Toph and Jon actually sit down to discuss sports. In the first podcast of the new year, the Bizzers discuss their predictions for the NFL playoffs, the remaining bowl games, the Yankees, the Mavs and of course, the demise of the Cowboys.

Jon’s Wildcard Round Playoff Predictions (Winning teams in Bold)

Atlanta - Arizona

Indy - San Diego

Philly - Minnesota

Baltimore - Miami

Toph’s Wildcard Round Playoff Predictions

Atlanta - Arizona

Indy - San Diego

Philly - Minnesota

Baltimore - Miami

And as usual…

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By Toph…

Well, it’s December in Dallas, and we all know what that means, The Anti-Claus strikes again. Once again, we wake up on a Monday morning to find that the Cowboys have let us down in December. It’s really beginning to get old at this point. As Diabla and I headed back to the Metroplex, we readied ourselves for the Sunday showdown with the Philadelphia Eagles.

Before the game, we attended Dibs’ niece’s soccer game. The Lady Kicks against the Purple People Eaters. Two of the top teams in the Fort Worth girl’s 9-11 year old indoor soccer league, the Kicks churned out 16 unanswered goals and blanked the Purple People Eaters. Sadly, no one paid much attention, as the entire crowd, dressed in Silver and Blue, discussed the game. Hell, even the scorekeeper stopped keeping score after 10 points (I kept racking them up in my head, leading me to believe I’ll be that kind of Dad).

After a while, we all joked that this would be a preview of the Cowboys game. Little did we know, we were completely right, only The Boys turned out to the be Purple People Eaters. I will say, watching those girls get demoralized was kind of sad, but what can you do when even the reserves scored 9 points in the 2nd half? Do you tell them to play dead? I mean, they don’t get to start and you’re supposed to tell them not to score? It doesn’t seem fair for anyone involved, and there should have been a 10-point mercy rule or something.

Sorry, back to the Cowboys - No one really felt good going into last night’s game, and maybe the most depressing loss since last year was a good thing. The week’s leading up to last night’s Spanklish all we heard from Jerry was that the Boys would make the playoffs, Wade’s job was safe and everything was OK at the Ranch. (Oh, this is a new word derived from a Cinemax porn Habla Spanklish, about Latin girls who liked to get, you guessed it, spanked. Also on at the time were Daddy Issues 1, Sex Games Cancun 8 and Never Too Big.) It wasn’t until late last night that Jerry finally said he’d be taking people behind the woodshed, which only further excites me and other fans of Spanklish. I can’t help but to think about Jerry telling Wade to go into his closet and pick out the belt.

After being declared the Super Champions in the preseason, and completely failing to live up to expectations, there’s no reason to think this coaching staff can come back, right? Wade has proven that he’s not the right man for the job, Brian Stewart lost control of the Defense, and it seems everyone has lost confidence in Jason Garrett. Makes you wonder what happened to Sean Peyton and Tony Sparano, doesn’t it? But, at this point, I believe we’ve invested too much into Garrett to not give him a shot at coaching this team. Hire an offensive coordinator, and demote Wade to the defense. Think that’s crazy? Then explain why our old Head Coach is now our secondary coach.

Things need to change back at the Ranch. Meltdowns of this magnitude are simply unacceptable.
And with that said… It’s good to be back from vacation. The Bizzo has been on hiatus for the holidays, but we fully expected to be covering Cowboys football in the playoffs. The Biz went through a lot of different things in 2008 – I mean, creation, podcasting, blogging, and from 2 writer’s to 8 writer’s and finally back down to 3. We brought friends and guests onto the podcast, and even tried streaming it. Also, we were invited to join the Yardbarker network, which has been good to us.

2009 should bring a lot more to the Biz. I’m not sure what, but, we’ll play it by ear.

Jon, Christian and I hope you all had a happy holiday and will have a happy New Year.

Late.

Aloha, my little bizzolitos.

Que pasa?

Your very own number two (but always number one in your hearts) has been out of commish for some time now, huh?

That’s what Jeets does, though, ladies and lesser dudes. When he needs to get shit done, he gets into the zone.

What zone, you ask?

I like to call it the Bone Zone. Ladies call it the first place they’ve ever really experienced pleasure. Scientists would call it my bedroom.

