Bad to the Bone...

After the second presidential debate (if you can call how the candidates went at each other presidential), a new star arose onto the political horizon-All-American undecided voter Kevin Bone. Watching his porcine neckline struggle to contain itself in that ridiculous sweater (where the fuck did he get that cherry red monstrosity? And here I was thinking that Alexander's Department store closed in 1992. Is their surplus stock still circulating?) His Humpty Dumptian visage and porno moniker was plastered all over the news the very next day, having emerged as some kind of hero because he actually asked a question that was pertinent to the future of this beleaguered country. 

The media are idiots, and they think the average viewer is too stupid to delve any further into any particular subject long enough for the development of nuanced thought. This is why we've been presented with this lardass, and it's why he's become a national folk hero-because he is indistinguishable from the so-called "average" American that politicians love pandering to. If you want to check these so-called average American motherfuckers out, you must go to their natural habitat. Take a bus or fly to Ohio, Wisconsin, or Iowa and stroll through a neighborhood mall on any given weekend. You will see these Kevin Bone-types with their grotesque, morbidly obese, pasty white, and equally sartorially challenged offspring looking for the two-for-one special at Arby's. They are also at the local supermarket, with their carts full of Cheez Wiz and Spam. It's enough to give you rectal spasms. These are the so-called "real" Americans that so desperately want to make America great again, and Kevin Bone is leading the charge. 

Media darling Ken Bone making the rounds-

Man of the fucking people-

He's Everyfuckingwhere!!!

But like every fairy tale, reality is a bit more challenging to countenance, especially when it's staring at you in the mirror. It seems as if this lovable, inflatable media darling has some character flaws. Or, as we here at "Busting Chops" like to put it, the Ken Bone is apparently connected to the ass bone. He's made some totally ignorant remarks about the Trayvon Martin shooting, claiming that the shooting was justified. and made some remarks in the chat forum of a porn site featuring pregnant women having sex. Apparently he finds this particularly repulsive niche of the adult entertainment industry titillating, like any normal, well-adjusted American would (NOT). He also admitted to insurance fraud, a federal crime. This is the problem with making douchebags like Kevin Bone into heroes. They will always let you down. At least we can buy a t-shirt, just to show our friends we belong in "The Bone Zone"...Somewhere Ron Jeremy is kicking himself for not coming up with this marketing idea first. 

Having forever been typecast, he can't even appear on television anywhere without having to wear that repulsive red sweater. I can see him now on the beach in Rio de Janeiro rockin' a pair of Speedos and a red sweater vest. Now that would be a fucking sight. There are now Halloween costumes paying homage to "Don Jueso", and one of the Jonas brothers (the gay one...hold it. Aren't they all gay?) wants to shag his fat, hairy ass. To quote detective Bunk from "The Wire", this whole thing"makes me sick how far we done fell".  But we have further to fall, because on November 28th (according to Trump, who can't even get the day we vote for president correct) we get to elect one of the worst of two evil lessers to this land's highest office. How exciting. 

In this corner, we have a careerist, polyester pant-suited political hack who, along with her husband, has one of the most despicable records of fucking shit up for poor people of color not only in the US but in places like Haiti, where his so-called foundation is nothing but a supply-side economic stimulus package for their political cronies. The list of grievances are too long to list, but it continued with Hillary as Secretary of State. This adult diaper-wearing asshole and her serial rapist husband have managed to enrich themselves through their political connections to the point where they could offer their own daughter a fucking $900,000 a year PART TIME JOB with their own foundation.

And in the next corner, we have an out-of-touch, elitist, misogynistic neanderthal orangutan who's managed to fail upwards for almost all his life and now campaigns as a man of the people. His belligerent, racist, sexist rants against the country that made it possible for him to succeed despite being a pea-brained, propped up, entitled jackass whose only talent is telling everyone how great he is, has resonated with the American people. These are our two choices.

Thank goodness we have Kevin Bone to cut through the clutter. Get your t-shirt and go out and vote. It'll make little to no difference in the long run due to the quality of both candidates, but if Trump wins you can at least say you did something top try and stop him. Then again, if elected he did promise that Blacks and Latinos will have "the time of their lives". That's something, at least. My peeps can look forward to getting deported to the sounds of salsa, merengue, and bachata blaring from the sound system of a defunct Trump Airlines plane, which he will lease to the federal government for dollars on the penny just so they can get rid of us and he can make a profit. 

Let Freedom Ring!!!

NBA News and Notes...

The 2016-17 NBA season is upon us, and we will be subjected to more bad basketball. The reasons are twofold-the new money injected into the league from tv contracts, and all the free agency moves that have decimated the continuity of certain teams in question. 

