The Scizz

I'm back! Rising like a lost New York City pigeon from the ashes (or maybe sewage) of Hoboken, New Jersey to jump back on this awesome Bills bandwagon! What's that? The Bills are still a joke? Sooooo they didn't prove the intelligent fans wrong and make the kool-aid drinking mouthbreathers out to be the strong-willed geniuses they thought they were? Huh. Well ya look at that. Reality prevails! Although I guess I'll never be able to enjoy the day the Bills are actually good because of all my negativity. What a drag.

Moving on....

Has it really been since the week 8 bye that I've written a god damn Bills preview? Oops. Sorry about that, folks. Luckily my pals here picked up the slack while I was flooded/without power/without water/commuting 4 hours daily/having numerous panic attacks/getting drunk with family/not working out/stressing out over everything and just being a general head case. Yeah, it's been a rough month. JUST LIKE THE BUFFALO BILLS!!! See how it all comes back together? I feel like a regular Billy Simmons over here! /shoots self in face with crossbow

Since I've been gone the Bills had a mostly embarrassing loss to a far superior Houston Texans, snatched defeat from the jaws of victory (again) against the Patriots, had a fairly exciting win over the Dolphins on primetime television (following which a fan was found dead close the the stadium... yikes) and then the Colts did the best they could to let the Bills win but still gave us yet another loss to stain the Bills' record, mostly due to the inane playing call of Chan Gailey, whose arrogance at this point reminds me of that 29 year old ex-frat boy who now bartends for a living while still drawing unemployment yet always acts superior to those around him and continues doing dumb shit while all of his friends have chosen to grow up (and this is coming from a guy who has a podcast called "The CrapTastiCast"). Chan KNOWS his play-calling and schemes don't work, yet week after week he continues to do the same thing with little to no adjustments. At least I'd say Wanny has the defense playing slightly better, but the offense? A complete joke that actually has some talent which teams with better records would kill for (I'm looking at you Pittsburgh). 

Over it. 4 - 7 sucks, and of course the Bils will string three more wins together to keep the Bills mid-draft, allow Chan to keep his job, and keep "Billievers" crying out that this team was only "a few mistakes and plays away from the playoffs!" I know it's going to happen, you know it's going to happen, so what should we do?? 

Step One: Get drunk on whatever you can find. 

After that, I have no fucking clue.

I'd say that I want the team to lose out in order to get the best draft pick possible, but I've never truly been able to do that. Deep down I want this team to win week in and week out, so I'll keep cheering, and when they win one of these god-forsaken games, I'll be thrilled for all of 10 seconds before I realize it just knocked us down another three spots on the draft board. 

The saga continues, Wu-Tang, Wu-tang.

Now join me for some shitty analysis of this trash-bag football game against the Jacksonvillains. Yup. Said it. Totally regret it.

The Barrister


And I'm back. Not that The Beautiful Game is much of a comfort to me lately, but hell if I’m going to spend my precious free moments on this chilly Thursday to talk about the garbage pail Buffalo Bills. Fire Chan. Draft a QB or two. Do what you will with Buddy. And give CJ the damn football.

As for that game of so much beauty, that sport of kings, my current joy with soccer only exists by way of emotional detachment since there hasn’t been a ton to cheer about these past few weeks. Yet in the midst of that detachment, much has happened. Liverpool’s form continues to elude them, both Chelsea and QPR have rid themselves of their managers, and a little league called the MLS broke my heart. Twice.  I’m finally ready to talk/emotionally vomit/ramble incoherently about it.

Every week (or at least we hope, everyone knows we suck at schedules here), The Continental will answer your questions. Whether it is a Buffalo sports related inquiry, needed advice, or just a generally stupid question you feel like seeing her answer, have at it and we'll see what this young lady is made of! You can e-mail weekly questions to us at [email protected], tweet us @DGWUSports, or even tweet her directly @hpurricane. 

