Oh men. MEN! Like fetuses (feti?) experiencing the uncomprehending trauma and struggle of their own nativity, we have been pushed and squeezed and squished until we passed through the birth  canal  of the regular season and emerged, cold and slimy, into the pitiless bright light of the playoffs. And like the intimidating masked figure of the doctor who is the first human face you ever see, CrimeBeat! is here to slap you, clamp your cord and tend to the afterbirth.

Huh. That got weird even for me. Somethingsomething Rex and Rob something vaginal tearing.

Speaking of tearing, the Wild Card Round accomplished absolutely nothing except getting people hurt.  Every favored team won, and won by a fair margin. Not only did all four wild card teams bomb out, in the case of the Dolphins and Giants they actively aided their division winners by knocking the shit out of some of their future opponents’ best players.

The overall negative trend of the past calendar year, from Trump’s victory over decency to the Cubs finally breaking the seals placed upon their eternal prison by the angels at the moment of creation (remember, we have only the newspapers’ word that they won anything in 1908, just ten years after false reporting sparked the Spanish American War), has given many of us the resigned, hopeless feeling that a New England/Dallas Superb Owl is inevitable. These injuries, like the Derek Carr/Matt McGloinoinoinoin deathblows, do very little to persuade me that these Negative Nanettes are wrong.

I’m not saying anything untoward would happen, but if I’m the driver for the Packers’ team bus, I’m planning a route between the hotel and JerryWorld that doesn’t pass by any book depositories or grassy knolls. Big darkness soon come.

And as always: Foxboro delenda est.

BRING FORTH THE ACCUSED!

BLACK MONDAY

CHARGE: Why it gotta be “black” Monday? All Mondays Matter.

So that was anticlimactic. Not one coach was fired on Black Monday. Like a bunch of fumbling teenager boys when a girl touches It for the first time, NFL owners apparently can’t help themselves. Not one of the five fired coaches even made it until Monday, and only two managed to even finish their final game before the guillotine fell. In the age of The Twitter and the 24 hour news cycle (Jesus, did I actually type that?) I suppose it’s inevitable that decisions on coaching and management firings will be both made and announced more quickly than in years past. Unless you are Jimmy Haslam, Jed York or Jim Irsay, your decision on whether  or not to retain a coach is made by Week 16 and is probably not going to depend on how the team does in the final game. Then again, if you are one of those three, you probably made your decision based on the recommendation of a homeless man  a Ouija board or a dancing neon skin puppet, respectively. I suppose there is a case to be made that a firing should be announced as soon as possible after the decision gets made- why leave a poor guy dangling for 24 hours when you know (and he suspects) that you’re going to shitcan him the day before?

Then again, Winston Churchill had the right of it: when you have to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite. I have to imagine that, win or lose, the hours just after that last game is a shitty time to be swinging the axe. The players and coaches are exhausted and beat to hell, both emotionally and physically. Even if everyone in the locker room thinks the head coach is getting chopped, the lack of formal announcement means that everyone can pretend things are cool and we’ll see each other at Team HQ in a few days for end-of-the-year meetings. Otherwise, you end up with a Gus Bradley situation, where the head coach gets fired in the locker room and is then “forced” to fly home on the plane with the players whose failure to perform contributed to the coach losing his job, and shit gets really awkward. I put forced in quotation marks because no one made Gus Bradley to get on that goddamned plane. Shad Khan and the jaguars’ GM could have at least ponied up for a flight from Houston to Jacksonville for the dude they just humiliated. On the other hand, Gus is going to make a couple of million to not coach the jaguars, so I think Mrs. Bradley could have wired him plane fare without dipping too far into the Rainy Day Fund.

Anyway, the bottom line is that if you were an insanely competitive perfectionist control freak who had reached the pinnacle of his profession and then shat the bed, you would probably want that one last night to savor it- one last time for your wife to call you “Coach” while she hate-fucks you for being physically and emotionally absent in the pursuit of winning football. A last meal before they put you against the wall, if you will.

As a fan, I actually look forward to Black Monday, as horrifying and karmically-questionable as that may be. Black Monday is essentially the Anti-Draft of the football schedule, when the bad (or at least disappointing) teams have a chance to improve by yanking the weeds out of their gardens (or setting fire to the prairie) to prepare the soil for a bumper crop within the next 1-3 years. Plus the fired coaches will end up making millions to not coach, so everybody wins.

I’ve written about how the hours leading up to the draft are like Christmas morning for football fans, with visions of what wondrous toys our GM Santas will leave beneath the tree. Well Black Monday is the 4th of July, when we celebrate the  birth of a new regime by blowing shit up.

Extending the metaphor, there will always be some teams that will take the Jason Pierre-Paul approach to the process and end up only being able to count to 7 and a bit. One problem with being a thinking football fan is the little voice in your head pointing out that every hiring (or draft) is a fresh opportunity for your team to find new and interesting ways to fuck themselves.

