I'm Not So Sure He ISN'T The Bellboy

When it was revealed in Brad Meltzer's "Justice League" that the Cavalier had been dating "Captain Stingaree" I was shocked. Shocked, I say to you now! Because I just couldn't picture a man as stylish as the Cavalier falling for this guy:



Also I was surprised that anybody would have promoted him to the rank of "Captain." But it turns out I was mistaken. "Captain Stingaree" is actually a completely different DC villain that almost nobody has ever heard of. Instead of a pirate theme, the civilian Stingaree is based on the mischievous "clown of the sea," the sting ray. (Insert "Crocodile Hunter" joke here as soon as it stops being in poor taste.) Also, he was the leader of a "world crime syndicate." No, not the WTO. This one was called "Cyclops."

The very idea that DC had two bad guys with the name of "Stingaree" is seriously effed up... mainly because "Stingaree" has to be one of the dopiest-sounding villain names I've ever heard. I could see using it for a kid sidekick, but not a criminal mastermind. It's too cute! Like, cloyingly, ain't-I-a-stinker cute. It's self-consciously kooky -- just like the "Metamorpho" comic itself! Now, before you start hurling your custom Heroclix at me, hear me out. I know a lot of very intelligent folks love that book. But to me it, it just seems to be trying too hard. And also all the characters look either freakishly deformed or like Charro. I try to read an old issue of "Metamorpho" and I may as well be trying to decode an ancient Mayan tablet. I'm baffled. I can't figure out in the least how it's entertaining. But then I feel the same way about Tejano music, Aaron Sorkin and female strippers. To each his own, I guess. So don't get me wrong. I mean, I don't like "Metamorpho" but it doesn't really rile me or nothin'. But then you take a goofball name like "Stingaree" and pile it on top of the incomprehensible awfulness of a "Metamorpho" story and it all becomes just too much for me. It makes me fly into a rage -- a manic, tear-filled rage where I'm screaming "Why?! Why?!" over and over again until my voice gets all hoarse and I flail my arms and I pound my skull with my mighty fists and I kick over that one table that Jeremy's folks had made from a genuine hibachi and I crumple to the ground in a hairy, muscular heap and Jeremy has to clock me on the noggin with a bottle of Shiner Bock just to shut my ass up. So you can imagine my amazement and consternation when a simple Google search revealed to me that "Stingaree" really is what a lot of perfectly reasonble people call the sting ray, as well as a nightclub, a 1934 musical, and a historical "red light" district in San Diego.

Well, I still think it's a stupid name. *pouts* And thematically it doesn't even jibe with the name of his organization! You'd think the supreme leader of Cyclops would have a monocular laser-blaster or maybe a giant, all-seeing surveilance robot (with a big wooden club). Not our Stingaree, no sir, he's doing his own thing. Even the costume isn't that bad but then he had to go and ruin it with that stupid cape (not that the belt is doing him any favors, either). Why wear a cape if it's just going to get in the way of your ten-foot-long cybernetic tail? (I ask myself that same question all the time.) And the collar seems to be suffering from social anxiety disorder because it's hiding behind Stingaree's neck and it absolutely refuses to come out from there.

According to my research, Stingaree's appearance in "Metamorpho" #10 (January/February 1967) was not only his first but his last. I don't know the cause for his disappearance, but I suspect it may have been the cease-and-desist letter from the lawyer of Max Gargan.

On Monday, we'll get the insider's perspective on Stingaree, from our friend Manny!

Donna Bummer

The superheroes had no idea what they were in for. Sure, they've battled giant monsters and techno-armored dictators and armadas of spaceships, but that's nothing compared to a Dazzler concert!



So, just half an hour in that Wasp-designed fashion bungle and the heat from the She-Hulk's radioactive rack is causing the cheap red dye to dissolve and drift through the auditorium in a deadly fog. What's that strange smell? Why, it's the acrid stench of a class-action lawsuit! Say, maybe the Dazzler's attorney ex-boyfriend, a.k.a. Gerald McBrainy (from the law offices of Simon & Simon) can lend a hand!