The Continental


I made it back from the Thanksgiving pilgrimage to my childhood home, and boy do things there never change.  Except my father made me install a new glass door with my brother, and boy did it almost fall on me and permanently disfigure my face.  Plus I even got to meet The Outlander!  I have finally met every Deeg-er and boy are we more hilarious and inappropriate in person.  The written word does not do enough justice.  I'll be home for Christmas too, and I'm planning on hitting an Amerks game.  Look me up, I'll probably even buy you a beer because holy tits I forgot how cheap beer can be, no but seriously wow.

The Apologist

I started writing this with the mindset that there wasn't anything new left to be said about this season. We all know what's gone horribly wrong in a season that started with so much hope. But a dread has crawled into my head and I'm having trouble shaking it.

The offense has become a total joke. Chan's play calling has rivaled some of the worst in Bills history and, Dear God, is that saying something. Fitz doesn't have the guts to stand up to him, let alone the mindset to have any consistency. C.J.'s too young to demand the carries he deserves. Stevie Johnson waited twelve weeks to vent the frustration we've seen brewing all season long, and even then only slightly. They seemingly have lost the will to win. For the second straight game, the embattled defense held their opponent under 21 points. There was a time not long ago when 21 points seemed easy for Fitz & Co. In those eight quarters, the Bills scored seven points on offense. Seven.

As I watched Chan call throw after throw after throw in a game they trailed by one touchdown, I thought to myself, so, this season is done. The relevancy is gone, right? No more "In The Hunt" graphics. The Bills stink. Chan needs to be fired. A new quarterback search must begin. Maybe a new GM while we're at it. Because there's no way they could string together enough victories together to… to…

Oh, God.

He still has a chance to keep his job.

If you go to Thirsty Buffalo on Elmwood at a time where it’s not packed to the gills with bros and skanks, you might notice an unassuming, cheap plaque against the far wall, right near the bathrooms that desperately need an upgrade. On it is a large photo of Jason Pominville, zoomed in from behind a moment before he reaches his stick around statuesque Ray Emery and sends the Sabres to the 2006 Eastern Conference finals. It is an auspicious yet fitting location, tucked away in a corner usually passed by without a second look, a place that anyone outside of Buffalo would be surprised to find their team’s greatest moment of the past dozen years. Yet still, just a moment that led to nothing but another crushing playoff defeat a couple weeks later, in Raleigh, North Carolina. A moment that either happened on May 14, 2006- the best night of my life, or a moment that made May 14, 2006 the best night of my life.

That may seem trite, hyperbole, but I haven’t married or spawned so hear me out. Two nights earlier I stood in St. Bonaventure’s campus bar, clutching my apartment’s broom and sucking down an alarming amount of fifty cent drafts. It was Senior week, the campus barren except for the class of 2006, left with nothing much to do but drink, barbeque, attend various social functions (more drinking), and watch hockey. The night before, dozens of us crammed up against a bar watching the overtime of game three on a tiny corner television where JP Dumont scored, sending the Clubhouse at the campus golf course into euphoria. Could it happen? Could we really beat the Senators?

Not in game four, and that broom ended up broken in half (graduation was three days off, what the fuck would I need it for?). It would be back to Ottawa for Game five.

Why didn't I watch the game? Well for starters, my parents had come down and her cousins from just over the hill in Pennsylvania wanted to take us out to dinner (in 2006 Olean this meant Applebee’s). I tried as best I could to discern what was happening on the television some thirty feet away at the bar while at the same time being polite. My extended family gave my mom and I Penn State apparel in honor of starting law school in the fall and the first period ended in a tie. When we all parted at intermission, I promised we would be staying in town that night; it was cold, raining badly. Instead, my girlfriend and I headed to the hills near Ellicottville for a party with my high school friends.