Pictured: NFL Winter Meetings

This year, it appears to be a dead heat between the Niners, Chargers and Rams as to who will fuck things up worst, with the Bills (as usual) following the pack

The Niners and Chargers both have reasonable basic talent on their rosters, but have to contend with narcissistic madmen as owners.  The Rams have a narcissistic asspimple plus half a Slinky. Santa Clara has a chance to either win big by replacing both their GM and coach at the same time or burn the place completely to the ground. The Rams have a defense and a running back that should, by all rights, be dominant, but have not been able to distinguish their asses from their elbows on the offensive line since before Georgia Frontiere joined the Great Kick Line in the Sky. San Diego has a (relatively) reliable quarterback and a young, talented defense, but seems more focused on pissing off their local fanbase than on actually playing football. If even half the shit we’re hearing about “rebranding” and wanting to make a “splash” in LA is true, they’re going to end up hiring Ric Flair as head coach and then firing him when he refuses to agree to a contract provision wherein he agrees to fellate a donkey upon Dean Spanos’ written request.

The Bills will likely fail, but in a much more subdued and boring manner as an overcompensation for two years of Rexittude. Denver will get Shanahan’d for their hubris. The jags will be the least disappointed fanbase, mostly because it’s difficult to break the heart of a giant plastic tarp.

LATE EDIT: The jaguars have allegedly decided not to decide between Doug “E. Fresh” Marrone and Tom Coughlin by hiring both.

In addition to hiring Coughlin in a nebulous VP role and prying the “interim” tag off Marrone, the jags also extended the contract of their GM Dave Caldwell to three years, because…um…yeah, I dunno why. I’m assuming compromising pictures of Shad Khan. But take heart, jags fan- you now have the blind leading the bland, under the vague supervision of the decrepit.

JACK THE SECURITY DUDE

CHARGE: Polishing his nightstick in public. Flogging the prisoner. Punching Janay. Slap-boxing Mike Pettine.

They (who?) say a picture is worth a thousand words. I submit that this is not universally true- these pictures are worth no words, as even I was left momentarily speechless. For those of you who haven’t seen it, or those who have burned it from your brains with alcohol, let’s go to the tape:

https://youtu.be/0V4vB5Sdyls

I, for one, am outraged about the coverage of this story. It’s spelled m-a-s-t-U-r-b-a-t-e, you ignorant inbred savages. Jesus fucking Jones, it’s not that hard (giggity) but everyone who comments on this seems to get it wrong. Put down your cocks and pick up a dictionary…

Anyway, the obvious salacious aspects of this are 1. dude is publicly beatin’ the meat at a Chargers game, 2. he is there in a semi-official capacity as a security “guard”  subcontracted by the Chargers, and 3. he is very near (and appears to be paying undue attention to) the San Diego Chargers cheerleaders, who are bouncing up and down and up and down and up and down during the lewd act. Based on my exhaustive research, the always-reflective-of-broader-society Internet Reaction appears to be 70% jokes, 25% pearl clutching, and 5% “Them cheerleaders shore are purdy”.

Let’s start with first principles: don’t masturbate in public. Don’t masturbate where children or non-consenting adults can or even might see you. Don’t masturbate while working, unless you are a porn star or sperm donor. Don’t masturbate with your pants on if you are male- this is not so much a social-decency thing as a matter of logistics and hygiene. Don’t whip your dick out and start masturbating at a convenience store.-most police officers are not as solicitous as those in Suwanee, Georgia. Do not masturbate in the parking lot of a major retailer. Overall, just remember- self abuse should be kept to yourself.

HOWEVAH: there is a thin tendril of hypocrisy wending its way through the ‘shocked, shocked I say!’ contingent and it’s emanating from the inexplicably sticky pile of pom-poms over in the corner. Again, let me be clear: cheerleaders (like all other people) are entitled to go to work and not be exposed to uninvited dongs. But the only purpose of having cheerleaders at all is to appeal to the fanbase’s prurient instincts. Although teams will blow smoke about “team spirit” and “getting the crowd into the game,” everyone knows why the cheer squads are mysteriously devoid of high-energy, diehard fans who are in any way less than smokin’ hot. Spirit is all well and good, but teams can’t be so very shocked that someone would corrupt the noble and chaste institution of ‘dance teams’ by viewing them in any sort of sexual way.

Please note, this calendar is the only one for sale in the Chargers’ team store- nothing featuring people actually playing football. And it’s out of date. I’m sure they field complaints every day from the legion of horologically-inclined Chargers fans.

So San Diego: shitcan this little creep and his employer, maybe throw a public-indecency charge at him. But don’t pretend that your team is a paragon of good, clean, morally-unimpeachable family entertainment.

THE WALL IN THE VISITORS LOCKER ROOM AT LAMBEAU

CHARGE: Being there. Stupid wall!

