemma -- one The Ford suspects will not be solved until he wakes up tomorrow and forgets to put on either hat.

Ladies and gentlemen, dearly beloved, we are gathered here to day to mourn the passing of a great man.

Er, that is, we're hear to mourn his LACK of passing.

That's right, it's officially time to call Drew Bledsoe's football career dead.

It was a good career, full of long passes, thrilling wins, and bone- (and sternum-) crushing sacks.

Who could forget the way he, a simple coach's son, rose from Walla Walla to prominence at The Official Alma Mater, winning a snowy Apple Cup that is, for many Cougs of The Ford's generation, the defining moment of the rivalry with The F'uskies?

Or the way there was actually a debate over who the better QB was, Bledsoe or Rick Mirer? (And yes, as if to pay for the three glorious years of WSU Bledsoe, the Pacific Northwest ended up with several years of Seahawk Mirer. Still, almost worth it...)

Or how he heralded a return to wide-open offenses in the NFL, throwing 50 times a game, simply because New England had no one else on offense? (Seriously, he threw 43 times a game in 1994 -- his 691 attempts that season are an NFL record. By 36. In fact, three of the top four attempt totals are Bledsoe's. Marion Butts, Michael Timpson, Vincent Brisby. These were the other top Patriot offensive threats. Yikes.)

Or that he managed to carry the Patriots to a Super Bowl just four years after they'd won just one game in a season. Really, it was a positively Tigers'like renaissance.

How many QBs manage to hang on in the NFL for a good 10 years AFTER they make the Super Bowl? (Yes, we see you back there, Mr. Favre, but we're refusing to call on you right now...)

Sure, he may not have been the greatest mentor for a young quarterback. Or the most mobile passer ever. Or, well, able to win a title as a starter, for that matter.

But, really, when The Ford's moved onto the big Madden game in the sky, and he needs a QB to run the Ford-Gun offense, well, he'll be calling on No. 11.

Assuming he doesn't get sent to hell for the way he's going to torture Dallas fans this season.

Then again, torturing Cowboys fans? That's practically the Lord's work, right there.

The Official Sports Cult Leader wins. (See, other folks actually go through the whole spelling/chanting routine of W-A-SHI-N-G-TON-ST-A-T-E-C-O-UGS-gocougs! And you thought The Ford was the only one...)

The Official Sports Mistress does not.

Apparently, The Official God-like Being No. 49 has decreed that only one of The Ford's teams may win on any given day, and it will not be the team supported by The Ford's clothing on that day.

Awesome.

Let's face it, the NLCS will likely come down to a ninth-inning pinch hit.

And thus, the Cards obvioulsy have the advantage, with uber-sub So Taguchi going 4-4 in his 2006 postseason appearances, with a slugging percentage of something like 2.750.

Putting that in perspective, Taguchi's slugging percentages from five years in MLB only add up to 2.101.

Who needs Pujols?

In a rare public-service-minded mood, The Ford offers The Official So Taguchi-themed Headlines:

1.) They're So Champs

2.) Not So fast

3.) He's So Money

4.) So, So, So, it's magic!

5.) So-ing Machine

6.) As Cards' So, so did they reap

7.) Put a So-ck in it!

8.) High and So

9.) Friends in So places

10.) Taguchi-coochy-coochy!

11.) So Yeah!

12.) Taguchi Bagged.

13.) Ta-ta, Taguchi! (OK, that one's mostly if the Mets win...)

Perhaps, just perhaps, we've pretty much run out of things to be addicted to in America.

For a while, we just had alcohol. Then drugs. Then food. Then weight loss. Then weight gain. (Though probably not in that order.)

And now?

Now, the hook du jour is, apparently, porn.

Yes, The Ford was waiting 25 minutes in line at the grocery store tonight, face to face with Kirk Franklin ("GP! Are ya wit' me? GP!") and his lovely wife Tammy.

Honestly, they looked a bit two-dimensional, which may or may not be attributable to their presence being only in magazine form. (This week in Ebony!)