In case you never read "Dazzler" #21 (and may the Good Lord bless you and keep you if you have) I'll just say that the Dazzler is onstage for two whole freaking hours, rollerskating and thrusting and shaking her ass and putting her legs behind her head and, not that anybody really noticed, "singing" if you can call it that. And then it's time for her to get serious and do a syrupy ballad, while all the men in the 1982 audience start to put on their Members Only jackets or maybe just awkwardly sit there and wish somebody would invent a miniature portable telephone/computer they could use to play video blackjack and check the basketball scores.



"You see, I'm totally hyper tonight..." But that's probably just the diet pills talking. The lyrics make Diane Warren seem like Trent Reznor by comparison, but at least letterer Janice Chang has done her level best to make them illegible. Either that, or the jaunty kerning is meant to convey just how dreadful the Dazzler's singing really is. I'm guessing she manages to cover several octaves with each syllable.

Middle panel: guest-starring as the Dazzler's father, it's cult film star Bruce Campbell! Behind him, I think it's that kid with the stupid "heart" power from the Captain Planet cartoons.



Best. Reaction shot. Ever. Even the most battle-hardened superhero recoils in horror at the Dazzler's singing. I bet if Wolverine had been there (the X-Men missed the concert because they were "in space"... or at least that's they claimed) there would have been a little trickle of pee running down one of his furry legs. Oh, and Hawkeye seems to have been replaced by a bad guy from a Jonny Quest cartoon. And yes, the Dazzler's backup band did indeed consist of "Beefer, Hunch, and Marx." I suppose Hardrock, Coco, and Joe had another gig. And with the final three panels, writer Danny Fingeroth transduces the script into...

hackneyed...

overwrought...

maudlin...

stomach-churning...

crap.

Muddy Night Football

Holy shit, do I really look like that?! Yikes. Er, anyhow, I watched the Denver/Baltimore matchup on ESPN's Monday Night Football. Which, judging by the opening credits, takes place in Dark City. Are ya ready for some tuning? With no previous emotional or intellectual investment in either team I decided to root for the Broncos because I kind of hate the Ravens logo. I suppose they were going for something old-school but to me it just reeks of manufactured nostalgia, and it's just plain ugly to boot.

• The show began on a titillating note, as a drop of water on the camera lens had me convinced for a half-second that they were blurring out someone doing something mind-bendingly obscene on the football field.
• And then it was time for that godawful Hank Williams Jr. production number, which I swear to God gets longer every single week. And of course, one of the announcers says "Can you hear that and not hit the 'up' arrow on the volume?" Which cracked me up since I'd just fast-forwarded through it.
• Nice twelve-yard return by Broncos #27 Darrent Williams (Jr.! HEEYAH!!!) with some awesome zig-zagging footwork. In fact, if you measured it by how much ground he covered, it was more like a seventy-yard return!
• Since it was 39 degrees and raining, the Broncos cheerleaders were covered head-to-toe and their wearing parkas and baseball caps. With the sex appeal removed, they just looked like they were a mob of ladies waiting to pick up their kids at school, and just by some strange coincidence, they had all had gotten drunk beforehand and started dancin' around.
• Broncos QB Jake Plummer's headshot looks like a yearbook photo... from a penitentiary.
• Tony Kornheiser to special guest James "Desperate Housewives" Denton: "I'm under the impression that people watch this show for the hot women! Who, exactly, is watching for you?" That question is ignorant on so many different levels it's actually kind of impressive. It's like a tirimisu of stupidity.
• I'm pretty sure Darrent Williams got the design for the sides of his haircut from the back of a McDonalds placemat.
• 3rd quarter, Broncos #24 Champ Bailey intercepted a touchdown pass. Sweet!
• Michelle Tafoya was dressed sensibly this time, but her compatriot Suzy Kolber was attired in a jacket that made her look like she was in the middle of transforming into a My Little Pony.
• Announcer: "[Baltimore's] Clayton catches, and goes down very quickly!" Well, that's one way to become popular.
• One ref seems to be wearing an onion on his belt. ("...which was the style at the time..." - Grampa Simpson)
• With the constant rain, the players were slipping and sliding all over the field, the funniest instance being when the Ravens' B.J. Sams caught the ball and the mere impact of it caused him to fall on his ass before he could even take one step forward.
• The game was tied 3-3 from halftime up until 1:55 left in the fourth quarter, when Denver finally made a touchdown, and then the extra point. So that decided it, 13-3. Just to rub it in, they intercepted the ball back from Baltimore with about half a minute left. It was an exciting game! I laughed, I cried, it became a part of me.

