Testing...Is This Thing On?

For all the three people that have read this blog, I'm testing other waters so to speak. There is a chance that I'll be moving over to wetrevenge.tumblr.com if indeed Tumblr is easier to post to. I'll keep you updated, all of you.

Missouri Accepted Into SEC

Picture a fat, southern gentlemen standing in a dark alley alone. He is wearing a white and blue pin-stripe suit, and his suspenders are the only thing holding in his massive belly. He adjusts his pants, grunts, and taps his cigar on a dumpster to knock off the excess ash. He puffs the giant cigar, and in the glow of the orange light, you can see his red face, goiters, warts. He laughs gutturally, then beckons you over to him with a toad like hand, swollen and red, as he unzips his fly. You know what he wants. He knows you know what he wants, and you know that if you go into that alley you'll come out and your mother will not recognize you, you will have night terrors, and you will never use the restroom the same again.

Would you walk into that alley?

Neither would I, but good ol' Mizzou would!

This post is going to be all about the death of Tiger pride, because the SEC and the good ol' boys that run the South East Cheaters are going to make Mizzou their bitch. I submit three scenarios for your consideration:

Scenario One: A Conference Meeting

Representatives from LSU, Alabama, Auburn, Florida, Tennessee, and Georgia, are all seated at one end of the table. The pecking order is clear from here: running down the table (in order of importance) are the representatives from Mississippi State (bucktoothed), Ole Miss (twice as bucktoothed), Arkansas (inbred and bucktoothed) South Carolina (an actual game cock is sitting at the table...hehe), Kentucky (it's Calipari, now coaching football because he can cheat more), and the guy from Vanderbilt is sipping froofy coffee and straitening the tie beneath his sweater vest.

Enter Mizzou guy (nice looking, respectable, suit and tie, a little young but an over achiever, looks overly excited to be here, like a freshman invited to an upperclassman's party with girls and booze).

The representatives from the six schools that matter start the meeting. The buckteeths, cocks, and Calipari all agree with what's being said, with guffaws from the buckeeths, nods from the cock, Calipari sniggering like Mutley whenever money is mentioned, and Vandy is crying after running probability statistics on his school's chances of ever winning another game in the SEC.

Mizzou guy thinks it's time to pipe in, and that his comments are welcome. He states Mizzou's opinion on what's being discussed, and how he thinks the league should proceed. The buckteeths drool on the table in absolute shock, the cock shrivels in his seat (this is way too much fun) and Calipari is under the table sniffing the crotches and pilfering loose change from the pockets of the big six. Vandy is in the restroom changing his tampon.

From the head of the table, LSU guy looks at Bama guy, who looks at Gator guy, who looks at the neon orange Vol guy, who then looks at Auburn guy, and they all discharge spit into the collective spittoon on the table. They wave a finger towards Mizzou guy, and Georgia complies by dumping the contents of the spittoon onto Mizzou guy's head. The buckteeths go off like chimpanzees in heat, humping walls, chairs, and each other, the cock stiffens at the awkwardness of the situation (I'm not nearly done), Calipari kills a hooker and drinks her blood like it's Kool-Aid, and Vanderbilt has left the meeting to go home and watch Steel Magnolias with his girlfriends.

Mizzou guy dabs a napkin at his spit-covered face. He now understands the mistake they have made in joining ranks with the most inbred conference in college football. He calls the Big 12 and asks for readmission on his way back to his car, only to be laughed at from the other end: "Sorry," says Big 12 guy, "but we're happy having picked up the Mountaineers (though they're a bit rowdy) and the Horned Toads, effectively upping our football strength of schedule, and adding another purple team to our conference. Go to hell you slime-sucking Mizzou sonsofabitches." *Click*.

And that's only scenario one...

Scenario Two: Embellished Power Rankings

Just for kicks and giggles, let's run each of the teams in the SEC against Mizzou to see where Mizzou might wind up! Strap in and bite down on the bit clamp: this is going to get ugly.

For starters, let's just pit the kittens against two real Tiger football teams: LSU and Auburn.

