Against all reason, the NFL has yet to put an end to the charade that is the 2007 regular season. Even after today's action which saw the New England Patriots win the single most impressive football game in recorded human history, the show apparently must go on. When you get right down to it, you know that if you can beat the Jets in the Meadowlands, you can beat any team anywhere at any time.

There are some misguided naysayers who might offer an alternative explanation for today's event. People might dare whisper that the Jets made the playoffs on the strength of a weak schedule and some lucky breaks. They might wonder whether those factors might have had enough of an impact to negate the dreadful play on words that makes up the nickname of the young Jets head coach. But who among them would dare show their face in the wake of that amazing win?

After all, there is no possible alternative but to assume that today's dominance was due solely to the excellence of the New England Patriots. Who could dare think that the Jets inability to rush the passer and even more pathetic secondary play could have been the result of a bad football team as opposed to an outstanding opponent?

I think the one moment that best encapsulates the state of the New York Jets this season came when the crowd cheered after Chad Pennington was hurt. Not only did it show the Jets fans as total dbags, but it showed that this team can't be all that good if Kellen Clemens is the savior waiting in the wings.

In his brief career, Kellen Clemens had thrown two passes prior to this season and managed exactly zero completions. To his credit, he did lead the league in TD passes this preseason. Maybe I'm too optimistic, but that just impresses the hell out of me. Isn't that why we remember Joe Montana all these years after he retired? For leading the league in TD passes in preseason after preseason?

Outside of New York, no one cares who accumulated what meaningless stats in which slate of meaningless games. If Kellen Clemens is the QB of the future and the future is now, then the 2007 season is already over for the New York Jets. If that is the case, then the blowout the Patriots laid on them this afternoon isn't as impressive as people seem to think.

As impressive as Randy Moss' day was, perhaps it might be wise to wait for him to play a team with a serviceable secondary before we pack his bags for Honolulu and the Pro Bowl. For instance, on his long TD catch can we fairly say that he beat triple coverage? Might we instead say that three Jets took up some space but didn't earn their game checks even though they must have enjoyed their front row seat for the play?

Of course, it is somewhat unfair for me to be so critical of the Jets secondary today. After all, the front seven would have been hard pressed to do less to help their defensive backs. They made the Patriots offensive line look like supermen with their lackluster pass rush. They almost got near Brady once. I think I remember that.

In all fairness, I am just a bit bitter because Brady's performance probably cost me the game in fantasy football. Of course the Kansas City Chiefs horrendous offense dragging Larry Johnson down as though they were a 10 man albatross and LJ were the Ancient Mariner had a fair bit to do with it. And Tony Romo (my QB) hurt more than he helped with his treasonous penchant for throwing to Jason Witten (my esteemed opponent's TE) instead of Terrell Owens (my WR) poured salt into the wound.

It hurts losing this game (which isn't technically over, but I need a huge second half out of Romo and TO and a near miraculous effort from Vernon Davis against Anquan Boldin) to have a chance. It hurts doubly because I'm losing to Mr. Bean's stunt double and a guy who played Eddie Kennison. I guess I'm just not as smart as I think I am, or a victim of bad luck.

But before I wrap this post up, I have a couple of other things to say about a couple of things. First, on the Auburn-South Florida game. I have to congratulate Auburn coach Tommy Tubberville for his amazing ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. After South Florida tied the game with about 45 seconds to go, and Auburn holding onto two timeouts, Coach Tubberville elected to play for the tie and overtime rather than risk a turnover playing for the win.

Even if Auburn had turned it over, South Florida was out of timeouts. Their kicker had just tied the game, but he'd also missed four kicks that day. But giving them an equal chance to win the game by eating the ball and going to overtime couldn't have been good for Auburn's confidence. I assume this knowing that South Florida went on to upset Auburn. The moral of the story - only a tool plays for a tie.

The only thing that keeps Tubberville from becoming a tool of note is that he wasn't the biggest tool in the stadium. I saw a guy rooting for South Florida while wearing a wrestling singlet, only this and nothing more. It got me thinking, is there ever an acceptable time to wear a wrestling singlet. And the answer is no.