The influx of money from the upcoming television contracts have caused a rise in the salary cap. The way it works is that there's not only a ceiling, but a floor, so a team can actually face monetary penalties for NOT spending a minimum amount of money allotted to them. This means plenty of terrible contracts paid out to marginal players. Granted, this is all relative. As Jalen Rose continues to repeat, a player is only worth what he's able to negotiate. That is patently not true, because no one in their right mind will tell you that Matthew Dellavedova is worth a 4 year, $38 million dollar contract. As good a player as Al Horford is, he's never distinguished himself as a game-changing type of talent that is remotely worth 4 years at $113 million dollars. That's more than $28 million dollars a year for a player that, at the age of 30, has stopped improving a long time ago. How is all this fiscal madness going to affect play on the court?

We're seeing it already, and it doesn't look good. The LA Clippers haven't made any major moves because of their already high-priced roster, but last year they signed DeAndre Jordan to four years and a little over $87 million. What did the Clips get in return? The same player they had last year, and the year before. And that's the problem. He is limited offensively, is a liability on the free throw line, and can't defend anyone if they run the type of offense that Golden State does, with multiple undersized shooters passing the ball until the open man finds another open man. Neither he nor Blake Griffin can guard Kevin Durant, who at 6 feet 13 inches is the most versatile shooter/scorer this side of Wyatt Earp. The evidence of this was obvious during a preseason game in which the Warriors outscored the Clippers, who are supposed to be their rivals in the Western Conference, by 50 fucking points. FIFTY. This cannot be shrugged off as a "bad night". A bad night is someone taking Viagra and going home by themselves after spending $200 dollars on drinks on a whore who will fuck everyone in the neighborhood except for you. This was a statement, that the Clippers don't even belong on the same floor as Golden State. And barring injury to any of their key players, the Warriors are going to make mincemeat of the rest of the league. It's not even going to be entertaining.

As for the Knicks, there is nothing quite as nostalgic as an creaky, old buzzard whose time has come and gone telling the world his fucking triangle offense can work with the bums he's collected. Jaochim Noah, a terribly unathletic, spastic overachiever with absolutely no offensive game whatsoever (whose had the cartilage in his knees ground into dust by Tom Thibadeau in Chicago) teams up with Derrick Rose, a guy with even worse knees who happens to currently be on trial for taking part in some disgusting, ritualistic drug-and-gang-rape scenario that seems as egregious as it was unnecessary. What's the point of fame and wealth if you have to resort to drugging and raping women to get your rocks off? Good thing for him it's a civil suit, so he won't face jail time. He'll still be able to play until his next knee injury, which will come the second Stephan Curry comes to town and shakes him out of his sneakers. Kristaps Porzingis is waiting until his contract is up to head somewhere that has a management and ownership dedicated to winning, because New York ain't it. Phil Jackson has stated that the Knicks will only run the triangle in certain half court situations because today's players don't have the skills to run it, despite the fact that today's players are more athletic than ever. Maybe it's the coaching, Phil. Maybe it's the fact that his vaunted triangle is best left in the era in which it thrived. Maybe it's time he retires and leaves the game he no longer understands.

This same is true for the Los Angeles Lakers. The game has passed them by, and in today's globalized economy, where you can watch your favorite team from your cellphone, it's no longer a prerequisite for star players to play in big market cities. It never was. When you see how many great players played in places like Salt Lake City (Stockton and Malone thrived for years there and never complained) and Oklahoma City (Durant and Westbrook) you realize that players don't need to be in big markets to become globally recognizable. The lure of being in the media capitals of the world is no longer a selling point, more so for New York because of high taxes, unbearable management, and an unforgiving media spotlight that will look to tear a player down as quick as they build them up.

New York City hoops has been overrated for years. The street basketball used to be about ball players looking for the best competition. Now it's about brain-dead, arrogant assholes looking to do stupid tricks, over-dribbling, and just making a mockery of the game. That's why so many street ballers never leave their neighborhoods. So many of them let the little bit of reputation they develop go completely to their heads that they never develop their skills to get a college degree. And you can't tell these motherfuckers shit. They know it all. Far too many that do get a D-I scholarship wind up coming back home after one or two years with nothing to show for it. Some don't even last their first semester and are back home in the projects eating one of those Thanksgiving Day turkeys given out by local charities that taste like buzzard. The same goes for the Knicks. It's been almost 50 fucking years since they last won a championship, and it looks like another fifty will pass because this franchise is absolutely clueless and will continue to suck as long as James Dolan is the owner.