Is there really a chance that Mizzou beats either of these teams with any sort of regularity? Barring the occasional and mathematically unavoidable upset (say once a decade) will Mizzou ever be able to compete with the talent pool that is constantly being pumped into these two schools? I'm serious, Mizzou should have to change their mascot to the Weasels or the Pig-Vaginas, because they're going to get destroyed playing these two teams.

What about Alabama, a national title contender in two of the past three years? Roll Tide rolls right over Mizzou.

Tennessee? Sure they've been down recently, but not down enough to lose to a crappy imitation of a spread offense. And this brings up another interesting point: Mizzou runs the spread as a crutch, to make up for the fact that their fundamentally undersized, undertalented, and outclassed by most opponents. The spread works in the Big 12 because the Big 12 is not known for its incredible speed (with the exception being teams like UT, OU, and OSU). By spreading the field, they have a chance to compete. The problem with this idea in the SEC is that the SEC is built on speed. The teams have fast, big, tough defenses, and on top of all that, they cheat. Mizzou is screwed.

Maybe Mizzou beats Georgia from time to time, but rarely will they beat Florida, possibly the fastest team in the conference.

They'll beat Vandy. There's one win.

Miss State and Ole Miss are a toss up, but they're no slouches either.

They'll beat Kentucky in football relatively regularly, but get pounded in basketball.

Arkansas? Well, maybe that can be their new border war, since they're abandoning history dating back to the Civil War in leaving their rivalry with another puke, KU, but compared to Mizzou, KU is puke that tastes like Captain Crunch; Mizzou is regurgitated dog shit.

All in all, it seems that Mizzou was able to rise to a place of national discussion because of their involvement in the Big 12, a conference that allows the opportunity for big, quality wins, and also a handful of achievable regular season wins that garner a bit of respect as well.

The SEC will not be kind to them, not one bit.

Scenario Three: Basketball

Mizzou consistently competes with the top teams in the conference, stumbling from here to eternity over Florida and Kentucky and eventually Tennessee, and pretty much dominates the rest of the SEC that speaks basketball as fluently as a Bostonian speaks Spanish.

The move to the SEC only makes sense in basketball, though I still think they have a better chance in the Big 12 with consistently quality opponents, top to bottom.

A Fond Farewell:

And so we bid you farewell, Mizzou. The Big 12 will miss its resident teenager, so full of insecurities, identity crises, complaints, zits, and wet dreams of success that just never quite satisfy. We wish you well, but more than that, we wish you decades of misery as we tune in every Saturday to watch you get blown up like an Ozark meth lab.

Go Tigers, Tigers, and Tigers!

Fantasy Update: How The Proud Have Fallen

Dear readers,

I need to apologize. All three of you have come to expect greatness from wetrevenge.blogspot.com. Unfortunately, my fantasy team, The Masters of Napalm Karate, failed to deliver greatness in weeks 7 and 8. As such, I will be killing myself tonight. Don't try and stop me; I'm ending it all.

...

...

...


Psych! Suicide-fake-out! Is there anything funnier? How about barely winning a game by four points in week 7, and losing to an 0-7 team in week 8 that had three players on bye? Ha ha!

No seriously, I'm f*#king pissed.

Let's recap my awesome implosion that's landed me at 4-4, on the bubble of the playoffs, and behind my division rival, Team Edward (cringe).

Problem Number One: Matt Forte was on bye.

Problem Number Two: Desean Jackson is an asshole.

Problem Number Three: Roddy White was on bye, and is an asshole.

Problem Number Four: Neither Ryan Torain or DeAngelo Williams could find their testicles. No seriously, this should be an amber alert. They're missing like baby Lisa.

Problem Number Five: Michael Vick won't throw to anyone named Desean, and therefor, is an asshole.

Problem Number Six: Dan Bailey can't kick any field goals while Dallas gets ass pounded.

Problem Number Seven: My tight end didn't play.

Problem Number Eight: Beanie "My Knee Has A Boo-Boo" Wells did play. And scored 15 points, which would have been enough for me to beat my sucky opponent by one point. I hate life.