It is never appropriate to wear a singlet. Not as a costume for Halloween. Not while watching a football game. Not in the privacy of one's own home. Not even while engaged in that least cool and most homoerotic of sports, Greco-Roman wrestling is it appropriate to wear a singlet. A man should never wear scanty, skin-tight garments. It's not a good look.

If you wear a singlet in public you ought to be arrested. Doubly so if you wear it to an event that isn't a wrestling competition. If you aren't arrested, then maybe you ought to do the rest of us a favor and refrain from passing your genes to the next generation. The only thing that keeps him from being the tool of note is that an odd combination of laziness and horror at the choice of attire prevents me from searching for a photo of that tool.

Among the other things that are bothering me from this weekend is the new Nike ad campaign. In particular, the commercial featuring Shawne Merriman and Stephen Jackson is antagonizing me. I don't know if you recognized the song when you heard it, but it is the Promontory Theme from the cinematic triumph, Last of the Mohicans. It's the song playing while Chingachkook, Uncas and Nathaniel chase down Magua and his warriors at the climax of the film.

If I were a better person, I'd admit that I'm just a bitter person who resents Shawne Merriman's new, edgy style of play. But I'm not, so I can say spiteful things. For instance, I'd have less of a problem with this if a needle injecting some illicit concoction of performance enhancing chemicals were photoshopped into the ad somewhere reminding us of Merriman's four game suspension last season. Or maybe it would bother me less if someone could prove that Chingachkook's triumph over Magua had been aided by some sort of banned substance.

But even more than the Patriots winning, the Bears losing and the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad use of that song from that scene, another event is bothering me. I don't know if you saw it, I didn't. I had to be told by a Patriots fan who wanted to rile me for failing to show the new look Pats the proper respect. Last night, while I was occupied watching real sports, NASCAR and Dale Jr. crossed a line I couldn't believe they would dare cross.

In his seemingly futile chase for the Chase for the Cup, Dale Jr. dared adorn the hood of his car with the image of Elvis Presley. The universe punished him for his insolence, and he didn't win the race. In fact, Little E didn't even finish the race. If winning mattered to him, and I'd bet it doesn't based on the frequency with which he wins, this truly would be a blow.

It is not fair to blame Dale Jr. for this without criticizing the corporate entity that controls Elvis' legacy. Shame on the functionaries at Elvis Presley Enterprises for whoring his image out to be painted on the hood of a race car. Do they not earn enough money profiteering from his life's work? If I thought I had the discipline not to violate it, I would call for a boycott on Elvis just as I did against John Cougar Mellencamp. But I won't be that sort of hypocrite.

Ladies and Gentlemen, August 16, 2007 marks the 30th anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley. I do not mention it much in this blog, but I am a big Elvis fan. I might not be one of the people descending on Memphis for the festivities this week. I own very little Elvis memorabilia. I am very difficult to engage in a debate on Fat Elvis vs. Skinny Elvis. But nonetheless, I am an Elvis fan.

I love his music, especially songs that never topped the charts but still showcased his incredible talent. My favorite song of his is his version of Gentle On My Mind. I think the Memphis sessions from 1969 are one of the most underrated in Rock and Roll History. The same session produced In the Ghetto, Suspicious Minds, Don't Cry Daddy and a number of songs that you might have to get up at 8 on Sunday morning to hear on Oldies 103's Elvis Only hour like Long Black Limousine, True Love Travels on a Gravel Road, Only the Strong Survive, Gentle on my Mind, Inherit the Wind and more.

When people tell me that Elvis "raped" black music, it bothers me. Elvis didn't sit down and make a calculating decision to co-opt African American culture for profit. Instead, he found songs that spoke to him and recorded them in ways that made them his own. For every song like Hound Dog, which was a cover of an African American woman's original recording, there are any number of others like Don't Be Cruel, Love Me Tender, All Shook Up and a bunch of others that are far more heavily influenced by country music than anything from the African American tradition.

Believe it or not, when Elvis was serving with the Army in Germany, he wrote home to his people to have them write English lyrics to the Italian standard "O Sole Mio." They thought it was a bad idea, and tried to talk him out of it. They were not successful. The song, "It's Now or Never," went on to top the charts. But all he did was rape black music? If the same could be said of a Beatles' tune, it would probably be hailed as the greatest artistic achievement in music history and the thing that will eventually end the civilized world's war on poverty.