He had a hot wife. And an addiction to porn.

Now he only has a hot wife.

There's probably more to this story, but really, the inclusion of "porn" on a magazine cover only gets The Ford to read so much.

And then, The Ford gets home and his AOL IM starts trying to sell him on "Glenn Beck," which is either a lame winery, a solid David Mamet screenplay, or a Headline News anchor who does special reports, this week, on "America's addiction to porn."

First, why does Headline News have a dude doing takeouts?

Is not the point of Headline News to simply report the headlines?

It's not like it's a vaguely named network or anything -- The Ford's looking at you, Vs. -- and yet they feel the need to not show, um, HEADLINES.

There's a whole MTV/MTV2 rant building up here, but let's not lose focus.

This week, "Glenn Beck" is reporting on porn and America's addiction to it.

Which is odd, since usually the stories on porn run in November during Sweeps.

But Glenn Beck is a REPORTER, not a CALENDAR MAKER, and so tonight, The Ford learned that the porn industry is bigger than all of professional football, basketbal and baseball combined. (But apparently not hockey. Hockey puts pro sports over the top. Hooray hockey!)

Also bigger than the Big Three of pro sports?

Oil? Yes.

The military-industrial complex? Yes.

(Yeah, The Ford hates to sound all wishy-washy liberal AND have to resort to an Eisenhower-era term, but well, when the shoe fits...)

Insects? Yes. (No, seriously, insects provide about $57 billion in support to other industries. Which makes The Ford feel kinda bad about beating the hell out of a spider the other day in the bathroom...)

But can Glenn Beck be bothered to go after Halliburton or your local entomologist?

Nope, he's going after the porn stars.

Of course, Glenn Beck also can't be bothered to wear a tie in his promotional photo, so The Ford should probably cut him some slack.

Unless he shows up on the cover of Ebony next month, and The Ford has to stare at him for 25 minutes.

Then Glenn Beck's going down.

Ah, the rains, um, rained down upon mankind by a vengeful National League-hating God have finally made their way to the 313, and, almost as if synchronized, so too has a storm of work hit The Ford.

So, he'll keep this short, or at least aim for that.

-- 6-for-8 in fantasy football this week. Granted, The Ford's fantasy football talk is dreadfully boring to everyone but the guy who owns the teams (i.e., The Ford) and the guy facing The Ford (i.e., The Official Hated Enemy), but still, 6-for-8 ain't too shabby, especially when two of the winners were winless to this point.
Leaving the Oakland Raiders as possibly America's only winless team.

Which, The Ford feels, is probably pretty close to the way God wants things...

-- Heard a great idea tonight: Retiring a hat for each season. At the end of every baseball season, when your team can play no longer, you take a Sharpie, write the date (and perhaps an inspirational message) on the inside of the cap, and retire the sucker. Put it in a place of honor, forever to remind you of the greatness of the baseball season. (Or, if you're a Cubs fan, burn the hat in an attempt to remove whatever bad juju made your team hire Lou Piniella.)

-- Time does pass in The Ford's world, if only evidenced by the fact that this thought didn't cause an immediate loss of blood to the brain. Ah, for The Ford of two years ago. He wasn't cute, but he wasn't cool either. Wait. That's The Ford of today, too.

Eh, at least The Ford The Elder's truck is nearly paid off.

Eat it, The Ford The Younger!

Y'know, The Ford saw these all in their original form as a kid -- and even has a few on DVD, somewhere in The Official Apartment -- but he never realized how weird it was for G.I. Joes to come out of nowhere to help kids until he saw the dubbed/edited versions. (Deep Six coming out of the water is just a mite creepy...)

Oh, and the Tigers won again, even with The Ford in attendance. One win from the World Series. Words hard to find. Basically? It was good.

Sometimes, as a blogger, you write 900 words on the NBA Dance Team bracket, all in the second person.

Other times, you hit a diner, have a club sandwich, and go to bed early, knowing you've got an afternoon Tigers playoff game to go to.

Guess which time this is...

