Oh, God, it hurts.

That's all. I really don't want to talk about it.

But I will.

Jim Sorgi? He looked worse than Derek on Derek's worse day. Has he ever taken a professional snap before?

But I guess I'm official. As a new Browns fan just this season, I get to say it for the first time: We'll get there next year.

Don't cry, Derek

Look, Derek Anderson. I know I've been hard on you at times, but in the end, you are my quarterback. So act like one. Stop being a pussy.

What's this crap about you stomping out of a press conference because some wiseacre asks you if Quinn should get some reps Sunday? You walked out? You got your wittle feelings hurt? Come on! Do you think Tom Brady would handle something like that? Nah. He'd act like the quarterback. So let's work on that, shall we? I'll help. Picture yourself in the following scenario:

Wiseacre reporter: "Hey Derek, you think this is a good week for Quinn to get some reps? And by the way, did you remember that you had four picks last week?"

Derek Anderson: "I'm the starting quarterback. Romeo Crennel is the head coach. That's a question for the coach. Next?"

See how smooth that was? Believe me, Derek, I am a champion bait-grabber and it always leads to frustration. Don't do it. If you can't handle some idiot in a press conference, how the heck do you plan to handle the playoffs? Think about it.

Five Instant Hottifiers for Men

Due to the massive amount of spam emails I get for penis enlargement devices/pills/techniques, I venture to guess that men think about their junk all the time. I have other evidence to prove this theory besides email, such as the fact that every man I know who thinks he is hung like a horse mentions it all the time, and the best way men have to tease each other--besides accusing each other of being gay--is to suggest their buddy has a small pecker. So these emails promise to give you the single most important thing in the world to make you attractive to women: a huge dick.

Men, you don't need a yard-long piece of rebar in your pants to attract women. You don't need to be perfectly gorgeous. You don't need washboard abs. You don't need a Corvette. You don't need a million dollars in the bank. If you want to look sexy for women, I offer you Five Instant Hottifiers for Men.

1. The Smile

Ok, so I have a fetish for teeth. That's beside the point. Take a look at this random actor. Isn't he hot? Isn't that a beautiful smile? Doesn't it say, "Hey, I'm cool, you're cool." A smile makes you approachable. It's warm. It's CONFIDENT. I don't care who you are, guys. If you can't look at this fellow and see that his smile makes him sexy, you're just trying to be too straight.

So brush up on it. Practice in the mirror if you have to. Get some whitening strips if you think you need them. But smile already. The mouth is the sexiest part of the body. It talks, it eats, it sings, it kisses. It has a tongue inside it. Think about it. Chicks like all that stuff.

2. Boots

Yes, boots. Western boots, work boots, biker boots, jump boots. Doesn't matter what kind, they are all hot. You know how sexy you think a woman looks in those high heels? Well you're right. It makes our legs look longer. It makes our posture straighter. It changes our entire carriage. And what high heels do for women, boots do for men. You'll be instantly taller, straighter, leaner. And you'll have an air of command about you. Boots say you've got stuff to do and you by-God know how to get it done. I have never seen a man that boots couldn't improve.

3. A uniform

Uniforms come in many styles. The mind jumps immediately to the military uniform or the police uniform, and those are certainly great. Those uniforms say you're looking out for me. I'm safe with you. You'd kill for me. My mind also leaps to football uniforms, or, for most guys, just a jersey. Those say you like to play rough. You're fun. Whatever your uniform is, wear it with pride. For example, check out the suit. Uniform, you ask? Yeah. It's the business uniform. It says, "I make the big bucks," or "I know what I'm talking about," or "Trust me." Hmm? If you don't have another kind of uniform, a good suit is bank. Just make sure it fits properly and didn't come from the Salvation Army box. A suit is an investment and will last for years. Black or navy, and if you need more than one, consider camel. Wear it like you own it and like you own everything else you see too.

4. A white shirt

A white button-up shirt is great. It's clean. It's classic. It's ready for anything. You can wear it with your suit or you can wear it with your jeans. It will flatter your complexion no matter how fair or dark you are. It's elegant, sporty, conservative and fresh, all at the same time. You cannot go wrong with it. And at a bar full of guys wearing their black, you'll be the eye-catcher. A white shirt can go home to meet mother, and will also look great on that chick whose name you can't remember the next morning. She'll want to keep it, by the way. Goes with the territory. Small sacrifice.

