LIE TO ME follows a group of scientists that study universal micro-expressions to determine if someone is telling the truth.

Of course, I’ve done a few other things with my life in the past few months too. I’ve slept a little, eaten from time to time, and occasionally even showered. But mostly I’ve come to the shocking and slightly disappointing realization that marathoning TV has ruined my life.

TRUE BLOOD knew it was going down the toilet, so they bribed their female and homo viewers into staying until the end.

When I find a good show that I get truly invested in it becomes all I think about. I’ll cancel plans with friends because why would I spend time with them when I can obsess about Freya’s choice between brothers Killian and Dash? Or wonder how it took so long for there be a sex scene between Eric and Jason in the seven seasons of HBO’s soft-core vampire porno. These shows become the most important friends I have, and all others in my life will take second, third or fourth place when necessary. I’ll even avoid my daily phone call with my mom (who’s my favorite person in the entire world) if it means that I have to resurface from Peter and Roman’s [b]romance (because OMG they’re so gay for each other it hurts).

Even now, as I sit here and bitch and moan about how marathoning TV has taken over my life, the majority of my brain is still wondering if Cal and Gillian are ever going to admit they’re meant to be. (Sidenote: every actor ever has guest-starred on LIE TO ME. Like, for serious.)

Nassau, New Providence Island. 1715. One guess what BLACK SAILS is about.

Unfortunately, the worst (read: BEST) part about marathoning TV is that the list doesn’t ever end. Somewhere in life I’m going to finish BATTLESTAR GALACTICA, BLACK SAILS and HANNIBAL, and if-and-when I ever catch up with those bad boys I’ll finally get to AMERICAN HORROR STORY, VIKINGS, DOMINION, ORPHAN BLACK and TRUE DETECTIVE, though not necessarily in that order. Of course, this is theoretically in addition to all the currently airing [summer] shows I try to keep up with as well like SUITS, COVERT AFFAIRS, SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE, and practically every ABC Family show ever. (I see your judging eyes. ABCF is the shit. Sorry, not sorry.)

The moral of this short and distracted story is: Marathoning TV has ruined my life.

And with that, off I go again. Later, haterz.

The Burbank Gazette

Missouri Waltz, Week 7

By Andy Greene/Lt. Eckhart/Maury Chessel

Von’s Smelly Parking Lot, Burbank, CA (March 10th, 2014) – There’s a time in every person’s life when they have to look inside themselves, and wonder: is it worth it? Do I have what it takes? Am I fooling myself? Do I look fat in these jeans?

The Missouri Waltz ballclub may be asking those very personal and disturbing questions behind closed doors after their latest collapse, dropping to 0-2 in the C division, and 5-2 overall, if we want to make them feel better.

This week they visited the Cobras (1-0, 2-3, C division), hoping to position themselves as the illustrious Mongoose/Mongeese. But, as is often the case when a group of people attempt to be something they’re not, they looked like jackasses.

They hoped to at least be the Snake Charmer, with the ability to hypnotize the Cobra. Instead, they were lured and hypnotized by the Cobra themselves, becoming easy prey in the process.

The Cobras, whispering the mantra of their dojo (“Strike First, Strike Hard, No Mercy”) under their breath, and embracing the wise teachings of Sensei John Kreese, punished the upstart Waltz, in a low scoring 13-9 final.

Picking up after the 1^st inning, because someone mixed up the fields (I’m not smarter than a 5^th grader), the Missouri Waltz had pounced on the Cobras, staking themselves to a 5-3 lead, thanks to a litany of walks and singles. Once the press arrived, it was all downhill, leading many to speculate that I was the reason the team ultimately faltered. I think it’s poppycock, but excuses are the language of losers.

The lead held for a while, as the Waltz continued to tack on, thanks to a “HR” by leadoff man Brandon Klaus. In baseball, it’d be a single with a three base error, but his shot to the grass was misplayed by someone who clearly is not William Zabka, leading to a round tripper and many a pat on the ass.

