The NFL is world-renowned for its marketing prowess, displaying a deft advertising hand that has taken the league to the apex of popularity in America. Ever hungry, the NFL in recent years has looked overseas, playing pre- and regular season games in Mexico, England and Canada. By and large successful, this international expansion will be put to the test next week when a nuclear blast of suck is sent across the pond to Wembley Stadium, where the Tampa Bay Buccaneers will take on the New England Patriots.

Look up "mismatch" in the dictionary, and the definition is going to mention this game. I don't care if it's the original 1828 edition of Webster's Unabridged, there will be a crude woodcut of Josh Freeman on his back. And yes, I did have to look up who the hell their current QB is, because no one, including Tampa Bay's coach, knows the man's name off the top of his head. To illustrate, Tampa Bay is 0-6 this season while the Pats just laid a 59-0 smack-down on Tennessee this week. This is worse than Washington Generals v. Harlem Globetrotters, this is like playing against the Lions in Madden on "Rookie."

Speaking from a personal standpoint, I hope both teams somehow find a way to lose; my hatred of the Pats is well-documented, and I still harbor a grudge against Tampa Bay from the time of the 2003 Super Bowl. Much as I think the Bucks suck a fat one, this is not the way for them to catch an ass-whupping. This is not a game to export to an allied country; the Taliban and/or al-Qaeda are the only ones who deserve to be subjected to this suck-fest.

If the NFL is looking to expand their international popularity, why send this game over? The rest of the world has since the post-WWII years been the dumping ground for our cultural garbage, from McDonald's to 80's butt-rock, and is presumably quite sick of it. To endear the English to American football, send an exciting game over, not something that amounts to a 60-minute prison rape. Seriously, is the league looking to undo four years of international hype-building by FedEx-ing a crate of dog shit to Wembley? For the love of God, call it a mercy killing and just award this game to the Pats; don't make the Bucs and the British populace suffer through this.

As those of you in the Portland area may or (somehow) may not know, our beloved Portland Trail Blazers are gearing up for their first trip to post-season - otherwise known as "playoff" - action in six long, hard, barren years. Indeed, it's been lean times around the city lately, and the anguish of loyal fans has been palpable in the streets of Portland this last half-decade.

Oh, right, I'm thinking of a different city. Over the last six playoff-free years, no one in this city has given a fat flying fuck about the team, and now all of a sudden everyone's trampling over old ladies and children in wheelchairs to be the next on the bandwagon. Bemused as I am by this sudden interest - it does after all make my job that much more interesting - I'm also thoroughly annoyed with it. Whatever happened to loyalty? Four, five years ago, I was spending my meager earnings on $10 rafter tickets to watch an uninspired Blazer team - under the watchful supervision of their probation officers - lose in front of 4,500 fans on a good day. What was the rest of the city doing then? Hell if I know, but it most certainly wasn't watching the Blazers.

Sure, everyone had an excuse; there's always "all the players are criminals," or "they just aren't that exciting to watch," et cetera. Bullshit. Your team is your team, regardless of whether or not they're employing multiple felons or losing a lot [FULL DISCLOSURE NOTICE: Burson is, as you all well know, a rabid Oakland Raiders fan, so he's used to felonious teams that dog it every game]. My point is not that you the fan always need to condone what your team is doing. Just show some semblance of pride and loyalty in the bad times, and celebrate during the good. If there's one thing that the rally at Pioneer Courthouse Square today showed me, it's that those who HAVEN'T been there all along celebrate much harder than those who have.

While I may be somewhat put off by the flagrant acts of bandwagon-jumping occurring all around the city, I live by one rule: embrace, don't hate. So God bless, Portland. Drink up on these good times like a Polack drinks up vodka. Soak in the playoff aura like a contraceptive sponge soaks up... well, you get the idea. Whether you've been there from day one or not, live it up. When they start losing again, however, I BETTER still see your ass at the games.

It's that time of year again, that beautiful time when the verdant foliage awakes from its slumber, Old Man Winter busts his final icy nut over the landscape, and, perhaps the surest sign of spring, freakishly tall man-boys entertaining freakishly fat spectators with fascinating displays of ball-handling prowess. Indeed, college basketball playoff season, or "March Madness," as the kids are calling it these days, is upon us. I know, exciting, right?