But that's one of the strange things about Elvis, and something that bothers me about a lot of fans and detractors alike. They don't really know Elvis; they know what they want to know about Elvis. It's nonsense like that that fuels the fat Elvis vs. skinny Elvis debate and comments like Elvis raped black music.

For instance, A Little Less Conversation was not a good song when it was released. It was a B side from an album that went nowhere. And it was a good thing that album went nowhere, as its failure helped trigger the 1968 comeback special. But because some tool threw a little club mix on it and the morons who run Nike's ad campaigns threw it into a commercial and all of a sudden it took off. The fact that the song's lyrics are childish and the singer himself never seems too impressed with the song can't possibly matter once a Fortune 500 company puts its imprimatur on it by throwing it into a 30 second designed to dupe fat people into buying running shoes, right?

But that gets me to tonight's point. What bothers me most as an Elvis fan is the manner in which those who have inherited his legacy have behaved. I don't mean a metaphorical legacy, but the tangible assets he left behind. I am continually scandalized by the lengths to which his survivors will go to profiteer from their connection with him. The tacky merchandise was one thing. I could stomach the remixes. But now they have gone too far.

If you haven't heard, Lisa Marie Presley has cut a duet with her deceased father's image. They will be singing In the Ghetto for the laudable end of raising funds for those residents of New Orleans who are still suffering from Hurricane Katrina. But at the end of the day, it would probably have been far better had Miss Presley simply written a check from the vast fortune she has accumulated from her father's estate over these last 30 years. Then the tragic victims of the storm could have been served without destroying one of her father's best records.

The first aesthetic problem is that this genre, if you will, of daughters singing with digitally regenerated fathers has been done to death. Natalie Cole sang with her father like 15 years ago now. I imagine it would be a very simple Google search to find out the exact figure, but strict accuracy isn't the point at the moment. Rosanne Cash sang a posthumous duet with her father Johnny Cash not too long ago. I don't recall hearing the world clamoring for a third run at the these roses.

But the major aesthetic problem is that Lisa Marie Presley is not good at anything. If she were, her albums would be played on the radio or purchased by customers and not used to shim unruly shelving displays at the local Best Buy. Her lack of musical ability has, in the main, been overshadowed by her uncanny knack for choosing the least suitable matches and then marrying them, like Nicolas Cage or Michael Jackson. That doesn't change the fact that she can't sing a lick. Do you know any one who owns one of her records?

I wonder now, whether any one will dare criticize this little venture as I have. Wrapping herself in the mantle of Katrina relief will make it difficult for people to criticize her. At least until the requisite 12 hours have passed. That's just enough time for VH1 to round up enough half-assed pseudo-celebrities to have their one millionth pop culture fest show.

Before I sign off, I feel compelled to mention one more thing. Tonight, I was driving in suburban Boston. And a guy walking his bike crossed the street as I was stopped at a stop sign. Over his shoulder, he carried a tote bag. And in his tote bag was a live chicken. It might have been a rooster, I don't know much about poultry, at least not until it gets to the meat counter at the supermarket, anyway. But he was crossing the street with a live chicken. In 2007. If that's not a bad omen for the week to come, I don't know what is.

I'm not a big fan of the midday post. Even when I don't have better, or at least more important, things to do, I try to give the impression that I do. But I was just too damn tired, and quite frankly a bit angry, so I couldn't do this last night. In part I was mad that the Spurs won, and a lot of my anger had to do with the guy who was tailgating me in his minivan for a good 10 miles last night. And I'm not an easy guy to tailgate, as I tend to be somewhere around ten miles over the speed limit at all times.

I find myself wondering as I watch certain commercials (like this recent one from Nike) whether I am the only one out in the wide world with a sense of irony. I thought it when I first saw the old Campbell's Chunky Soup Ads that featured Michael Strahan's grinning maw peering in the window on a NYC subway car, with his face framed above a decal that said "Watch the Gap." And I think it now, watching the We Are All Witnesses spots from Nike which will surely go away now that the NBA Playoffs are finished.