Ticketbastards

Before we were so rudely interrupted (by Jeremy's primitive computer) I'd promised to give you my red carpet coverage from Dazzler's glitteringly horrendous concert at New York's Carnegie Hall, as seen in "Dazzler" #21 (November, 1982). And here it is!



Conveniently cropped out of the panel: the huge banner that reads "FREE HOTDOGS."

Say, who is that couple in the front with their backs turned? It can't be... is it? Holy crap, it's Ned Leeds and Betty Brant! C'mon, it has to be! Oh, I'm so proud of myself right now. I'm guessing Ned's right hand is locked in a death grip around Betty's left wrist, as he drags her deeper, deeper into the claustrophobic concert hall where she'll be forced sit perfectly still for two-and-a-half hours while she listens to the Dazzler's nasal screeching. And all the while she'll have a grotesque smile plastered on her mug, and occasionally she'll turn around to glance at Glory Grant in the seat behind her and she'll simper, "I think it's so very important to take an interest in your loved one's needs!" And Ned will squeeze her wrist even tighter because GODDAMMIT HE WAS LISTENING TO HIS MUSIC and Betty will dutifully shut most of her brain down once more.

The Fantastic Four was the first group of heroes to arrive, but they didn't wear or say anything interesting so I won't waste your time with that panel. I was afraid the night would be a total bust. But then this happened:



Oh my yes. Sure, she could hardly pry her way out of that sartorial abomination last time, but the She-Hulk somehow let the Wasp talk her into wearing it again! Then again, this may have been during She-Hulk's "pre-costume" period. Remember when she'd ditched the white rags she' always worn in her old book, and had taken to battling crime while attired as an aerobics instructor? With ankle warmers and everything? Now, that was a golden age! Meanwhile...

• Hawkeye's right arm has been horribly dislocated but that doesn't stop him from working the crowd! Sadly, nobody has any idea who he is.
• Captain America is wearing a trenchcoat so no one will figure out that he's willingly attending a Dazzler concert. Or maybe being frozen in a block of ice has given him Heat Wave's cold-phobia and the slightest draft sends him running for the coat closet. Okay, so I'm stumped. I could see him wanting to accessorize with a floor-length mink number (hey, it was 1982! Fur wasn't murder yet) but I just don't get the trench. Oh well. Just one more reason to hate him, I suppose.
• Iron Man really should get back on the treadmill or sumpin' because the man-boobs are getting entirely out of hand.
• Thor's wasted already. Of course, if I knew I was going to have to hear the Dazzler sing, I'd probably want to fortify my nerves with a little liquid courage as well.
• And the Wasp has chosen this occasion to wear one of her frumpiest costumes ever. But she threw an untied kimono over it and, if challenged, she would design an entire line of sportswear around the concept. Mind you, she's also blitzed out of her mind right now on pain pills, as the morning's dermabrasion session resulted in her nose being sandblasted right off her face.

"I'd heard so much about Dazzler's talents, I didn't want to miss the show." In other words, he'll be echolocating the hell out of her rack from just inside a janitor's closet. That billy club's getting a workout tonight! Also... earplugs? I have to admit that's a genius idea.

First panel: man, now there's a metaphor for a closeted/out relationship if ever I've seen one. "I told you, you can only call me 'Wondy" when we're at home!"

Second panel: package for Mister Quasar! And the Angel brought his "gramma." Dude, c'mon! Has it really come to that? You're a millionaire! Where'd all the money go? Gambling? Coke habit? Italian shoes? My mind is freaking out just trying to imagine the personal ad that led to this pairing. Giving commentary from behind a sawhorse is Namorita and Vance Astro! Or maybe it's the two kids from the Space Ghost cartoon. And I have to agree, Vance. One's grandmother is never worth wearing a costume for, or, y'know, a necktie.

Breathlessly, the caption boxes descend into online fanfic quality...

"Ali would've killed me!" ("Ali" being the slim young Morroccan poolboy at his country club. Ali couldn't afford a ticket but Ken promised to tell him, oh, just everything!)

