In Yo Face You Shady Rug Trader

Yeah, I said it.


Justice may be blind and slow, but today it was served.

When Marlin Jackson was playing football at Michigan, he always stood out on the field as one of those guys who just looked like an NFL player. Some stats in a second, but I had to begin there. I was fortunate enough to see the All-American defensive back play during my time at M and can personally verify the impressive 'look.' He dominated at cornerback and, in every measure, the statistics communicate his pure awesomeness in a winged helmet. From the Bentley Historical Archive:

Jackson earned Freshman All-America first team honors from the Sporting News after collecting 47 tackles, seven pass break-ups and three interceptions in 2001.

An All-Big Ten selection in 2002, Jackson set single game (six) and single season (18) pass break-up records and ranked sixth on the team with 51 tackles.

Jackson earned All-Big Ten first team honors from the coaches and media in 2004. Teams threw away from Jackson almost 87 percent of the time during the regular season. He contributed 38 tackles, five tackles for loss, one sack, one forced fumble, one interception and four pass breakups that year.

Emphasis mine. Eighty seven percent?!?! That is nuts. N-V-T-S, nuts. He would go on to be selected by the Indianapolis Colts with the 29th overall pick in the 2005 NFL Draft--a bit of a snub given his top-20 abilities--and is still under contract with the franchise. He was instrumental in securing a Lombardi Trophy for the Colts in Super Bowl XLI [ed. note: something I'll certainly never forget given the fact that he picked off Tom Brady to clinch the AFC Title and send Horseface Manning to his only Super Bowl]. So why the slip down the draft board in 2005?

[Marlin Jackson's helmet is flying because it has wings]

I'm glad you asked. In the above-listed stats, you'll notice something missing: numbers from 2003, his Junior season. It was a curious year for the Sharon, Pa. native on and off the field. With relative depth at the corner position and a general hole at safety, the All-Everything Jackson switched positions in an effort to help shore up an inconsistent secondary. It did not go swimmingly. He experienced his worst year as a Wolverine statistically and nagging injuries beset whatever minor impact may have existed [ed. note: when he returned to cornerback for his final season, that 'eighty seven percent' stuff happened]. His mind and body just weren't right that year, and away from the team there were other trifles taking place. In particular, a clandestine fracas at one of Ann Arbor's fine evening house parties wherein some Drakkar-wearing, hair-slicking, almond-eating dickhole was understandably punched in the face by my main man Marlin. He pleaded guilty to misdemeanor aggravated assault and was sentenced to probation. Never a good résumé builder, but not the end of the world, ya dig? Fast-forward to the '05 Draft, and now there's noise about an impending civil lawsuit claiming a different set of circumstances. To wit:

Former U-M student Shahin Farokhrany sued for $10 million in May 2005, alleging his injuries required long-term medical care and limited his ability to study and work.


Farokhrany alleged he was hit in the eye with a bottle; Marlin admitted he hit Farokhrany but insists it was with his fist, his attorney, Ellis Freatman said.

You heard the name. But wait...there's more. Brian @ MGoBlog couldn't have been more right when he noted that this guy "certainly looks like an eminently punchable douchebag." Click here for proof. Given that, does the late addition of a weapon to the story sound about right? Unfortunately for Marlin, the timing couldn't have been worse. His draft status and reputation took a hit, having to defend himself of false accusations throughout the interview process, and with that followed the dip in salary that always travels downward and in step with a player's ultimate draft position.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, not to worry. The verdict is in and it is Effronterlicious:

A Washtenaw County jury today found former Wolverine Marlin Jackson was defamed by a fellow student who falsely accused him of assault with a bottle at an off-campus party in 2003.

The six-member panel also awarded Jackson, a defensive back with the Indianapolis Colts, $225,000 in damages--roughly the equivalent of a draft slot in the NFL, said his attorney, Ellis Freatman.

I've been in such a good mood all day because of this. Marlin was cleared of any assault and the eminently punchable douchebag was found guilty of malicious prosecution! Justice is served, bitch. If you plan on consuming any spirits tonight, be sure to raise a glass to a vindicated Marlin Jackson.