So, the White Sox are beginning all their night games next season at 7:11, thanks to some moolah from, natch, 7-11.

Perhaps this is an untapped revenue source for some other teams....

Why not have:

The Blazers tip off at 4:20?

The Ducks play on Saturdays at 3:11? (The po-po code for "Loud and obscene," which surely applies to their uniforms.)

The Bengals kick off at 5:05(0)? ( 5-0-5-0? A cry that surely goes out quite often around the team when Chris Henry's around.)

The SuperSonics take the court at 7:47?

For years, The Ford has believed one thing above all others: In times of awkwardness, The Ford is king.

It's a belief born from years and years and years of being the awkwardest guy in the room. The short guy. The tall guy. The young guy. The old guy. The dumb guy. The smart guy. The drunk guy. The sober guy. The guy willing to go against the rule of threes.

Yes, all these guys has The Ford been, often many of them at once.

And so,The Ford believed that in times of awkwardness, times of nervousness and silence, well, those would be the times The Ford was a man in full.

While others sought something to dilute the pain of an awkward moment, The Ford would be the one sitting back, perhaps not enjoying the awkwardness, but certainly familiar with it.

Tonight, though.

Tonight, The Ford was off his awkward game.

It was not that the particular moment was particularly awkward.

No, it was that when confronted with the awkwardness, The Ford was also confronted by his apparent Kryptonite.

Boobs.

Note this: It's not that The Ford is afraid of the boobs, or even unfamiliar with them. It's just that when they are injected into an awkward situation, The Ford is often left defenseless.

Really, it's a situatuion common to many men. Boobs are good. Boobs are plentiful. But introduce them into an otherwise normal situation, and men end up looking/acting like idiots.

We don't blame women for this. In fact, we sorts honor them. They have learned to deal with the boobs. For them, boobs are basically a walking home-field advantage, not unlike Lambeau Field or Oregon's MacArthur Court (depending on cup size....)

Meanwhile, The Ford is befuddled, left to get embarassed like a rookie cornerback facing Peyton Manning.

Who is a bit of a giant boob himself.

Go figure.

Oh, and WTF ever happened to Pac-10 football uniforms?

It all started when Oregon got those gawd-awful neon yellow unis.

The Official Alma Mater tried their hands at it, implementing two helmets.

Oregon retaliated with THREE helmets, and about 30 other changes, including printing on the shoulders that looks like treadmarks, and a number font resembling self-applied duct tape.

The Official Alma Mater, not to be outdone by those dirty, stinking' hippies, waited until its second nationally televised game of the the year and then broke out The Official Crimson and Gray Abominations. (No, really, they're unpopular...)

Somewhere along the line, Oregon State tried out bright orange jerseys, and then thought better of it... seriously, these are uniforms so ugly there's actually no photographic proof of their existence anymore.

Finally, Cal got into the act, breaking out their own bright yellow duds, ironically enough, against Oregon:

Which is why The Ford must say Enough.

Freakin' Enough.

OK, Pac-10?

The Ford doesn't care if you go back to what you had, or if you stick with what you've got, but y'know what?

You're done.

Cut off.


Thus Sayeth The Ford.

Things The Ford Knows, Special "Gleaned from magazines mysteriously left on The Ford's desk by his coworkers in the past three days, no, seriously" Edition:

1. Brooke Hogan? Not that hot.

2. Gordie Howe? Totally a bad ass.

3. Beth Ostrosky? Also not that hot.

4. The PS3? Totally Sweet.

5. Marisa Miller? Absolutely that hot.

Day ? of Tigerwatch 2006, which means The Ford will not be getting much sleep for the next fortnight or so.

Now, The Ford doesn't always want to make it about him -- though, let's face it, this IS The Official Blog of The Ford -- so he's gonna point out just how cool it was of the Tigers to run into the clubhouse, grab some champagne, and celebrate with the fans in attendance. (One of whom would have been The Ford, were it not for his pesky attention to duty...)

Which makes it even weirder that they'll not play the A's, the team that banned alcohol in the clubhouse after Esteban Loaiza got a DUI after a game.

