I promised a Childress write-up, here it is.

So, I've been chewing on this Brad Childress thing for a few days now, trying to come up with an angle, and while I have come to the conclusion that the man looks disturbingly like Gerald McRaney, that's not an opinion--that's just a fact.

I find the disintegration of the Vikings interesting in the same way I find ant farms interesting. I don't mind watching, and when they're on the active side I'm even sort of curious about what's going to happen next, but I don't actually care much about what happens to any of them. But as I've searched the internet in a quest for a stance regarding Brad Childress' new unemployed status, all I've really seen is how big the anthill really is, and by “anthill,” I mean “group of people who go crazy when you poke their colony in the middle.”

There are people who are happy. There are people who are sad. There are people who are blaming Favre, and people who are trying to predict what Leslie Frazier is going to do, and people who are wondering what other coaches might be behind the eight ball. One standout opinion has been offered by Darren “Doogie” Wolfson, who avers that the Vikings should have kept Childress in a master plan to lose for the rest of the season in order to set themselves up for better draft picks next year. This is a fantastic Moebius strip of an idea; I can't tell what's wrong with it but I just know that it's completely retarded somehow.

Since I can't find it in me to care about Childress within the context of the NFL, the only thing left was to look outside of said context. From what I can tell, he seems like a thoroughly unpleasant person and somebody who really deserved a good firing. But no man is an island, so I started wondering about how Childress' getting fired would affect his family. This meant I had to figure out whether he had a family. It occurred to me that he might not; some people don't, after all, and he is a belligerent 54 year old man who up until recently was working an 80-hour a week job and alienating everyone who had the misfortune to work with him. I was more or less expecting to find out that he had two or three successively younger ex-wives, and maybe an estranged kid or two.

So I was mildly surprised to find that Childress has been married to his high school sweetheart for the last thirty years (and still is). Her name is Dru-Ann, but apparently they come from a part of the country where people think that's okay. They have four children, at least one of whom has kids of their own, and according to this “article,” which was written to make Brad Childress seem cuddly and endearing, they all get along just fine. Of course, that “article” was published in July of 2009, at which time Dru-Ann was speaking optimistically about her husband's contract with the Vikings being extended. I guess I could make a joke about that, but it seems like a cheap shot to mock somebody when you're in the future and they're not.

Anyway, I could care less whether Brad Childress ever works again or not, but there are people in the world who have a vested interest, and one of them is named Dru-Ann. I don't know how much money Childress made because I don't care enough to look it up (because I'm sure that information is easily available), but I know that it's enough to pay alimony. So, Dru-Ann, here's my advice to you. Maybe you actually like your husband and maybe you don't but either way, you should leave him. You'll be guaranteed a good living and you'll probably get to stay in your house.

As for Brad, it's all up to him, but you'll be giving him a lot of really great options that won't open up unless you leave him. You guys could get together and have a reality show on Bravo, documenting your divorce proceedings. If he does ever get another coaching job, you'd have to move again, and that's a hassle, so breaking it off now will save you a lot of headaches as far as that's concerned. And if you make him unhappy enough and he doesn't get a new job, I'm sure they'd be happy to include him on Celebrity Rehab in a couple, three years.

As far as the Vikings are concerned, I feel that their best shot at this point would be to get themselves set up for a good position in next year's draft.

Ocho Cinco Ultimatum

One of the sweetest slash strangest compliments I have ever received was given to me by a ninth-grade girl when I myself was about twenty-three. She said, and I quote, “I love the way you talk because you always sound like somebody out of Shakespeare or something.” As delighted as I was to be told such a thing, I realize that it is far from true. And it's not that I don't ever speak in iambic pentameter (because I frequently do), but because I only have one bed and it's not that good.

But I still choose to boast about this years-old compliment now, because I think it helps to illustrate the impression I give to people who know me only slightly, even today. I use lots of big words. I listen to public radio. I read books—in public. Any or all of those things might be presented as a reason for why people are surprised to find out that I also enjoy watching reality television.

Now, I'm not an indiscriminate viewer; I won't watch just any unscripted television show. Most of them, I don't know if you know, are basically crap. BUT NOT ALL.

Allow me to present to you: Ochocinco: The Ultimate Catch.

To be fair, this show does violate my number two rule of reality series that I will watch, as normally I boycott television shows that offer people as prizes. It is not right to treat human beings as objects that can just be handed out willy-nilly to the skankiest rose holder. I care strongly about this issue and I had to do a lot of soul-searching before we set our DVR to record The Ultimate Catch, but since I have made a decision to watch the show, I want to allay the doubts of any of you out there with similar misgivings:

Nobody who has ever, ever won a romantically themed reality show is still with the person they competed against multiple other empty-souled fame whores to win. Not the winner of Rock of Love, not the winner of Flava of Love, not the winner of A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila, or the winner of I Love New York, or I Want to be Friends with Paris Hilton for Some Godawful Reason, or Sure, I'll Have Sex With Somebody Who Lost On a Different Show. None of them.

So I'm sure that as soon as they finished taping Ochocinco: The Ultimate Catch, he went right back to the open arms of his waiting girlfriend.

Five days after writing this, I realize that I have nothing to add just yet. I'm watching the first real competition episode right now (last one was the pilot), so expect more on this tomorrow.

Kiss the baby, as Ochocinco would say!