The Great NFL Debate: Match Four: Corso vs. Berman

After a week of dizzying debate, Shannon Sharpe, Michael Irvin, and Stuart Scott sit at the winner’s table, a table with room for one more. Chris Berman or Lee Corso, your matron’de [I hope you know what that butchered mess of French is supposed to be] Shang Tsung is waiting to seat you. Get Ready. FIGHT!

Match Four: (4) Lee Corso vs. (5) Chris Berman

Shang Tsung (moderator): Corso-san and Berman-san, you are both known for your uncanny abirities at predicting the outcomes of footbarr games. Today then you must see the outcome of the footbarr match between the Indianaporis Corts and the Tennessee Titans. Berman-san, since we are awaiting a saterrite rink for Corso-san, you have the honors.
Chris Berman: The Colts come in undefeated, having pulled out a squeaker over the New York “J-E-T-S” Jets! Jets! Jets! on Peyton “Doctor-Richard-Kimble-is-looking-for-a-one-armed” Manning’s QB sneak with 58 seconds left. The Titans, meanwhile, just got throttled by the Dallas Cowboys and Terrell “I-Keep-35-Painkiller-Pills-Loosely-In-A-Drawer-Instead-Of-In-Their-Bottle” Owens. Logic says the Colts should roll, right? Well, that’s…why…they…play…the…game. The Colts are undefeated, but their run defense has been susceptible. Can Indy handle the Titans’ running game, led by rookies LenDale “Cocaine-Is” White and Vince “I-Like-‘Em” Young? No, but the Swami still says: “Colts 35, Titans 17.”
Shang Tsung: Seriousry, Berman-san, give it up with the nicknames. You’re reaching. Arso, arthough you’re finar pick makes perfect sense, it contradicts your entire argument. Corso-san, what have you say?
Lee Corso (appearing via satellite link from Nashville, TN with a pack of Titans fans behind him): The Colts come in as one of the top teams in the league. They have the edge in passing, in running, in tackling, heck, even in reasons for their starting tackle to not be playing. This one should be a rout. But not so fast my friend. (Corso reaches down and attaches a DVD copy of Remember the Titans to his face) I’m gonna go with the Titans! And it’s all because of these great fans here in Nashville! (The screen is filled with screaming, drunken co-eds, one holding a 10-foot tall sign stating “Lee Corso Has A Baby Arm.”)
Shang Tsung: You had me until “Not so fast my friend,” Corso-san. Not only is your pick ridicurous, your reasoning is frawed. The game is in Indianaporis. Surery this top Berman-san’s nick-naming drivel. Corso-san, FINISH HIM!
Lee Corso: You’re with me, leather!
(Corso dons leather pants, causing intense lust in the loins of Berman. A conflict arises within Berman, his oozing machismo battling his urge to rape the screen Corso is appearing on. Finally, the tension comes to a head, and Berman’s scrotum explodes, unable to contain the raging juices flowing in that dark, swirling place.)

Next week: Round Two!

The Great NFL Debate: Match Three: Scott vs. May

After soundly defeating their first round opponents, Michael Irvin and Shannon Sharpe await their second round challengers high above on the second tier of the Mortal Kombat battle tree. One such challenger will emerge from today’s war of the words between Stuart Scott and Mark May. The moderator, as always, is the great Shang Tsung. Get ready. Fight!

Match Three: (3) Stuart Scott vs. (6) Mark May

Shang Tsung (moderator): Scott-san and May-san, both being of brack coror, you are famiriar with the crime, especially crime perpetrated by brack men on men of the same tone. What have you say about the act Tennessee Titan Albert Haynesworth committed on Dallas Cowboy Andre Gurode? Scott-san, you have the honors.

Stuart Scott: Like Aunt Ginnie always say, flip it back to the madcat that be presentin’.

Shang Tsung: Scott-san! What?

Stuart Scott: Flip it like a pancake. Bananas!

Shang Tsung: May-san, I berieve Scott-san would prefer you go first.

Stuart Scott: And the Lordeth say, “My son, you be speakin’ the troof!”