Here's a running diary of my emotional roller coaster Sunday afternoon, to the tune of NBA 2K12:

2:30 pm: "This is sweet! NBA 2K12 has Larry Legend on the cover!
2:35 pm: "WTF is wrong with this game? I'm losing by twenty in the first quarter to the Hawks! This is not how this game happened."
2:45 pm: "I just ruined Larry Legend's legacy by giving him a shooting percentage of 20 and fouling him out in the third quarter."
3:00 pm: "Wait, I'll check the fantasy scores!"
3:01 pm: "I'm losing. To a team that's 0-7. By twenty."
3:05 pm: "I'll create a player and run him through all the authentic trials of a REAL NBA rookie!"
3:15 pm: "Wait, I have to do interviews? I feel like I'm applying for a job."
3:16 pm: "I don't care anymore. I'm answering all of the questions with the most asshole response available."
3:30 pm: After fifteen minutes of hearing fake David Stern talk during the most boring fake draft filled with fake players: "Yay, I just got drafted by the '76ers. I've always wanted to play for the '76ers. Shit."
3:45 pm: "Why can't I make a shot?"
3:50 pm: (controller thrown to ground) "F&*& you, Xbox!"
4:00 pm: "I'll check the fantasy scores!"
4:01 pm: "I'm winning by one! Big Ben is my baby daddy!"
7:00 pm: "NBA 2k will be better this time around. I don't know why, but I feel optimistic."
7:01 pm: "I'll start a dynasty."
7:02 pm: "I'll turn off fair trades."
7:03 pm: "I'll trade Chumps McAssclown for Blake Griffin. Tee hee."
7:30 pm: "Why can't I make a shot?"
7:35 pm: "Celtics lose first home game; Blake Griffin leads team with five points."
7:40 pm: "I'm shutting this shit off."
7:45 pm: "I'll check the fantasy scores!"
7:50 pm: "I'm winning by one. Still. Shit."
8:45 pm: (Michael Vick is humping the Cowboys into submission): "God I hope Dan Bailey and Desean Jackson can score a combined ten points to beat this crappy 0-7 team!"
8:46 pm: "Wait, if Desean scores, Vick scores. Dammit."
8:47 pm: "Maybe Desean can just run the ball, or maybe Vick can throw an interception that will then be fumbled to Jackson, who will then run the ball back 99 yards for a touchdown. Shit."
9:30 pm: (My wife asleep, me checking my phone for fantasy scores in the dark) "Damn, damn, damn." My wife: "What?" Me: "Nothing."

And scene.

This week, I might actually win, except my opponent has Aaron Rodgers. Here's hoping that Aaron Rodgers gets his third concussion and never plays again.

I hate fantasy football.

Week 6-7; 60's Power-Pop; The Value of Drinking Alone

It's been awhile since the last update, so I figured we'd talk about everyone's favorite topic: fantasy football.

First on the agenda is free-agency madness. I have acquired free-agent gems recently, so if you'll allow me, I'll share them.

1. Big Ben: Sure, he assaulted a girl in a restroom. Who hasn't? As long as he passes for a few a week, I'll allow him some indiscretions. Shit happens, right?

2. Tim Tebow. And what I mean by "Tim Tebow" is: "Tim Tebow is going to annihilate the Miami Dolphins." I hate Tim Tebow. I hate the Florida Gators, the SEC, and his poor mechanics. I hate his stereotypical, self-righteous-sports-religion, but you know what? I love his fantasy potential. Rushing touchdown? Yes, please. Passing despite terrible mechanics? Sure! It doesn't matter if it's pretty, just score me points Jesus H. Football!

3. Carson Palmer: a.k.a.: Trade Fodder. That's right. There will be someone, mark my words, in deeper leagues that needs a quarterback. And who's gon' be there for sweetie? Yep. Big poppa. I'm accepting trade offers.

Second on the agenda is my awesomely-timed trade.

Matt Shaub and Andre Johnson for Matt Forte.