But neither Dolan nor the Buss family in LA will sell their teams. There's too much money at stake, and people will watch these losers even when they suck. And only in America can a marginal player hanging on to his position by the thinnest of threads get his own sneaker deal. Swaggy P has lost his woman, his playing time, and cannot be counted on to be a mentor for younger players because he's too irresponsible and immature. He can only be considered an elder statesman in an insane asylum, and that's what the Lakers are right now. And speaking of marginal players, J.R. Smith is still holding out for more cash. WTF is this world coming to. Here's another player who's lost most of his explosive athleticism, and can be counted on to shoot 3-19 more often than not, especially when you need him most. He's so fucking clueless that he showed up to almost every post-Cavaliers function without a shirt. I cannot tell you how fucking ghetto and low class that is, especially with all those disgusting tattoos he's got. 

So what will we get as basketball fans with all the bloated contracts, watered-down teams, and entitled nobodies earning big bucks? We will get THIS. Enjoy the season!!!

Film Recommendation of the Week...

Beasts of No Nation

Release Date: September 3, 2015.

Running Time: 2 Hours 17 Minutes. 

Idris Elba is absolutely unrelenting as the leader of a squad of child soldiers in an unnamed African country undergoing civil war. The type of brutality inherent in a man who can rip children from their families and train them to be mercenaries comes across the screen with a menace that has rarely been matched in modern-day cinema. Elba plays "The Commandant" with a glorious, sinister viciousness that literally explodes off the screen. This is an actor who has charisma to spare, and who has a proven track record of playing maniacs with a subtle intensity that has made his characters so memorable. 

Kudos also go to the child actors who were recruited for this film. The main protagonists of this child army are Agu (Araham Atta)and his friend Strika (Abraham Nii Adom Quaye). Agu was kidnapped after his family was killed, and the transformation from little boy playing with his friends to ruthless child soldier is a sad, depressing, and chilling one. The Commandant has his own idealism and ambitions tossed aside as mere collateral damage during peace negotiations that have no room for someone like him. By the time the film ends, he is left alone, a warloard without a war, a Commandant without troops to command. Caught between the embattled forces, the politicians attempting to negotiate peace, and the UN Security Council, he was bound to be tossed aside. The power of Elba's performance is felt most when his world begins to collapse around him, when he realizes he was used just as his superiors ordered him to use the children under his command. Even though this is a work of fiction, the child soldier phenomenon has been a frequently recurring and disturbing trend. Here we are able to see it up close, and it is brutal. This film is a stunning achievement, both for the screenplay and for the marvelous acting. 

*As an aside, Netflix is seriously hitting it out of the park with some of their own original feature presentations, this being one of their best. 

Child soldiers on patrol...

"The Commandant" and Agu...

This Motherfucker AGAIN...

I hate to get on this guy again for the simple fact that he's a total and complete non-entity in the sport of cycling, but Lance Armstrong just wrapped up a contentious interview with Ger Gilroy of "Off The Ball", a sports talk radio show based in Dublin. Armstrong was interviewed in anticipation of some event he's doing in Ireland, and he got off to an auspicious start by being the total and complete dickhead he's always been. It seems that people like Armstrong do not know how to interact with others unless they are kissing his ass and telling him how great he is. Here's the link, and please remember to keep a bucket next to your chair so you won't have to vomit on the floor-

http://www.newstalk.com/podcasts/Off_The_Ball/Off_The_Ball_Highlights/160980/Lance_Armstrong_The_OTB_interview

On one hand, he states that he'll answer any question. Then when confronted with the questions he's never once answered, like his relationship with the nefarious Dr. Ferrari and the actual DETAILS of his doping regimen-who were the doctors involved, where did his team procure the PED's, ect., Armstrong went on the defensive and became evasive. We had to listen to the worn-out excuse of "moving forward" that all athletes use when they are questioned about one of their fuck-ups. Armstrong bizarrely went into attack mode, accusing Gilroy of all manner of unprofessionalism which I found absolutely abhorrent. He then ends the interview by hanging up without saying good-bye. 

I was watching a youtube video based on the American Mafia, and they included a police surveillance recording of some greaseball threatening some poor schlub who apparently owed him money. Towards the end of the conversation, the goon in question said he was going to fuck him up if homeboy didn't pay up every Friday as per their original agreement. He ends the telephone conversation like this-"I'm gonna break every bone in your body before I got to jail. You got that? OK, buh-bye". Even a ruthless gangster has the courtesy of saying good-bye to the person he's threatening, but our boy Lance isn't so magnanimous. 