For the sake of certain wyvern920.com readers, basically what we're talking about here is 64 college basketball teams playing each other in a "bracket" format, so as to ensure a streamlined gambling experience. Teams are "seeded" according to their level of talent and size of endowment fund, so that good teams such as the University of North Carolina are playing severely deficient teams the likes of the Eastern Maine Institute of Lobster Fishery Sciences. This goes on, on and, wait for it... on for four rounds or so, until there are but four teams remaining: the fabled "Final Four." Out of this sheer insanity, or madness, if you will, the NCAA Division-I Men's Basketball Champion is crowned. Don't care? Me neither.

Allow me to explain. Despite the fact that I worked the first two rounds of the Tournament, which went down at the Rose Garden, I find it difficult to get excited about college basketball. While I enjoy the game of basketball, the college game is, on the surface, too squeaky-clean. While I realize that there are dark nuances to recruiting, training and playing in a collegiate setting, I've never been one for hidden dirt. I prefer my corruption out in the open, a la Rod Blagojevich or the Oakland Raiders. Thus, until the NCAA sanctions point shaving, sucker-punching and general shit talking, I ain't watching.

When I worked for University of Montana Athletics, there were posters everywhere - EVERYWHERE - in the players' area warning about loss of eligibility for violations ranging from substances to gambling. Fuck. This. As far as I'm concerned, we need MORE substances, gambling and assorted bad behavior in sports. Once they leave the court, I want to see players snorting coke-n-roid cocktails before heading off to place bets with unlicensed gaming establishments, all the while carousing with hookers and, God willing, fighting a brutha or two. Hopefully, this should lead to an all-around and desirable increase in on-court violence and watchability.

I encourage all of you to write your Congressmen and/or women to demand that something is done about this. Violence, vice and excess are proud American traditions, and are sorely lacking from one of our most allegedly American institutions: March Madness.

(Editor's note: the judges would have also accepted "Pretentious Dipsters")

The Super Bowl was a couple of days ago. No, not the Super Bowl you are thinking of, but my Super Bowl – My Super Bowl of Dips. There were many strong contenders for this years Vince Lombardip trophy. How about we meet the contenders this year, shall we?

•  Clam Dip: The perennial favorite. It always seems to be in the running for the championship, and it is a consistent bet to be a crowd pleaser. Clam Dip's teammates were ridged potato chips. As a concoction of clams, cream cheese, and fat, it is sure to reduce at least six months of your life.
• Spinach Artichoke Dip: A second year entry. This dip made its appearance last year, and was a huge hit. It made a strong case last year for dip supremacy, and is coming back even hungrier this year. The Spinach Artichoke Dip's teammates were WinCo brand tortilla chip strips. Consisting of sour cream, mayonnaise (keep it light on the mayo, whitey), chopped spinach, chopped artichoke hearts, Parmesan cheese, and cream cheese, this dip is best served warm. While not as bad for you as clam dip, make no illusions of its health just because it has vegetables in it. This dip will kill you dead.
• Onion Dip: Also known as California Dip. This was a new entrant into the Super Bowl, and right from the get go it meant business. The teammates for this dip can include potato chips or even vegetables. Comprising of caramelized onions and sour cream, the key to this dip is to plan ahead and make it the day before, as to allow the flavors to meld and mellow together. This dip will make your mouth taste like a raw onion, and make everyone you know despise you.
• Beer-Cheese Spread: Although not technically a dip, this is a scrappy young newcomer. It is a bit thicker than a traditional dip; it can be dipped into using a cracker or similar delivery device. Thus the judges allowed its entry into the realm of dips.  Its main teammate was a package of Ritz crackers. Encompassing the spread were three kinds of cheese, onions, Worcestershire, mustard, and Hefeweizen beer. If you eat enough of it at once, not only will your stomach succumb to the lactose (especially those of us who don't eat a lot of dairy), but also you might actually catch a buzz.
• Bean Dip: I actually didn't make this dip; in fact, much like me, this dip wasn't even planned. It was simply a leftover side of beans and cheese from King Burrito that I heated up in a container. This was an excellent decision, as it was the perfect consistency for a dip. When paired with tortilla chips, this dip showed that it could handle the more experienced dips in the Super Bowl. It was also the closest thing to a healthy dip at the Bowl game.

The First Quarter: things began strong for all the teams. The Spinach Artichoke Dip jumped out to an early lead, as it was the perfect temperature for consumption. Disaster struck early for the bean dip, when it was entirely consumed. Apparently, there were not enough leftovers to adequately provide long-term nourishment. However, I predict this young team to be back in subsequent years and Super Bowls.

