Ep 146- The TFQ Bedshitter Hall of Fame!

Ep 146- The New TFQ Bedshitter Hall of Fame is Open to Tourists! Includes Induction Ceremony for Charter Members! Listen to the podcast here; also available on iTunes Recorded Thursday, August 24, 2017* Hosts: Count Yorga & Jerkules Now you can follow us on Instagram: tfquarter420 Like The Fifth Quarter on Facebook too. Make sure […]

The post Ep 146- The TFQ Bedshitter Hall of Fame! first appeared on The Fifth Quarter.

Ep 146- The New TFQ Bedshitter Hall of Fame is Open to Tourists! Includes Induction Ceremony for Charter Members!

Listen to the podcast here; also available on iTunes

Recorded Thursday, August 24, 2017*

Hosts: Count Yorga & Jerkules

Now you can follow us on Instagram: tfquarter420

Like The Fifth Quarter on Facebook too.

Make sure you check out the All In Sports Talk Network, where you can find in depth soccer analysis with a focus on Toronto FC and Liverpool FC.

*- After a 20-day summer break of sorts, we were deeply organized for this Special Episode as well as the next, recorded the next day. That didn’t stop me from continually getting the date of recording wrong – this was performed on the 24th, not, as I so stonedly state, the 26th.

 

Episode 146 is Dedicated To: Page 146 of Volume 120, Issue 2 of The Journal of the Franklin Institute! Yes, there you’ll find the essay, “Contributions to our Knowledge of Sewage” as well as a “lit” look at ammonia and nitrogen released from human feces. At this link, you can see a preview of a page – and even buy a .pdf file of the whole issue. I know that our NFL Shitwatch supervisor, David Hasselhoff, has already put purchased .pdfs onto thumb drives to give out at parties. Not surprising, the ’Hof is pretty old school, and the issue is dated August 1885.

R.I.P.

We always play an opening song, and occasionally we interrupt it to give an RIP to someone in the sports world who has taken that graceful dive into the maggot-filled shit pool called death. Today that man is former MLB player, Darren Daulton.

Speaking of resting in peace, wither the talent of (former) Buccaneers placekicker Robert Aguayo? Perhaps it was the pressure – the pressure of Tampa Bay trading a third- and fourth-round draft pick to move up and draft the college star in Round 3 of the 2016 Draft – that forced him to such a fibre-heavy approach to kicking, but he’s somehow filled more bedspreads than uprights he’s doinked. To wit: Aguayo gets the pink slip in a recent episode of Hard Knocks – no, not Pepto-Bismal. His ass gots canned.

EDITOR’S NOTE (02/09/17): Aguayo’s intestinal weakness didn’t stop there. He was signed by the Bears shortly thereafter…aaand was waived before Chicago’s season opener. Roberto Aguayo can currently be found without an NFL team, giving speeches in schools around the country on the virtues of a high-potassium and rice-heavy diet.

Thanks to current events, we have two Bedshitters of the Week. The next one is also a charter member of our new yet-already-hallowed Hall, so let’s get at ’er.

 

The TFQ Bedshitter Hall of Fame – Charter Class Induction Ceremony

SHit – n. 1. feces 2. A contemptible or worthless person; v. 1. Expel feces from the body 2. Tease or try to deceive (someone) “I shit you not.” excl. 1. An exclamation of disgust, anger or annoyance

Bed – n. 1. a piece of furniture for sleep or rest, typically with a framework and mattress and coverings 2. The bottom of a sea or lake or river; v. 1. Settle down to sleep for the night, typically in an improvised spot 2. Transfer (a plant) from a pot or seed tray to a garden plot

I would totally have this bed – who wouldn’t? – but alas, I’m vegetarian.

 

BEDŸshitter – n. 1. Someone who loses all or most of their composure while failing at the task at hand 2. A person who is somewhat of a complete failure, does not perform tasks well, might as well be a Shih Tsu 3. A generic term used to describe an elderly person who cannot control certain bodily functions 4. I guess anyone can shit the bed

“Those pricks at TFQ are obviously never letting me live this down…”

 

And so there you have it: A + B = Bed With a Lot of Shit in It. Elemental concepts in everyday life such as that equation and this classic shitty moment and scores of ones like it are what enables us as humans to make sense of the world around us. Logically, it must follow that the world’s a big putrid bed and we’re all just shitters in it.