You see, bizzotes, I’ve actually been busy masterminding the(my) Yankees’ free agent acquisitions from my palatial Trump Suite in NYC (for descriptions of the bathroom see my earlier article). CC? Yup, that was me. AJ? Well, that was kind of Cashmoney’s idea and I kind of half-heartedly went along with it because, let’s face it, who’s gonna turn down AJ Burnett as like your fifth starter when your owners don’t give a what about paying him 90 million a year for five years? But, that’s beside the point.

The point really is that while lying on my Zimbabwean goatskin comforter, with five women dressed in nothing but my own jerseys frolicking around the bedroom and stopping occasionally to kiss or tell me how sweet my flattop fade haircut looks, I essentially brought CC and AJ to town myself.

The conversation with CC, for instance, went something like this.

Jeets(Me): CC?

CC: Yeah, who dis?

Jeets(Again, me talking): Hey, man. It’s Derek.

CC: Derek? I don’t know no Derek.

Jeets: Come on, man. It’s Jeets.

CC: JEETS? Oh, wassup man? Why didn’t you say so? What’s with all this Derek shit?

Jeets: My bad, my bad. Listen. I talked to Cashmoney. He’s ready to stroke it for you. The check, I mean. He’s ready to stroke it whenever you want it stroked. Cool?

CC: Jeets, what the hell are you talking about?

Jeets: CC, baby, you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. I’m flattered, actually. I know you’ve always wanted to play with me. I know you’ve always wanted a shortstop like me playing behind you. It’s cool, dog. I don’t blame you. I’m amazing. I’m like a god walking among mortals.

CC: Jeets, seriously. I don’t know what the hell you’re saying.

Jeets: Come on, let’s get down to it. You know and I know you want to sign here cuz of me. It’s cool. Just tell me how much it’s gonna cost. 160 million? Over like, what, eight years? Seven? Somethin’ like that?

CC: Jeets, if you’re offering me $160 million, I’ll play wherever the hell you want me to play. I’ll be the Philly Fanatic, for shit’s sake. But, what’s with all this crap about me liking you? It’s kinda gay, man.

Jeets: Cool, it’s settled then. I’ll have Cashmoney’s guys fax over the paperwork. And I’ll announce it to the media when I’m banging that ESPN reporter chick. You know her name…come on…oh yeah. Rachel Nichols. Love that. You’re gonna love being on my team, CC.

CC: Whatever, man. I just signed a guaranteed contract for $160 million while the rest of the country is struggling to hold onto their jobs. It’s gravy, baby.

So you see, babies, that your old Jeets is the one greasing this team’s axle. That’s why they call it the Bone Zone. Cuz it’s where Cashmoney and I deal out all kinds of record bones to all kinds of pitchers in all kinds of shitty markets.

Jeets is like its own economy, really. If I were traded on the open market, I’d be blue chip as shit. Hell, I’d probably be a market, in and of myself. It’d be like NASDAQ, Dow Jones, and the Jeets Exchange (kinda like Armani Exchange only all financial and whatnot).

Jeets isn’t just an overwhelmingly handsome, record-setting shortstop from the New York Yankees. Jeets isn’t just me. Jeets is everything sexual and amazing in the world. It’s a whole other level of existence. Like, if you were Jeets? I’m not saying you could ever be Jeets-awesome, don’t worry. I’m just saying. If you were Jeets? You’d wake up in the morning and the first thing you’d do is smile at the collage of women’s underwear pinned up on your wall. Try to imagine that for a minute. I’ll hold off for a minute while you slip into that ecstasy.

Okay. Hot, huh?

I know.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yeah, so I was basically in charge of bringing AJ and CC to town and I’m thinking about getting Tex and a couple other dudes here, too. Maybe D-Lowe cuz he’s always got the hookup on some hot tricks.

And we’re gonna win the crap out of the NL East this year, too. It’s gonna be insane.

In fact, remember that time that the T-Rex escapes from its cage in Jurassic Park and eats the dude on the toilet? That dude on the toilet is gonna be the NL East. And I’m gonna be Jeff Goldblum in the SUV with Dr. Grant’s wife dripping water down her hand and hitting her from behind, and shit.

So, I just wanted to let y’all know that if you want to file any complaints about over-spending or ruining baseball or anything, you can direct them to my inbox. Or what I prefer to call “your own ass.”

