Monday Night (Arena) Football Liveblog: Philly at Georgia

So, as we’re all well aware, there’s a crazy gimmick for tonight’s MN(A)F game: your announcing crew is… everybody! We’re going to try to document this disaster. My theory: train wreck that a plane crashes on to, the wreckage of which is loaded onto a tanker which runs aground in the Aleutian Islands, and everyone who isn’t eaten by polar bears is picked up by a zeppelin that explodes.

Other analysis: Philadelphia by 17. Georgia has been awkwardly stumbling from game to game on defense, and hasn’t really found a rhythm on offense. Philadelphia is (a) operating like a surgeon and (b) irritated about letting their guard down last week. Let’s see what happens.

We’re also going to try this liveblogging software thing, and if it works, great, if it doesn’t… Sorry, four people.

If you’re interested, do this thing:

Okay, you should be seeing frames, and you’re probably not. Work, dammit! And if it doesn’t end up working, go here: LIVEBLOG!

That was fun. My thoughts, from the end of the liveblog were thusly:
I think we were best served when Ray was commenting by himself. Also, if we could get a more judicious use of the microphones, instead of “Hey, it’s the guys on the field all the time: isn’t that weeeeeeirrrrd?” that’d be great. Stick Ray on the sidelines, because that was cool, but let him talk more.

The game was a solid B+ (Philadelphia played pretty sloppily), and the experiment a B or B-.

On Another Milestone Reached

[Phone rings]

Good afternoon, Dr. Dolezel’s office, Adrianne speaking. [pause] No, I’m afraid he does not have any specific plans to celebrate his 900th professional touchdown pass. The professor’s opinion is that ‘900 is only almost 1,000.’ He doesn’t care to celebrate merely “almost making it home,” or “almost sleeping with your wife or significant other.” [pause] Very good sir, and thank you for calling the department of putting the ball in the fucking end zone.

[Typing, phone rings]

Good afternoon, Dr. Dolezel’s office, Adrianne speaking. Hello, Mr. Phillips, how are you today? I’m terribly sorry, but Dr. Dolezel is unavailable at this time to mentor Mr. Romo. Our office is aware of what a nice young man he is, but our reluctance is two-fold: one, Dr. Dolezel is currently focused on the Arena League season, and two, it would be likely discomfiting to Mr. Jones to have Dr. Dolezel steal Ms. Simpson away, or, in a plausible scenario, seduce both Ms. Simpson and Mr. Romo. [pause] Yes sir. [pause] We have a series of adjutants specifically designated to break up those sorts of slap fights, but we prefer not to use them in situations involving persons of Mr. Romo’s and Ms. Simpson’s… significance. [pause] Certainly, you may ask him yourself, but there’s no use standing in the parking lot like last time, Mr. Phillips, as Dr. Dolezel has gained the ability to countermand the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle and simply projects himself from one location to another. He has no use for devices as terrestrial as automobiles. He chooses not to use this in competition, no. No, he cannot teach it to Mr. Romo. Or, to prevent the inevitable question, yourself. [significant pause] We are well aware that Mr. Jones considers Mr. Romo an, as you say, “goddamned star.” We also would like to see him succeed, being part of the Dallas Cowboys’ family. Please don’t cry, Mr. Phillips. The department of putting the ball in the fucking end zone empathizes with you. [muffled, at the other end of the line, there is a crash, then: YEEEEEEEHAW!!!! WOOOOOO!!! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!! STOP DROOLING ON THAT THING! WHO'D TALK TO YOU ON THE RAPROD, ANYWAY, A T & TUBBY?!?] Thank you for calling, Mr. Phillips, Dr. Dolezel wishes you the best of luck.

[With apologies to Big Daddy Drew at Kissing Suzy Kolber for the appropriation of Jerry Jones and Wade Phillips.]

This is going to be awkward

100% Twisted Steel

Oh boy.

Tonight could be awkward. I haven’t talked to Griesen in, like, months.

Philly could be on their way to the Arena Bowl, Georgia’s struggling without me… I don’t want Chris to think he’s my Ryan Leaf but…

Maybe I shouldn’t call.

Will that make me a dillweed?

Gee, sports are hard.