We were witnesses, that much is true, but not necessarily in the sense that Nike commanded us to be. We were supposed to witness LeBron James become the basketball player he had better be for the sake of the NBA's future. And he very nearly did. He submitted what would have been the mother of all transcendent sports moments for this very young century in that ">amazing Game 5 performance against the Pistons. I say would have been because he really needed to submit a couple of 30 point efforts, maybe force the Spurs to a game 6 (or at the very least game 5) to cement that status. Alas, it was not to be.

What we, the basketball watching public, instead witnessed was a shameful display of dreadful basketball with a few brief shining moments where the games aspired, didn't quite reach but aspired nonetheless, to something verging on mediocrity. Now for a regular season game in early January where one or both teams comes into the game on the second leg of back-to-back games, that wouldn't be so bad. Unfortunately for us, this wasn't a throwaway game. This was the end-all, be-all. The NBA Finals. These were the last two teams standing slugging it out for the O'Brien Trophy.

Back when I thought it was a good idea to study European History, I remember reading about the Battle of Jutland. The British and the Germans invested ludicrous sums of money in big fleets of massive battleships. The two navies sailed out and met off the coast of Denmark. They fired their big guns at each other for hours, and at the end of the day it was just a big waste of time. The Germans ended up inflicting more damage on the British ships, but they went back to port and never tried their luck again.

That's what this series between the Spurs and Cavs boiled down to in the end. A big, giant multi-million dollar waste of time. I wonder whether some marketing czar at Nike is answering to the CEO as we speak. I wonder whether David Stern is thinking that maybe some rule changes are in order. Maybe Mark Cuban is thinking he really shouldn't have hired Dan Rather, what with the fact that he said CBS is tarting up its evening news with Katie Couric. God forbid we get a younger woman who doesn't look like Methusala's older brother and doesn't have an alleged penchant for broadcasting doctored documents about the President of the US as though they were true. But enough about that.

I think that the easiest way to fix the NBA is to have the officials actually call fouls that are in fact fouls. A foul doesn't cease to be a foul because the player scored, nor does it become a foul when the shot misses. This late whistle nonsense must come to an end. This can never happen, as it would require a miracle and the present NBA regime has apparently outlawed miracles.

If, however, the league office desires to be more proactive about fixing its product than interfering in off-court behavior and imposing a dress code as though this were reform school and not a professional sports endeavor, I have a suggestion I think is constructive (for a change). Get rid of the 24 second clock and replace it with a 14 second clock. Get some positive ball movement back into the game, speed up the tempo and end the trend of the superstar who dribbles at the top of the key until fans decide to surf channels to see if Masterpiece Theater is showing an interesting Miss Marple mystery.

But what do I know? I'm only a rabid sports fan who found himself watching Too Late the Hero last night during the first three quarters of the last game of the NBA Finals. And wouldn't you know, the damn hero was, in fact, too late. And that ending was still more of a surprise than the Cavs losing the game and the series to the Spurs.

But every cloud has a silver lining. This time, to paraphrase the immortal words of MeatLoaf, two out of three is not, in fact, bad, not bad at all. The Red Sox lost the rubber game against the mighty Colorado Rockies. It could not have been better. Josh Beckett was shelled. Francona dug deep into his bag of tricks and ordered JD Drew to bat in the leadoff spot, where he submitted probably the single most impressive 0 for 5 game in the history of Major Leage Baseball.

In case you're keeping score at home, this was the seventh time in the last nine games the mighty BoSox have managed to put two or fewer runs on the board. JD Drew, Coco Crisp and Julio Lugo are all hitting .230 or below and making millions. Kevin Youkilis and Dustin Pedroia have a long way to go to hit the seven figure plateau in terms of salary, but are both hitting over .300. Sooner or later the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men are bound to catch up to this team. But at least John Henry has his little foray into professional beach volleyball to console him.

For long time readers familiar with my habit of quoting the Grateful Dead in order to remind everyone that every silver lining has a touch of grey, here it is. The Yankees are seven and 1/2 games back, but they host the Mets (whom I absolutely hate, except for that nice little two week stretch back in October of '86) who enter the game at 36-28 and in first place in the NL East while the Red Sox host the Giants who enter the game at 30-35 and in the cellar in the NL West. It was a nice run while it lasted, now we need the Yanks to stay close through the weekend and then mount another run before the All Star break.