Cuz the reason you’re all so upset is that you’re sissies. You’re jealous of my awesomeness and you’re jealous of the awesomeness (aka preposterous monetary wealth) that extends to other players when they’re around me.

Don’t hate the players, kids, hate yourselves for not makin’ the team.

Jeets, out.

(Editor’s Note: If I was that ugly, I’d be sad, too… OH SNAP! I’d still hit, girl…)

Everybody look out….I think T.O. is about to cry….again.

Word came out that he and Romo are having some sort of quarrel. What a joke, man. T.O. never changed and he’s never going to change. I was a fool to think otherwise.

The problem is Jerry Jones. I was raised in the Jerry Jones era of the Cowboys and have grown accustomed to the Cowboys picking up every headcaselowlifearrogantspoiledjerkoff of a player in the NFL. And since they won a trio of Super Bowls in those early years, I was duped into thinking the Cowboys could turn any loser into a winner. Because it’s the Cowboys. Nobody is bigger than the Cowboys, and they never will be. It’s a global icon. People in other countries who’ve never seen a football game know who the Dallas Cowboys are. That’s why I thought the T.O. thing would work out. He’s on the biggest team in the biggest sport in the most talked about country in the world.

Maybe he’d shut up and play.

The problem is the media. I pose to you a philosophical question: If T.O. takes a dump in the woods, and there’s no one there to see it, does Ed Werder still report it?

Of course he does, because the media loves T.O. People love to hate him and they know it and he knows it. So everytime he wants to cry about something, ESPN’s right there waiting. Or FoxSports, or hell, The Sports Bizzo.

Have we learned nothing from our third grade class? Everybody had that one kid in their class who was out of control, or the class clown, or the whiny baby. What did the teacher tell you to do when he was making another cry for attention?

Just ignore him, and he’ll stop.

It seems a bit childish of us all to not apply the same logic to T.O. If we stop catering to his every temper tantrum, maybe he’ll stop.

It kinda reminds me of the The Simpsons’ Treehouse of Horror episode when all of the advertisements come to life. And the way they stop them is by having Paul Anka sing the jingle,

“Just don’t look…just don’t look…”

And it works on everybody except for Homer because he’s still staring at the donut man.

We’ll were Homer, and T.O is the donut man.

“Just don’t look….Just don’t look…”

By an empty shell that used to be Toph…

I’ve been trying to figure out how was going to approach this article. I’ve been putting it off for a couple of days now, and I’ve tried writing it, but it didn’t work. I’ve opened a couple of different ways.

I’ll show you.

I started one with, “Welcome to December, Tony Romo, we’ve sure missed you.”

Another one with, “Maybe it’s too early in December, but I really am damned sick of the Cowboys and month. The Cowboys and December is like Michael Jordan and baseball, Tiffany Amber Thiessen and 90210, Julie Roberts and Lyle Lovett, Britney and K-Fed. The shit just don’t make no kinds of sense.”

I’ve also went with, “If this is God’s team, then why does he curse them in Baby Jesus’ birth month?”

Basically, I’m too depressed to really write anything. I’m forcing it like a 4th quarter Romo pass. You know it should be on target, and you expect greatness, but it just misses and gets picked off for a touchdown.

I don’t know what else to say. They must win the next 3? Whatever. I hate my life. Not even Plax shooting himself can make me smile.

Speaking of, the Cowboys play the Giants Sunday night. I think I’m just going to drink wine and watch Desperate Housewives. It’s all so meaningless right now.

Not even the Cowboys cheerleaders can make me happy. OK, that’s not true. I’m hurt, I’m not gay.

(Editor’s Note: Do you know how hard it is to find photos of hot chicks playing darts, without some douche ruining it? Yeah… hard… So, here are some chicks kissing in a bar. I’ve bet they’ve thrown a dart or two in their time.)

By Jerame… The Wildcard!

Welcome back to the wild card Bizzheads. I don’t care if you like that nickname that is what I will call you all from now on. I am including myself in that group, so don’t get all pissy.

As you know I am Jerame and I am the wild card. I will try and continue to talk about sports in a round about sort of way. And in that vein I am talking about a dart tourney that I recently witnessed. Well not only witnessed but I participated in ever so briefly.