Yep. Matt is not a sure-thing, although wonderfully consistent. That seems like an oxy-moron, but he's fluctuated in points recently, and also has some nagging injuries. Couple that with AJ's injuries, and the fact that they're teammates, and I was thinking fire sale. AJ will probably pull out of this, as will Shaub, but I'm thinking Forte is a great deal for the two of these chumps, especially given the fact that I'm soon to have Matt Ryan as a backup to Big Ben and Tim Tebow. Hell, if Carson Palmer shows up, maybe I'll give him a start when I'm feeling ballsy.

Fact remains: Matt Forte is going to tear it up this week. Good trade? Try great.

Also great: Tommy James and the Shondells, underrated kings of '60's power-pop. "I Think We're Alone Now," "Mony, Mony," "Draggin' the Line," "Sweet Cherry Wine" and "Crimson and Clover" are the most, and I repeat, THE MOST underrated '60's songs, period.

Are they in the rock 'n roll hall of fame? They should be.

Finally: I enjoy colons: and drinking alone. It provides me with a sense of clarity that I could otherwise not attain. When people talk I tend to cringe, and that hurts my writing.

Here's to Captain Morgan, a keyboard, and Kanye: you inspire me.

The Beginning of the End; or Lip Eaters Must Die!; or Fantasy Update, Week Four

What a week, football fans, what a week. I think my football week can be summarized rather succinctly:

1. Andre Johnson is hurt. Shit. I will never get past 100 points in my fantasy league, which meas loss after loss after loss.

2. Aaron Rodgers, dude WTF? 54 fantasy points in one week? Wow. Freaking amazing. But you know, two rushing touchdowns and four touchdown passes will do that for you. Go Pack.

3. Chiefs win! Chiefs win! Five field goals! Chiefs win! It was an ugly win, but a win nonetheless. I'll take it. I still don't think they'll win more than four games, and Haley should still be fired for dressing like a piss-soaked hobo on the sidelines, but a win's a win.

4. My new fantasy football team name is appropriate given my 1-3 record: Sweet Clown Beefs.

5. Beanie Wells, I just crapped myself and am mailing you the shorts. 31 points? Dear man, I could kiss you...in a totally heterosexual way, like on the hand or something.

6. Dear large woman who sat at the table next to me at Tanner's Bar and Grill: your shirt was way too small, and you don't eat ranch with your face. You looked like a beach ball trying to eat Elmer's glue with a screwdriver.

7. Why do people get food stuck in the corners of their mouths? It really grosses me out. Oreo crumbs, tomato soup, ranch dressing...blech...I could vomit, which is what happens when you've actually eaten food with your mouth and not your nostrils, cheeks, ear-holes, sideburns, neck beard, etc.

8. Detroit Lions: woot.

9. NBA season? Anybody? The NBA is like the reformed bully on the playground. He acted nice for awhile, even after beating the hell out of his favorite follower (RON ARTEST). People even started to like him. Then the greedy side came out. Owners, players, it doesn't matter; you're all greedy. I just want to watch some hoops. What's sadder than anything is that the NBA had recently gone through a transformation. The plethora of young talent, the competitive playoffs, the return of the Celtics and Lakers rivalry, the Super-Satanic-Team-of-the-Apocalypse (Heat), like it or hate it, the NBA was making a legitimate comeback. I can't think of a worse time to have a potentially season-erasing lockout. Oh, and David Stern looks like his head is going to burst like a blood-filled water balloon every time I see him.

10. To all the readers: thanks for leaving comments. Your feedback (a running and whopping ONE comment has been incredibly helpful. No really, stop acting interested.

11. Sleep? What sleep?

12. I realize at this point that my blog has been nothing but sports. My apologies; I am a three-dimensional human being.

13. BASEBALL PLAYOFFS BABY! Let's go DETROIT! PHILLY! TAMPA! BREW MEN, SUMMON THE SPIRIT OF PAUL MOLITOR! YANKEES CAN SUCK A FAT WHITE DOG TURD.

14. If you haven't read Game of Thrones, you totally should. Read the whole series in fact. I'm in book three right now, and I'm fairly certain it's my favorite book/series of all time, and it will take me all time to read it (it's seriously long).

15. I'm turning 29 soon, which means the beginning of the end of the party is upon us. True metal can never die, but it can get old and tired and frustrated.

