Tuesday’s latest installment of American Idol would’ve, could’ve and should’ve been ignored and disregarded after a nondescript and dull evening in Hollywood. Yet, for all the boredom provided by the vocal performances, Ms. Abdul once again gave an alternative and fresh depiction of mindless, diabolical insanity. From her being brought to tears by Elliot, to her incessant, nonsensical rambling, Paula just perfectly capped a week that raised the bar for utter stupidity.
We will start with my favorite story of the week, also coming out of the Los Angeles area, where former Carolina Panthers’ cornerback and apparently still gangbanging Ricky Manning Jr. made waves at a local restaurant. Manning, clearly living the American dream to the maximum, hadn’t had the ink dry on his new 21 million dollar deal with the Chicago Bears, when he and a few of his boys decided to dine in class at a Denny’s near Compton. Whether this is the way Manning chose to celebrate or someone slipped something in his Moons Over My Hammy, Ricky deemed it necessary to throw it down, dirt up the late night trucker hang out and issue a SoCal beat down. Apparently, some dude had the audacity to sneak a laptop inside. A laptop in Compton? A computer in Denny’s? Was this guy lost? Was he dissing Manning’s crew? Manning had to show him what was up.
When questioned about the incident, witnesses said Manning shouted at the victim, calling him, among other things, a geek and a nerd. Here’s hoping for Howard Schultz’ sake that Manning doesn’t opt to sign his next contract in New York. No New York patron of a Starbucks would ever be able to computerize in peace.
A couple of miles due south in California, the Mets were in San Diego visiting the Padres. It seemed mundane enough. Mike Piazza homered. I mean, it’s not like it hasn’t happened hundreds of times before.
However, what happened next was to spark talk radio fodder for weeks to come. When Piazza entered the dugout, he was initially congratulated by his teammates, and next by…yelp…a woman. Color analyst for the Amazins, former Met first bagger Keith Hernandez, couldn’t ignore a crime of such a grave magnitude. Hernandez questioned why a woman would be in the dugout and not in the kitchen where she belonged. Genius.
Hernandez then apologized, giving a shout to all his honies in the audience. Seriously, that’s the way he aired his contrition.
Apparently, Keith finds no use for women in the dugout. But, clearly there was no issue with the blow or the prostitutes that were as essential to the team charter as the pilot was for the 1986 Mets. How quickly we forget.
The stupidity spilled over into amateur athletics as Reggie Bush’s parents were caught red handed living illicitly, by NCAA standards, in a house owned by a man linked directly to an agency, which now represents Bush. Reggie will be the top pick on Saturday, but the indiscretions of his family may lead him to be the incipient forfeiter of a Heisman trophy. Not the type of storybook ending he was looking for at USC.
With this blog being about stupidity and such, how could we pay no heed to the kings of anti-intelligence, the NBA? The moments of ingenuity continue right on through to the playoffs with these Neanderthals, as Ron Artest and Udonis Haslem were both told by league officials to sit their respective Game 2’s out, thanks to the stupidity exuded in their respective Game 1’s. Ron, as is his wont, used Manu Ginobili’s face as a speed bag all day, with the final elbow to Manu’s already crooked beak getting the attention of Stu Jackson.
As for Haslem, he had the ever popular and always mature reaction to the lack of a foul call, of throwing his mouth guard at an official. Man if you nailed that ref with that guard….boy…that would’ve hurt! I’m sure the whole first row can’t thank you enough for the bath they took in your saliva as that guard was sent a flying. Nice work.
And we conclude the week in stupidity with a favorite of this blog, the strapping, newly bachelorized Nick Lachey. Nick, we know Jess is hot. Dude, we know you miss her. We would too. But you are still you, and you can easily acquire alternative tail. So stop. For the love of all things holy, please, I beg of you, put an end to the bitching on the cover of teeny bopper magazines and go have some sex with a woman with some experience. You deserve that much.
And so puts an end to a few days chock full of more stupidity than the idea of Wilmer Valderamma hosting a show in which homeboys from one hood, diss homeboys from another.
Word to Yo Momma.
RIP Ricky Williams.