This tourney started at the Ye Olde Bull and Bush off of Camp Bowie in Fort Worth. In normal wild card form I showed up about 2 hours before the actual start time to talk to some of the contenders for the title. Well that and to get a few beers under my belt. I am a decent dart player but as most of you know only when I am a little drunk. Much like how I drive….. (Editor’s Note 2: That is a joke. Don’t drink and drive, and more importantly, do sue if you do.) Anyway, I showed up and talked to a contender by the name of Jake Russell. Jake told me that he had one quite a few tourneys while stationed in Germany during the first Gulf War. He was a veteran and deserved our respect. I bought him a beer for that reason. That and he beat me at a game of 301.

The next contender I talked to was a man by the name of Tom McCray.  His appearance was much like you would picture it. His beard was longer than my hair. His eyes as cold as steel. After every dart he took a drink of Guinness that never seemed to empty.

After about 2 hours of this milling around the actual tourney started and the favorites took the early lead all were expecting. I never got past the first round. I never had expected anything else because after all I had been there far to long and had drank far to much.

The competition came down to the two contenders and the favorite a man by the name of Nick Castle. Nick’s technique was as flawless as it was unorthodox. His front foot was bent in and his throwing hand was limp to say the least. Yet he never missed a shot.

The tourney came down to Nick and Jake. Simple cricket. For anyone who has played this game there is nothing simple about it. If you get behind you stay behind all fucking night. Nick held Jake off taking the 20’s first. Then he worked his way down. The score stayed 20 to nothing for the rest of the match. Nick opened a number and Jake promptly closed it.

Finally, after a long fought battle it was Nick and Jake for the Bull. Nick had missed the bull for three straight darts. This gave Jake his opening to open the bull and win the game. Like the pro he is and should be someday he opened the bull with a single bull and a double. The Nick camp was heartbroken. They knew as well as Nick that this one shot was his one weak spot. Nick threw a great set hitting a double bull. The pressure mounted on Jake to make one bull to win. To win his crown and to earn the all important 25 dollar gift card to the Gap.
We all held our breath as he released……… and he HIT IT. FUCKING HELL.

Jake won it. Maybe next year Nick. There is always next year…..mavs…..cowboys….horns… stars…..fire??????

By Jon…

Weekly Grumblings, my ass. I’m sure that’s what y’all are thinking. Well, I’ve needed to build up some things to grumble about. So here we go, a marathon version of the grumblings….

1. If I see one more box score or headline that says Devin Harris has set another career high in points, I’m gonna kill someone. Harris scored 47 points the other day, FORTY SEVEN POINTS!!! That’s ridiculous. Why did the Mavs trade him again? Oh right, for that old man whose name suggests otherwise (Kidd). I sincerely hope Mark Cuban has big plans for all the cap money that comes when Kidd’s contract expires.

The Kidd trade was a total debacle. It wreaks of a bad relationship gone worse. You ever had a situation in your life where you dumped or got dumped by somebody and then you found someone newer, younger, and hotter, and then the old Harpy comes back and says that she wants you back, and since you never really got over her, and you don’t know where this new relationship is going, and things are comfortable with the old one, you get back with her? Only to watch the younger, hotter one hook up with some spare of a dude, but she bangs him FORTY SEVEN times more than you because he let go of the reigns and said go for it? Ever had that happen?

Me either, but it happened to the Mavs.

2. The BCS system is flawed. I know I’m going out on a limb when I say that. In fact, as far as I know, I may be the only one saying it. But the system is flawed. Furthermore, the Big 12 system is flawed even more. How hard is it to get your tiebreaker scenarios right? If three teams are tied, standard circle-jerk rules apply. Last one to finish is the biscuit. In this case, there were two biscuits. Texas Tech is the official biscuit, because they lost last. But Texas is the one eating the biscuit. A big, nasty BCS covered biscuit because they lost to Okla…no, wait a second, they didn’t lose to Oklahoma. They beat Oklahoma in Aust….er..Norm….wait, no Dallas. A neutral site, one might call it, where neither team has a distinct home field advantage because the crowd is divided equally amongst both teams.

Oklahoma is, for all intents and purposes, being rewarded for blowing their collective wad too early. Where else in life is that rewarded? NOWHERE! So why should it work in college football?

All I’m saying is, if Oklahoma somehow loses against Mizzou, you bet your biscuits, Texas should be in the BCS championship game, conference title be damned. Oklahoma shouldn’t get another free pass like they did a few years ago when they lost in the Big 12 title game, only to be gifted a slot in the national championship game, only to get completely annihilated by USC.

