Fubaw is back

As Shooter is still nattering on about baseball like some kind of damned Commie, it falls to me to remind the FTT audience (of one) that football season semi-officially begins tonight with the Hall of Fame Game. Which means it's also time for our annual feature, Hate on the Hall where we say cruel things about the legendary athletes that either gilded or ruined our childhoods, depending on their laundry.

"Bullet" Bob Hayes: Darrius Heywood-Bay, Renaldo Nehamiah, Matt Jones and legions of other NFL wide receivers owe Hayes a huge debt of gratitude because he was the first man to prove NFL owners will give lots of money to really fast people regardless of their ability to actually catch.


Randall McDaniel: This one is difficult. The HOF is shamefully lacking in offensive lineman, especially in comparison to quarterbacks and running backs (and running backs who beat up their wives and yes, Jim, we are talking about you) and McDaniel was a great LG for a very long time. But his induction guarantees that his name will come up every time somebody talks about that great 1998 Vikings team that screwed the pooch against the Falcons. Which means that, even as a member of the Hall of Fame, McDaniels' greatest accomplishment was probably being the best player on a 16-1 team that lost the NFC Championship Game at home. To the immortal Chris Chandler.

Bruce Smith: Despite being one of the league's great pass rushers, Bruce Smith will always suck hind teat to Reggie White and Deacon Jones. Most likely, he'll someday have to take a backseat to Michael Strahan, who managed to sack quarterbacks (with Brett Favre's help) while actually possessing something akin to a personality. True, most of Strahan's personality is contained in the gap between his teeth, but that still puts him ahead of Smith, as the most interesting about Smith is that, like Rom the Space Knight, his head is shaped like a toaster.

Derrick Thomas: It has often been said that death is a great career move, and that brings us to Derrick Thomas. By dying in the prime of his life and thus providing material a raft of public service announcements -- remember to buckle up, kids -- nobody ever discusses the fact that Thomas was a charter member of the "The run?! Who gives a crap about defending the run?" school of defendering.

Thomas' death saved the delicate ovaries of Kansas City from almost certain impregnation. D.T. knocked up five women who bore him seven kids. Clearly, he was too busy cruising for chicks because he never bothered marrying any of them. On the other hand, Thomas was spared most of the horror show that was Gunther Cunningham's tenure as head coach. The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away.

Rod Woodson: Football was not Rod Woodson's first love. He had a successful singing career, performing with his brothers before striking out on his own in . . . What? He's not?! C'mon, man. You cannot tell me those are two different people. Really? Huh. Well, I'll be damned.

Well, obviously, Tony Stark is his biological father. Ol' Shellhead got around, so he probably wasn't a big part of Rod's life and . . . Comic book character? Look at them! Obviously, they share DNA. It's . . . (sigh) I suppose you're right . . . Man, do I feel silly. All that time I spent hating "Rhythm Of The Night" just because I thought it was recorded by some twerp in Pittsburgh -- that song is the jam!

Ralph Wilson: Honestly, I feel kind of bad mocking Ralph Wilson. His team crapped the bed four consecutive times in the Super Bowl. The greatest player in team history devoted his post-NFL live to either murdering white people or a career as an amateur private investigator working country clubs all over the country, depending on one's perspective. He makes John Clayton look sexy and virile. He lives in Buffalo. It's been decades since he enjoyed an erection.

But he did give Count Von Davis a loan that saved the Raiders, thus dooming NFL fans to a lifetime of pictures of Bay Area idiots dressed like Skeletor. And nobody forced him to put his team in a frigid wasteland -- the NHL doesn't have a franchise in Saskatoon. With an entire universe of possibilities, he called his squad the "Buffalo Bills." The Buffalo Bills?! Really? Why not the Houston Sams if you're going in that direction? At least Houston has better weather.

And he willfully traded those kick-ass AFL uniforms for the pedestrian threads of the 90s and now the hideous monstrosities they inflict on the public today. Screw Ralph Wilson. That guy is a dick.