I remember squeezing into a tiny antique bench that couldn’t have been meant for actual use because there were so many people in the living room. I remember the storm making the MSG feed cut out and someone having to pound on the cable box to get it to return. I remember playing asshole during the third intermission and into overtime, keeping an eye on the television and preparing myself to enjoy the rest of this final night in college with second consecutive loss.

I remember the play, the eruption of the house, the screaming, the hugging, the unbridled joy felt by everyone there. I remember the look of bemused excitement on the girl who had been introduced to this fanaticism throughout the highs and lows of the season.

I remember many of us heading out in our boxers in the rain and taking the slip and slide down the hill, hoping simply that we wouldn’t carom into the guest house or stones at the bottom. I remember pouring a funnel for a friend and saying “Eastern Conference Finals, man,” in disbelief.

I remember heading back to Allegany, to the house I spent a sizable amount of nights drinking and smoking that year. I remember standing in the backyard with those people that I shared the best years of my life with, classmates, roommates, teammates, basking in the bittersweetness of our ride together coming to a close and the sweetness of the team whose ride we felt was just beginning. I remember hugs and handshakes and my girlfriend saying to me “Matt, we have to go to bed- you graduate in like three hours.”

I remember no one had left.

The Barrister

Seriously, fuck the Bills, y'all.

But while I'm trying to find the energy or desire to run through my own post-mortem on our shite squad and another shite season, there are certain things to be happy about, even in the darkness that is sport.

Here's one!

Oh that is just precious.

Jets games have always been a dangerous place, but the idea that MetLife Stadium is devolving into a mess of frustration and anger amongst the home fans is simply amazing. This is a team, and a fan base, that has believed that success is right around the corner; that their franchise is worthy of the back pages of New York City's papers. And here comes Fireman Ed, a patron Saint of the franchise, used in marketing over and over the past few years, with a guest contribution to Metro - arguably the New York Jets of New York City papers - disclaiming his role as team mascot.  To see him do this - to make such a grand, symbolic gesture while still assuring readers and fellow fans that he won't stop going to games - is a bizarre and wonderful mix of irony and irrationality. As if the fights he claims to avoid every week won't follow him. As if his role as "homer shithead" is somehow abandoned so long as he doesn't wear that absurd helmet. As if the simple act of publishing this in the Metro won't bring down a firestorm of rage from fellow Jets fans angered by his fair-weather fan attitude.

Of course, I know that I have no right to be making fun of another franchise or its fans right now.  Our team is terrible. Our coach needs to be fired. And the Jets have embarassed us time and again lately. 

But, I can't help it. If the Bills aren't going to make me feel any better about the NFL right now - and we know they won't - I'll be doing my darndest to make myself feel better by laughing at the misfortune of others.

UPDATE: I just got this email from a coworker trying to sell tickets to Arizona's upcoming game at MetLife. Was simply too good not to share here as well as Twitter...

The Barrister

Still in recovery from overconsumption of every sort imaginable, it's probably unsurprising we couldn't get it together for a proper Bills preview this weekend. Yet, fifteen minutes before the most important game of the season that only has important games left, at least one member of the Deeg is foolish enough to watch this game with a shred of optimism. Equally unsurprising that this member is me... known to some as The Viceroy of Hyperbole.

I have equal parts love and hate for this team. A more favorable proportion than any of the rest of my compatriots here, I imagine. But, hope for the best is why we watch, or at least why I watch. Snark and pessimism belie that persistent feeling in my gut; the desire for things to go right for my squad just once.

That feeling will likely dissolve after today, should this team lose. But, now eight minutes before kickoff, I'm delightfully cracking a beer, finding an illegal stream of the game, and crossing my fingers for that hope in to last, if even for just another week.

Let's Go Buffalo.