3. Plaxico Burress, your life has finally become as silly as your name. If you didn’t want to play because you felt like being a crybaby, you could’ve just faked the hamstring injury you were already out for. You didn’t have to go and put a goddamn bullethole in it. We believed you when you said your hammy was hurting, no need to get crazy. No need to drag your teammates into it.

Here’s what gets me, Plax…is it okay if I call you, Plax? If the reason for carrying the gun is to protect oneself, wouldn’t it behoove said gun carrier to take a lesson in gun safety, or hell some sort of gun training course?

I mean, surely, you’ve heard the statistics that you’re more likely to harm someone you know than a stranger. I don’t know if they send you a letter in the mail when you actually become part of that statistic, but you should be expecting yours later this week. Actually, you know, I bet they email it.  You’ll probably get an email.

I just don’t get it, dude. Why do you need a gun anyway? Does it give you a boner to think of the power you hold by carrying a gun? You caught the game-winning touchdown against an undefeated team in the Super Bowl, for Christ’s sake. How much bigger of a boner do you need?

4. Hands down the best thing to come of the Plaxico accidental shooting was this - Marcellus Wiley on OTL
Outside the Lines interview with former Bills defensive end Marcellus Wiley. In the span of a three minute interview, Wiley manages to incriminate himself on at least two different crimes. First, he mentions the kind of weapon he carried and the type of holster. Secondly, he admits to it being unregistered, and on top of that admits to disposing of it by throwing it out of his car window while driving down the highway. Priceless….

(Editor’s Note: Toph and Jon salute their alma mater’s dominance in table tennis. Go Texas Wesleyan Rams!)

Toph and Jon have probably the strangest podcast yet, as they welcome surprise guest, Bizzo site designer, Ray Hernandez. This week they discuss their fantasy football playoffs, Cowboys - Steelers, Plaxico, the Longhorns getting screwed and female condoms. Yes… female condoms.

Important Show Links -

Female Condom Photo

Female Condom Demo Video

And as usual…

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By Toph…

By now you’ve heard that Plaxico Burress has been suspend for the year, and that other suspensions could be coming for the dudes that were with him that night he shot himself in the leg, right? You can always count on the Bizzo to bring you late breaking news, right? OK, so that’s not why the Bizzo was created, but it was created so we could discuss these important sports headlines.

So, let’s discuss.

Plaxico shot himself in the leg at the club. How does this make sense? First of all, how do you even shoot yourself in the leg these days? Was his safety not on? What was his gun even doing in the front? Don’t you gotta keep your piece in the back, or in a cool holster of sorts? I still can’t make sense of the fact that the dude shot himself in the leg at the club. I mean did he mistake his penis for his gun? What the hell!? Why is no one talking about this? Or, have they talked about it, and I just didn’t read it?

How many questions have I asked so far?

What happens now? Well, lots of things. Plaxico is done for the season, and the playoffs (even though everyone has been real shady when discussing him being gone for the playoffs). Either the Giants will rally around this, like they did when Tiki Barber, Osi YumYumuri and Michael Strahan left, or they will totally collapse. I am really hoping they collapse.

Think about it - The Cowboys, who were in complete disarray, come back to make it the Super Bowl because Plaxico Burress shot himself in the leg. The same team that has TO, Pacman and Tank would be the giving the ultimate Go-Fuck-Yourself to the team that knocked them out of the playoffs last year. I love the possibility of this. Next year you could have TO, O-Roy and Plaxico on the same team. Of course the Cowboys would pick him up. 1. It says eff-you to the Giants, and 2. Michael Irvin could rehabilitate him. Tell me you wouldn’t be glued to Hard Knocks, and staying the hell away from Baby Dolls if that happened.

On a side note, it’s always been a small dream of mine to write for a newspaper or an ESPN, but I don’t think I could. Without openly writing things like “ultimate Go-Fuck-Yourself” every day, I’d get bored. Maybe I’d need another alter ego - Christopher in business, Toph online and Pher in print.

(And tell me you wouldn’t root for the Giants if that chick up there was your lady.)

We’ll see you guys next week. In the meantime.. Happy Thanksgiving and Go Cowboys!