Gilroy asked Armstrong about "mechanical doping" (for the uninitiated, this is a motor that cannot be detected because it's hidden inside the frame of a bike), and he had the audacity to take umbrage, as if he would never stoop to such a level. There is something going on here that we've yet to ascertain, but rumor has it that there is going to be a story about Armstrong's use of this technology out very soon. The originator of this contraption, some clown from Hungary, said his device was available for use as early as 1999, when (coincidentally) Armstrong's reign of terror over the Tour de France began. Gilroy asked Armstrong that given the advantages of such technology, it would make sense that the creator would approach someone of his stature. That line of reasoning makes sense to you and I, but not to Lance. Armstrong was outraged. He was also flummoxed over the contention that, according to Gilroy's sources, his apology to Greg and Cathy Lemond went unaccepted, something Armstrong vehemently denies. He also denies having anything to do with Trek dropping Lemond as a brand. I wonder how the boys at Trek feel about that decision now, hindsight being 20-20 and all...

Hi! I'm Lance Armstrong, and I'm STILL a DICK!!!

And now he's saying he doesn't recall the hospital incident where the doctor asked him what PED's he's ever taken. First, he called the Andreus liars when they testified against him. Then he said on his Oprah Winfrey interview "I'm not going to take that on. I'm laying down on that one". Now in this interview he says he doesn't remember the incident. Trying to pin him down on all of his lies is like trying to lasso a snake covered in Vaseline, and he still cannot stop lying.

This is going to get worse going forward. This asshole is trying desperately to find relevance in a world that no longer wants him. He wants to be fawned over like in the days of yore, but those days are never coming back. That's the problem with people with unaddressed mental disorders. Narcissistic egomaniacs always crave the adulation that made them feel important, and no amount of money or success can satisfy that empty void (see Donald Trump). I find it difficult to comprehend how someone like Armstrong, having cheated his way through life and living such an obnoxious life without a hint of self-reflection, can get so angry with the very people he duped for daring to ask for an explanation of his antics. This is because once you strip away the PED's, the non-compete clause with cycling's most infamous doping doctor, and the all-too-cushy relationship with the governing body of the sport (which basically guaranteed he would NEVER test positive despite his prodigious drug use), he becomes what any rational person thinks he is-a rider of marginal professional talent, propped up by every available means; a rider who couldn't have achieved half of what he accomplished without the cheating.

That realization is what he's afraid of the most, that in the end he excelled through cheating, and it was THE ONLY way he could have done it because he wasn't half the bike rider he and so many of his deluded, half-witted sycophants think he was. And to think he's still spending money on his defense against the Qui Tam case brought by Floyd Landis, a case he's guaranteed to lose. Enough of this idiot already. Do us all a favor, Lance-please go somewhere and never come back. No one wants to tune in to your podcasts. We've heard more than enough from you, and if you aren't going to spill the beans on Ferrari and Verbruggen, then go fuck yourself. And to think we lost Marco Pantani and have to put up with this motherfucker...there is no justice in this world.

*Breaking News-Istvan Varjas, the Hungarian inventor of the cycling motor, was interviewed on the same Irish podcast and says "very soon you will see a big story". What that means we don't know yet. The first prototype was completed at the end of 1998, originally for military use. Here is the podcast-

http://www.newstalk.com/podcasts/Off_The_Ball/Off_The_Ball_Highlights/161645/The_man_behind_hidden_bike_motors_speaks_to_OTB

The Two Pendejos, when the cheating was good-

Babe of the Week for Friday, October 7, 2016...

Antoijia Misura!!!

Back by popular demand, our weekly installment of "Babe of the Week". This young lady is a Croatian basketball player who looks are so mesmerizing that no one here at the home office really cares if she can play or not. There isn't one coach anywhere that would cut her from their team. She certainly didn't make it on "Babe of the Week" because of her talents on the court. Maybe pne day we'll get around to watching her play to see if she's any good, but she's here because "she looooks mahvelous, dahling-absolutely mahvelous!!!" And that's what counts. Some of you dusty-ass, physically and economically challenged losers who spend your 401k's chasing Eastern European mail-order brides take heed-if you're going to let yourselves get played by one of of those materialistic, conniving whores-in-sheeps's-clothing, at least bring one back that looks like this. They're out there, and if they want to marry you it's not because they love you, so cut the self-delusion and enjoy the approximately three months (tops, I'm being generous here with the timeline because it's Friday and I'm in a good mood) you'll have her by your side before she dumps you for a Russian mobster from Brighton Beach. Here's to you, Antoijia-you are one baaaaad looking mamsita!!! She was voted by the "bellacos" attending the 2012 Summer Olympics as the most beautiful female participant of the games-those assholes finally got one right for once.  