In similar fashion, sports parallels and/or stands in as metaphor for our culture: Race. War. Class Systems. Economics. Bedshitting. We’ve all been there, a big moment in our lives looming. That moment might seem daunting, or it might not concern you in the least, despite its importance. Sometimes, such moments might even get us excited – ready to seize the moment, as opposed to feeling butterflies in our stomach.

But none of those things can prevent shitting the bed, should we choke and/or fail monumentally in the face of a challenge. In fact, some of those factors just mentioned bring about the embarrassing moment when, next thing we know, the big moment in question has passed, and we’re left on the losing end, looking like we just dry humped a mountain of fudge.

Sports, as it so turns, out, is a breeding ground for bedshitters. So many big moments. So many mattresses to soil. With this in mind, we at The Fifth Quarter have erected our TFQ Bedshitters Hall of Fame.

After all, when one unloads one’s self all over one’s trundle,* it should be monumental. This is our monument to shitting the bed – and with it, the charter inductees.

Perhaps you’re wondering – and believe me, our many prospective co-investors in the BSHOF had the same concern – how, as a not for profit, drug consumption-oriented sports media outlet, will there be any bronze busts, or the like, to commemorate members of the Hall? We could’ve offered some bullshit alternative that seems jazzy, until very shortly after inductions it becomes clear to anyone with eyeholes that so much money was wasted on cheap parlor tricks…In a sense, we’d be offering Donald Trump. No one wants that.

*- Trundle = Bed. Thesaurus > My bed/shit vocabulary, once down the rabbit hole.

That’s why, it gives us immense pleasure to reveal that we’ve commissioned renowned blind sketch artist Hoo Flung Poo to create artwork commemorating each individual/team and the bedshitting moment that ushered them into the Hall. The man behind the seminal work Spots On The Wall isolated himself for months, with nothing but food and Ex-Lax, and he emerged not only in serious need of a shower, but with the following creative masterpieces that we are honoured to display on the walls of the BSHOF – which is now open for visitors! We’ve no clue how much to charge for admission, so for now just get the up in us! Why not?!

Behold! For some might shit bigger beds, with more shit*, but these are some of contemporary sports’ biggest bedshitters, so fuck you. Enjoy!

 

*- SPOILER ALERT: A certain president has an inside track on an induction to the BSHOF next year.

 

Listen to the podcast here; also available on iTunes

 

The TFQ Bedshitter Hall of Fame – Charter Class

 

Tiger Woods – Life Work

Eldrick Tont “Tiger” Woods. Once the owner of any final round of a major PGA tournament, resplendent in his Sunday Red. (Pictured above.) Also once the lord of the lady, the (un?)willing heir to Wilt Chamberlain. (Pictured above.)

It seems like ages ago that Woods put together arguably the most dominant run of success in golf history – at least Jack Nicklaus, the best golfer ever, would argue so. In Tiger’s playing prime, friends and I would respectfully refer to what we called Tigerfear. In an old fantasy book series entitled Dragonlance, people would be overcome by dragonfear, a sort of instant and debilitating PTSD, upon mere sight of a dragon flexing its power. Opposing golfers would succumb to a similar bedshitting as those characters when Tiger showed up to warm up on the range, red golf shirt and a final round lead hugged tight to his ripped physique.

In the end though, Tiger would turn out to be the one to fill a bed with more feces than most of his challengers. It began with a knee injury he battled through to win his last major at the U.S. Open. It actualized itself with his first squandering of a Sunday lead in a major to Y.E. Yang in the PGA Championship. It gathered outhouse-flooding momentum when he crashed his Escalade into a tree during a falling out with his then-wife once she discovered his rampant adultery. It let loose the stink of a cattle farm in July as his body and swing failed him, both due to wear, tear, and a slew of back surgeries.

It’s not just the epic profundity with which Tiger’s golfing life has come apart; it’s the heights from which he fell. Most phenoms that rise to the top and flame out spend but a fraction of Woods’ time atop the sports world. As fans, in the end it might be best to take solace in this: where there’s shit, there’s an asshole. Tiger has both covered.

 

Jeremy Guthrie – MLB Pitcher

(From TFQ Podcast, Ep. 136)

Guthrie earns the dubious distinction of being the least well known of our charter inductees. We first caught a snuff of the bed that the 38-year old Nationals starter had been soiling when he gift wrapped our Weekly Woodshed this summer, giving up 10 runs to the Phillies before being yanked without getting out of the first inning.

Guthrie had already prepped the bed with a similarly-rank deuce two years ago, which means he’s the first player in the MLB era to have surrendered 10 runs in an inning or less.