Mark May: Thank you, Stuart, and thank you, great Shang Tsung. To find the answer to why a man would commit such a heinous crime on the hallowed grounds of a football field, we must look to the perpetrators of countless crimes against humanity, the Ohio State Buckeyes. Obviously, Haynesworth had just watched Ohio State get lucky for the, I don’t know, 500^th (or however many wins their program has raped, murdered, and cheated to get) time versus Iowa and was influenced by the way Quinn Pittcock kept stabbing the Iowa center in the eye with an ice pick or how Anthony Gonzalez pointed a gun at any Hawkeye corner that came within five yards of him. Hey, Haynseworth thought, if Pittcock and Gonzalez can do that, perhaps I can step on a guy’s head and we can luck out and win. What Haynseworth failed to remember, however, is that Paul Brown long ago sold his soul so that the Buckeyes may have a scarred, tainted, and yet somehow successful football program. To force current Buckeyes head coach Jim Tressell to repent from his and his team’s sins, I made the trip to Columbus with my 16-year old nephew. What took place as I approached the sweater-vested demon shocked me. First, Tressell raised his reptilian finger to silence me, then turned to my nephew and said, “Bo, dude. I’m hard as a rock. Tell me when you reach rock.” Swear to God. Then he called me a nigger before laughing demonically and disappearing behind a cloud of green smoke. And that is what I think happened with Albert Haynesworth.

Shang Tsung: May-san, while your hatred of the Buckeyes of Ohio State is admirabre, it has absorutery no bearing here. Scott-san, are you ready for rebuttar?

Stuart Scott: Odalada-ding-dang, Haynseworth just went off the sheezy fo heezy. You know how it is, down in the yard, ‘dem franchise boyz start actin’ the fool. One playa talkin’ ‘bout how he was just this deep in Loquanda, and then this playa be saying Loquanda my cousin, then a melon go sizzurp up and splat! Oh, and Jim Tressell, bo, dude. I feel ya.

Shang Tsung: What may have been a crose battre has just been crinched by Scott-san’s response to a quote May-san compretery fabricated. Scott-san, FINISH HIM!

(Stuart Scott’s lazy yellow eye begins revolving rapidly, holding Mark May’s rapt attention until May is hypnotized. While under the sway of the revolving lazy eye, May sees his worst fear realized: Ohio State is the legitimate, undisputed number one team in the country. [Also, Jim Tressell has never called anyone a “nigger” as far as Diminishing Skills can tell.] Aware now that his entire broadcasting career has been a sham, May unveils a pail of buckeyes, which he swallows, killing him days later [buckeyes are poisonous, I think].)

Tomorrow: Chris Berman vs. Lee Corso Be there!

The Great NFL Debate: Match Two: Irvin vs. Theismann

Following Shannon Sharpe’s defeat of Howie Long via abada-Head Explosion, the stage was set for the second match. The gladiators: Michael Irvin and Joe Theismann. The moderator: Shang Tsung. Get ready! FIGHT!

Match Two: (2) Michael Irvin vs. (7) Joe Theismann

Shang Tsung (moderator): Irvin-san and Theismann-san, your question regards situationar probrem-sorving. With two minutes reft, the barr on your own 20 and no timeouts remaining, what should your favorite footbarr team do for winning point? Irvin-san, you are first.
Michael Irvin: Well, choosing the Cowboys obviously, the first thing I would do is trade all of these losers from Washington, Notre Dame, and Ohio State for some PLAYMAKERS from…THE U! Guys like Santana Moss, Clinton Portis, Edgerrin James, Andre Johnson, Jeremy Shockey, Ken Dorsey, these guys are real PLAYMAKERS! Hey, that reminds me…
(Dramatic music begins playing as the battle arena goes dark. Obnoxious graphics materialize in the air between Irvin and Theismann, eventually spelling out “MICHAEL’S PLAYMAKERS.”)
Michael Irvin: First up is my man Edgerrin James from…THE U! Edgerrin says (Irvin drops his voice real low), “I don’t need to cut my hair. I’m a PLAYMAKER, I’m rich, and I’m from…THE U!” Alright, and next up is a little vanilla flavor (Irvin laughs hysterically for 30 seconds) Ken Dorsey from…THE U! Dorsey says (Irvin does the worst black-guy-doing-a-white-guy impression ever), “I don’t care if my career QB rating is 66.6! I’m a PLAYMAKER, I can’t dance, and I’m from…THE U!” Alrighty, white brother Cane, alright. Uh-oh, what’s that whizzing by? It can only be the Mighty Mouse himself, Santana Moss, from…THE U! Santana says (Irvin raises his voice until it is a high-pitched obnoxious shit smear on the ears), “I might be a little guy, and everyone might have said I’d never make it with these BIG BOYS, but I’m a PLAYMAKER, I made the Pro Bowl, and I’m from…THE U!” What’s that, Jeremy Shockey? You’ve got something to say?
(Shung Tsung raises his hand, silencing Irvin.)
Shang Tsung: I hate to interrupt such a disjointed rant, but a mysterious spectator named Tom Jackson has unrocked the QUESTION Easter Egg by imputing the dark, ancient code (up, down, up, down, left, left, right, left, select, A, B, A+B, left trigger for those of you wondering). Jackson-san, ask when ready.
Tom Jackson:


Shang Tsung: Ha-ha. Very good, Jackson-san, very good. Theismann-san, rebuttar prease!
Joe Theismann: When you’re facing a do-or-die situation such as this, the first thing to remember is don’t turn the ball over. Nothing takes away the momentum of a game-winning drive like a turnover. Another thing to avoid is stupid penalties, especially ones that cost you a first down or even a touchdown. You’re not going to want to run in this situation, either, unless it’s a second or third-and-long and you’re trying to catch a defense back on its heels off-guard with a draw play. When you do drop back to pass, your offensive line must protect. Sacks are a killer when you’re down in your own territory like this. And finally, score a touchdown. A lot of players and even some coaches believe that kneeling it at the one is an effective way to win games, but I’ve seen a lot of football, and let me tell you, that only works once in a blue moon.
Shang Tsung: Theismann-san, enough! Your meandering strorr through the rand of obvious burrshit is making me want to srap you hard in the face. But since I am a man of peace now, Irvin-san, FINISH HIM!
Joe Theismann: A great way to finish a guy is get him when he’s down, really go for the throat. A lot of fighters tend to—
Michael Irvin: THE U! THE U! THE U! THE U! THE U!
(A hurricane blows in, bringing with it that stupid fucking crane that Miami uses as its mascot. The crane soars over a still rambling Theismann’s head, and then proceeds to bury him under a 20-foot pile of crane shit.)
Shang Tsung: IRVIN-SAN WINS!

Tomorrow: Stuart Scott vs. Mark May for a little black-on-black crime...OF THE MIND! Don't miss it!

The Great NFL Debate: Match One: Sharpe vs. Long

Since 1992, sorcerer Shang Tsung has held vicious fighting tournaments known as “Mortal Kombat.” As the years have passed, however, interest has waned in the tournament, with this past year’s winner being Vestor, a mildly retarded 300 pound 6-6 giant who refuses to swallow his spit, resulting in speech that sounds like “SHSHSHSHSHSHSSHSHSHSHH” regardless of what he is saying. As the gentle beast gave his victory speech after laying waste to Raiden via an Afro Condor Chomp (Vestor's finisher, which entails a condor with purple and gold wings--one purple, one gold--emerging from a deep slumber within Vestor's unruly bird's nest of hair to poke its head out and snap out the opponent's appendix), Shang Tsung had an epiphany. Perhaps the world had evolved past a time when six-armed demons battling lizard ninjas was entertaining; perhaps the world demanded to have their minds challenged. So Shang Tsung determined to collect 8 of the most rambling, incoherent men he could find and transport them to his dimension for a tournament of debate. Those men: the announcers and analysists who cover the NFL. The tournament: The Great NFL Debate. The moderator: Shang Tsung. Get ready! FIGHT!

Match One: (1) Shannon Sharpe vs. (8) Howie Long
Shang Tsung (moderator): Sharpe-san and Rong-san, having both played in the NFL and eventuarry retiring, what have you to say to Favre-san as he struggres mightiry after returning perhaps past his time? Sharpe-san, you are first.
Shannon Sharpe: abada-abada-Dobodan McNabb-abada-abada-Packers-abada-abada-24-10.
Shang Tsung: Sharpe-san, I speak very ritter Engrish, but even I, the great Shang Tsung, know that you have only spoken two Engrish words. And I berieve the score of McNabb-san and Favre-san’s game was 31-9, not 24-10. You simpry are browing my mind. Rong-san, a rebuttar?
Howie Long: First off, Mr. Tsung—
Shang Tsung: You wirr address me as the great Shang Tsung, indorent creature.
Howie Long: Excuse me, great Shang Tsung, my name is Howie Long, not Rong. Now, onto to Brett Favre, he needs to realize that—
(Terry Bradshaw and Jimmy Johnson burst into the battle ground, loudly debating a topic unrelated to Brett Favre and completely drowning out the overmatched Howie Long. With a wave of his hand, Shang Tsung evaporates the two intruders and freezes Sharpe and Long.)
Shang Tsung: Rong-san, for such a rumbering man you are as timid as a kitten. Even though you were interrupted and said essentiarry nothing, you’re brief sentence made eons more sense than Sharpe-san’s argument. Therefore, I have no choice but to award the match to Sharpe-san. Sharpe-san, FINISH HIM!
Shannon Sharpe: abada-abada-fumble-abada-abada-touchdown-abada-abada-24-10.
(Howie Long’s head explodes.)
Shang Tsung: SHARPE-SAN WINS!

Tomorrow: (2)Michael Irvin vs. (7) Joe Theismann. Don’t miss it!