TV News and Notes...

ESPN 30 for 30-Phi Slama Jama
Running Time-1 Hour 30 Minutes.
Release Date:October 18, 2016.

It's finally here. I would like to personally take credit for this one. A couple of years ago, when ESPN began featuring their set of sports documentaries called "30 for 30", I sent then-director of the series Bill Simmons an email that he of course never replied to. After watching the Jim Valvano feature, which highlighted his only national championship with NC State and his battle with cancer, I immediately thought "how could they do this and not give the Cougars from the University of Houston an episode of their own?" Well, now they did. And one of college basketball's biggest mysteries has been solved. 

There is a perspective here that very quickly gets lost among those with crackhead attention spans. Out of all the brother-oriented, run-and-gun college basketball teams that have come and gone over the years, the only one that managed a national championship was Jerry Tarkanian's Runnin' Rebels of UNLV in 1990. Those that came before and after have all fallen short. One of these much-heralded and over-hyped teams that fit this description, the "Fab Five" of the University of Michigan, developed an annoying pop culture tendency of over-inflating their own importance to make up for the shortcoming of never having won a title, as if bluster and bravado would make up for not winning despite the fact that they had the cards stacked in their favor talent-wise. 

Hakeem Olajuwon, Clyde Drexler, and coach Guy Lewis...

The University of Houston tread on different ground. It was an era when trash-talking was something done between players and wasn't someone's publicly announced persona. They inhabited a basketball landscape pre-Air Jordan, before the Nike branding juggernaut and Sonny Vaccaro turned street basketball into a cynical, buy-and-sell corporate commodity, And they were cool. Other-worldly cool, despite the high-riding shorts that were the fashion of the day. Things evolve over time, and no one can hold this stylistic malfeasance against them. Not too long ago cats used to play ball in regular pants, and I'm not just talking about the weekend warriors and the occasional working class yeoman slobs. 

EVEN the playground legends rocked bell bottom jeans and dress pants. As long as they had sneakers they were out there. Their combination of tenacious defense and high-flying acrobatic dunks were the epitome of the street ball game, and put it into its proper perspective within the cultural landscape. If you weren't tall and could leap, you weren't allowed to even dream about it. All you could do is watch in amazement. To call them a dynasty without having won a championship is, again, an exercise in hyperbole that doesn't take into account the influence these cats had on the game. Not only were they fun to watch, they weren't a bunch of arrogant, chest-bumping assholes. 

They have finally received their just due from the suits at ESPN who currently run the "30 for 30" series now that Simmons has been given the heave-fucking-ho. And surprise surprise, the filmmakers have finally solved the biggest mystery surrounding this team-whatever happened to Benny Anders? Tune in when the show airs to find out. My one hope is that Houston's 1983 NCAA tournament games are included in the DVD release. That run, all the way up until they lost to NC State, remains a post graduate treatise on how to kick ass on the basketball court, and is a must-see for any fan.

Hakeem Olajuon and Benny Anders at a press conference during their collegiate heyday-

Here is the original article on the University of Houston by Sports Illustrated, dated March 7, 1983-

The second season of "Fear The Walking Dead" ended with a two-part, 2-hour season finale that mercifully put an end to what has been the most dreadful piece of shit I've sat through since the series finale of "Seinfeld". I'm not going to bore anyone with a blow-by-blow synopsis. It's just too much of a fucking drag. What I will get into is the whole "Mexico" subplot. These Hollywood assholes are so typical when they write Latino characters that it's too tiring to get offended anymore. First of all, Latinos don't say something in one language and to repeat it in another when we are speaking to other Latinos. What, the producers were too cheap to put in subtitles?

During the last 10 minutes we are treated to what are hands down two of the most nauseating moments in television history. When Nick and the gang get to the border crossing, they are shot at with automatic rifles by, guess who? Fucking Border Patrol!!! I couldn't believe this shit. Is Donald Trump this show's version of Neagan? It's obvious he's survived the zombie apocalypse and has decided, in his demented, dildo brain, that the only way to "Make America Great Again" isn't to spend time working on a cure at the CDC, but by guarding the border from Mexicans, despite the fact that world has officially gone to hell. Did anyone bother to tell these assholes that there are no more borders anymore? That it's just the living and the dead? I can just hear his speech now-"Well, you know, Mexico isn't sending us their best zombies. We're getting their rapists, criminals, and cannibals. All they want to do is eat us and not pay the tab. I'm sure some of the walking dead are good people..."