PS - I hate to do this, but it was a nice, empty gesture on the part of the Red Sox to ask that MLB replace David Ortiz with Kevin Youkilis on the All Star ballot.

Earlier this evening, it looked like there wasn't going to be a post tonight. There was a big upset brewing in the top 25. It looked like an unranked Michigan St. team was going to blow out the Fighting Irish. It also looked like the BC Eagles were going to cement their status as best of the rest in the Atlantic Coast Conference. But funny things happen sometimes in football.

Notre Dame scored 19 unanswered points in the fourth quarter on 3 TDs in a 5:25 span. For those who wrote off Charlie Weis after last week's debacle, it might be time to back off a bit. The team looked shaky (to say the least) in the first quarter. Weis looked fairly foolish when his call to go for it on 4th and 8 just past midfield backfired and Michigan State scored a big TD. Of course, there is also John L. Smith, the man, the myth, legend.

How many times in college and professional football do we see a coach take the air out of the ball when they get a big lead in the second half? I can see some of the logic, not wanting to risk the big turnover. And Michigan State was killing Notre Dame on the ground for the first three quarters, especially with Jehuu Caulcrick, the big 260 pound tailback. Thank God John L. Smith went to the power running formation and stopped running out of the spread formation, which has killed Notre Dame since Joe Tiller brought that attack to Purdue in 1997.

And then there was BC. A blocked extra point helped them beat Clemson, now a missed extra point cost them this game against NC State. Once you miss a kick, you chase that point all day. Then you have to go for two when you want to make it a seven point game. If you miss the two, then it goes from a TD to tie, to a loss situation. Damn shame it had to happen like that.

Of course, there is the theory that you have to take care of business when you have the chance. BC had the ball on third down with short yardage to go. They fumble the quarterback-center exchange, but they were lucky. Matt Ryan fell on the ball, and they only wasted one down. It set the stage perfectly for the most overhyped short yardage specialist in recent memory. I imagine that the CHB had an easy story, and angle all set up. Alas, NC State did not get the memo, and they stopped Brian Toal for a loss on fourth down. That set up their winning TD drive. Under a minute to go, and no time outs. But they took care of business. Good times.

One thing that drove me crazy during the Notre Dame game was the constant game breaks from the studio. I can understand when they have news or scores to update. I appreciate finding out what's going on in games I'm not watching, especially when I can't check the score during a commercial because a particular game isn't on in the area. But if they updated me on the Ohio State game one more time 3 hours after it ended, I was going to start hopping up and down and hooting like Woody Woodpecker.

On a totally unrelated note, what is the point of the Nike Gridiron/Briscoe High spots? I can see where it is somewhat cool to envision a high school where Jimmy Johnson teaches history and Brian Urlacher, LaDanian Tomlinson, Michael Vick and Matt Leinart play football under George Seifert. It's also funny to see Urlacher and the other captains tower over their rivals in the big game. I'm guessing that the point is that with Nike equipment anyone can play with the big boys, unless that Ryan kid is somebody I should know but can't place.

I think the real point is one of those beautiful accidental moments that occur in commercials. A classic example is the Michael Strahan Chunky Soup ad from about 6 or 7 years ago, where he's handing out soup to commuters on the New York subway. As the ad ends, there is a shot where his head is framed by one of the windows in the sliding door. Right below his big goofy smile is a sign that says: "Mind the gap." There is no way that was deliberate, but it's still funny.

To make a long story short, the moment like that from the Briscoe High ad is the unintentional referendum on Michael Vick as quarterback. With a fourth down and time for one play, what does George Seifert run? A tailback option pass play, which is almost assured to fail in that situation because it is the run threat that leaves the wide receiver open down field. On fourth and long there is no way you'd ever run with time about to expire. You'd think the quarterback should be dropping back to throw it deep. But when your passing threat is Michael Vick, maybe you do want Tomlinson throwing the do or die pass.

I hate Michael Vick because he tried to kill my fantasy team a couple of years ago. I also hate him because he is a big whiner. Every time the Falcons fall short, it's a coaching failure, never the QB. Then there was his unilateral demand that media stop questioning his pocket passing ability in the wake of the single most impressive passing performance of the modern era when he threw for 250 yards against the Dolphins last season.