5. Dirt

Yes! Dirt is awesome, and like a uniform, comes in many varieties. Just look at pretty Brady Quinn with is eye black smeared on his pretty face. He's fierce! He's not afraid to get down and dirty, hell no. And your dirt might be the grease from a car or the dust from a construction site or the sweat from a good workout. Just note that there is a difference between being dirty and being funky. As long as it is fresh dirt, you're good. It just makes us want to give you a good scrubbing.

So there they are. Simple and require no pumps, pills or implants.

Glad It's Over

Don't get me wrong. I'm no Scrooge. I actually enjoy Christmas. Mostly. I like the lights. I like buying presents and wrapping presents. Of course, I like getting presents too sometimes. What I don't like is the bullshit.

This year my household nearly came to blows over where and when we celebrated with each set of in-laws. Christmas Eve? Saturday before Christmas? Morning? Evening? Meet at the rest stop halfway between?

It wasn't always like this. Before you get married, your holidays are set. You know where you go on what day and there is no question. But then the grandchildren grow up and get married and you have this whole other set of in-laws and outlaws around which to plan. And the more grandchildren there are in a family, the more interlopers there are with which to contend.

And invariably, each Christmas is expected to exceed the last in grandiosity. Bigger presents, better presents, more expensive presents. Exotic food. Strange "new" traditions, which is an absolute oxymoron. As much fun as Dirty Santa is, Mother, don't come around telling me we have "always done it" when we have not and I only ever heard of it three years ago!

Next year I am thinking of boycotting Christmas outright. Well, not a complete boycott. I'll still buy presents, but I'll have them delivered by mail the week before. That will save me on wrapping paper and tape as well. And perhaps that 20 pounds of holiday weight gain as well.

Win and You're In

Yes, Derek. That's what we thought too. What exactly does that hands-on-helmet gesture mean? Possibilities:

1. Shit!

2. Damn!

3. I suck!

4. When will this be over?

I wonder if those little wristbands with the plays on them actually call for games with four interceptions? You know, just to keep things exciting. Just to make the fans pray for a Titans loss in order to make the playoffs. You had your destiny in your own hands, Derek. Instead, you kept your helmet there on Sunday. Four times. Any one of them back and the Browns win. Of course, you know this. I'm just saying.

To Winners

I was delighted to see the Miami Dolphins of 2007 get their first win of the season. I felt miserable for them all year. No matter how much money a guy makes, to fail so horribly at what you do is not something I'd wish on anyone. So when they got the overtime win with that notoriously deadly Lemon-to-Camarillo pass, I was thrilled. Of course, they beat Cleveland's traitorous AFC North rivals, the Baltimoron Ratbirds, so the win couldn't have come over a better team unless it was Pittsburgh.

And I'm on record right now hoping that, unless my team can pull off one of the biggest upsets in the history of football and beat New England in the second round of the playoffs, I want the Patriots to go all the way, perfectly. Undefeated. And it's not because I have the hots for Tom Brady. We've already established that it is grossly unfair for him to be so gorgeous and talented as well. I admit, it is because I want somebody--ANYBODY--to equal that 1972 undefeated Dolphins season and shut Don Shula and the rest of those guys up.

There is really something sick about hoping a team loses just so you can say your team was the only one to go undefeated. Be proud if that is the case, but don't wish the failure on others and certainly don't celebrate it with a champagne toast. And Mercury Morris...please. You are 60 years old. You don't need to be on SportsCenter rapping trash-talk about some stuff that happened 35 years ago and waiting to celebrate a Patriots loss should that occur. I mean, seriously: Does anybody think the 1976 Tampa Bay Bucks were hoping this year's Miami team would duplicate their winless season just so they won't be the only one's? I doubt it. That would be classless, to wish someone that pain. Equally classless to hope no one else very gets to feel the supreme joy of a perfect year.

Go Pats, and way to go 2007 Dolphins.

Off-Topic Frivolity and Its Enemies

KardiacKat is dead. My handle in the Cleveland Browns forum has been "yellow-carded" by the Nazis at Advance.net yet again. And this is no mere 24-hour ban for swearing. It's execution. And by IP address too.

This isn't the first time, nor will it be the last, I feel certain. It's no big deal, and yet it irks.