It’s okay though, Jer – don’t worry. Your most recent squeezer came on your 38th birthday! Don’t blow (ew); just make a wish.

 

James Harden, PG Rockets – Game 6, Western Conference Semifinals, 2017

Here, Mr. Hoo has recreated a halftime graphic from national television that gave an account of Harden’s shooting stats in the first half of a win-or-go-home playoff game against the San Antonio Spurs.

Even though Russell Westbrook won the award for his historic triple-double season, Harden was the NBA MVP of the last regular season. Though his usage rate (34.24) couldn’t touch Russ’ single-season record of 41.65, it seemed as though Harden shouldered as much of a load in his offense. The southpaw was, in effect, the new Steve Nash in coach Mike D’Antoni’s high scoring system, the livelihood of the whole offense. Whereas Nash’s Suns teams would find a myriad of ways to fall short during playoff runs, Harden took a game matchup in a winner-gets-dismantled-by-Golden State series and in 24 feces-laiden minutes he’d sunk his team’s season.

Two field goals attempted in the whole half, one miss. That’s true shit. Perhaps Harden ran out of steam after a season (several, really) grinding out possessions as the only true catalyst on his team. Maybe the fix was in. (Why do we all of a sudden never hypothesize that the gambling world can touch pro athletes?) Whatever the case, Harden shat the bed so fiercely in Game 6 that the maintenance crew at the Rocket’s arena might’ve preferred having to clean up after circus elephants.

 

Jean van de Velde – Final Round, 1999 Open Championship

The golf ball, seemingly drawn to the crisp water of the burn on the 18th hole at Carnoustie. The green, ever so close, yet ever so far. Van de Velde, his shame unfolding before our eyes like Fletch’s ID cards. The mound of excrement in the creek under van de Velde’s arse. Mr. Hoo captures it all here.

Boasting a three-shot lead heading to the final hole in the British Open, the Frenchman then turned around and boasted a load of dump that no one in modern golf can match. After an ill-advised choice of driver from the tee, a ricochet off a wall, time spent wading in that cursed burn, and a spot earned among the greatest chokers ever, van de Velde’s triple-bogey on 18 brought him to a tie with two other golfers.

Van de Velde had seen enough. The shit was out; the bed was brown. He lost the playoff to Scotsman Paul Lawrie, and has been mentioned in any major since only as a cautionary tale.

 

The 2016 Atlanta Falcons – Collapse in Super Bowl 51

Mr. Hoo’s talent for distilling profound moments into general symbolism shines here – with an impressionist twist (note the air pump, top left).

Is this a coop of roosters lying down for a game of duck-duck-goose? Is it the Sea of Hands (and feet and shins) 2.0 catch Julian Edelman made to sustain a crucial late game by the New England Patriots? Is it the Falcons players reaching in unison toward a bunch of bead-ready shit in unison, as though drawn to it like Odysseus? Or is it that Circle of Friends potted candleholder all our moms have, but never use?

It needn’t be clear – APPRECIATE THE AMBIGUITY IN ART!

What is clear is that no team had ever made up a 10-point deficit in the Super Bowl. (Special credit: that god-awful string of blowouts in the 1980s and early 90s.) And that milestone doesn’t do justice to the Falcons dominating the Patriots to an extent perhaps unseen during the Bill Belichick era in Foxborough. New England had to have been concerned somewhere in their psyches that they were about to shit another Super Bowl bed – they trailed 28-12 with 9:44 left in the fourth quarter! – when Atlanta swept in with a Jabba-sized log, allowing the greatest comeback in NFL history, further solidifying Tom Brady’s status among the best quarterbacks ever.

 

Chris Webber, PF Michigan – 1993 NCAA Championship “Timeout” Call

(As a staunch Wolverines supporter, it hurt me to commission this piece.)

As fans, we find out about certain nuances of sports rules only once a heartbreaking moment unfolds for an athlete and/or his/her team: The Tuck Rule; Hack-A (Shaq) defense; grounding a club in a bunker, even if practically everywhere one steps could be a bunker (see: Dustin Johnson, below). Our association to the specific rule becomes synonymous with the seminal moment in sport history that brought it to the forefront on a big stage.

Few stages in North American sports are as large as March Madness. The spring ritual pits 64 (or more…I’m a purist, damnit) NCAA Division 1 men’s basketball teams in a single elimination tournament that decides the national champion. Heroes are made. History is made. Beds are shat.