Then again, The Ford's pretty sure he saw some bubbly flowing in the A's clubhouse when they bounced the Twins.

Was it non-alcoholic bubbly? Does that sting as much as regular bubbly? Would the A's be truly beloved by teetotalers across the country if they'd just have sprayed cool, clean Yoo-Hoo all over the place? Is The Ford getting kickbacks from the folks who make cool, clean, refreshing Yoo-Hoo in exchange for product placements?

All these are unanswered questions to The Ford... and one supposes to you, too, dear reader.

There's probably more unanswered questions, but, for now, let's just focus on what Famke Janssen's gonna bring to "Iron Man."

Cool, clean, refreshing, non-alcoholic Yoo-Hoo!



Thus Blatherith The Ford

Tonight, as The Ford was watching The Official Sports' Mistress' playoff game, and trying not to feel bitter about how work/the inability to beat the Royals was keeping The Ford from experiencing the joy of the playoffs in person for the first time, he had an epiphany...

It's not about the playoffs.

The fun The Ford had at 30-some regular-season games isn't diminished because he can't go to any playoff games. It's still there. No, really, it is.

The Ford didn't go to those games because he thought the team was good. Or because he thought the team might be good, and he wanted to get in on the ground floor.

Indeed, he went to the games because they were there, because he digs baseball.

And thus, he was rewarded with a fantastic season.

But even if The Official Sports Mistress would have lost 120 games, the season still would have been worth it, simpley for the many individual memories.

Really, the beauty of the baseball season is that, in going for 162 games, it forces you to just enjoy the games, without worrying about how they affect the pennant race.

It's in stark opposition to football -- either pro or college -- where there are so few games that each one feels like it's life or death.

The Ford doesn't want to get into a whole George-Carlin-difference-between-football-and-baseball thing, but really, The Ford will continue going to as many baseball games as he can, regardless of the quality of the teams, or the quality of the games.

Honest.

Things The Ford isn't quite clear on...

1.) Why the good folks at the coneys in the 313 insist on serving oyster crackers with their bowls of chili.

2.) Why The Ford is so keen on bowls of chili at coneys in the 313.

3.) How to tell what a drunk girl is thinking.

4.) Who put the holes in the takeout container his slice of pie/cake from aforementioned coney was put in?

5.) How much The Ol' Grammar Professor would've hated that last sentence fragment.

6.) And that one.

7.) How to tell what a sober girl is thinking.

8.) Why he's willing -- and, indeed, sometimes eager -- to work 33 hours in a 36-hour period.

9.) If Tim McCarver is the most sadistic mofo on the face of the earth.

No, seriously, this needs more explanation. It wasn't enough to Tim Motherfuckin' McCarver, who still L-U-V-S the Yankees even though they fired his ass a couple of years ago, to be satisfied with ripping on the Tigers for not being as good as the Yankees. For five innings.

No, around the sixth, he decides to remind his viewing audience that the Tigers also lost five straight games entering the playoffs. Twist the knife more.

And then, when Joe Buck brought up that one of the other teams to do that was the 1987 Twins, who just happened to win the World Series, McCarver brought up the team the Twins beat in the ALCS: The Tigers.

Fucker.

Now, some blame here goes to Buck, 'cause no exchange goes this well without being rehearsed, but, still, y'know, the Tigers (in the words of Buck) "have been the best story in baseball this season."

And McCarver rips them for three hours.

Fucking McCarver.

Anyway...

10.) No, that's it. Just 9. Fuckin' McCarver.

Sigh.

Is there a team The Ford hates more than USC?

Well, yes, actually.

But that's pretty much it.

Now, Th e Ford tends to forget this sometimes, right around BCS bowl time, when USC is the lone team defending the honor of the Pac-10.

At that time, well, The Ford's gotta rally around the Trojans.

But every other time?

USC must go down, and they must go down hard.

Especially during their visit to Pullman, a rarity in and of itself.