While some forum regulars frequently use racial slurs, pick fights and even stalk other posters, my good buddy and I, as best we can figure, are banned for Off-Topic Frivolity. My God! The scourge of Burl Ives Christmas song lyrics cannot and will not be tolerated!

I appreciate that the forum was set up for the discussion of the Cleveland Browns (who will clinch a playoff berth this Sunday--Book It!), but how many times can a sane human being debate the Derek Anderson vs. Brady Quinn issue before a little Burl Ives is needed to sooth raging tempers and restore calm and order? And what's so wrong with confirming the recipe for cinnamon pecans from the forum's resident trained chef? Is it so bad to wax poetic now and then over the genius of Mel Brooks? Must we refrain from all esoteric banter?

Fuck it.

I have created three new handles and all three have been sniped by the mods. I will risk no more innocent handle lives. At least not for a couple of weeks. That is my holiday gift to Advance.net. I'd sing Holly Jolly Christmas for them too, but I'm afraid the internet might blow up.

Grossly unfair

New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady is gorgeous. This is an affront to justice.

Is it not enough that he gets to be the quarterback? The face of the team? The most important player on the field?

Is it not enough he's won Super Bowls, and been named the Super Bowl MVP twice and the Sports Illustrated Sportsman of the Year once?

Is it not enough that he's a bazzillionaire who dates super models and spends his off seasons at Canne and Sundance, and is perfectly at home in a L.A. hotspot or a Broadway play? Not enough he is as comfortable in Armani as he is in a jersey?

Is it not enough to be the top-rated quarterback in the NFL this season and be on track to an elusive undefeated season?

No. None of that is enough. He has to be ridiculously gorgeous too. He can wear a Stetson cowboy hat, a plain black toque or even that ridiculous little snap-brim newsboy cap he had on a few weeks ago on the Monday Night Football post-game, and look fantastic in all of them. I swear, he's in GQ as often as he's in SI. He's a fashion icon, so much so that Kirk Herbstreit was wearing that same ridiculous newsboy cap the next week on ESPN College GameDay.

For the sake of us all, for parity, for balance in the universe, Tom Brady should injure himself in the face and bring back some sense of equality. Really, Tom. You have enough. You don't have to also be better looking that most of the world. Take one for humanity and just smack yourself in the head with a piece of rebar or something.

But on second thought...Tom Brady with that eyeblack on his face AND a jagged scar cutting roguishly across his eyebrow...

...what? Where was I? I passed out for a second.

More Baby Jesus

I found this really cool website called FOUND Magazine. It features mostly notes but sometimes pictures that people just find in the course of their day.

Here's the link: http://www.foundmagazine.com/find/2394

The whole thing prompts me to think, what would I do if I found a stray Baby Jesus in the manger? Likely, I'd put it in my purse and give it to my son later, or perhaps put it under my Christmas tree. And then I read the note again and realize those would not be the right things to do. :(

A Baby Jesus Story

Christmas tends to make people nostalgic. Besides that it is the time when families tend to gather, it is also the end of another year, which calls for reminiscing.

My son, like many children, has always been fond of babies, and Baby Jesus is all the more special. Last year, he even got to play Jesus' "step" father Joseph at the Christmas play at my mother's church. Mary was played by a lovely brown-eyed blond. Sparky tried to put his arm around her during the whole play, which she rebuffed quite visibly. "Well, she was my wife!" was his explanation.

But back to Baby Jesus. From his youngest years, Sparky tended to kidnap B.J. from the little nativity scenes my mother puts out around the house. Finally, she decided one of the Jesus-in-the-manger figures would have to take one for the team, and she gave Sparky his very own Baby Jesus. It was a little ceramic or porcelain model, much like the one pictured here. He treasured it. He played with it all the time and with all his other toys. B.J. was regularly protected by Power Rangers or guarded by Luke Skywalker.

Needless to say, Sparky developed what some would call "a personal relationship" with his Lord. So much so that B.J. suffered much abuse and roughhousing. This culminated in a spectacle, witnessed by many, that I will cherish as one of my fondest holiday memories.

One evening, when we had a house full of company, he came running into the living room saying, "Look at my Baby Jesus trick! Look at my Baby Jesus trick!"

Then he shot Baby Jesus across the room out of his pirate ship cannon.

I realize it is blasphemous that I laughed my ass off about this, but I couldn't help it. Since then, I have always thought Baby Jesus Trick would be a great name for a band.