If anybody ever wanted to know why the Dazzler comic never really caught on with any segment of the human population (aside from Jeremy), I'd like to present this guy as Exhibit A. For a while, he was the Dazzler's love interest. No, seriously. And that's the problem! Y'see, Dazzler's comic was, at its core, a superheroic mutation of "Millie The Model." Lancelot Steele = Clicker (the himbo), Cassandra = Chili Storm (the acid-tongued romantic rival), Vanessa = Toni Turner (the pretty friend), and Harry Osgood = Mr. Hanover (the well-meaning boss). So despite its X-pedigree, it seemed like it was targeted more at girly-girls than at tomboys. And yet Marvel handled the idea so clumsily! (Like usual.) I mean, I'm no expert, but I suspect that typical adolescent girls of 1982 didn't really go for guys with porn star mustaches, aviator-style glasses, and man-perms.

Tomorrow: inside the Dazzler concert! And before that, Jeremy will post his comments on last night's game, along with the debut of my little cartoon headshot of his balding noggin.

Howdy You Like Me Now?

Yippee-Ki-Yay, fashion lover! Woo! Check me out! As you can see, I spent quite a bit of time in DC's Old West. Long enough for me to grow my hair back out and exchange my dashing Donegal for this bitchin' biker 'stache. Why, you ask? Simple. People were always mistaking me for a Mormon or a Mennonite or Abe Lincoln's hotter brother and after a while it really started to stick in my craw. And I noticed that all the really badass gunfighters, like f'rinstance every single one of the Earp brothers, had these sweet biker 'staches (and by biker, I mean some random dude on a velocipede). And then I remembered that the second-runner-up in my facial hair poll was the "Doctor Strange." So that cinched it. And of course, it gave me the excuse to get new clothes!

Y'know, as rugged and manly as I am, I just can't help playing the dandy. No dusters and cowboy hats for yours truly! Nope, I was going to be the swellest swell that ever swelled. I still had my hoodie stashed away, so I cut it into shreds and made it the front part of this fancy new vest! The rest of the outfit was mainly bought but I think I really can assemble an ensemble if you don't mind my tooting my own horn. I'm especially fond of the lavender kerchief. It even smells like lavender, thanks to the sachet I sewed into it. Which was handy given that your typical cattle town smells like seven flavors of ass. I fashioned a matching hatband for my derby, which I tilted rakishly, but of course. Now that I've returned to your time period, I'll probably have to design myself a new superhero outfit but that can wait for a while. I'm still digging on these Western duds!

I've got plenty of stories to tell about my Old West exploits, but I'll save most of 'em for some other time. For now, I'll just mention that I was shocked to discover that I had an Old West Earth ancestor named Stockade Boy. He had the power to transform into a 7' high by 5' wide fence made of sharpened timber. Looked just like me, too, if I had been a fur trapper who had never ever shaved. Or bathed. I was even more shocked to discover that Stockade Boy was, in fact, Chameleon Boy, playing this imaginary character as part of an elaborate ruse by the Legion to foil the Time Trapper, who himself was actually a disguised Mopee the Heavenly Help-Mate, who himself was, in fact, an evil double of Princess Projectra accidentally created by the chemical reaction of an experimental element and her lip gloss. And I'm pretty sure there was more to it but I really lost track after that. Honestly, as soon as Chameleon Boy revealed himself, I said, "Ain't no thing, pal, I'll let it slide," but he just kept talking and talking and I swear the Legion's master plan had about five hundred different moving parts and no matter how many times I tried to excuse myself he just would not shut his yapper. Luckily there was a lanky ranch hand nearby with the tightest chaps I'd ever seen, so at least I had something to look at.

Oh, and that format change Jeremy mentioned will be put into effect over the next week or so: all I'm doing is adding a few graphics to make it more obvious that this is a self-contained "team blog." That way, my associates* can post without any kind of confusing preamble from myself and they'll get their own little headshots at the start of the posts, like a byline, kind of.

*The recurring columnists of Team Blockade Boy: Myself (natch), Jeremy (sports commentary), Lenny the Marvel Henchman, Manny the DC Henchman, Lancelot Steele (our relationship expert) and Membros the Bearer of Bad Tidings. For starters. I might add more later on.