So, of course, The Ford was forced to fight for ownership of a TV at The Official Newspaper. Not even the promise of seeing WSU's new uniforms was a deal-sealer.

And, of course, once again, The Official Football Team lost.

No, they didn't lose bad; even The Ford had to be a bit optimistic as the Cougs refused to fold after giving up a 17-play, 8-minute drive.

But still, would it kill the Cougs to win one of these things? Beating Idaho, Baylor and Stanford is nice, but beating a good team would be, y'know, awesome. (especially in October, where, quoteth the Seattle Times: "The Cougars now enter the scary month of October in which they haven't won a game since 2003. They were 0-9 in 2004-05. The Cougars went 3-0 in October in 2003 on their way to the Holiday Bowl.")

(By the way, is it weird to face the Trojans one week, and the Beavers the next? Seems a bit odd. Maybe the Cougs could schedule the Gamecocks next season, too.)

Thus Endeth The Official Happy-Go-Lucky Portion of the program. Now, onto the bile.

Especially if that team was Fucking USC. Fucking USC that somehow gets a holding call overturned without a review, when everyone in the fucking country could see that, yes, there was holding, and yes, it was on both sides of the fucking player.

Fucking Trojans. Fucking Trojans. Fucking Trojans.

Seriously, The Ford could type -- not copy and paste, but actually TYPE -- that phrase for 10 minutes and it wouldn't sum up how pissed he is at USC.

Fucking Trojans.

7. Official. Things. To. Hate. About. The. Trojans. (None of which are probably in this book that The Ford has not read. Though, yes, he hates USC. Though he would have called it "The Ford Fucking Hates Fucking USC." Might not have sold as many books, but, well, The Ford would have bought a couple.)

1.) Pete Carroll. Moron in the NFL, genius in college.Helps when half od L.A. and San Diego is willing to pay your players for you, The Ford supposes. WSU's still working on getting the farmers on the Palouse out to games...

2.) John David Booty. Go by John. Or David. Or J.D. Whatever. Just pick one. Fucking prick Trojan. Your name is "Booty." No amount of first names is going to change that, and, really, The Ford would know.

3.) That fucking song. You know. The one that goes "Duh da-da-da-da-da-daduh-da-duh." You will burn in hell for that song, USC, based on the number of times it's gotten stuck in people's heads. (Unlike The Official Fight Song....)

3a.) Let's point out this site, which fairly rocks for fight songs. Though what's up with Cal having, like, 20? Pick one, and move on. Even Fucking USC managed to narrow it down a bit.

4.) This has nothing to do with either 3 or 3a, but it's an important note from Amazon.com: "On top of all this, USC counts the most Major League baseball players, the most baseball Hall of Famers, the most All-Stars and various dominant players. Despite not being known for basketball, a disproportianate number of Trojans from the 1940s and '50s are considered hoops pioneers. The "triangle offense" was invented at SC, and such stalwarts as Bill Sharman, Alex Hannum and Tex Winter played together before induction in Springfield. USC also boasts the most Olympians, the most Olympic champions, and if they had been a country in 1976, they would have placed third in total medals at the Montreal Games. "

Of course, had Fucking USC been a country in 1976, The Ford would like to believe we might have bombed the shit out of them for taking all our medals, and taught those fuckers a lesson.

5.) Somehow, USC managed to avoid visiting Pullman for about 20 years, instead playing WSU in either L.A., Seattle, or Spokane. Fucking Trojans. Get on a fucking bus, and come down to the Palouse. Or are you too scared to, because you might actually have to fight to win a game on the Palouse, like you did Saturday. Fucking USC.

6.) Some notable USC alums hated by The Ford, you ask? How about Jeff Smulyan, the man who kept trying to move the Mariners seemingly every year in the 1980s, the man Major League Baseball wouldn't LET own the Nationals. (And keep in mind, this is a business that lets Jeffrey Loria own, like, three teams, and threaten to move them all over the place when they inevitably crater. But no Jeff Smulyan anymore.)

7.) It's USC. You don't need a fucking reason to fucking hate Fucking USC.

Fucking Trojans.