While the offense was doing just enough early, the real story was Jim “Geronimo” Wolfe Jr.’s new wardrobe accessory: the beret, which I think is something John Wayne wore once. It’s also French, obnoxious and artsy, some words of which I could use to describe the enigmatic ace pitcher for the Waltz. As keen observer/2B Bret Watkins pointed out, he’s added a new compliment to his wardrobe every week. First it was the Wild Thing glasses, this week it was the Beret, and next week better be Randy Quaid. His new look and style would be the talk of the bleachers, leaving men and women alike swooning, if the Waltz had anyone to sit in them (I sometimes feel like I’m being paid to be a fan). Instead, the Cobras’ kids were being loud and obnoxious. Softball was invented so middle-aged men and women could get away from their significant others and their children. Keep the bastards at home.

Anyways, Wolfe had his pitching do the talking this week, including dropping down the Rainbow, freezing two batters. If a tie is like kissing your sister, striking out looking in softball is like fucking her in the ass with your parents watching. [Alternate sentence that doesn’t make me want to puke: Striking out in softball is one of the universe’s biggest sins to which we all inevitably succumb to, but striking out looking, like foosball and women, is the devil.] No matter how you put it, Wolfe struck two of the Cobras out looking, necessitating me spending way too long in the Word symbol database to try and find (and fail) a backwards K. Like so:  His stuff was so impressive, the sissy umpire gave him the most backhanded compliment the world has ever seen: “You would be a good pitcher for Glendale.” While Spielberg started Dreamworks in Glendale, the city is most known for killing dreams, the Hillside Strangler and for housing a cemetery where famous people are put under ground. Thanks blue.

Because Wolfe’s eephus’ (eephi?) were working, the Cobras copied the strategy, putting in their double secret ace pitcher (let’s call him Cobra Commander), who specializes in illegal pitches and lollipops, neither of which the Waltz liked. Except for Wolfe, who deposited a single calmly into left field, took an extra base, then scored on two consecutive sac flies. If a tie is like kissing your sister, a sac fly in softball is like snogging your second cousin. You shouldn’t be proud of it, but you kind of are.

After three innings, the Waltz held onto an 8-5 lead. Their defense had mostly held up their end of the bargain, a far cry from last week, only allowing 2 unearned runs thus far. It was their offense that was underperforming this time around, a trend that would continue over the final 5 innings. Their frustration was summed up by 1B Charlie Back (and next week’s arm): “This pitcher is really starting to piss me off.”

Around this time, something unsettling drastically changed the game’s entire landscape: the umpire, realizing the Waltz had left their donut outside of the dugout, whined, complained and put it in the dugout for the team, due to precautionary/bullshit reasons. Who knows why, but this was the turning point of the game. As soon as the donut was put away, the Waltz kept putting up donuts in their half of the inning.

Before I backup that ridiculous statement with anything resembling evidence, let’s take a break to spotlight a player I haven’t talked about yet, in a new MATCH.COM sponsored sub-section I like to call: SQUEEZING IN ANECDOTES. Eric “the Wanderer” Patton, a reserved man who travels a lot, leaving his two delightful kids behind, entered into my heart for the first time this past week. Perhaps it was his angular and well-sculpted face, his firm handshake, or his hustle around the bases. Most likely it was his number: 142. The man is the Answer to Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe and Everything + 100. He’s Jackie Robinson + 100. He’s the inverse of Ken Griffey Jr., + 100. He uses three digits on his uniform, which is stupid and badass at the same time. Whether it’s an accident or by design or cosmic fate, it’s clear the Missouri Waltz are better for having all 142 shades of Eric.

As alluded to previously, the defense didn’t blow this week. The turnaround had many factors, including the benefit of playing against “the human double play” (AKA Marcus), but the overall stellar performance was symbolized by Brant Malan’s superb play in left field. By official count, he made 56 put outs in left field on annoying fly balls, which is a record (fuck Jacoby Ellsbury), and was all over the outfield, making the grass his bitch (and earning the unfortunate moniker of Lawnmower Man).

Inbetween inflating his stats while DH’ing, Bret Watkins is an amateur nutritionist, already angling for a viable career after he hangs up his dirty cleats. His game day diet included a cinnamon roll, a “healthy” salad to appease the woman, top ramen, and 2 shots of whiskey. They need to get this guy on the Biggest Loser. While the Cobra Kai’s have their mantra, Bret has his: “sugar [like greed] is good.” Judging by the outcome of their game, one of their mantras is more effective.