My Most Disjointed Football Post Yet

Jeremy here again. I got the scanner to work, so woo-hoo! Oh, and Blockade Boy showed up around dinnertime (like usual), covered in dust and stinking of rawhide, mesquite, sasparilla, pomade, and exotic massage oils. As a souvenir of his trip, he brought me a picture... of himself. I guess he'll post it tonight (late) which is also when he'll tell everybody about a "very, very slight" format change for the blog "which kind of already happened, months ago, really" whatever the hell that means but at least it doesn't sound worrisome. I'll find out what it is with the rest of you! Right now, BB is wolfing down baked beans, right out of the pot, with a big wooden spoon. And it's 6:30 in the morning! Gross. He never used to do that before. Huh. Why, it's almost as bad as the time he came back from Asgard craving salted cod.

...So, how 'bout that football game last night? (That's the kind of thing I can say to my coworkers now. And do. Even on Wednesdays!) Yesterday I was faced with one of those "wisdom of Solomon" dilemmas because the Chiefs and the Steelers were playing at the same time on different channels and I only really have time to watch one whole game. I chose the Chiefs since I'm apparently morally obliged to be a Chiefs fan, if you ask anybody in this state. I recorded it (in hi-def) so's I could watch it in the evening. So you can imagine my surprise and slight nausea when it turned out to be the Jets-Jaguars matchup instead. Oh, the "info" button on the remote still told me it was the Chiefs game but that sure as hell wasn't what I was seeing. It wouldn't have been so bad if I'd at least given a crap about either team.

My notes:

• Ref Tony Corrente needs to join "Toastmasters" so he can get better at public speaking. He just doesn't have any conviction. Sorry, Tony, but the way you said it, I'm just not buying that #95 was offsides.
• Bizarrely random comment from Dick Enberg (is he always like this?) on Jaguars #27, Rashean Mathis: "...With a long hair-do and... one of the outstanding players in the league." That's not edited. He really did put a Shatner-esque pause after "and."
• The Jaguars' Brian Williams' interception in the first quarter made me holler "YEAH!!!" and crystalized which team I wanted to root for. Um, the Jaguars, that is.
• That Meester guy on the Jaguars (#63) has a serious case of Dan Spiegle face: double chin, fleshy lips, teensy eyeballs and strait, bushy brows. Also known as George Tuska Syndrome, this facial deformity afflicts two in five NFL players.
• Enberg on Jaguars #32, Maurice Drew-Jones: "Only 5'7 but weighs 210. We asked him, "How big are those thighs?" He said, "about 40 each." I'm 5'8 and I used to be close to 210 pounds but I sure didn't carry the extra poundage in my thighs. Mainly my belly and my ass.
• Always an easy source of gay inuendo, that NFL: in the first quarter the viewers were treated to a rear view of the Jaguars defensive line, all crouched down with their asses in the air, and bing-bang-bong, red, numbered circles appeared over three select posteriors. Announcer Randy Cross: "Here's three... tight ends." (He learned all about nonsensical pausing from Enberg.)

Near the end of the first quarter, the recording suddenly switched over the the start of the second quarter in the Chiefs game. Only it wasn't in hi-def. "My team," the Jaguars, had been leading the Jets 14-0. Now my team, the Chiefs, was trailing the Cardinals 0-14. WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!