Webber was recently a finalist to enter a notably less renowned Hall of Fame than ours: The Basketball Hall of Fame. He’ll have to “settle” for charter membership in the TFQ BSHOF for ingraining into a generation’s memory the rule that YOU GET ASSESSED A TECHNICAL FOUL IF YOU CALL A TIMEOUT WHEN YOUR TEAM HAS NONE.

As the alpha male of the Fab Five freshman class at University of Michigan, Webber had already led his crew to the NCAA Championship in their first try. The following year, C-Webb and the rest of the Wolverines came up against the University of North Carolina Tar Heels in the March Madness final.

Sure, Webber traveled after corralling a rebound with :19 left in the game and his team trailing by two points. Sure, the refs missed that violation. Those things didn’t stop Webber from dribbling toward his team’s bench in desperation, calling the fateful timeout that didn’t exist. Although it remains unclear whether Webber misheard false information from the coaching staff during the previous timeout, or if he shit the bed of his own accord, like a Spud left to his own devices. Either way, teams without timeouts left will never escape a Webber reference…and the shit left on beds made messy by an athlete’s faux pas will forever contain maize.

 

Listen to the podcast here; also available on iTunes

 

The New York Yankees – Blowing a 3-0 Lead in the 2004 American League Championship Series

Hoo stays simple here, and so will we: The Boston Red Sox became the first MLB team ever to come back from a 0-3 series deficit. Future Hall of Famer David Ortiz won the ALCS MVP. The Sox figured out the all-time riddle that was closer Mariano Rivera. Johnny Damon’s two home runs in Game 7 – one of them a grand slam. And, perhaps most memorably, starting pitcher Curt Shilling gutting out a Game 6 win for Boston with an ankle injury, such that his sock became famously stained.

This landmark win not only started a new era of success in Beantown. It began then-GM Theo Epstein’s legendary Fuck The Goat With The Babe phase of his career, during which he led the Boston front office past the Curse of Bambino, then took over in Chicago and put the Curse of the Goat to bed there.

But don’t forget: Behind many success stories in clutch time there’s an opponent that shits the bed to make it possible. The stacked 2004 Yankees are such an opponent.

 

The Boston Red Sox – Blowing Game 6 in the 1986 World Series

This Hoo Flung Poo piece can be purchased with the last one, in lithograph, as a “karma pair.”

If the long age of suffering endured by Red Sox fans knows any true depth, it must be in 1986, when, needing only one more out in the tenth inning, with no one on base in a potentially clinching Game 6, Boston let the Mets start a comeback rally that is etched into baseball lore. There are so many moving parts to this sports classic (Mookieeeee!), but the iconic moment is poor Bill Buckner booting a ground ball hit right at him that could have brought Boston a title. 18 years later (see above), there might have been no bigger sigh of relief let loose than Buckner’s.

We also give this sports moment an extra thumbs-up for the Mets champs, who in hindsight, it turns out were either drunk or high on cocaine or high on something else – or all of the above – while playing out the regular season.

 

PGA Golfers: Phil Mickelson – 2006 U.S. Open; Dustin Johnson – 2010 PGA Championship & U.S. Open, 2015 U.S. Open; Greg Norman – Almost Every Masters He Played

This account of choking at a PGA major tournament, depicted in shitplicate, serves as the only triptych of the work for which we commissioned Mr. Hoo. Despite previous, future and overall success, these bedshittings have stood out in each golfer’s career. Mickelson’s bravado can be both enticing and nerve-wracking. At Winged Foot in ’06, lefty elected to go for the aggressive approach off the tee…”idiot.” Dustin Johnson had a bemused run-in with a “bunker” at Whistling Straits in 2010 (see above), and what seemed like cursed final rounds – twice – at Pebble Beach. Now that Sergio Garcia has won The Masters, Norman is entrenched as the most lovable loser in PGA history for tasting victory several times, only to have it watered down by a ton of bedshit. (Unless you have a soft spot for John Daly, at which point I’d advise you to crack open a Schlitz.)

 

John Starks, Knicks PG – Bricklaying In Game 7 of the 1994 NBA Finals vs. Houston

Few will remember the extent to which Starks carried the Knicks in the NBA Finals that season. The undrafted guard scored double digits in the fourth quarter of Game 4 and Game 5, one-upping himself with 16 in the final frame of Game 6. But many more will remember the bad shooting day unlike any other Starks squeezed out from his rear in Game 7, effectively costing his team the championship. 2-for-18 from the field, 0-for-11 from three? Starks had many famous Knicks moments in his career; this is one he’d just as soon forget.