And with that, I'm out.

Fantasy Update: I Suck Nads

Week 2 of the fantasy football season was eerily like week one: a loss to a girl. And while last week focused more on the fact that I lost to female coworker, this week I'd like to focus more on the powder-puff players on my fantasy team. Let the shout outs begin!

First, Matt Schaub: thank you sir for scoring a respectable 23 points, only one point behind Phillip Rivers. I never asked much of you, but you're consistently delivering solid weeks. God bless you, and for god's sake, throw Johnson the ball. No really...

Andre Johnson: Thank you for scoring fifteen points. If you bump it up to twenty next week, I'll write a blog post all about you. Have you seen how much traffic this thing gets? I could have three comments by the end of the season.

Beanie Wells: Again, thanks for the fifteen points. I never expected much from you, so thank you. If you score over twenty, I'll poop my pants and mail you my shorts.

Reggie Bush: you cheating piece of crap. I'm glad they took your Heisman. You suck. One point? Put me in, and I'll get at least two. Who the hell you do play for, the Dolphins? Oh wait...

DeSean Jackson: you DeSuck DeAss. You're supposed to be a big down-field threat. You scored two points. I attribute this to a few things: you're small, fragile, and Michael Vick sucks under pressure (and is thus overpaid). But still homeboy, two points? At least Reggie Bush had a Heisman to strip. You just stink like the shorts I'm mailing to Beanie.

Roddy White: Hey man, way to go! You quadrupled DeSean's DeScore! For eight points! Sweet jesus, I don't know what to say! Score more next week, or I will literally kill myself and tell god you made me do it.

Tyson Chandler: I never expected much from the tight end position, but you outscored my opponent 7-6. Thank you kindly, sir. You're 6'7, so I'm hoping that since you're a freakishly large target with great hands that you'll really come through for me in the coming weeks. Atta boy!

Josh Scobe: Five points can't be your fault, but I should have run my other kicker, who out kicked you 10-5. Oh well. You'll pull through, Norwood.

Lastly, in news unrelated to fantasy football, the Chiefs will not win a game this year, period. They lost 48-3 against the Detroit Lions. I don't care that everyone says that the Bills and Lions are turning a corner: we're making them look like CHAMPS. We. Freaking. Suck. Admit it Chiefs fans. Quit making excuses. Our team sucks, and above all else, our coach sucks.

I will buy season tickets if I can watch Haley get kicked in the balls by a mule no fewer than ten times.

I hate you Chiefs. Boo.

I Will Lose 12 Games This Season

Fantasy football fans, I'm off to a slow start. I recently suffered a 98-81 loss to a coworker of mine.

A female coworker.

I know, I sound sexist, especially given the emphasis I put on the line containing "female," but I'm hurt, you know?

I'm not saying I had the best fantasy draft. I didn't. I actually was trying to simultaneously watch the replay of UFC Rio while drafting on my phone...in a basement that has more shielding than a fallout shelter. Needless to say, ESPN.com drafted for me.

I can't complain. I ended up with some amazing wide receivers, but my amazing wide receivers couldn't get it done on their own.

I'm calling for Tom Coughlin's head.

I ended up with the Giants' defense who mustered me, prepare yourselves, an amazing (don't wet your pants) 4 points. Four. Quatro. Three more than one.

Suck to the ass.

The difference in our scores? She had the Eagles defense, which scored her 17 points. What's the difference between 17 and 4? I don't know, but it's a lot. It's the difference between pre-school and high school, between bed-wetting (I had a problem) and peeing in the neighbor's bushes (I had a problem), between girl-hating and awkward make-out sessions in your parents' basement (sorry mom), the difference between a win and a loss.

A loss to a girl.

And what's wrong with my coworker anyway? Doesn't she know that the male ego is a fragile thing? What am I to say to all the young men who look up to me when they ask: "Hey, Schwartz, how's your fantasy league?"

"It's great gentlemen; I'm getting punked by the petite English teacher down the hallway. Yeah, the one who's really nice and wouldn't hurt a fly and well, yeah, she kicked my ass."