• A retrospective of 1st career starts for Hall of Fame quarterbacks elicits this comment about Dan Marino: "And Dan had a tremendous head of hair as well!" What is it with NFL announcers and hair?
• Sidelined with a hamstring injury: the Cardinals' #11, Larry "The Wreck Of The Edmund" Fitzgerald.
• 2nd quarter: receiving a pass from Huard, Parker pretty much hurls himself backwards, into the waiting arms of professional ballroom dancer Louis van Amstel, and the two perform a simply electrifying cha-cha to "Do You Believe In Love" by Huey Louis and the News. Judge Carrie Anne Inaba gives them a 10! Okay, so I made some of that up.
• Note to the Cardinals player who tackled Dante Hall in the second quarter. Okay, he's flat against the ground and the refs have been blowing their whistles for like a minute now. Slide your ponderous bulk off the poor guy already. Seriously. You're practically teabagging the dumb S.O.B.
• Near the end of the 2nd quarter, Larry Johnson fumbles the ball while being tackled by a slew of Cardinals. Announcer on the play: "It will be reviewed." I give it "two thumbs down."
• Spotted on the sidelines on the Cardinals staff: Flea, of the Red Hot Chili Peppers! Or maybe it's some other short, gaunt, bug-eyed guy with angry pointy eyebrows and my haircut.
• Nice synchronized tumbling from the Chiefs' Kennison and the Cardinals' Green when they both dive for the same ball. Maybe they'll break out some ribbon dancing next.
• Cool "first": KC's Jeff Webb made a 50-yard kick return in the first time he's had his hands on a football in the NFL. Jeezum Pete, you'd at least think they'd let him practice with a real football. What'd he use before? A wad of newspaper held together with duct tape?
• Also cool: the longest reception of Larry Johnson's career, right before he almost got his entire head ripped off his body. Facemask penalty ahoy!
• KC squeaked out a win thanks to Tynes' late fourth-quarter field goal and also thanks to the crummy failed field goal attempt by the Cardinals kicker, y'know the one, the guy with the Slavic eyebrows who looks like he must have to shave three times a day (and that's just his balls). So it was KC over Arizona, 23-20. There were some serious problems with this game. For one thing, the football must have been extra-slippery because everybody kept dropping it. My solution: coat in in hairspray! Also, just about every play had a flag thrown on it. Sometimes two. Or even three! (I'm not sure how that last one happened. It might have just been a kicky neckerchief.) My solution: take away their flags! Flags should be a privilege, not a right. If they want to overuse their flag, we'll just see how they like it when they don't have any flags at all! In fact, send the refs home! Who needs 'em? We'll settle all disputes through armwrestling. That way there's no loss of action when a play is called into question. Or maybe they could just rig up all the stadium seats with "yes" and "no" buttons. Yeah, that'd work.

Booting Up...

Jeremy here! I got my computer back from Wherever and it's working! I'll spare you all the boring details, except to say when I phoned the service center last Tuesday to check on it, the guy had the gall to tell me that if I didn't have my warranty the repairs would have cost me around $350.00. And then he tried to sell me an extended warranty. Hey, here's a tip, pal: don't make me go to Hell and back trying to get my computer repaired a mere four months after I bought the damn thing and then act like you're doing me a favor by not charging me. (Needless to say, I didn't take him up on the extended warranty offer.)

Yesterday I was cleaning my apartment and under one of the love seat cushions I found a 150-year-old letter from Blockade Boy informing me he'd be returning from the Old West sometime today. Why, it's almost like he knew all along my computer would crash and that he'd have all this extra time on his hands! And then he somehow arranged for a letter to wind up in a love seat that was manufactured within the last year. No small feat, especially considering he wrote that letter in an alternate universe! The DC one, to be precise. Here's an excerpt:

The people of the DC Universe Old West are a fun bunch, although with my sweet-ass Donegal beard they keep mistaking me for an especially flamboyant Quaker. Last week I traded hair care tips with Hawk, Son of Tomahawk. Turns out natural dyes like beet root are just the thing for a fun, temporary new look. I beat him in a poker game, and one of the things I won off him was this killer little manny-pack. Hand-tooled leather and simply dripping with beads and fringe. I'm saving it for a special occasion. The other thing I won... well it wasn't exactly an object but let's just say he'll have to ride side-saddle for the next couple of weeks. Oh, and the other night I had a walk-off with Bat Lash. Girl can work it.

On the artistic side, I've been working on redesigns for the Legion of Substitute Heroes and various Legion Rejects. I've even found a way for Polecat to look good! (One word: pants.) Still kind of stumped about Double Header. Maybe just a burqa for him. And I'm also readying the first installment of the New Teen Titans/Fearsome Five moral reversal challenge: Nightwing/Shimmer. Plus, I've got Rescue Me redesigns for Titania, Commander Kraken, and the Wrench all worked out. I should be able to start posting some of this stuff within the next week. Not day after day, mind you, but still.

Wow! Sounds like he's been a busy little bee. Now I just have to get my scanner software working properly. (Don't worry. I'm on it.)

Now... are you ready for some (of last week's) football? As seen by someone barely familiar with the sport? Well, too bad, 'cause I'm posting about it anyway.