 

John Elway, Broncos QB over Ernest Byner & Co., Browns – AFC Championship, 1986 & ’87

Sorry, Cleveland. Sure, LeBron James has eased so much heartbreak by leading your Cavaliers to an NBA title, but man, do the pains every outnumber the rejoicing in the Cleveland sports world. (Unless you’re a sports masochistic, and rejoice in pain, but maybe then sports watching isn’t for you. Or it is. Not our business.)

Onetime Browns owner Art Modell uprooted the franchise and moved it to Baltimore in 1996, representing the nadir of a Browns fan’s existence. (Hard to tell, but I swear it is.) But the temporary span spent without an NFL team – the league would grant the city an expansion franchise in 1999 – could actually be seen as a tease for Cleveland. That’s because being team-less meant there was no risk of repeating the torture fans were put through by Broncos Hall of Fame quarterback John Elway. Twice in a row Denver and Cleveland met in the semifinals to the Super Bowl. In 1986 Elway led Denver on “The Drive” that forced overtime and eventually victory for the Broncos. The Browns seemed poised to right that wrong the next season, with a hold on the ’87 AFC final – until RB Earnest Byner coughed up “The Fumble.” It’s not a stretch to say that the Browns have been shit since. Why do you think they’re never wearing loose boxers there?

 

Matt “Pick-6” Schaub, NFL Quarterback

You might think, because of the vanishing point in perspective in two-dimensional art that Mr. Hoo plays with here, that the pastoral landscape is a perfect place for someone who likes shit to take a nap.

You’d think correctly. Enter Matt Schaub, the Dragon of the Pick-6 – a phenomenon so pride stealing that the player who shit the shit is left watching and/or chasing after the shit he shit while is does the exact inverse of scoring his team a touchdown.

It’s rare for someone to attain the bedshitting manifest by their opponent returning their intercepted pass for a TD so often that they appear to be making an art of it. In this regard, Schaub is a latter-day Picasso. In 2013, Schaub set an NFL record by serving up a pick-6 in four consecutive games for the Houston Texans. In fact, Schaub valued his place in history so much that in 2015 he tried to duplicate it when he subbed in for Ravens QB Joe Flacco to throw pick-6s in two straight games – which, if you go back to the previous game he played in, as a Raider in 2014, gave him another three straight contests in which the other team took his toss to the house.

Cherish Schaub while his feats are still fresh on the bedspread of history, for this man shits ’em like no other.

 

Aaron Brooks, Raiders QB – Snap, Fumble, Snap, Fumble, Bench, 2006

It’s as if we’re witnessing Brook’s speedy regression from starter to bench as it passes through time.

Good thing Hoo captured the essence of the moment, because it survives on only in the memory of dedicated bedshitter watchers.

I’ve looked for footage of Brooks’ epic meltdown for over a decade, always finding only frustration. But I’ve finally pinpointed the moment – and now understand why I couldn’t find it before. You see, once upon a time, Brooks was a dynamic QB on the rise, leading the Saints to multiple upsets of the Rams’ Greatest Show on Turf. By the time he arrived in Oakland, he was dynamic in failure only. The reason you won’t find Brooks’ consecutive botched snaps very easily is because his bedshitting is so wholly fecesesque* that he did it on the first two Oakland possessions of the game!

Sept 17, 2006. Week 2 of the NFL season. The Silver & Black is in Baltimore to take on a vaunted Ravens defense. The Ravens go up a field goal on the opening drive of the game. If Brooks hadn’t seen all he needed to of linebacker Ray Lewis & Co. in warm-ups, the first two Raiders plays from scrimmage might have convinced the QB to find a way out – any way out.

Play 1: Raiders run for 1 yard. “Okaaay, these guys are good.”

Play 2: Raiders run for -4 yards. “Life ain’t worth this. I’ma shit my way out!”

Play 3: Aborted snap. TURNOVER.

Seemingly just as disinterested in employment (both men would be out of the league by 2007), head coach Art Shell sent Brooks out for Oakland’s second drive. Maybe the time spent on the sideline while Baltimore added another field goal would give Brooks more courage.

Play 1: Aborted snap. TURNOVER.

Brooks was subsequently benched for the legendary Andrew Walter.

Snap, fumble. Snap, fumble. Bench.

Brooks hugged pine until Week 10, when he would re-take the reins…and start in six straight losses to end Oakland’s season.