The Barrister, featuring the DGWU Sports Crew

Why hello again, friends! If you're like me, you're counting the hours until you get to leave your godforsaken job on one of the slowest days of the year, and you're looking forward/dreading a day with family. And, if you're like me, when you're seated at the table, asked to give thanks for some sappy thing in your life or another, you'll have a litany of other things you might want to say but know would be inappropriate. "I'm thankful Michael Vick is having a terrible season since he's a terrible human being," or "I'm thankful that college football is finally getting a playoff in 2014 so we can stop listening to pundits whine about the lack of fairness in a system that explots free athlete labor for massive profit," or "I'm thankful for my liver for saving me that one night I decided to dance with a bottle of Patron."

The things we can't bring ourselves to say in mixed company for fear that our families' idealized visions of us will shatter as they realize we are simply shallow degenerates who might actually care more about sports and drinking than we do about our parents. Of course, if our families knew us better in the first place, they would have already suspected that was true...

Mind you that this will likely be the week that my entire family chooses to read this mess of a website, so it goes without saying that I've probably said too much. Love you, momma!

In the spirit of giving thanks with the Deeg halves of ourselves - the halves that we unleash upon the interwebs in a rush of cursing and disgusting generalizations - we've all gathered on this post to share what we're thankful for this holiday season. Some of it is sappy, some of it incredibly sophomoric, but I imagine that this is no surprise and that you're all pretty much on board with what we do here.

On to the #HotTakesOfThanks!!

Apologist and Barrister, feat. The Continental


Oh dear.... Craft beers. Whiskey. Vanishing dignity.

You may be aware that Apologist and I recently rendez-vous'd (not a word) for the Bills game Thursday night, using the time out at the bar as a perfect opportunity to revive the little-known Legal Limit podcast franchise. You also may be aware that new-to-the-Deeg Continental - of Smarten Up! mailbag fame - joined us, making her podcast debut.

You probably wouldn't have predicted this level of shit show, though. Good good, we are terrible. Actually, really, just the Barrister. He was most definitely over the legal limit, right guys? ... I'll show myself out.

We talk Bills/Dolphins, of course, but also take potshots at Al Gore, celebrate the Knicks move to 6-0 against the Spurs, talk about how the NBA may pick up disgruntled hockey fans during the lockout, commiserate Ryan Fitzpatrick's role in Bills franchise history, laugh about blunts and guns, and then bump into some Hurricane Sandy refugee Chicago Bears fans who happen to also love the Miami Heat. I'd claim it all makes sense in the end, but it most surely does not. Luckily, I'm pretty sure it's about what you've all come to expect from this embarrassment of a website.

Musical interludes include Jefferson Airplane, Oddisee, Bob Dylan and The Beastie Boys.

Stream below, download here, via the iTunes button below, or on our podcast page here. OPTIONS!

Cheers.

The Barrister

I don’t think my liver was really ready for that delightful mess of a game.

Defensive dominance? A special teams touchdown? Thrilling, last-minute interceptions? A 50/50 split of running and passing plays? Apologist buying round after round of preemptive victory shots, chased down by Lagunitas IPAs?

So. Much. Win.

As a new dad, and a Bills fan, I haven’t gotten many days or nights like that recently, and I’m not entirely sure I could handle it if one of my teams actually started to get good for once. I know the team is bad, and we’ll get to that, but fuck what a fun night. 

Which isn’t to say it wasn’t ugly.  After all, winning ugly – very ugly, mostly – appears to be the best we can reasonably expect from this enigma of a squad.  But, after putting together one of their most complete games of the year in Foxboro this past week, only to fall short when it mattered, the Bills took an early lead at home and cherished it like the rare commodity that it is. They ran the ball often relative to their track record, relied on their best player to get them the points they needed – albeit via field goals – and made sure not to disappoint a home crowd itching to get that primetime monkey off its back.

It honestly shouldn’t have worked, seeing as they’re a garbage team coached by a garbage Chan and owned by a garbage taint, but it’s not like the Universe doesn’t owe us a game like that every once in a while.  And even with the playoffs a supremely unlikely scenario for these Bills, a win is a win is a boy this team is not very good please god where is hockey?

Screw it.... On to the milquetoast takes!