(HT: MGoBlog)

Statistics courtesy of The Bentley Historical Library and STL All Sports.
Photo Credit: Associated Press

Burn Notice

I'm a basketball fan in a love/hate relationship with the pro game. It's been that way since I got home from elementary school on a Thursday in November of 1991, turned on the TV to find some cartoons, and watched Magic Johnson tell me he was retiring from the NBA because of a positive HIV test. Literally telling me [ed. note: keep in mind that I was about two weeks away from my eighth birthday at the time]. Something about that moment--that weepy scene on the television that interrupted my after school routine and felt all too personal--triggered a sea change in the way I would come to view the NBA. This is not to say I completely turned on the game of pro basketball. Hell, I have a framed Kobe Bryant jersey hanging on my wall. I simply started to take it less seriously. A seminal moment in the development of my fanhood, if you will. Actually, this was probably a good thing given that taking today's NBA seriously is like reading Dianetics as a non-fictional account of the human condition. Wait... what? People actually do both of those things??? Fucking sheep. I only wish it wasn't spurred on by Magic's untimely retirement.

--------------------------------------------------

That being said, the 58th annual NBA All-Star Game took place this past weekend in Phoenix, AZ and there were just enough entertaining moments to compel me to post a trio of worthwhile clips for your viewing pleasure.

First, Shaquille O'Neal. The Big Fella/Diesel/Aristotle/Cactus/Legendary was selected by the coaches to make his 15th-and-likely-final NBA All-Star appearance, and the significance was not lost on Shaq-Fu. Always the showman, Shaq teamed up with the season one champs of "America's Best Dance Crew," Jabbawockeez, to orchestrate a player introduction that even the most charismatic professional wrestler [ed. note: with the exception of Scott Steiner, of course] would be unable to match. I give you "Shaqawockeez":





Next up, the explanation for the title of this post. It basically involves Kevin Garnett, Craig Sager, one of Sager's fantastic one-of-a-kind suit ensembles, and live television. Great interview, or greatest interview?





As my brother Steve put it, "...why is he trying to be the Don Cherry of the NBA?" I love Craig Sager, yo.

To bring things full circle and return to my love/hate situation with professional basketball, this last clip isn't from the All-Star Game, but rather a Golden State Warriors practice from this very season. It is awesome on many levels, and pretty much sums up the current state of the NBA while also accounting for the Warriors' 19-35 record as of this writing:





There's no possible way I can add to that, so let's just wrap it up here.


(HT: Ball Don't Lie)

We Are All Witnesses

"You can't guard me. The Secret Service couldn't guard me."
-Lil' Penny, 1996




I'm not even bothering with a caption.

Blame Samuel L. Jackson

His predilection for picking up every movie script placed on his desk and saying "book it, Dano"--as well as my penchant for watching the finished products on HBO throughout the years--is culpable for the The Effrontery's random return.

[Just wait 'til I show her my Windu]

I'll get to my point in a moment, but here's the deal: Last January, The Effrontery rode into town and started throwing up daily posts about all manner of things--mostly sports-related. This was fun for its not-so-humble author, but time-consuming and taxing as well. Pretty much, what was intended to be a creative outlet featuring a mélange of things I deem noteworthy quickly became a bit of a nuisance. By February 2008, things were put on hold and not a peep since... Jump to January 2009, Tracy Morgan has welcomed us to Post-Racial America, and I plan to start posting again. It will be very sporadic... perhaps once a week, perhaps once a month. Perhaps all ova yo face when you're sleeping at night. Who knows??? [ed. note: not you; that's the point]

["Deal with it, Cate Blanchett."]

Anyway, back to Jules Winnfield. I wanted to watch a quick movie the other night and the 90-minute "Jumper" was taking up space in my DVR. "Hey, this is a Samuel L. joint," I thought. So I decided to give it a whirl. Not two minutes in and it's clear that the movie was filmed in Ann Arbor! You know when people tell you they "laughed out loud" about something and it doesn't resonate because that's just another way of emphasizing a point? Well, when I tell you that I started laughing hysterically for a good minute or two, please pause for a second and understand the gravity of the moment.