The scene that came before this has to take the cake. When Nick leads his merry band of desperadoes out of whatever-the-fuck the place was called (gee, what would these helpless, hapless Mexicans do without Captain White Boy to lead them to safer ground?), Madison and Travis run into Guillermo, or Pablo, or whatever-the-fuck his name is, who is lying in a trashed school bus, semi-conscious, totally delirious, and about to die. As he's passing into the world of the unliving, he has enough energy to have that  gloriously clichéed final deathbed confrontation with Madison. When he looks up through his barely open eyes, he sees Madison and declares, "Angel". For the peeps out there who can't translate this one, "Angel" is not Alejandro's landscaper son. It's Spanish for, you guessed it, an angel. Because what represents one's arrival at the pearly gates more than a blonde, blue-eyes, seeringly-pasty white Caucasian woman? My personal choice would have been the legendary Iris Chacón, the Puerto Rican singer/dancer/entertainer who showed J-Lo what ass is REALLY all about, but that's how these writers roll when they are attempting to play out Latino-oriented themes. They write about Latinos in such a patronizing, clueless manner, when all they have to do is hire a couple of writers who are, um, culturally in tune with the Mexican people and there!!! Problema solved. And if it's a budget issue, pay them like Mexican migrant workers, which is what the current batch of writers should be getting as a salary.

Heaven is a fat ass. Iris Chacón in action-

Are the writers trying to be cute about the US's contentious relationship with Mexico over what is a non-problem and a non-issue in real life to anyone except the jolly Klansmen and redneck losers who are too stupid top realize their jobs are being taken from them by douchebags exactly like Trump? It shouldn't matter in the world of the walking dead, but somehow it's worked its' way into the plot in a major way, and I cannot tell you how I'm looking forward to racially ambiguous Travis being mistaken for Pancho Villa.

The show wants desperately to shove their idea of character development down our throats, to the detriment of the very reason why FTWD was allegedly conceived. We got absolutely nothing in terms of how the virus enveloped Los Angeles, what was being done about it by the powers-that-were, Now we have two of thew strongest character completely neutered (Strand and Salazar) while we get an absolutely unconvincing and tediously shot scene where Travis manhandles "The Bros" who he finds out shot his obnoxious, entitled son. Madison and Travis have the on-screen chemistry of a couple that's been married too long and are still together for the sake of the kids. And I hate to say it, the actor who plays Travis seems way too effeminate to suddenly morph into some type of post-apocalyptic bad-ass. His lack of physical charisma seriously hampers this transformation, and at best it feels forced, just like his relationship with Madison, who has settled for annoying full-on screen shots of her stupid face. This season should be screened at every film school in the country on how NOT to handle a television series. The premise has way too much promise for it to sink down the drain so fast and with such a vengeance. Either get a new screenwriting team or cancel this peace of shit. Real fans have had enough of this. 

Mike Ditka...

Football analyst and legendary fake tough-guy Mike Ditka went on a depressingly racist rant over Colin Kaepernick's protest of  the rash of police shootings of African Americans. It is true that Kaepernick is not the quarterback he was was when he took the San Francisco 49'ers to the Superbowl a couple of years ago. He's had three surgical procedures during the off-season and reportedly lost about 20 pounds. He lost his starting job and may never play for the team again, barring an injury to current QB Blaine Gabbert, despite the fact that in four games Gabbert has 4 td's and 4 interceptions and their record stands at 1-3. Yes, Gabbert sucks, but Kaepernick was voted in some anonymous poll as the most hated player in the game, which says a lot given the number of reprobates that inhabit the insular and maniacally dysfunctional world of pro football. Kaepernick is reviled for daring to make a point about how African Americans are policed, and that has opened severe cultural wounds that the establishment will never forgive him for. 

All manner of pundits took to the airwaves to make their feelings felt over this issue, but none did so with such boorish aplomb as Iron Mike. It was a hysterical, nonsensical tirade that went into so many deep-rooted tangents it was difficult to ascertain why a quarterback who isn't even playing could have inspired such Archie Bunker-esque vitriol. Dick-ka's response would be epic if it weren't so chock full of tired, racist cliches that have been repeated ad nauseum by others of his ilk. Dick-ka told Kaepernick in no uncertain terms that if he doesn't like it here in the United States he should go somewhere else, and make no mistake that by "somewhere else" he means back to Africa. He then threw in our current President, calling him the worst we've ever had for some insane reason, as if President Obama had anything to do with this.