The Second Quarter: with only four dips left, the game pulled tighter. Both the clam and onion dips were able to catch up to the spinach artichoke dip. Suddenly, the spinach artichoke dip was hit with a delay of game penalty, after I ran out of tortilla chips. This allowed all three dips that didn't rely on tortilla chips to catch up until another bag of tortilla chips was found to accompany the spinach artichoke dip.

The Third Quarter: the beer-cheese spread really began this quarter strong. As the beer-cheese spread was positioned onto the Ritz cracker, its coverage was overwhelming. This spread really played the D well in this quarter, as the Ritz cracker was completely covered and consumed.

The Fourth Quarter: this is what separates the man-dips from the boy-dips. As we progressed into the final minutes of the game, it looked as if the clam dip would be declared the winner, but in the end the onion dip was able to sneak a victory. What can I say? I love onions. It went perfect with chips or vegetables, and the caramelization of the onions provided just the right amount of flavor.

I can't believe that I was able to stretch the dip idea this far. Somebody kill me now. I am a loser. 

Yesterday was what we commonly as a society refer to as The Big Game. The 'Super' Bowl this year was watched by approximately 100 million people (including Burson). I, being a good American, partook in what amounts to watching large muscular men beat and rub against eachother, interrupted by corporations try to persuade me to purchase their products in 30 seconds or less. Sadly, none of them succeeded. However, that didn't stop this from being the best Super Bowl ever for three main reasons:

1. I made an entire batch of spinach artichoke dip, and devoured 80% of it over the course of 4 hours. (As a side note, the dip was fantastic, and would recommend it heartily)
2. Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers were the halftime entertainment show, and they didn't disappoint me. Tom Petty was rockin' the homeless beard, which was also fantastic. Ever since Janet Jackson showed her nipple, the halftime shows have all been fantastic. What have they been since Nipple-gate? Paul McCartney, The Rolling Stones, Prince, and Tom Petty. What were they before? I don't really remember, besides Bono having sex with the American flag and both N'Sync and Aerosmith raping what's left of Aerosmith's musical legacy. Pretty much the worse things I have ever witnessed.
3. The game: The New York Football Giants defeated The New England Boston Patriots by a score of 17-14. It was pretty entertaining, and the excitement prevented me from finishing my dip.

That is really all I wanted to say. This post is really designed for me to gush about my dip and Tom Petty, while giving Burson a place to wank himself over football. Well, that, and also I could use my clever title.

Okay, there's nothing I like more than reading about Kwik-E-Marts and Lindsay Lohan's coke habit, but there's something I gotta get off my chest. Granted, no one but me cares about this, but fuck y'all. I won't rest until I clear the air about my beloved Oakland Raiders.

Now, the last three seasons have been nothing short of dismal, and not even having the first draft pick has cheered me up. In fact, if you look at the Raiders' schedule for the upcoming season and picture each entry with a fat-ass "L" in each column, you'll see my pain. When even your Detroit Lions-loving family is riding your ass, you know your team sucks.

What the fuck happened? I was watching some footage from a Raiders-Chargers game from the early '90s the other day, and what I saw warmed my heart--a crowd of guys in Tim Brown jerseys beating and shanking--SHANKING--the one Charger fan stupid enough to attend the game. Despite the warm fuzzy feeling this film instilled in me, it left me sad at the same time. Now what do we got? Uninspired fans weakly cheering an uninspired team, more apt to slit their wrists with their shanks than bury them in some Buccaneers fan's stomach. 

That's some weak shit, and it needs to change. The fans have to be behind the team in order for change to truly come about. That's why I propose some reforms. First and foremost, we got to remind fans of the good days, back when the mere mention of the Oakland Raiders would literally cause opposing teams and fans to piss themselves. As such, I say they not only allow weapons in Raider Stadium, but make them mandatory--no one allowed with knives under 4" or guns under .38 caliber. Fuck that .22 noise, they need some firepower in that stadium. This way, there'll be ample "stray" gunfire in the direction of the opposing team's bench, and there may, God willing, be a few "accidental" bullet wounds inflicted on the aforementioned teams--let's see how well Tom Brady throws when he's got a couple .45 slugs lodged in his arm. Also, instead of those plastic beer cups, I say we bring back glass bottles, pre-scored for easy shattering on some fucker's skull. Church.

So yeah, some changes need to be made before this team returns to greatness. Like I said, none of y'all care about this shit, but, like I said, fuck y'all. I hope this finds everyone in good health, and I now send you back to your regularly scheduled programming.