So many questions. They filmed a blockbuster action movie in Ann Arbor? When? Why film in Michigan? How the hell did I now know about this? I knew of "Jumper" when it was released--it was one of those movies with the pre-holiday-weekend-you-will-see-this-big-budget-action-movie-or-die advertising campaigns--but somehow the most important detail never made it on to my radar. Well, then. You know what happened next... It took 2 hours and 5 minutes to watch a 90-minute movie because I spent a crazy amount of time pausing and rewinding various scenes to judge the verity of the set design and locate the chosen backdrops. Holy balls, man! I'd estimate about 1/3 of the movie was shot in Ann Arbor, maybe even more, with some extra scenes filmed throughout the state of Michigan and parts of Ontario [ed. note: I think the Mackinac Bridge made an appearance towards the end]. Beyond simply being shot there, Ann Arbor was actively featured throughout the movie.

[This water tower in Peterborough, Ontario was depicted in "Jumper" with 'Ann Arbor' superimposed on the facade]
(Photo Credit: flickr user Richmann)

There were several bar scenes in which Maize & Blue-clad patrons swilled their drinks while taking in a Michigan vs. Penn State football game [ed. note: it was very subdued for a gameday bar crowd. Just saying]. The movie wasn't very good, even for so-called mind candy, but it proved very fascinating and pleasing to me--a known chronicler of anything even tenuously related to The University of Michigan. One of my initial questions when discovering Ann Arbor's presence in the movie--namely, "Why film in Michigan?"--led me to do a little sleuthing. I figured one of the producers was an alum and decided to use The Deuce in his flick. Turns out, I was pretty damn close. Writer David S. Goyer was born and raised in Ann Arbor:

Graduated from USC School of Cinema-Television (1988).

Graduated from Huron High School in Ann Arbor, Michigan.

Was Teaching Assistant to screenwriter Nelson Gidding at USC.

Sold his comic book collection en masse to the drummer from System of a Down, John Dolmayan.

Emphasis mine. That explains a whole lot. Especially the USC part, which accounts for the way he mailed in the ending (zing!). I do, however, respect the fact that the sale of his comic book collection to an Armenian rocker was prominent among his career trivia. Anyway, Goyer's roots were likely instrumental in his decision to write Ann Arbor into the movie, but I discovered another interesting thing along the way. This was written one year ago, almost to the date:

...Michigan offers a tax rebate of up to 20 percent to production companies that shoot movies, TV shows, and commercials in the state. But that no longer has the bling it once did, film industry insiders say.

"Twenty percent isn't going to do it. You really need to have a headline, says Mike Binder, a Detroit native who wrote and directed "The Upside of Anger," a 2005 film starring Joan Allen and Kevin Costner. Although the plot was set in a Detroit suburb, the movie was filmed in London.

Binder visited Lansing recently to lobby lawmakers for a 40 percent rebate, which would be the country's highest.

In continuing the Sisyphean task of righting Michigan's economy, state lawmakers passed the legislation by the Ides of March 2008, and your current Michigan Film Production Incentives now boil down to this:

...

40% refundable tax credit against Michigan Business Tax (MBT) liability for qualified film or digital media pre-production, production, and postproduction costs incurred in Michigan. Alternatively could be claimed against Michigan Income tax withholding tax liability.

Refundable and assignable (transferable). This is a "refund" or "tax rebate" equal to 40% of qualified production expenditures, not a credit against taxes owed. Additional 2% credit in core communities.

...

So where the hell am I going with all this? Right to this man:

[You'll shoot your eye out]

The Independent Voice of Central Michigan University, otherwise known as Central Michigan Life, reported Monday that Michigan's film industry is beginning to thrive. We're all familiar with that news source's "Independent Voice" and tendency to suck back on some of Grandpa's old cough syrup before publishing things, but now The Freep is starting to talk about a $100 million film studio that may land in Allen Park. And of course, Clint Eastwood's "Gran Torino" just became the first feature under Michigan's new incentives to open in theaters. The film took the No. 1 spot at the box office this past weekend to the tune of $29.5 million. Michigan's economy needs all the help it can get and I, for one, welcome more cinematic sightings of Ann Arbor in the future. Incidentally, I also welcome our new insect overlords. WOTS is that Drew Barrymore just finished up a rollerderby movie that was filmed in The Deuce and that means it's only a matter of time before Samuel L. comes back for more. My DVR is ready.

