Locked Out

This weekend made it official: the NFL owners have locked out their players. Shenanigans then ensued when the players said "screw you, we don't even have a union!" and dissolved said union in some sort of convoluted legal maneuver that surely rivals the brilliance of the Chewbacca Defense.

According to the media (if, of course, you're inclined to believe a bunch of people who weren't present in the negotiations but have deadlines to meet and quotas to fill), the main sticking point between the two sides was the owners' insistence that they need to take a larger piece of the diamond-encrusted football pie in order to offset bigger and bigger losses that have had them crying "POOR!" and "IT'S A HARD KNOCK LIFE...FOR US!" and "OH GOD HOW WILL I EVER KEEP MY THIRD BACKUP YACHT GASSED UP AND READY TO GO? AM I TO LIVE LIKE AN ANIMAL?". The union, as any semi-intelligent employees would do, insisted that the owners open their books and prove it.

And the owners wouldn't do it.

Why the hell not? Proving that they're actually losing money would seem to be a great way of accelerating negotiations and, you know, not looking like a bunch of crotchety misers. Surely they're actually losing money; such a group of rich, powerful businessmen would never, EVER lie about anything, EVER. They must merely be trying to hide a few questionable expenditures, which my sources have been kind enough to share with me:

• Millions of dollars in cocaine donations to Charlie Sheen. If you think it's a coincidence that Mr. Sheen went off the rails and stole the media spotlight just as the NFL was zeroing in on Lock Out Day, you sorely underestimate the strategic brilliance of Commissioner Roger Goodell. Classic bait-and-switch.
• Yearly payouts to Bud Selig. These "contributions" were dependent upon the baseball commissioner fucking up the All-Star Game, opposing any measures to speed up the sport as "ruining tradition," and being sure to wear a befuddled look at all times when out in public.
• Several million spent to silence various masseuses, sideline reporters, receptionists, therapists, and one zookeeper who also may or may not have received cell phone photos of Little Brett.
• Somewhere in the neighborhood of $500,000 spent to settle lawsuits with unfortunate victims of this year's Superbowl Half Time Show.

That, or Rex Ryan simply ate the books. Or mistook them for feet and licked them and now no one wants to touch them.

A Note on Charlie Sheen

I've been trying to resist the urge to add to the pile of crap being written and said about this dude, but today's firing from "Two and a Half Men" pushed me over the edge. And not because I get to write a silly sentence wondering whether the show is now "A Man and Half" and if the actor who plays the half man's parents just shared the world's largest sigh of relief.

No, I'm excited because, by the Force, VH1 had better have Charlie on speed dial. If they play their cards right and can find enough coke, they've got at least six years of content coming their way. A sample:

• "The Glorious Sheen of Love" - Charlie and sixteen young gold diggers move into a swanky mansion that may or may not be the same building in which Sumthin dropped a deuce on Flava Flav's carpet. Every week Charlie eliminates one very sad lady by handing out vials of pure tiger blood to the ones he'd like to keep. Challenges include recitations of "Hot Shots Part Deux," brawling on a baseball diamond with Roger Dorn, and getting made fun of by Charlie's special advisor, Denise Richards. The last girl standing gets to babysit Charlie's children.
• "The Glorious Sheen of Love 2" - Having scared off the previous season's winner in just under three weeks, Charlie and sixteen young gold diggers move back into the swanky mansion that may or may not have been the same building in which Pumkin spat all over New York. Challenges include recitations of "Platoon," a rousing game of Name that Sheen, and getting made fun of by Charlie's special advisor, Denise Richards. This season will produce the conception of at least three children, one of whom belongs to special guest Emilio Estevez. At the end, Charlie will decide that he's got just too much love for one woman and will decide to keep four lucky ladies.
• "The Glorious Sheen of Love Boat" - Having traded all four of last season's winners for a monster truck full of mushrooms, Charlie once again convinces the network execs to cull sixteen willing sacrifices from the ranks of America's skankdom. Not to be outdone by rocker Brett Michaels, Charlie takes these lovely ladies aboard his yacht, "Just Winnin'." Challenges include reenactments of "Spin City," a soda snorting contest, and being made fun of by Charlie's special advisor, a Somali pirate they picked up in a life raft. Nautical nonsense ensues.
• "The Glorious Sheen of Love Girls: Charm School" - Self explanatory. Hosted by Chelsea Handler and Chuy.
• "Celebrity Rehab" - Charlie moves into a halfway house with six other celebrities. He and costar Lindsay Lohan run away three episodes later. The show is immediately canceled, once again leaving Dustin Diamond on the street to fend for himself.
• "Charlie and Lindsay: Untamed" - Shot entirely by the happy couple using FlipCams and terrible night vision. Highlights include long, ridiculous rambles, blurred out private parts every seven minutes or so, and lame explanations regarding what's always hanging out of their noses.

Seriously, VH1, you need to make this happen. CelebReality has fallen so far since the golden days of Flava Flav. Please restore some hope to the genre. Please?

Let's Make Fun of the T Some More!

Why the hell not? After all, they're kind of asking for it after leaving an entire train full of commuters stuck between South Station and Worcester for four hours last night. And this is after that very same train broke down on the very same line earlier that morning. It's nice to see that they're working hard to fulfill that promise of improved service.

Unlike the MBTA, I, however, am about to do something to improve your mass transit experience. Here's a fun list of things to do the next time you're stuck on a disabled train, bus, boat, or The Ride.

• Debate purchase of a horse. Will he cost less per month than that stupid rail pass? Will he smell better than the other people on the train? What will you name him? What will you get bedazzled upon his saddle? How many times a week will you let him drop a giant horse dump on the commuter rail tracks? Answers: Yes, Definitely, Aloysius the Destroyer, "The destination of this train is: Your Mom," Every Damn Day.
• Sing hobo songs. You're on a damn train to nowhere; a little "Jimmy Cracked Corn" is certainly called for. Anyone that doesn't join in is a terd.
• Make a new friend. Surely that grimy individual in the corner is not just talking to himself, but crying out for companionship. That woman beside you who has no choice but to stare at your chest because there isn't enough room for her to turn and look anywhere else is certainly in love with your fine ass. And the buttery dude who's giant thigh is spilling into your lap just wants to make sure you're keeping warm and cozy. A friendly game of "I Spy" is surely in order.
• Talk loudly on your cell phone. That guy leering at you is just jealous that he has no one to talk to. Help him live vicariously through your intelligent banter.
• Fart, then blame the old lady next to you.
• Compose haikus for the conductors in the hopes that they'll give you a free ride (ON THE TRAIN!!!!! GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER!!!!!).

Meh, that was pretty bad. Like the T.