My favorite part of the contest, aside from embarrassing myself by talking to the other team, had to be Alicia Pharris’ at bat in the 4^th (?) inning. She took the maximum number of pitches one can take in softball (and while it felt like 17, it was more like 5), and worked one of the more impressive walks in softball history. For a team that prides itself on the free passes, this one will be etched into the annals of Waltz history. Considering the misogynistic pitcher apparently grumbled, “Take that walk baby,” the Cobras cemented themselves as arch nemeses…until the Goodfellas come to town.

In the bottom of the fourth, Collin rocketed a ball to 1^st that Charlie got handcuffed by, allowing 3 runs to score, and after 4 innings…the score was all nodded up at 8-8. You know what they say about ties.

While it’s easy to get down on oneself, or be discouraged, catcher Graham Showell doesn’t let that happen. He’s the squad’s cheerleader, the man who tells every runner to hold, but never holds back his enthusiasm and encouragement. In a dugout full of sarcasm and self-doubt, Graham Showell truly does stand out. It’d be inspiring if it worked.

The umpire continued to get distressed over the silliest things, admonishing Brandon for “tricking” the Cobras into thinking that a base runner was heading to second. But, as is the weekly custom, he also gave the Waltz the blown call that could’ve opened the floodgates, calling Wolfe safe on second when he clearly wasn’t, after a diving play by the shortstop no less. The call led to a run, as the Waltz continued to hustle and take extra bases, even in the face of the Cobra’s cannons in the outfield. The Waltz led 9-8 going into the bottom of the 5^th, sitting pretty, if by pretty, you mean Sarah Jessica Parker.

The Waltz wouldn’t score another run, which I hear is the point of softball. The Cobras know that…and after they had lulled the Waltz into a false sense of security…they managed to put together a rally, hinging upon the gangly Dominic, who was clearly the Rudy of the team. When he singled, the squad reacted like it was the first hit of his career, or as if he’d cured AIDS. The former is more likely true. After a plane from nearby took off, so did the Cobras Ringer, a late arriving stud of an athlete who blasted a 3-run mammoth shot, that was nearly Jim Edmonds’d by Brandon in left center. But it wasn’t, and the score was 13-9 after 5.

Inbetween innings, two kids in the stands were playing with sticks, perhaps simulating a lightsaber duel, or gay sex. Their mother, naturally concerned, ordered the kids: “Don’t whack each other with that.” These words don’t really describe the plight of the Missouri Waltz and encapsulate some jaw-dropping metaphor in the process, but needed to be thrown out there. And perhaps the Waltz unwittingly heeded this astute mother’s advice: they were too timid, cautious, careful, and not letting loose and whacking the ball with the bat.

Hoping to spur a rally, Brant cried, “Encouraging words here,” when the warriors returned to the dugout. Perhaps the Waltz needed more specifics, or weren’t familiar with the term. Graham started the inning off with a walk (when the count was 3-1, the grizzled manager said he would “kill him if he swings”), but the rally was snuffed out immediately, when Alicia’s line shot turned into an easy DP. It’s taking every fiber of my being not to make a DP joke.

After another scoreless inning for both sides, the time was now.

Or never. K-PO-1B-GO. Not nearly the sad 1-2-3 “comeback” inning of last week, but not much better, leaving the final tally to be 13-9, or 10-4 after the press arrived to ruin all the fun. Stephen thought to himself four times that I was the reason they had lost. I think the donut theory is more likely, but most likely? They were doomed from the start, unable to withstand the might of the Cobra Kai.

Graham, ever the cheerleader previously, said it all after the final out: “Well, shit.”

Well shit indeed.

Charlie Back’s favorite childhood toy was the Teddy Ruxbin (which explains a lot), and after the game, he felt like he had gotten raped by him, a delightful image. The Waltz, after the close defeat, debated whether or not they’d rather have been smoked by the Cobras instead. Dan Bence, ever the philosopher (and human embodiment of the San Antonio Spurs), silenced the chatter with a quote from his third favorite Batman villain (after the Clock King and Egghead): “There’s no true despair without hope.” Heavy, Doc.

While the rest of the team was shaken and battered emotionally, Collin took solace in his post-game ritual, which never wavers, win or lose: a lukewarm Perrier.

Lukewarm is how I feel about the Missouri Waltz’s chances going forward. The team has talent, guts, panache, but also is too streaky for its own good, and more consumed with stats and girlfriends than the glory that can come from domination on the diamond. While team chemistry and the clubhouse dynamic is dynamite…the Waltz record in the C division is proof enough that having fun doesn’t equate to having success. The upside is there: they scored over 20 runs while missing half their roster last week, and managed to keep a team to 13 this week. If they can put together all facets of the game at once, they might be waltzing their way through the playoffs.

