Forgive my absence. There’s been a lot to ponder. In his effort to ruin my life, Fav-ruh has inspired me to do some pretty serious soul-searching—to ask some hard questions. Frankly, I’m exhausted. The last couple of days have been mostly a blur, but I remember that it was pretty soon after the farvastrophe began that I became firm in my resolution to discontinue my allegiance to the Jets. The more I thought about it the more I realized that it wasn’t just about Fav-ruh. It was about the franchise. Could I really continue to support a team that would degrade itself by participating in this Brectacle? A team that callously tossed aside a classy, still-promising (in my humble opinion) eight-year veteran in the manner of a used Kleenex? In exchange for what? A megalomaniacal, thirty-eight-year-old megalomaniac who’s probably just going to retire next year anyway? Except not really because he’s going to want his job back once you’ve already given it away. Was this a team with which I wanted to affiliate?

But, of course, while it wasn’t ALL about Fav-ruh, it was a lot about him. I mean, let’s just call it like it is—Brett Farv is a sociopath. This may sound a little extreme, but hear me out for a second, and I think you will be persuaded. Common characteristics of the sociopath are superficial charm, the ability to manipulate, grandiosity, a sense of entitlement, lack of remorse or guilt, unreliability, and a lack of empathy. And, get this, people with sociopathic profiles “seek out situations where their tyrannical behavior will be tolerated, condoned, or admired.” Sound like anyone we know?

(For the record, this definition comes from a credible medical text and not from Tim McCarver who, when questioned, defined a sociopath as starting in 1980 in Los Angeles and heading south in the late nineties towards Anaheim. I had to explain that I wasn’t asking for the definition of a SCIOSCIA-path but a SOCIOpath. He responded, “Oh, that’s someone who writes poetry in Starbucks but never actually buys anything.”)

Let’s go through the list, shall we? Superficial charm: Farvil’s made an existence out of it—that’s how he got us all to love him. The ability to manipulate: “I’m retiring. I’m not retiring. I’m retiring. I’m not retiring. I’m retiring. I’m crying. I’m sending text messages to ESPN. I’ll take a $20 million deal to do nothing. I won’t take a $20 million dollar deal to do nothing. J-E-T-S Why? Why? Why?” Grandiosity: Too obvious to explain. Sense of entitlement: “I DESERVE the starting job with the Packers despite the fact that I have already retired and the position has been filled.” Lack of remorse or guilt: See disregard for the displaced Chad Pennington and eventually either Josh McCown and John Beck. Unreliability: “I’m retiring. I’m not retiring.” Lack of empathy: I have already mentioned the disregard for the feelings of others affected such as Pennington, McCown and Beck, but what about me? Finally, talk about a situation in which tyrannical behavior is being tolerated, condoned and admired.

Pennington has handled this situation with the kind of character that only graduates of the Joe Torre “How to Conduct Yourself in All Your Affairs” trade school usually know how. He would never air a grievance to the press. So I’m going to take it upon myself to do it on his behalf. It takes a specific sort of self-obsessed, hard-nosed recklessness to destroy the lives of other people on a whim. The expression, in case you were confused, Farviavelli, was fifteen minutes—not fifteen years. You got the latter and then some. The right thing to do would have been to move on and let someone else have his. The right thing to do would have been to not throw the lives of others into disarray so that you could extend your tenure in the spotlight. Of course, the right thing to do is lost on you because you are, as we’ve established, a sociopath.

So where does this leave us? Like I already said, I can’t cheer for the Jets because their quarterback is a sociopath and the franchise is an affront to all that is decent in the world. I can’t cheer for the Giants because, due to their recent championship, that would give me the appearance of being a bandwagon fan. So what then? Do I form an allegiance to the Packers, who refused to do Fav-ruh any favres? Or do I go with whatever team decides to harbor Pennington, who really got the raw end of this deal?

Well, when I first learned that Pennington signed with Miami, I thought, “Miami. Forget about it. No way I can do it.” As a long time rival of the Jets, I’ve been trained to hate them. But the more I read about Pennington and the way he conducted himself through what must have been a personal nightmare—with sincerity but without venom—the more I realized just how much I wanted him to succeed. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I never HATED hated the dolphins. I mean not like the Patriots, for whom I have a Red Sox-comparable amount of contempt. So, given all this, wouldn’t the best revenge be to cheer on Chad Penngington as he spanks the Farv out of the Jets on opening day this season? It may not be about revenge for Pennington, but it’s all about revenge for me. Just because he’s classy doesn’t mean I am.

Once I opened my mind to the thought, I realized that there were a lot of other compelling reasons to be cheering for Miami. One, I love Miami. Really. It’s what L.A. could be if people gave Latin American people more respect and all the people who lived there didn’t think they were going to be famous someday. I call it the L.A. that takes itself as seriously as it should, which is not seriously at all. It’s a town where people wear whatever they want—from muscle t-shirts to mumus—and nobody cares. It’s the home of Reggaetone. It’s the one place in the country where you can get a decent cortadito. It’s the only town I’ve ever been to where a song called “(I think I Like Her Cause Her) Booty” by the Fresh Fellas could top the charts for consecutive weeks.