Catching Up: Quick Hits & Clips

Had a lot going on recently, thus the dearth of posts and new content. Unfortunately, it looks like this might now be the rule--as opposed to the exception. We'll see. In the meantime, I've got a pretty nice selection of Quick Hits and Clips to run through.

Let's get started with some breaking news.

Quick Hits

[So you're sayin' there's a chance?!?!]

Obamamania rages on.

Today was a good one for the big "O." Here's the haul:

WASHINGTON - Sen. Barack Obama swept the Louisiana primary and caucuses in Nebraska and Washington state Saturday night, slicing into Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton's slender delegate lead in their historic race for the Democratic presidential nomination.

The Illinois senator also won caucuses in the Virgin Islands, completing his best night of the campaign.

His winning margins were substantial, ranging from roughly two-thirds of the vote in Washington state and Nebraska to nearly 90 percent in the Virgin Islands.

Riiiiiiight nehhhhhhr deh beeeeeach, boiiiiiii!!!!! Today the Virgin Islands, tomorrow the world!!!!!!


Dan Snyder probably has better grass than me...

...because I see no other excuse for this:

WASHINGTON (AP) -- The Washington Redskins hired Jim Zorn as their coach Saturday night, a surprise ending to a monthlong search for a replacement for Joe Gibbs.

"I've always dreamed of being a head coach with a franchise rich in tradition like the Redskins," Zorn said in a team news release. "As a player who had to fight Redskins teams at RFK as well as at our home field, I know about the history of this franchise as well as the passion of its fans. I won't let you down."

Jim Zorn?! I'm glad I'm not a Redskins fan. I think Dan Snyder should write a book called "Reverse-Moneyball: The Art of Losing a Fair Game." Nobody wants to be like Billy Beane anyway. Seriously though, Jim Zorn? I guess Snyder sensed the sincerity in his "I won't let you down" and figured a guy that noble had no business being a quarterbacks coach in Seattle for 7 years:

"We're proud that our search was diligent, thorough, and resulted in today's announcement," owner Dan Snyder said. "Jim's track record and reputation as a player, great teacher, and as a coach makes us confident that they will translate to success for the Redskins."

Zorn, a former Seattle quarterback, was the Seahawks' quarterbacks coach for the last seven years. The Redskins hired him to be their offensive coordinator--his highest coaching position until now--on Jan. 26 while continuing their search for a head coach.

I know he wasn't going for the bargain--this is a guy who uses hundred dollar bills to make sure the battery in his office paper shredder still works. Let's see, he could have hypothetically hired Greg Williams, Al Saunders, Tony Sparano, Jim Fassel, or Steve Spagnuolo, and Danny boy settled--after a month-long "search"--on a warm body to coach his $1.5 billion investment. But hey, at least he knows Zorn 'won't let him down.'


The Neuheisel Era.

Keeping with the Seattle theme here, many thanks to my buddy (and Husky Truther) Kenjar for sending me this four-part feature on Rick Neuheisel's tenure at U-Dub. We had this "Jerramy Stevens sighting" running joke on our fantasy football message board all season, and part two of the feature discusses Stevens' troubled times at UW--with some nice depth on our personal favorite: the time Jerramy Stevens raped a freshman in the bushes outside Kenjar's frat house.

[UW's Greek Row, where, at about 3 AM on June 4, 2000, a student witnessed a possible rape in progress outside the Kappa Sigma house and called 911]

From Stevens to Spellman.

Unlike Jerramy Stevens, Alonzo Spellman has some pretty strong justification for getting arrested last month: he's a Buckeye. They can't help it. Here's The M Zone's write-up on Spellman's latest run-in with the law:

Former Buckeye first round draft pick Alonzo "I smile for mugshots" Spellman was arrested Wednesday in Tulsa after leading police on a chase which ended with the cops having to fire pepper-spray bullets into his vehicle after he refused to exit.

