England stars Frank Lampard, left, and John Terry get in a little "training" prior to the Brits' international friendly against European champion Spain in Seville.

All of which brings to mind the gloriously inappropriate words of Archie Bunker, the malaprop king of Queens. It’s rude, it’s hurtful, and it’s hilarious:

Five days away from his 82nd birthday, Penn State legend Joe Paterno received a three-year contract extension Tuesday. Sources report he celebrated by drinking a fifth of Old Forester, eating a pound of raw meat and fucking the wife of university president Graham Spanier.

Steve Williams, the caddie for Tiger Woods, right, watches with disgust as world-famous prick Phil Mickelson takes a drop during the 2008 U.S. Open at Torrey Pines. Mickelson's management company said the notion that he's a big prick is "grossly inadequate."

Fealty to our Puritanical heritage continues to mangle our language and bungle our attempts to communicate effectively.

As you’ve probably discovered, the self-abusing media got all hot and bothered because Tiger Woods’ caddy, Steve Williams, had the audacity to call fellow golfer Phil Mickelson a prick at a charity event in New Zealand over the weekend.

Reached via satellite phone at his lakefront Xanadu in southwestern Florida, Woods allowed as to how disappointed he was to hear Steve Williams speak in such ungentlemanly terms regarding his rival (though he privately regards Mickelson as one swollen, grotesque prick).

This is all good stuff, good for golf and good for the prurient interest. The problem? You will not find the word “prick” anywhere in the pages of the mainstream American media. Too salty for our gentile tastes, it seems.

This is how Larry Dorman, writing in the New York Times, described the story:

“Williams shed his well-documented aversion to speaking on the record to reporters last week. At an event in New Zealand he was quoted in the British newspaper The Guardian saying, “I wouldn’t call Mickelson a great player,” and using an expletive to describe him.

The quote has been bowdlerized and eviscerated. In the Guardian Web site, right under the headline “Woods’s caddy delivers withering assessment of World No. 2 Mickelson,” is the quote: “I wouldn’t call Mickelson great ’cause I hate the prick.”

Curiously, The Times attempts to deflect its priggishness by running a photo of “Caddyshack” characters Ty Webb and Danny Noonan under the dubiously punny headline, “Woods left holding the bag after caddy’s remarks.”

The Associated Press, with golf writer Doug Ferguson at the helm, also avoided the profane, twisting the quote to Williams saying he wouldn’t call Mickelson a great player “because I think he’s a (expletive).”

In addition to omitting the offensive word, both citations remove the central emotion. Williams, at least in The Guardian’s story, didn’t say “I think he’s a expletive.” He said, “I hate the prick.”

That’s not just editing for prudish sensibilities, it’s changing the statement entirely.

The most distressing problem with this self-righteous obeisance to the prim and proper is it clouds the story. “I think he’s a (expletive)” just sends you to the Internet to find out just what sort of expletive Steve Williams think appropriately describes Phil Mickelson.

Is he a fuck? An asshole? A douchebag? A cocksucker? A motherfucker? A shithead?

Who knows?

It makes no sense.

The story, in essence, is that Tiger Woods’ caddy called his primary rival a prick. If that is newsworthy, and every major media outlet in the world seems to think it is, then there’s no story without the prick. No matter what the Associated Press Style Book or the Chicago Manual of Style has to say.

In a humorous sidebar, Mickelson’s management company issued a statement in response, saying Williams’ description of their golfer as a prick is “grossly inaccurate and irresponsible.”

All of this is old news and summons to mind the immortal bit by the late George Carlin, which includes the line “you can finger your prick, but you can’t prick your finger.”

Here it is:

Ich bin ein Okie! Oklahoma is threatening to leave Mississippi and Arkansas far behind in the shame game, falling out of the national top 10 in infant mortality rate and ranking a salutary sixth in percentage of population living below the poverty line.

In what might be the best news for Oklahoma since the Broadway musical of the same name (!), Zogby has released a survey that suggests fewer Americans view Oklahoma as a cultural wasteland littered with billionaire cowboys and Indian reservations.

The Oklahoman newspaper wasted little time in trumpeting the news, running a story in its sports section under the headline “Oklahoma gets good reviews from nation, poll shows.”

With no apparent sense of irony, reporter Michael McNutt opens the story with this dazzling sentence: “Walmart shoppers and NASCAR enthusiasts are among Oklahoma’s biggest fans, a recent survey of Americans shows.”

By the way, this wouldn’t be the same Zogby that released an exit poll forecasting John Kerry would win the 2004 presidential election with 311 electoral votes?

Not the same Zogby that released a poll on Halloween of this year, just days before the election, showing John McCain was within 1 percentage point of Barack Obama?

Well, yes, it is. But that shouldn’t sway anyone into thinking that Oklahoma isn’t the best darn state this side of Arkansas.

Some glowing nuggets courtesy of Zogby International:

• Two out of three Americans have at least a “fair” view of Oklahoma.
• More than 7 percent of Americans have an “excellent” view of Oklahoma
• Almost 12 percent have a “poor” view of Oklahoma

If Oklahomans are busting their buttons because only one in eight Americans think Oklahoma is a hopeless backwater, well, far be it from me to spoil their fun.

In any case, Richard Rush, president and CEO of the state chamber of commerce, is not about to have his fun spoiled.