Right now, Brandon is right when he asserts that they deserve the disrespect they’re getting from the C league.  Like Rodney Dangerfield, they’re ultimately too worried about getting respect, and being disrespected, than earning it. Next week against Vandelay Industries they have a tough test, but one that could go a long way in silencing their critic(s).

If the Waltz played as well as they sang Eddie Vedder songs or were as knowledgeable about the game as they are about FAMILY MATTERS, I’d be a helluva lot more optimistic. Guaranteed.

News & Notes

• When asked if this was her first Missouri Waltz experience™, Allie, a season ticket holder (sucks for her) of the Missouri Waltz, responded: “God no.” Those two words seem telling. Also, she’s a Pisces and said #99 (Brandon) is “mine,” as if she was a vampire lording over her human concubine. Or a woman.
• Many Fantasy Softball players had expressed concern over the condition and mental wellbeing of Stephen Leggitt after his Grade 2 concussion against the Scrubs. When asked about the incident, his eyes glazed over and he struggled to remember the incident. But, we do know that after having a sizable bump on his head last week, the swelling has reduced to the size of a bouncy ball. Of course, this diagnosis comes from Leggitt, who still may be experiencing concussion-like symptoms. Stay tuned on this developing story.
• The case of the missing waitress (Erin, to her stalkers) may have been solved. Wolfe found her in a Trader Joe’s parking lot, driving away, most likely because she realized a patron from the bar she worked at was watching her. She also apparently has started going to Pharmaceutical school, and only works at the Blue Room on the weekends. Her connection with drugs, and the Missouri Waltz ongoing substance abuse problem, might be a coincidence.

Since last week, I’ve been the beat reporter for a Burbank Men’s softball team, called the Missouri Waltz, bizarrely named after the state song of Missouri. This is (only the beginning of) their (long, rambling) story.

Piss-Stained Park Bench, Burbank, CA (February 23, 2014) – Coming off an unfathomable last inning, whopping twelve run comeback against the Bad News Beers last week that put the rest of the ‘D’ division on notice, it was fair to wonder if the Missouri Waltz would be box stepping past another wily opponent this week. Was the veteran ball club worried about a letdown?

“A coach is supposed to say no,” Coach Wolfe wheezed, “but I’m going to say yes.” Of course, Coach Jim has been known to cry wolf(e), and is as much a coach as Scott Brooks is. We “will probably lose to them,” Jim continued, as if he wanted to make my argument for me.

You’d have thought spirits would be high (but that was just Zack) following an indelible moment and achievement that likely will rank alongside their wedding day, the birth of their children, and their first anal sex experience, but you’d be wrong. Negativity is the norm for the Missouri Waltz, and as evidenced by their unbelievable 12 run outburst in the bottom of the 7^th inning last week, they “loosen up when behind,” which is exactly my sentiment in the bedroom.

Charlie Back getting comfortable in his new position.

Part of the muted atmosphere likely surrounded the dark, troubling fog swirling (this time not supplied by Zack) around one of the squad’s best players: Shawn Wines. Following a mysterious (and suspect) food processor accident, the hulking 1B and RBI machine (his totals ranked third on the club entering this past week’s contest) has been placed on the 15-day DL, coupled with an upcoming surgery date with Dr. James Andrews. Coach Wolfe speculated that his absence could be felt for even longer than that (though let me be the first to remind you, that Coach Wolfe is not a doctor, nor has he stayed at a Holiday Inn, even if he could afford one), and that Wines might be forced to watch his dear comrades from his hospital bed for a while longer. With perhaps a 60-day stint on the disabled list looming, it’s highly doubtful Wines will be celebrating with his teammates any time soon, putting the pressure on replacement Charlie Back. Considering how superbly Mr. Back dealt with his new job description for this game, one might wonder if he’s Wally Pip’d Shawn, or if he perpetrated the accident to get his chance in the spotlight.