According to the AP story linked above, Spellman was booked into the Tulsa County Jail on complaints of eluding, assault with a deadly weapon on a police officer, resisting arrest and driving without a license.

Police said the most damning evidence against the ex-Tosu great was was the full Beard & Buckstache he was sporting at the time of his arrest.

Yost wasn't joking about the 'smiling for mugshots' thing. Just look at this goon's booking photo:

["Is this the free 5 o'clock crack giveaway?"]

Typical Buckeye meatball.


WSJ pooping Rickey's party.

Sadly, the Wall Street Journal recently decided to kill off one of the great stories from the career of Major League Baseball player Rickey Henderson. In avoidance of stealing someone else's thunder, follow this link to read The Big Lead's synopsis of The Journal's dastardly plans. For further reading on Rickey's career tales, see the Must-Reads section in the right sidebar for a link to The Definitive Rickey Henderson.

Clips

I'm not going to waste much time with the lead-ins. The clips in this selection stand on their own merits.


Berman Gone Wild.

Chances are most of you have seen the following footage already. Still, I would be remiss if it didn't make its way on to The Effrontery. It's an outtake from about 7 years ago, featuring Chris "He could. Go. All. The. Way." Berman getting pretty testy with the production crew during an ESPN taping. Enjoy:





In case the clip ever gets taken off YouTube, this Deadspin post has a permanent embed.


Election redux.

Déjà vu all over again:





Funny stuff. I'm not anti-Hillary, but there's a lot of Tracy Flick goin' on there.


Dance Dance RevObama.

Thanks galore to Joncheeler for sending me this clip from E!'s The Soup:





He's a maniac, maniac, on the floor. And he's dancing like he's never danced before. Hey, speaking of maniacs...


Stop The Insanity.

The Tom Cruise Scientology indoctrination video is old (insofar as entertainment news goes), but I watched it again today and am still amazed. What a wacko. Of course, those pesky Scientologists had it yanked off YouTube within a day, meaning that you must follow this link to the Defamer post with the permanent embed if you wish to view the madness of King Cruise.



Until next time.

That's all I've got for now. Not sure when I'll be able to resume regular posting, so I hope today's offering tides you over until then.

Peace and afro grease.

Super Bowl XLII Post-Mortem

There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call... The Twilight Zone!"
-Rod Serling



Soooo, we're there, right? The Twilight Zone. It's a parallel universe, so things don't appear much different. That is what's going on, right? Everything still looks and sounds the same. The coffee I purchased this morning from the lobby kiosk in my office building still tastes like diarrhea water. LA is still a traffic-riddled cesspool of opulence, vanity, and phony status-seekers...

Yet the Patriots lost a game--no, THE game--last night. Actually, they didn't lose the Super Bowl so much as the Giants took it from them.

What in the name of the Burgess Meredith's ghost is going on here?!?!

I'm asking because I clearly have no idea. And neither do you. If you were one of the few people who picked--not rooted for, but actually picked--the Giants to win in advance of the game, it was based on one of two factors: 1) You harbor some dislike for the Patriots organization, or Bill Belichick, or Tom Brady, or the persona of a defiant winner in an age of parity, OR 2) You are a die-hard New York Giants fan who hates all things New England. And in both cases, the pick would have been made based on pure sentimentality. That is, you didn't pick the Giants because you looked at the matchup on paper and said, "yup, Tom Brady never elevates his game in the Super Bowl...Belichick can't coach for piss...Randy Moss is slower than Aaron Ross...Eli Manning never gives away games...Antonio Pierce isn't a douchebag...David Tyree will own Rodney Harrison and Asante Samuel when it matters most...and Tom Coughlin is the master of in-game adjustments." Trust me, nobody said stuff like that. Point is, there are very few people on the planet--including most within the Giants organization--that truly expected the Giants to beat the Pats.

