Category Archives: chicks talking trash
Vikings Fight Song: Correction, This is what it sounds like when doves cry
So the artist formerly known as “The Artist Formerly Known as Prince” has decided to put together a little fight song to get the Vikings nation all riled up for Sunday’s NFC Championship game with the Saints. If you haven’t heard it yet, let me assure that if this is what Brett and company crank up to get riled up for the game, they may as well forfeit now. Think of Prince’s tribute as old negro spiritual meets 2×4 across the frontal lobe. It is, in a word, crap. It should come with a disclaimer that says “no animals were hurt in the making of this tune.” But you don’t have to take my word for it. Just give it a listen.
A Message to the Arizona Cardinals: If it’s a shootout you want, it’s a shootout you’ll get!
Aaron Rodgers sure had a heck of a time playing pitch and catch with his receivers against the Arizona Cardinals defense on Sunday. If his offense can put up 45 points in just 3 quarters…just imagine what the “Krewe de Drew” has in store for those desert pigeons.
You see, if there’s one team that can play and win the “shootout” game, it’s the New Orleans Saints. That’s just how our offense is built. And once coach Sean Payton gives the orders, you can count on Drew Brees to “get his Gilbert Arenas on.” He’s coming out guns blazing!
The Saints Love Us Some Sloppy Seconds: Bring on Brooks!
Don’t worry Tampa Bay Bucs…like Reggie Bush at a Ray J sex tape viewing party, we’ll gladly take your leftovers.
News that former Bucs linebacker Derrick Brooks has been invited to workout with the Saints can’t help but get the black and gold nation a little giddy. Yeah, we know he’s 36 with 14 seasons under his belt but you’d be a fool to think he doesn’t have a little sumthin’ sumthin’ still left in his tank. If free agent rosters were DJ playlists, he’d be the “oldie but goody” on tap to give our defense some much needed rhythm, particularly with the recent loss of Mark Simoneau (or Simoneaux if you’re an LSU fan…)
Fighting Like Cats and Dogs…
Is it just me, or does this Sunday’s Saints game against the Panthers suddenly seem like the game? National sports journalists are hyping the division match-up in the “surprisingly” talented NFC South. Panthers and Saints bloggers alike are buzzing, if not worried about the prospect of a team lost. I for one have no intentions of losing my bet with the folks at Cat Crave, thereby being forced to write a list of the “Top Ten Things I Love About the Panthers.” (Ugh…I’d rather choke on a hairball.) But when it comes right down to it, isn’t this game just like most all the others we’ve had this season…in that the Saints’ biggest opponent will be themselves?
Game 5: A Bush Among Thorns
It’s 12:10 am on a Tuesday morning. I come to you today painfully sober and devastatingly aware of what just happened over the course of nearly four emotionally charged hours of Saints football. It is a game that began with me doing a cheerleader high kick in my living room (that I haven’t accomplished since 9th grade) after the Saints scored an easy 7 on their opening drive. Turns out, I’d be the only “old fogey” to come through in the kicking clutch for the Saints tonight. We’ll get to Gra-mendment #1, which calls for the immediate dismissal of Martin Gramatica, in a moment. First…I want to ask one simple question of our offense: what the hell happened to you after the first quarter?
You see it would be easy to lay this game at the feet of “Gramati-can’t”…but the truth of the matter is, he didn’t work alone to get us in a 20-10 hole against a team with less than 50 yards of offense. He had some help in the form of disastrous miscues. Sure his blocked field goal essentially sent 10 points in the direction of the other team. But what about the turnovers, the countless offensive penalties, and the dropped balls? Oh no my friends, “Fartin” didn’t work alone to stink up the place.
On a night when we all held our breath every time Adrian Peterson touched the ball, no one suspected it would be our own offense ultimately giving us the shakes. No matter what the stats say, we couldn’t produce squat that mattered after the first quarter and every opportunity that seemed to put us within reach of the end zone, we squandered by effectively pulling out a 9mm and shooting off our toes one by one before handing our blood soaked foot over to a rabid dog to finish the job. Oh yes…it was a slow and painful kind of misery.
Check out Nola Chick's Super Bowl Experience, courtesy of 