And for the cherry topping, Dick-ka threw in the old racist white man's mantras of "hard work" and "personal responsibility". Well, let's get to the issue at hand-apparently he's has forgotten that if it weren't for all those lazy, uppity, entitled Negroes that constituted the overwhelming majority of players on the 1985 Bears team, he would not be wearing a Superbowl ring. And HE didn't win the 

Superbowl, it was the Bears' defense that put a stranglehold on every single team they faced, courtesy of defensive coordinator Buddy Ryan. It's no wonder Ryan and Dick-ka hated each other. Ask Dick-ka's ex-players why he is so beloved (insert sarcastic smirk emogi HERE) and they'll tell you he was a colossal dickhead. He was never forgiven in many circles for not getting Walter Payton the ball so he could score at least one touchdown in his one and only Superbowl appearance. To his credit, Payton never publicly criticized his coach for that douchebag move, but it just goes to show you what a tone-deaf asshole Dick-ka is.

By the way, Mike-who the fuck are "they"? Don't answer, we already know...

Thanks to Deadspin.com our staff at "Busting Chops" was able to compile a couple of touching moments in the life of coach Dick-ka that should put his personality into perspective. Here they are-

BullDogz:
True story-Ditka was doing a signing for some of his godawful smokes at a cigar shop in Western MA a few years back. He reeked of Jim Beam and Slim Jims, and half an hour in he decides he needs a break from signing autographs for the eleven people there to "drop sticks" (take a shit). Seventeen minutes later he's back and a waft of shit immediately filled the room. Evidently he flushed and didn't stick around to realize it had overflowed out onto the floor. The shop owner is doing damage control control, yelling to one of the staff to get it fixed ASAP, and there's Ditka yelling "don't look at me, I just took a goddamn piss!"...despite it being a one-person capacity bathroom that he just walked out of a second earlier!

Josh:
I have eaten at Ditka's restaurant a few times. TWICE I have seen the bathroom attendant forced to take his lunch/dinner break meal in the bathroom. Yes, he was sitting there in the corner of the bathroom eating a burger while listening to and smelling an anus symphony. Gross. 

Kevin:
This past summer it was Mike Ditka Day at Arlington Race Track in Chicago. We were up inn  the suites. I'm walking to the bathroom and I see my buddy and Ditka walking in the same direction. He asks my buddy where the 'Goddamn bathroom is', and he shows him. I walk in as he enters a stall. He painfully fumbles with the lock for about 15 seconds and then says 'Aww fuck it!' and goes into the next stall. He then proceeds to immediately fucking explode on the toilet. Giant, heavy vibration on an empty bowl. My buddy and I were shocked and extremely amused and ran out of the bathroom like two middle school kids.

Where's the bathroom, motherfuckers? Time to blow it up!!!

In Dick-kas' defense, a relentless combination of cheap cigars and medium-rare steaks washed down with cheap booze and oxycodone pills is guaranteed to deliver a never-ending barrage of napalm-inspired ass-aults on any self-respecting toilet bowl, but such gastro-intestinal carpet bombing becomes epic emanating from the tired old donkey bowels of our boy Iron Mike. They have become so intense that the shit is overflowing from his ass straight out of his mouth. I'm surprised that not one sports pundit has called Dick-ka put on his bullshit. Where the fuck is blowhardius maximus Stephen A. Smith on this one? It seems that Dick-ka is so insulated from criticism by his reputation and the networks that employ him that he can say whatever he wants and get away with it. Or people are so scared about losing their jobs that they dare not speak out. Too bad. It would be a sorely needed breath of fresh air for someone to call Dick-ka out on his bullshit, which according to the sources above is approaching hazmat proportions.

Film Recommendation of the Week...

The Seven-Five

Director-Tiller Russell

Release Date-May 8, 2015.

Running Time-1 Hour 45 Minutes. 

There are many anti-social issues that must coalesce to create the type of dysfunction that is found in an out-of-control inner city neighborhood. It's not just the criminals that bear responsibility, but the police officers who have taken an oath to "protect and serve". When that last piece of the puzzle goes wrong, you get what happened in the 75th precinct in East New York, Brooklyn in the late 1980's to early 90's. The focus of the film is ex-police officer Michael Dowd, whose rampage over the neighborhood during the city's crack epidemic is one for the ages. His exploits were so outrageous he has been dubbed the most corrupt cop ever in the history of the NYC Police Department, and he minces no words when re-telling the tale. It's one thing to witness the type of entrenched corruption that was endemic in the department from a film like "Serpico". It's quite another thing to hear every gritty detail straight from the horse's mouth. 