["The best laid plans of mice and men and Henry Bemis"]

Back to The Twilight Zone. That's the only explanation I have. We're in The Twilight Zone. And to that end, I can only accept what happened last night as ugly reality--but reality nonetheless. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and what went down in Glendale, AZ was some frustrating, horrific, unexpected, ludicrous, and illogical beauty. In all my life as a sports fan, the only similar moment I can conjure took place just about 18 years ago this month. Interestingly, the events of February 1990 were equally Twilight Zoney: Nelson Mandela was about to be freed from prison after a 27-year incarceration and Mike Tyson--"the baddest man on the planet"--was in Tokyo, Japan preparing for his 10th heavyweight title defense against an unheralded, 42-1 longshot named James "Buster" Douglas. Yes, that Buster Douglas. Tyson was in his fourth year as World Heavyweight Champion and unbeaten in 37 professional fights, 33 of them resulting in a knock out. His date with destiny--a big-ticket fight against then-No. 1 contender Evander Holyfield--was slated to take place a short time after Tyson's tune-up in Tokyo. Then a funny thing happened on the way to the Tokyo Dome... Buster Douglas never got the memo.

[James "Buster" Douglas shocks the world - February 11, 1990]

Such was the case yesterday, when the New York Giants failed to receive a similar 'memo' on their way to The University of Phoenix Stadium [ed. note: what the hell is the deal with The University of Phoenix? I mean, a school without a campus or student union somehow has a stadium equipped to showcase BCS games and a Super Bowl?? What's going on with that???]. The Patriots had their date with destiny locked up. But as with Tyson, destiny had other plans and the most unlikely of champions emerged--Buster Douglas in February of 1990, then Eli Manning in February of 2008. Tyson sent Douglas to the canvas in the eighth round of their fight, but "Buster" got up and composed himself enough to deliver the knock out blow in the 10th. Shades of Brady hitting Randy Moss for the go-ahead touchdown with under three minutes to play, then watching the G-men head down the field for one of their own. The parallels are eerie and leave me scrambling for rationale, only to find myself situated in some sort of dimension "beyond that which is known to man."

Anyway, I won't bore you with analysis or redundant recaps--that crap is everywhere and you're probably sick of it by now. Instead, here are a few random thoughts that I've had over the past 24 hours:

• GrrrraaaaarrrCraaapppFACEMELTINGGGgGgggaAAAAAAaaarrgggghhh.

• The Giants won that game. No other way to look at it. Sure, one could say that the Pats 'folded' and 'blew' a gargantuan opportunity. But as Tom Brady indicated in his post-game presser, it wasn't a matter of the Pats being out of shape or under prepared. They just got beat.

• Bill Belichick failed to make the necessary in-game adjustments on offense.

• The much-maligned Patriots defense held its opponent to 17 points in a Super Bowl.

• The much-ballyhooed Patriots offense posted its lowest point total of the season, with 14.

• New York fans are annoying when they win anything.

• The Giants converted three third down opportunities during the game's first series, the longest opening drive in Super Bowl history.

• Tom Brady was sacked 5 times on Sunday--the most allowed by the Patriots during any one game this season--compared to 24 in his previous 18 games.

• I took solace in knowing that the Patriots weren't the biggest loser of the night. No, that title goes to Tiki Barber, who will have no ring because he is such a pompous ass.

• The only bit of sweetness in this bitter, bitter pill is Well Dressed Amani Toomer getting himself a Lombardi Trophy for the living room.

• Eli Manning is better than Peyton Manning. Well, maybe not. But you can't altogether dismiss that contention, and that is precisely my point.

• The "Manning Luxury Suite" is one of the worst things in professional sports. Bar none.

• I've yet to accept living in a world where Eli Manning has a Super Bowl title under his belt, but I'll have to eventually. However, I will never ever by okay with Antonio Pierce having one as well. He is by faaaaaaaaar the one player I wanted to see stretchered off the field with a broken fibula protruding through his tube sock. Alas, no dice. He evaded any possible career-ending injuries and won the Super Bowl to boot, making me doubly angry.

• Cooper Manning is the new Tito.

• We've got (at least) one more year of the '72 Dolphins, Mercury Morris and this jackassery [ed. note: the whole clip is priceless, but move to the 2:48 mark for the real magic]:

That may be what bothers me the most.

