Clown Without Pity's 2015-2016 Championship Game Picks

Picture says it all: who brings the real fire? Who's got the true killer instinct?

AFC Championship: New England at Denver 

So in my 2015-2016 playoff predictions I correctly picked this championship matchup, but after watching the games this past weekend, I’m changing my pick: I’m picking the Pats.

My rationale (which has a funny way of going out the window when the two teams actually take the field): despite the home field advantage, Denver’s defense doesn’t impress me. Before the playoffs began I was well aware that this is no great defense, not like the 2013 Seahawks. But last week, without Antonio Brown, without Le'Veon Bell, without his capable backup, DeAngelo Williams, a banged-up Big Ben and their 3^rd RB on the depth chart piled up 396 yards on the Burros. It took a crucial 4^th quarter fumble for Denver to escape with a win.

With LT Sebastian Vollmer back in the fold, I think Brady and McDaniels will attack Denver through the air with a thousand-cuts, 40-50 pass attempts approach. I think their offense will put up more than 20 points—and that should be enough to put down the Caballitos.

This may be the last time Brady and Manning’s teams face off. (Here's a link to ESPN's Ultimate Brady-Manning Quiz; I scored 8 out of 10!) Right now, Manning may have greater regular season stats but I’d still take Brady any day, especially an elimination game. Like my buddy J-Oro wrote in his conference championship game picks, Brady is this generation's Joe Montana. From my vantage, Manning has always seemed like a more emotionally brittle QB than Brady; too many elements have to be rolling on offense for him to succeed and when they don’t he’s far more likely to implode. Just go back to the second play of Super Bowl 48. In retrospect, Manning and—subsequently—his team, never psychologically recovered from that safety. Put Brady in that situation and I think Denver would still be in the game because he turns to pissed-off anger when his back’s against the wall instead of cowering like Manning tends to when facing a stout defense in pressured situations.

NFC Championship: Arizona at Carolina

Boy was I wrong about that Seattle vs. Carolina game! Obviously, Carolina’s offensive and defensive lines really impressed me in the first half of that last game. On the flip side, Carson Palmer played like a guy who was 0-2 in the playoffs and desperate to not lose (which is different than winning) a game at home in the Divisional Round. He looked really shaky in the 2^nd half of their game against Green Bay.

I’m taking Carolina for this game:

• Their home crowd was deafening last week.
• I trust Cam more than Palmer in a high-pressure game.
• And football is almost always won in the trenches. Carolina should put together a more complete game this week.

However, the Cards best chance to pull off the upset is for their defensive line to have a monster game. If they can shut down Carolina’s running game, the game shifts to Carolina’s receivers vs. the Card’s secondary, and that should be a very favorable matchup for Arizona. At some point or another, you figure Carolina's lack of talent at that skill position will catch up to them...

Cam throwing some dumbshit-choad's 12th Man flag: I wholeheartedly approve

2015-2016 NFL Playoff Predictions

One of the kicks from following sports is making predictions, right? Or maybe I just like being horrendously wrong with my sports predictions? If so, this blog is a testament to that.

Anyway, after what felt like the most unpredictable, topsy-turviest NFL season yet, we have arrived to the playoffs. In both conferences, the 4^th seeds—not surprisingly—appear to be the weakest teams while the 6^th seeds look like the most dangerous teams playing in the opening round. The NFL should take the NBA’s lead and change their playoff bracketing to eliminate mediocre to piss-poor division winners from automatically qualifying for the playoffs and instead reward teams based on their records. It just seems more practical, which is why the League of Denial probably won’t do it.

But enough pish posh! Here are my playoff predictions.

My Top 10 Favorite Black Sabbath Songs

There’s nothing I can add that hasn’t been said about this monumentally influential band. If heavy metal was personified as the United States, statues of Ozzy Osbourne, Tony Iommi, Geezer Butler, and Bill Ward would greet newcomers to this dark land. If heavy metal were incarnated as a landscape in Middle Earth, the Gates of Mordor would be engraved with towering sculptures of Black Sabbath. In other words: they’re a Big Fucking Deal. Just how important are they? James Hetfield got choked up when he spoke at Black Sabbath’s induction to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame:

  

Sans the difficult upbringing, I can relate with Hetfield. If heavy metal and all its spawnings didn’t exist, I’m not sure I’d want to stick around. Maybe an old geezer version of me won’t agree, but that’s how my thirty-six-year-old self feels.

In honor of this band—and because I’m bored at work (No work and little play makes Juan bored, bored, bored)—here’s a list of my favorite ten Black Sabbath songs:

Memoir Outtake: Thanksgiving

I stared out to the Quarry Lakes as the BART train rolled into Fremont. The small lakes shimmered in the sunlight. A majestic heron stood on a grassy bank. Up above, a V of Canadian geese appeared to fly to the sun. John Coltrane’s “My Favorite Things” played from my iPod. I picked it because I felt happy and sappy, heading home for Thanksgiving. The song packed an emotional wallop. We had history. Three years before, I had traveled through much of South America by bus. I remember riding through the countryside from Uruguay into Argentina listening to “My Favorite Things.” I stared out the window as these beautiful trees that graced the highway swooshed by. When Coltrane soloed during the song’s outro, I began to cry to myself. The melody he plays during that final verse is excruciatingly beautiful; it sounds like a eulogy, a call of profound gratitude as though Coltrane were ascending into the sun’s light, turning back and expressing through his saxophone: it was a good ride. Listening to him play, staring at that Argentinean countryside, I simply cried because I felt so fortunate to have the opportunity to travel, to see foreign lands, to feel such beauty.

Goo Goo G'joob!: My Top 10 Favorite Beatles Songs

About a month ago, my good friend Chris and I were strolling through Central Park. Since we're good boys, we made a pilgrimage to Strawberry Fields. Once we paid our respects to one of the greatest hippies ever, I mused that it would be difficult to whittle down my favorite Beatles songs to a top 10 list. A few days later, at a bar in Brooklyn, I told my homie and fellow blogsmith, Justin “Ticket to Ride!” Goldman about this thought I had. Two pints deep, copping a fluffy buzz, Justin did not hesitate to ask the bartender for a pen. “Let's do this right now,” he said, or something like that, and off we went. Within a few minutes, this is what we produced:

Memoir Outtake: Baker Beach Bliss

photo by Juan Alvarado Valdivia, 2005

The city was scorching, afternoon temperatures reaching the upper seventies (which is considered hot in San Francisco any time of the year). Paola suggested a trip to Baker Beach. She was a sucker for the beach, which I always found endearing. I was still reeling from the horrendousness of her birthday three nights before. I gladly accepted her invitation. I was beyond grateful for it. In the four months we had been together, she had already been witness to three instances in which I drank myself to a state of oblivion. A significant part of me felt I didn’t deserve to have a tranquil afternoon at a beach with my forgiving girlfriend. 

Shit I Learned in New York City

me took this picture!

Last week I spent an exhilarating, bedazzling week in New York City reuniting with friends. It was my third trip to one of the world’s greatest cities. (I would argue that it’s the only great metropolis in the United States.) I learned a few things while I was there:

What’s a Suicide drag?

My good friend Chris and I hunkered down at a gay bar in the West Village called Pieces. (We’re still unsure how it got its name.) Around two or three in the morning the karaoke deejay and our emcee—a tall, muscular, irreverent drag queen—announced that they would hold a “suicide drag.” For the next fifteen minutes or so, the deejay played a relentless medley of high-energy dance songs while the limber drag queen proceeded to dance up and down the entire bar as though she was born in three-inch heels. It was quite a performance.