Which is why Tom Coughlin should be fired. He should be fired for all the men in work pools who got punked this week thanks to his sorry-ass defense. It's also why, and listen up here girlies, you need to let the males in your life win at everything.

Do you really need to win? I mean, in the history of the world, haven't you won enough already? The list of things is endless!

1. Voting.
2. Competitive Salaries.
3. Title IX.
4. The WNBA.
5. Roller Derby.
6. Sewing the American Flag.
7. Sarah Palin.
8. The miracle of child birth.
9. Corsets.
10.Feminism.

See? Give us guys a fighting chance. Fantasy Football, though an equal-opportunity activity, is clearly for males. I completely advocate for women joining leagues, but winning? Leave that to the boys. We need it.

I'm crying. No seriously, leave me alone.

And screw you Coughlin. I'm watching you.

The Chiefs Will Lose 12 Games This Year

It's official, sports fans: the Kansas City Chiefs, professional powder-puff football champions, will win no more than four games this year. Disagree with me? Well, you're deceived, and probably willingly.

Year in, year out, the Chiefs are always overrated. This is a credit to the fans of two small market teams (Chiefs and Royals) who love their hometown sports, to a fault. It's never bad to support the home team; in the internet/ESPN era, we could use a few more homers (I'm sick of seeing Cardinals hats at the KC/St. Louis game). However, these Chiefs homers are almost insufferable.

Almost.

The only reason they aren't entirely insufferable is that they are masochistic. They love pain. Every year the same talk starts: will the Chiefs make the playoffs? Inevitably, many fans work their hopes up into a frenzy, a frenzy that doesn't allow them to see what the team on the field is truly capable of.

Add to the mix the fact that an overachieving 2010 team made the playoffs (I would argue with anyone that the Chiefs of last year were one of the most overrated, flukish (it's a word) teams to make the playoffs). Want evidence we didn't belong? We made Joe Flaco look like John Elway, and the Ravens kicked our asses AT HOME.

This may be the scariest part of the equation. The Chiefs, traditionally speaking, have never been a team to lose at home. Since the Haley era began, this has become an alarming reality. The Chiefs fans (deceived as they may be) love their live football at Arrowhead Stadium. Through many mediocre seasons, the Chiefs managed to do one thing: keep the crowd energized through exhilarating home victories over division rivals such as the Broncos and Raiders.

Now we can't even beat the Bills at home.

Not only can the Chiefs not beat the Bills, but the Bills quite literally BEAT on them. The Chiefs looked like a team that had given no serious attention to practice during the preseason.

Maybe that's because they didn't. Todd Haley (who should be fired for 1. being a bad coach, and 2. being a jerk) used some unconventional methods this preseason to prepare his players. Were they unprepared? Yep. Unenthusiastic? Yep. Lethargic? Yep. Confused? Without a doubt.

Throw in the fact that the Bills' Chan Gailey (the offensive coordinator that was fired by newcomer Haley in his first year) destroyed the Chiefs through a brilliantly executed game plan/offensive scheme, and this win becomes embarrassing.

Couple that with the fact that the 41-7 loss is the second worst home loss in franchise history, and well, you've got a pro-football tragedy...a tragedy that's only beginning to unfold.

Should Todd Haley be fired? Yep.

Should Chiefs fans be surprised? Absolutely not. Welcome to the future, Chiefs fans.

Speaking of the future, let's do a little speculation.

Considering that the Chiefs lost more games than they won on the road, let's see how an inferior 2011 team stacks up against a very difficult road schedule.

Detroit: Loss, due to we suck on the road and couldn't beat the Bills at home. Lions look like playoff contenders thanks to Chiefs.

Patriots: Loss, as Cassell returns to his home sideline, only to watch as Tom Brady (and his beautiful hair) score no fewer than 60 points on a lethargic and frostbitten Chiefs defense.

Colts: Loss, as Kerry Collins looks like he's ten years younger and 1,000 times more talented, thanks to Chiefs defense and incapable offense. T. Hali has fifteen sacks on Collins in 47-3 loss.