• Finally, I'm glad Bob Knight picked tonight to resign from coaching, thus deflecting some attention away from the post-Super Bowl coverage ESPN would ordinarily be running on this otherwise dead sports night.

Remember When?

The purpose of "Remember When?" is to refresh our memories about people and events that, for one reason or another, have fallen through the cracks of recollection over time.

I'd like to turn this post into a running gimmick and periodically add new entries to the series, so suggestions are welcome and appreciated.

Now, after the jump...

Remember When: Maurice Clarett threw his life away?

[Buckeye born, Buckeye bred]

It all started in 2003, when Clarett was temporarily banned from playing NCAA football for getting his pockets lined with cash and then lying to investigators in order to protect a shady coach and program that exploited his talent and inherent stupidity:

He left on a Greyhound bus last May, without a goodbye, without anyone even flipping him the bird. He left unceremoniously, in the middle of the week, with one suitcase, one jacket and one championship he doubted was worth its weight in paper. He left behind the car dealerships, where he says the head coach got him SUVs. He left behind the library, where he says tutors got him bogus A's. He left behind the two-story homes, where he says he got paid for watching paint dry.

He left behind the stucco mansions, where he says boosters slipped him cash for playing Sega with their kids. And he left behind the horseshoe stadium, where he says one man in particular "sold me out."

That program? Ohio State University. That coach? Sweatervest. That hypocrisy:

"Ohio State created me," Maurice Clarett says right off the top. "They created what they suspended."

Then, after essentially being blackballed by the program that once coveted him so, Clarett felt it wise to sue the NFL for early entry into the 2004 draft--challenging the rule that a player must be out of high school three years to be eligible for the draft. He lost, of course, and then sat out the entire 2004 season only to show up for 2005 draft camps looking slow and overweight. The Denver Broncos were foolish enough to give him a look, then burned a late-round draft pick to secure his services. Naturally, Clarett got greedy--you know, after not having played in a real football game for 2 years--and decided to waive his signing bonus in lieu of a $230k contract loaded with performance incentives. The 4-year contract could have netted him about $7 million, but he chose to "get his goose on" and was cut during the pre-season:

The minute Clarett arrived in Denver, the team began to sour on him. At the airport, before flying from Colorado to the rookie symposium, he frantically called the Broncos, saying he'd left a brief case in his airport limo. But there was no brief case in there, just a water bag he always carried around. That's all right, he said, he wanted it.

He would take that water bottle everywhere, including the Bronco weight room, and the team started getting suspicious when, before minicamp practices, he'd grab the bottle and say, "I gotta get my Goose on." It wasn't a joke; the Bronco players were convinced he was chugging Grey Goose.

["Dana Jacobson ain't got nothing on me"]

After his brief stint with the Broncos, Clarett's career-death-spiral picked up momentum and didn't stop until the ex-Buckeye found himself engaged in a high-speed pursuit with several Ohio highway patrolmen. That chase led to this ESPN headline and article: "Police Use Mace On Clarett, Arrest Him After Chase":

Officers used Mace to subdue Clarett after a stun gun was ineffective because the former Fiesta Bowl star was wearing a bullet-resistant vest, Sgt. Michael Woods said.

"It took several officers to get him handcuffed," Woods said. "Even after he was placed in the paddy wagon, he was still kicking at the doors and being a problem for the officers."

Don't you just hate it when the stun gun is ineffective? Me too. Anyway, what the article left out was that three of those weapons were handguns, while the fourth was an AK-47 assault rifle. Jeebus. Not even Rambo had that kind of firepower.

[Things didn't go too well at the pre-draft combines]

How does every high-speed chase end? Right. In a courtroom:

["Who the hell hired Jay Mohr to be my attorney?"]

Clarett accepted a plea agreement in September 2006 and was sentenced to 3 1/2 years in prison for robbery and concealed weapons charges. He is currently serving out the duration of his sentence and, barring poor conduct, is set to be released some time during the middle of 2010.

The lesson in all this? Unless you plan on being a felon, don't start your "career" at Ohio State.

In case we forget...




...The Effrontery remembers when Maurice Clarett threw his life away.