This is a one-of-a-kind documentary that is as harrowing as it is fascinating. What makes it so enthralling is twofold-

1) Most if not all the main actors are still alive and made themselves available to the director. What is more amazing is the main drug dealer who had two police officers on his payroll at a cost of $4,000 dollars a week EACH was found in the Dominican Republic after being deported when he concluded a long prison sentence. 

2) The still photographs of East New York during this time really made for quite a jarring experience, especially since I vividly recall going there as a kid and still remember being shocked at what I saw. Block after block of decimated, abandoned buildings and all manner of shady-looking, poverty-stricken people walking around. So if anyone who doesn't know asks if East New York really looked like that, tell them "yes, indeed it did". But what gave this film an authenticity rarely felt in even the best documentaries are the shots of police surveillance film of the actual drug dealers that were under investigation who are featured in this film. 

Though this is not meant to make this rogues' gallery of villains seem likable, they are indeed charismatic in their own twisted way. And if you know anyone who happens to be a successful criminal, you realize that charisma is an important component of their personalities. And Michael Dowd is a born storyteller. If he wasn't a compelling public speaker, no way this documentary winds up being as good as it is. All the other details are better left for the documentary itself. It's currently on cable television, but you can also purchase the documentary from wherever they still sell DVD's. The story of the 75th Precinct and corrupt ex-cop Michael Dowd is as crazy as it gets, and this documentary is one of the best I've seen. It is highly recommended. You will not be disappointed.

So Long, Big Papi...

When you retire from pro baseball, this is how you go out-in style. In direct juxtaposition to the Yankees making A-Rod walk the plank into oblivion before the season was over, David "Big Papi" Ortiz has managed the exact opposite. In his last season, he has had one of the best seasons a 40-year old has ever had. One could argue that he may be no different than Rodriguez because his name surfaced in the Mitchell Report, but let's put that into perspective-very few names were released, giving credence to a conspiracy theory that someone was out to make Ortiz look bad. Why not release all the names? Where is the validity and integrity to a system that was supposed to keep the list anonymous? The substance in question was never named, so we don't know WHAT it was. Doubters will always presume the worst, but one thing is for certain-at least he never dodged any questions and was up-front about it, even if he stated that he didn't know and could very well be lying. 

There is credence to this. The nutritional supplement market is an unregulated Wild West-type of industry where manufacturers routinely put illegal crap in their products and are not liable nor responsible for listing the ingredients. How the fuck is anyone supposed to know what is in these products if they aren't listed? Quite a few athletes have fallen prey to this Kafka-esque dilemma, where an athletes tests positive, has the supplement tested, and when the supplement comes back positive, the athlete STILL receives a ban because he's responsible for what he puts into his body. That is utter and complete bullshit, but that's how it is. And if anyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, it's Ortiz. He started his career as a barrel-chested Dominican slugger and ended it that way, albeit with a few more pounds around the midsection. He never turned into the Incredible Hulk, even during the heyday of the steroid era. And his stats never exibited the type of jumps common with steroid abusers. If anything, he's been consistent ever since he was traded from Minnesota to Boston and got a chance to play every day. His Ruthian physique and engaging personality is what made him accessible to the common fan. I have been unable to come up with another ball player so beloved by everyone around the league, and his sendoff is a testament to not only his talent but his place in the game.

The baseball "purists" will argue that Ortiz shouldn't be in the Hall of Fame because he was a designated hitter and hardly ever played the field. The Hall of Fame is a museum, and the players people enjoy watching the most should be in regardless of whatever statistics these idiots love to pore over to either legitimize or disregard a players' hall-worthiness. Ortiz was an integral part of one of the biggest comebacks in playoff history, aided and abetted in breaking the curse of the Bambino, and has been more of a "Mr. October" than Reggie Jackson ever was. He recently passed Mickey Mantle on the all-time home run list, and is so beloved in Boston he could run for mayor on no platform and win by a landslide. He has transcended race, skin color, and nationality during a time in America where race relations have gotten worse. Just for all that he should be a first-ballot HoF'er. And the nickname is ubiquitous. You say "Big Papi" and EVERYONE knows who you're talking about. 

I hope the Red Sox make it to the World Series. Another ring would be fantastic for what has been a career worth celebrating by all baseball fans regardless of team allegiance. And if they can beat the Chicago Cubs, that would be the existential icing-on-the-cake statement of all time, given that the Cubs are currently run by Theo Epstein, former general manager of Las Medias Rojas. 

See you in Cooperstown, big guy, and thanks for all the wonderful memories. You deserve all the accolades you get.