Jets: Loss. Is Sanchez the next coming of Broadway Joe? You'd think so, due to Rex Ryan eats Todd Haley and focuses evil, lard-fueled energy into Sanchez's throwing arm.

Bears: Loss. The Chiefs freeze to death, marking the biggest sports tragedy since the Heat's surprising loss to the Mavs.

AFC West: Loss, Loss, Loss, Loss. Have I mentioned we're not good on the road, that the Broncos function better with less air, the Raiders fans will shoot at us, and the Chargers have the highest ranking offense of 2010?

At home, we will steal all four division games, god help us. That accounts for four wins, and only four. Not to mention we host the Steelers and Packers at home. We're so freaking dead. And we will, mark my words, be the turning point in no less than three careers this year: Kerry Collins, Reggie Bush, and Donovan McNabb.

Now all we need to do, Chiefs fans, is play "Start Me Up" by the Stones and kill ourselves. It's going to be that kind of year.

Follow Up: UFC an Official Sport

I recently read an article on CBS.com about the up and coming sport of Mixed Martial Arts. The writer of the article, which aired on 60 Minutes, discusses the sport as if he's never viewed a combat, or for that matter, contact sport.

In reference to fighter and fan-favorite Matt Hughes, the writer calls Hughes' time in the octagon a "testosterone-fueled world of money and sex", a stark comparison to the life Hughes leads outside the octagon, having grown up on a farm in Illinois.

This kind of uninformed journalism is the main reason the UFC, despite its profits, despite its regulations, and despite its rising level of popularity, can't catch a break from the mainstream media.

If we were to define any American sport by the same standards as the author, would any fail to fit the description of a "testosterone-fueled world of money and sex"?

Take the NFL for example. There was recently a 120+ day lockout over labor disputes between players and owners, disputes over the multi-billion dollar industry that is the National Football League, a league built on sound business decisions, ingenious marketing strategies, and above all else, testosterone.

Critics of the UFC continue to say it's too "barbaric", too "violent." Yes, the UFC is a combat sport, meaning that two competitors, and world class athletes at that, are competing in hand-to-hand combat. But if one looks at football in the same regard, one finds violence of a different sort.

Take for instance the new rule that allows kicking teams to kick off from the 35 yard line. This rule is designed, and has succeeded, in limiting the number of times a return man will bring the ball up field. This, the NFL hopes, will result in fewer "violent" collisions between players, and thus, fewer brutal injuries.

The UFC is no different. Since its inception, the UFC (as the face of MMA) has undergone a radical transformation, and a profitable one. True, in the beginning the UFC was nothing more than violence porn. There were no weight classes and very few rules. The product was based less on competition, and more on spectacle.

However, in the years since its creation it has been purchased by a savvy boxing promoter and amateur boxer named Dana White. With the help of investors, White was able to purchase the UFC for 2 million dollars. After White's purchase, the UFC has never looked the same.

He instated weight classes, a strict set of universal rules that have the athletes' safety in mind, a scoring system that provides an objective way of gauging the fight, and a great deal of time and effort marketing the new and improved product.

And it has paid off. The UFC is now reported to be worth nearly 1 billion dollars, with no sign of slowing profits. If anything, the author of the CBS article gets one thing correct: Dana White and the UFC have captured the waning attention of the male, 18-34 audience, and after signing a deal with Fox to air preliminary fights in 2012, the expansion of the UFC into new markets shows incredible potential.

Yet the UFC can still not catch a break from the mainstream sports media. It is still largely viewed (due to misconception and bad reporting like the CBS article) as a brutal, violent, free-for-all.

Sadly, it's anything but. It's incredibly complicated, and the athletes who compete are world class. There may even come a time (sooner than later) that the UFC eclipses boxing entirely. The UFC may be new, but it's no different than boxing.

Except it's less corrupt.

Currently, if my math is correct, there could be a possible 90 champions in five different major leagues and 18 different weight classes in boxing. Pardon me if I don't care.

Even while the majority of Americans couldn't care less about boxing (or name any five top-twenty boxers), top UFC fighters continue to get more public attention, despite a lack of coverage from the mainstream media.