With many of the players’ wives and girlfriends sick and the disturbing fingers of the flu threatening the clubhouse, Doctor Coach Wolfe feared the worst, ordering mass inoculations for the entire team (and threatening Burbank’s tenuous city budget in the process). He forgets that women are weak, and the Missouri Waltz, if anything, are a group of men, buoyed by alcoholism and fortified by stale bread found at local hot spot, the Blue Room. But, even so, they found their 10^th man sorely lacking in the stands.

The crowd favored the visiting team, adding credence to longstanding rumors that the Missouri Waltz are (collectively) ill-equipped to pleasure a woman off the field. Season ticket holder Renetta (and photographer) was making her first appearance at the venerable ballpark this season, bringing along newcomer Sarah, who found herself “titillated,” though mum’s the word on who or what titillated her.

Tonight’s opponents were the Bang Bros., the losers of a 10-9 boxing match in preseason that went down to the final out, a competition so memorable that many on the Bang Bros. squad couldn’t remember it. The Bang Bros., a team named after what I’d imagine Mark McGwire and Jose Canseco’s post steroidal and coital business venture to be, were a first year squad making up for a lack of experience with a wealth of young talent. Unfortunately, their name isn’t even clever: it’s literally a porn site.

The nubile team entered the match with a 2-2 record, unfazed with the daunting task ahead of them. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if some of them even knew they were playing baseball, or if they got lost on the way to Home Depot. Racism aside, their hearts were in the right place, as exemplified by rising star and talented dirt “artist,” Adolfo, who hopes his whip-quick release and cannon for a right arm at third base will make his lofty goals come true: “to get a job, get my house and car paid for…you know, the American dream.” He repeated the mantra of the American Dream several times as if I misunderstood (or as if he was Willy Loman), but I believe it was he that misunderstood. The American Dream is a lie, a fabrication, only a reality for the white upper 1%. Hopefully his gifts with an oversized baseball can get him there.

While the bats took a couple innings to heat up, the Missouri Waltz flashed their enviable hustle early on, routinely thieving the extra base and taking advantage of the lackadaisical outfield play of the Bang Bros. To be fair, who likes playing the outfield?

Things quickly soured, however, as the Missouri Waltz proved to be their own worst enemy early on, much like a bad and should’ve been forgotten show starring Christian Slater. Their hustle soon morphed into indecision, as evidenced by Stephen (unfortunate last name) Leggitt’s cunning impression of a deer in the headlights between second and third base (this author notes how difficult it must be to find themselves pickled inbetween the 60-feet base paths in the unforgiving, but simple, game of softball). When asked if Stephen’s embarrassing gaffe would have negatively affected their relationship if they had one to speak of, Colin’s girlfriend Isabella (a good sport) answered simply and to the point: “Yeah, probably.” After the miscue, Stephen was found screaming “Don’t look at me” in the dugout, an order we were more than happy to follow.

The next inning, Michael Bolton look-a-like Graham Showell showcased his ugly “no-look” fielding technique at second base. While somehow effective, it was an eerie harbinger of what was to come.

Player-Coach Jim Wolfe Jr. “spinning” it.

Characterized as a young team that would be “wrong to underestimate” by wily vet Dan Bence before the game, the cocky, poorly stretched Missouri Waltz did so anyway. What else could explain the 5-2 deficit they faced entering the bottom of the 3rd inning? After cruising through the first eight outs, a few poorly misplayed balls (the Derek Jeter comparisons made to Dan Bence only ringing true when it comes to his defense) and a underdog attitude befitting the anachronistic Chieftain images emblazoned upon their uniforms, the Bang Bros. transformed a sterling performance by ace pitcher Jim Wolfe Jr. into one that harkened back to the sweaty and washed up version of Tony Danza in ANGELS IN THE OUTFIELD, a startling development occurring over the span of one half-inning.

After the 5-run two outburst, aided by Brandon’s misplay on a liner in the “game-changing” rover position, the Waltz managed to stop the bleeding, only trailing by 3 runs.

The tension was palpable, but the promise of a comeback was certain, lingering in the air like a virulent disease. With the bases loaded, Dan had a chance at redemption, but instead stranded the bases loaded and tacked on a second error. So, it didn’t happen then, but I was tracking the wrong redemption story. Perhaps motivated by the sheer fear of being a (poor) base runner again, Paul DanoStephen Leggitt rendered the possibility moot, thanks to two opposite field home runs (though I feel dirty calling anything a homerun on a field with no fences) from the slightly more likable Paul O’Neill clone. As he crossed home plate after his second round-tripper, the game was (mercifully, for the meager audience) over.