The reason it’s so hard to find evidence of Brooks’ shitsplosion: he’s not in conventional box scores because he never attempted a run or pass. He handed the ball off twice, and then started the sequence that sealed his and his franchise’s doom.

Think I’m exaggerating? Oakland would recover in 2007 by hiring Lane Kiffin as head coach, and drafting Jamarcus Russell at QB.

I shit my case.

Oh – and Brooks also did this. What a bedshitter.

*- I’m running out of shit-pletives, so just back off.

 

Marge Schott – Late Owner, Cincinnati Reds & Donald Sterling – Why-Can’t-He-Be-Late Owner, Los Angeles Clippers

Maybe you’re racist, in which case you don’t consider being a latter-day slave driver shitting the bed. May the good lord be with you.

 

Listen to the podcast here; also available on iTunes

 

Mike Ditka, Saints GM/Head Coach – Trading MORE Than A Whole Draft For Ricky Williams

(Hon. Mention: Tom Benson, Saints Owner)

If you thought the Minnesota Vikings had a hard-on for RB Herschel Walker when they traded enough draft picks to enable the Dallas Cowboys to build a dynasty, then 1999 Ditka must be the equivalent of one of those guys they warn in the Viagra commercials – the ones who are advised to “seek medical assistance immediately.”*

Sure, Williams had won the Heisman award, and just set the career record for rushing yards in college. Barring some injuries and suspensions/bans for marijuana use that no one could have foretold, he had a very successful NFL career.

The problem is, not even a griffinesque Bo Jackson-Earl Campbell creature justifies trading YOUR WHOLE YEAR’S DRAFT PLUS TWO MORE PICKS IN THE NEXT DRAFT. But that’s exactly what Ditka did, handing over eight draft picks to Washington for the right to select Williams.

I drink, etc. So I can sort of put myself in a mindset similar to the one Iron Mike might have been in when he came up with this so-crazy-it’s-batshit-crazy idea. I mean, half of the picks New Orleans gave up were in the fourth round or lower. Surely an elite tailback is a bargain for a few high picks plus a handful of ones fro the lower rounds.

Right?

Lo and behold, the Saints would finish the 1999 season 3-13, and reach double digit wins only once until 2006 when two guys named Payton and Brees came to town.

Who knew that foregoing a whole draft’s worth (and more) would effectively mortgage your franchise’s immediate future?

Ditka’s bedshitting is one of the most impactful of this charter class – he set a whole sports franchise back with his liberal anus.

Saints owner Tom Benson gets honourable mention for thinking it was a good idea to make Ditka – on par with an actual football in terms of intelligence – as both head coach and general manager.

*- I will maintain this standpoint until my final days: If I experience an erection longer than four hours, the first person I’m hunting down is not a doctor.

 

The Buffalo Bills of the Early Nineties

Four straight Super Bowl losses – the last three severe blowouts. No team has shit the bed like that on the big stage. Not even the Jerry West Lakers in the NBA, who lost seven finals in nine years, but never four straight.

Some prefer to give the Bills credit for sustained excellence. There’s another Hall of Fame for that; this one is for the constipation-challenged.

 

Vinny Testaverde, Buccaneers QB – 35 Interceptions in 1988

Emulating the work of Edvard Munch, one can practically feel Testaverde’s horror in this piece by Mr. Hoo.

Fuck it – I’m afraid just thinking about 35 picks in one season. (Somehow only second all-time; George Blanda heaved up 42 for Houston in 1962, but by then I’m certain that he was 108 years old and smoking three packs a game.)

Shudder.

 

Ryan Leaf, former NFL QB – Life Work

A very surrealistic turn for Mr. Hoo here.

Start off with a college career at Washington State that had many scouts saying they’d opt for you at first overall in the NFL Draft instead of this Peyton Manning guy. End with no NFL career, an addiction to painkillers that leads you to break & enter a physio facility, and a high school coaching gig, and you’re bound to find some feces on a bed in there along the way. It’s just a given.

 

The Washington Generals

How could we leave out the most famous, prolific losers – aka bedshitters – in sports? Maybe much of the Harlem Globetrotters games were staged. That doesn’t ease the pain of diaper rash contracted from basically existing in shit.

Had to have been frustrating to be a General against the Globetrotters.

I mean, they were using a freakin ladder, for god’s sake.

 

Listen to the podcast here; also available on iTunes

 

The post Ep 146- The TFQ Bedshitter Hall of Fame! first appeared on The Fifth Quarter.