Bud Light, a longtime sponsor of the UFC, has recently run commercials featuring current Light-Heavyweight champion Jon "Bones" Jones and UFC President, Dana White. The current fighters, some of the best to ever train and compete, are gaining popular attention through other means. GSP, ex-professional wrestler Brock Lesnar, and the greatest pound-for-pound fighter of all time, Anderson Silva, have become household names.

The UFC will continue to grow, as will coverage of this burgeoning sport. It will gain greater popularity, and hopefully, much-deserved notoriety. The question is not if the media will get on board (because they will; where there's money, they always will) but when. For my money, I'll be watching Saturday night fights on pay-per-view.

Bring UFC to Kansas City

I'm ready to admit two things: first, that professional sports are all about the money; second, that Kansas City, for all its history, beautiful places, wonderful people, and smoking-hot barbecue, is a small market. In college sports, it's the twelfth largest; in professional sports, however, it remains small beans. Nothing needs to be said about the Royals. For all the talent in the farm systems, for all the clever management of Dayton Moore, the Royals are still at the bottom. Perhaps not for long, but to say that the Royals will ever become perennially successful is a long shot. Baseball's just not set up that way.

The Chiefs have a fan-base with a never-ending supply of ignorant optimism based on self-deception. They, too, suffer from being a small market team.

Because of this, Kansas City as a whole suffers from a common misconception on the part of the rest of the world: we must not care about sports, music, or general entertainment.

And yet, Kansas City and her suburbs have some of the highest entertainment spenders in the country. If you don't believe me, you haven't visited Johnson County, KS, where no one eats a meal at home.

When bands come to town, the Sprint Center is packed. I've seen Pearl Jam, Bruce Springsteen, and if the fates allow, the Foo Fighters. All of these concerts (I'm assuming this for the Foo Fighters) were sold out, standing-room-only shows.

I'm guessing (and this is just a guess here) that Kansas Citians, just like New Yorkers, Los Angelians (?) and Chicagoites (I'm just making things up at this point) enjoy entertainment on a big stage.

What is currently bigger than the UFC?

After just signing a deal with Fox, UFC is soon to become a household name, and for good reason. The amount of young talent, mixed with the faces of the UFC (legends like Anderson Silva, Georges Saint-Pierre; veterans like Forrest Griffin, Rich Franklin; up-and coming phenoms like Jon Jones) have already made it one of the fastest growing sports in the United States, if not the world.

UFC is not going away, and is becoming a legitimate, rule and points-based combat sport, and is blazing a path despite undeserved negative press from good-ol'-boy sports writers. Boxing is dying, and I say the faster the better; there are extremely technical strikers within the UFC already, strikers who develop a complete martial-arts game in order to be competitive.

UFC will eliminate boxing within ten years. Guaranteed.

Given the UFC's rise in notoriety, the contract with Fox, and the face time it's been receiving from the media despite their obvious bias towards the sport, it's time to spread out to smaller markets...markets like Kansas City.

The Sprint Center is a smaller arena compared to others in the nation. It's a more intimate venue despite its large capacity. Where other mega-arenas manage to pack thousands into the stands, the Sprint Center combines smart design with a smaller size to create an intimate, state of the art arena in the middle of blossoming downtown Kansas City.

The venue itself is perfect for a UFC event. There wouldn't be a bad seat in the house.

Located outside the Sprint Center is a vibrant, renovated downtown area, the Power and Light district. Full of restaurants, bars, and clubs, it's the perfect place to set up a pre-UFC fan expo (or Crown Center for that matter) and a pre-fight party that will bring in money hand over fist for business owners in the downtown district.

If there is an event, even a smaller card, the fans will show up. Guaranteed. Even people who have yet to become fans of the sport will show up just to say they were there. These people, more likely than not, will become the newest fans of the UFC, and they will tell their friends about the experience. There is nothing like watching a good fight with a couple of buddies, and there's nothing like talking fights afterward. It will boost fan numbers; it will boost pay-per-view numbers. It will be good for Kansas City, as it will be good for the UFC.

I'm not asking for a title defense, or even a stacked card. I'm asking for an event. I, for one, will be there.