Zack in midseason form.

After the game, a 13-8 romp, the mood was dire for the (gang)Bang-ed Bros. One member of the squad, who wished to be kept anonymous, intimated he would cry himself to sleep. Another was having suicidal thoughts. It was a tale of a clubhouse divided, except on one point: they all agreed that the Missouri Waltz MVP was “the guy with the scarf.” There was no man with a scarf on the Waltz, but it was clear that Zack, the airheaded catcher, was the object of their affections, as he had been making a fashion statement all night with his red sweater draped over his shoulder like a stereotypical rich Dad from the Hamptons. Considering his mid-inning and inappropriate cigar break proved influential in turning the tide, permanently ending the back and forth battle, the Bang Bros. proved to at least know when they’ve been fucked. On the subject of Zack, who’s in a perpetual “drygh” state of experimentation, continually tinkers with his pregame routine. This week that meant 3 beers, a shot, and a bowl and a half. Considering the alarming upward trend of his intake, and the league’s forthcoming drug testing, he might be the team’s next casualty of war.

Following another sterling (and not so) impressive victory, the Missouri Waltz are (slowly) getting used to their “comeback kids” reputation. In fact, their penchant for the comeback victory has confused many in the clubhouse. Brandon summed it up best, his disbelief colored by the fact that he’s a “professional in choking.” Perhaps related, Brandon has pledged to watch Coach Wolfe in sexual congress, in order to help him pleasure a woman. At its worst, this experiment could do wonders for team chemistry, or at least their own. Interestingly enough (but not really), one could argue that the patience exerted by Brandon in the leadoff spot exemplifies the patience shown by this team, even when trailing. The man who makes David Eckstein look athletic, Brandon Klaus took more pitches in the game than everyone else has in the history of softball, combined, leading to two walks, a lawsuit from Scott Hatteberg, and a contract offer from Billy Beane. Sources are conflicted over the terms of the impending agreement.

What sort of future are the Waltz looking at?

While their patience should be applauded, one must wonder if one of these games, it’ll catch up to them, the comeback train taking too long to board, or to get rolling, derailed permanently at the station. The pressing (and disquieting) narrative going forward is whether or not the Waltz are ready for the ‘C’ division. They’ve clinched the playoffs with ease in the ‘D’ league (not that success in the D-league is impressive), but over the next five weeks, their mettle will be tested by the professionals in the upper echelon of the sport. Are the Waltz doomed to be a collection of motley Quad-A players, their careers embodied by the film title Failure to Launch? Or did they just need another year of seasoning? Many on the squad are entering their prime seasons (ages 27-29), further along in their development than a season previous, but just as many are fast approaching their decline phases (*cough* Dan Bence *cough*). Nobody on the squad expressed any confidence (what kind of self-respecting team would be happy with 2 wins?) in the matter, but of course, their negative attitude has led to a 5-0 sweep of the dregs of the Burbank co-ed softball league, so maybe pessimism is their fuel to (lucky) victory. Question marks abound, but rest assured, answers are cumming, and yours truly, a True Detective, is on the case. Next week’s match should prove telling, with more answers than a Josh Fox documentary.

News & Notes:

• Shawn Wines has been placed on the 15-day DL (foot), retroactive to 2/13. He’s eligible to return for the March 6^th matchup with TBA.
• A member of the press was accused of playing with the umpire’s sympathies (I’m unsure whom), thanks to a few debatable (blatant) missed calls favoring the Waltz squad. The Commissioner’s Office is looking into the controversy, with league action coming over the next week.
• The “hot waitress,” formerly (?) employed at the Blue Room, is still missing (or has been locked up by one of the players). If found, I urge you NOT to alert the Missouri Waltz team.
• Art, of the Goodfellas, has been seen carving voodoo dolls out of his feces in the Missouri Waltz’ likeness, in preparation for their upcoming contest.
• Smith’s girlfriend Isabella, when working for her high school’s newspaper (presumably as a high schooler herself), had to interview many of the star players on the sports teams to create trading cards. Each required a quote from the decorated athlete, and one she unwittingly published (being uneducated in the art of fellatio) was “Domer for a boner.” Historians are researching the identity of the player, but it’s likely Richie Incognito, who’s anything but.