In an apparent effort to derail the inevitable boat-related hot taeks in the aftermath of the humiliating craptacular that was the final thirty minutes and fifteen seconds of the Giants’ loss to the Green Bay Aaron Rodgerses, New Jersey wide “receiver” Odell Beckham Junior heroically deflected media attention onto himself by punching the living shit out of a wall at Lambeau, as well as headbutting a door. When reached for comment, Freddie Roach praised Beckham for having a heavy jab, but stated that he might not have the jaw to last 12 rounds.

JOEY PORTER AND ADAM “PACMAN” JONES

CHARGE: 2nd Degree Causing a Ruckus (Jones); 1st Degree Standing Over A Doorman (Porter)

Joey Porter and Adam “Pacman” Jones are back in the news, a year after their on-field kerfuffle (more than a brouhaha, less than a fracas) which turned a make-or-break 50-yard attempt by rookie kicker Chris Boswell into a relative chipshot 35 yarder that won the game and sent the Bengals packing. For those who want to relive the schadenfreude through the medium of a JFK-style “Back and to the left” conspiracy-nut presentation by a Stillers fan, it can be found here.

Well, despite only one of them being involved with a playoff team this year, these two both managed to make the CrimeBeat! blotter this week through remarkable acts of dumbfuckery off the field. First, Jones celebrated another year of the Marvin Lewis Parade of Mediocrity by going out to the Millennium Hotel Cincinnati (currently tracking at 2.5 stars out of 5 on TripAdvisor) and allegedly “causing a ruckus,” in the words of the security guard who called 911. Apparently he was banging on a hotel room door and yelling. He also allegedly “poked” someone. For this activity, Jones was arrested and charged with misdemeanor assault, disorderly conduct and obstructing official business. To add insult to injury, the security guard did not even know his name, describing him as “He’s got dreads and shit. I can’t think of his name. He’s #24.”

So far, so boring. But this is Pacman Jones. No damn way he’s going out like that.

No, Pacman decided to up his game once he was in custody. He allegedly spit on the nurse at the police intake center, earning him a felony rap for “harassment with a bodily substance.” Let me just say this, Ohio: bravo. I haven’t done the WestLaw legwork to determine how many other states are fucked up enough that they have to enact a specific statute to penalize inmates who “with intent to harass, annoy, threaten, or alarm another person, shall cause or attempt to cause the other person to come into contact with blood, semen, urine, feces, or another bodily substance by throwing the bodily substance at the other person, by expelling the bodily substance upon the other person, or in any other manner.” Can’t just get by with assault on a police officer, huh? That’s just good hustle, Ohio.

EDIT: holy fuck, turns out that a number of states have these statutes, and some of them carry harsher ratings than Ohio’s puny Class 5. You could be a guest of the State of Wisconsin for up to 42 months if you “Throw/Discharge Bodily Fluid at Public Safety Worker”. Oklahoma makes “placing” bodily fluids on a public official a felony, and since Oklahoma doesn’t grade their felonies out, you can face anywhere from 1 year to life in prison for it. Admittedly, the last guy was a multiple felon and also bit the officer, but still.

But that shit was old news by the time Jones’ prior dance partner, Steelers “assistant coach for outside linebackers” Joey Porter, was allegedly arrested Sunday night (Monday morning, really- stupid western conventions of time…) outside a Pittsburgh bar. Approximately 11 hours after his pupil Bud Dupree attempted to decapitate Matt Moore, Porter decided to show two of his players how it’s done Yinzer Style.

Apparently Joey had been to The Flats bar before and on that occasion threatened the doorman with death. Now, I initially assumed that this was just how people in Pittsburgh take their leave of each other- “Kill yinz tomorrow!” Like shoving a hot poker up someone’s rectum is called the Bawlmer Handshake. But no, apparently the bouncer took Porter at his word. When Porter showed up, the doorman refused him entry, on the basis of his previously-stated intent to cause grievous bodily harm. When an off-duty cop showed up, Porter was standing over the doorman. He then lifted the doorman off the ground and held him off the ground by his arms for an undetermined amount of time. He then lowered the bouncer to the ground, leaned against a car and grabbed the 5’6″, 145 lb (male) officer by the wrists. Apparently sensing through his alcoholic haze that this act might be viewed negatively by the uninformed observer, “Porter informed me that he was not touching me,” as he continued to grip the officer’s wrists.

Ah, the old “I’m not touching you. I’m not touching you” defense. I think this is a legitimate defense, presuming the jury is made up entirely of juvenile siblings sitting in backseats on long car rides. Clarence Darrow would be proud of you, Joey. So is Tre Mason.

Eventually, Porter released the tiny, tiny police officer, who thereupon unzipped his coat and activated his body camera. Backup eventually showed up, and Porter was taken into custody and charged with aggravated assault, simple assault, resisting arrest, and being a doodoohead.