10/1: I watched the Chiefs/49ers game. As a Kansan I'm somehow required to be a Chiefs fan, but I don't mind. Especially when they crush SF 41-0. My observations:

• Looking at the mugshots -- er, headshots of KC's defensive line, I'm pretty sure their heads were all warped horizontally by Kai's SuperGOO. Somebody on the production staff has a cruel sense of humor.
• An announcer, quoting SF's Jeff Ulbrich on his team's linebackers: "When they see a hole, they have to hit it up in the hole." Oh, I have a filthy, filthy mind.
• Remember those shiny leggings designed by Jeffrey Sebelia in the "Black & White" challenge on Project Runway? A lot of the players appeared to be wearing those... on their arms. Still fit, though.
• The crowd noise in Arrowhead Stadium was like listening to a jet taking off, so it made it hard for the players to hear the refs' whistles. Which led to that great moment in the first quarter when a Chiefs player knocked the ball loose from a 49ers player's hands, creating a mad, confused scramble that ended with a Chiefs player wandering around, holding the ball out from his chest like he's just won an icecream cake at a raffle but he can't eat it because he's allergic to dairy.
• An instant replay at the end of the first quarter began with a row of cheerleaders in the upper portion of the frame, with everything above their crotches cropped out. Special guest cameraman: Howard Chaykin!
• A freaky moment in the second quarter: the Chiefs' Derek Johnson basically twirls the 49ers' Alex Smith down at the 40 yard line... horizontally. When Smith hit the ground it looked like he'd been put on a rotisserie.
• 49ers kicker Andy Lee looks like the love child of Gareth Keenan and Dwight Schrute.
• Remember at the start of the third quarter when SF's Maurice Hicks fumbled the ball after a fifty-three yard return, and KC's Jared Page recovered it? I just about lost my mind, I was so pumped about that. It felt like I was personally responsible! And I was just sitting on my ass eating a pizza!
• Commentator Chris Myers on the Chiefs' Trent "My Brain Hurts" Green: "Said he tired of sitting around at home, wrote up some plays and gave them to Herm Edwards and offensive coordinator Mike Solari and they told him 'These are actually crayon drawings of you riding a unicorn. Why don't you go back home and just stay there for a few more weeks? 'Kay? Bye.'" Alright, so part of that quote may have been fabricated.
• How sweet was that sixty-yard put return made by Dante Hall in the fourth quarter? I have no wiseass remark here; I just thought it was hella cool.

10/2: The Eagles beat the Packers, 31-9. I wasn't rooting for either team especially, but my early sympathies were with the Eagles, since they have that nice soup-loving Donovan McNabb. Plus he had to prove he could still lead his team to victory without the controversial T.O. Morrow or whoever that was. Although I later felt kind of bad for the Packers' Bret "The Grizzled Old Prospector" Favre. He's a sassy senior! Now, get off the field, wipe the excess Ensure off your lips, turn off your blinkers for God's sake and finish filling out this AARP form. Some additional thoughts:

• Somebody was actually paid money to make Tony Kornheiser's hair look that way. Try wrapping your mind around that.
• Spotted in the stands: the Hulk's evil future identity, the Maestro! (Bulky guy with a bald green head and a massive white beard. Pretty disturbing, really.)
• Green Bay's fifty-four yard field goal in the second quarter: effing sweet.
• Not precisely football related (not that it's ever stopped me before) but I really have to get this one off my chest: judging from their commercials, Bud Light's key demographic is dull-witted, smarmy asswipes, ages 18-34.
• Michelle Tafoya's jacket was handcrafted from the skin of Ernie from Sesame Street.
• I did not know they were allowed to do that: in the third quarter, Donovan McNabb slid to the thirty yard line. Then he checked Bret Favre into the boards, slam-dunked the football over the goal (nothing but net!) and drove off the field in a stock car.
• One of the announcers -- the scratchy-voiced one, Theisman maybe? -- on Brian Dawkins: "[He] becomes Weapon X when he gets on the football field." I have to wonder if he even knew he was referring to an X-Men concept when he said that. Or maybe Dawkins really does slash at opposing players with adamantium claws while wearing a big chrome hairdryer with telephone cords sticking out of it.
• Missed the ironic contrast by this much: an announcer said "The Eagles suddenly look very healthy in this game" about three seconds after the camera cut away from a mob of morbidly obese fans.
• Oh, so that's a "pump fake", Steven: McNabb's "the hell with it, I'll just run the damn ball myself" maneuver at the start of the fourth quarter.

Well, that's enough babbling from me. I have to work on the scanner thing. I don't anticipate any problems. And I guarantee there will be weekday posting for the foreseeable future. Hooray!