In addition to all this, as Tim McCarver would say, Miami is warm. For the most part, unlike baseball, I prefer watching football at home because I think you miss a lot in the stadium where your perspective is limited and you don’t have the advantage of commentary and the yellow line. However, I am totally open to the possibility that that is just something that I tell myself because it’s just not fun to sit outside for three hours in ten degree weather. Guess what? It’s never ten degrees in Miami. And while I don’t live there, I could go there on occasion and watch a game and maybe even enjoy it. Not to mention the fact that my cousin lives there, and how often do I get to see him? Plus, visits to Miami are my only way to catch up on who’s new and hot on the Reggaetone scene. Oh, and did I mention that the Dolphins have teal uniforms, and that I’m just crazy about teal? I played on a soccer team with teal uniforms one year when I was growing up—Lethal Weapon—and I’m pretty sure we were amazingly awesome and that we even won the championship. So, for all of these reasons, the Mammals (they really aren’t fish) were starting to seem like a compelling choice.

But what about the Packers? They had acted admirably throughout this whole ordeal, hadn’t they? Refusing to give into the Farvinator’s demands—neither starting nor releasing him. Plus Midwesterners are adorable. I hear a Midwestern accent, I think, “This person has good values—this is the person I want to watch my stuff when I go to the bathroom.” And guess what’s even more adorable than a Midwesterner. A city-owned team. Want to talk to fans who are crazy about their football team, talk to fans who own their football team. Plus, I also have a cousin in Wisconsin. And he’s hilarious. (Let the record reflect that this decision will bear no reflection on which cousin I prefer to the other as my cousin in Miami is equally as hilarious.)

But as the scales started tipping towards cow country, a thought came crashing down on me—the Packers offered Brett Farv $20 million over ten years to do nothing. Now THAT gave me pause. Sure, the Packers were in a tough position. And, sure, I understand feeling so desperate to get rid of Farv that I’d go to just about any lengths. But to offer him money—an obscene amount of money—to do what he had volunteered to do anyway? Well, that’s just embarrassing. And wasteful. Not to mention the fact that Packers fans all wear those ridiculous cheese slices on their heads, and I’m not sure if that’s something I want to be a part of. Plus, if I think it’s hard to watch a game in ten degree weather, am I really going to fare any better when it’s ten below? And, sure, I want an excuse to visit my cousin. But what kind of idiot plans a trip to Wisconsin in the winter?

So let it be officially declared that I am a Dolphins fan. Got something to say about it? Go ahead. Love me, hate me, kill me, anything. Just let me know it. That’s what I thought.

Is it possible that our pitching staff gets a cut if the team gets an early start on demolition of the old stadium? I mean, nothing against our pitching staff, but the way the last couple of games have gone, I’m beginning to wonder. Yesterday’s game against the Angels is the kind of game I want to be able to write a nice story about. I want to be able to write about how Giese returns to his hometown in Southern California to start for the Yankees—his first start since June—and allows one run in six innings to lead the Yankees to another “W.” A win that they are in desperate need of, to state the McCarvious. Our bullpen, which is supposed to actually be one of our assets, allowed ten runs in three innings to lose the game 11-4. Wrap your brain around that. Friday night’s woes can be mostly attributed to a rough start from Ian Kennedy, who allowed nine hits and five runs in three innings. One might have worried about the effect this would have had on the young pitcher’s self-esteem. However, in a postgame interview, Kennedy claimed to actually feel good about his performance. I’m sorry, but is Ian Kennedy living in the Lakehouse? (See Keanu Reeves-Sandra Bullock movie about a house where spacetime continuum does not exist and no one has a grasp on reality.) Or is he just really, really eccentric?

On the A-Rod beat, while Frost Tip could not possibly have predicted the losses when he hit solo shots in the last two games, he magically managed to find a way to deliver in games when it didn’t count. As usual. Want to know what else A-Rod couldn’t have predicted? That walking away from third to chat with Jeter and allowing a runner to advance wouldn’t have ended up being the difference between winning and losing the game. Unless, maybe…he’s a warlock.

By the way, let it be noted that yesterday the Mets had some ridiculous Wright-related headline up on their site about how he had “Done Wright” by them—or some other such embarrassing thing. Nothing against the wrighters for mlb.com, but that’s just humiliating. The headline has since come down, which I have no problem taking credit for. (I figure if Farv is reading my blog, why not someone at the Mets?) I’m just going to go ahead and consider that right there my contribution to humanity. That and obviously the popularizing of the expression, “That guy’s got hands like tits.” You’re welcome.