“Oklahomans have known for a long time that the state is a great place to raise a family, grow a business and live your dreams,” Rush said. “It is fantastic that the rest of the country is starting to figure out our little secret.”

Yes, the secret is out. Oklahoma, which went for John McCain with greater enthusiasm than any state in November, is at the vanguard of the national zeitgeist. Americans from points north, south, east and west will be rushing to the promised land of Oklahoma now, in search of the good life. Sort of a reverse Dust Bowl exodus.

Those Nouveau Okies might be interested in in a few other random statistics not provided by John Zogby and his messengers of sunshine.

As sports observers, we know that Oklahoma ranks No. 2 in college football, No. 5 in both men’s and women’s college basketball and dead last in the NBA standings.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau’s 2008 state rankings, Oklahoma ranks:

• No. 6 in percentage of population below the poverty level
• 11th in infant mortality rate
• 47th in teacher salaries
• 47th in median household income
• 49th in doctors per 100,000 population

But hell, things are on rise. The NBA has arrived in Oklahoma City, and the fact that the Thunder is on pace to be one of the worst basketball teams in NBA history shouldn’t detract from the boom-time euphoria.

We are all Oklahomans now!

Terrell Owens: "I'm a sensitive human being. I still cry when Rudolph gets banished to the Island of Misfit Toys, and I simply adore 'Die Fledermaus.' I don't know why Jason would do me this way."

“I thought Terrell was going to weep when Witten looked at the floor with disgust, bit his lip and said, ‘I never liked Johan Strauss the Second and I have no interest in this weightless Viennese schmaltz you call art. I’m a man. Give me Sturm. Give me Drang. Give me Wagner. Leave me out of this. You can go by yourself.’”

The incident came in the wake of media reports that Owens believes Romo and Witten meet privately, go out for milkshakes, play pinochle and draw up plays without including Owens.

Owens later issued a statement on his Web site, terrellowens.com, saying, “I love and respect Jason as a teammate and a friend. I think Jason understands this. I’m a sensitive man. I still cry when Rudolph gets banished to the Island of Misfit Toys, and I simply adore ‘Die Fledermaus.’ And this is the last performance of the season.

“I don’t know why Jason would do me this way.”

Army's abysmal performance over the past seven Navy games has provided fun-loving Midshipmen plenty to guffaw about.

PHILADELPHIA – After succumbing meekly to another Navy blitzkrieg and suffering its seventh consecutive defeat to the hated Middies on Saturday afternoon, Army has announced that it has agreed to a 12-month timetable for withdrawing from the venerable service academy rivalry.

Army, which has lost the last seven outings by an average of 29 points and looked as hopeless as ever in Philadelphia on Saturday, says it will pull out of the series after the 110th and final edition is played Dec. 12, 2009, at Lincoln Financial Field in Philadelphia.

A blue-ribbon panel of current and former Army generals commissioned by the U.S. Military Academy, including Norman Schwarzkopf, Colin Powell and David Petraeus, concluded that the only dignified exit for the beleaguered Army team is to cease operations in the rivalry that dates to 1890.

“I know I’ve been an outspoken critic of premature withdrawal in the past,” Petraeus said late Saturday. “But when we assessed the situation and the mounting losses we’ve incurred, we came to one inescapable conclusion. Pouring more manpower and money into an ever-growing black hole is just … counterproductive. We’ve been caught in are a lot of storm clouds out there, and we don’t want to get hit by a lightning bolt.”

Thus will end the nation’s most treasured college football rivalry, which began with a 24-0 Cadets victory in West Point way back back in the 19th century. The series has produced enduring legends like Army’s Doc Blanchard and Glenn Davis, aka Mr. Inside and Mr. Outside, and Navy’s Roger Staubach.

Navy’s seven-game win streak marks the most lopsided period in the storied rivalry. The margin of victory has been in double-digits every time, with the closest being Army’s 26-14 loss in 2006. Army fashioned an 8-0-2 run between 1922 and 1933, but those games were much more competitive, with the Black Knights’ average margin of victory being 8.8 points.

The 74-year-old Schwarzkopf said he was “heartbroken” to see the demise of the Army-Navy Game, but that there was little else that could be done.

“Did you see the way they kicked our tails all over the field today?” said Schwarzkopf, who led U.S. forces in the first Gulf War. “It was (bleeping) pathetic. Running the ball up the middle when we’re down three touchdowns in the fourth(-bleeping) quarter? It’s (bleeper-bleeping) heartbreaking. Seeing those (bleeper-bleeping) Bluejackets own our asses, makes an old soldier want to break down and cry.”

With Navy’s 34-0 whitewashing Saturday, the first shutout in the game since 1978, the Midshipmen lead the series 53 wins to 49. There have been seven ties.

By now you’ve probably heard the fate of poor James Sheep, the hard-working Penn State senior who climbs inside that cuddly Nittany Lions outfit, does the one-handed push-ups and allows himself to be passed from inebriated student to inebriated student during football games at Beaver Stadium.

Yes, the fabled Nittany Lion was arrested on a DUI charge, and school officials said he could be left off the traveling squad for Penn State’s Jan. 1 visit to the Rose Bowl.

After one careless night of serving as chauffeur to a Beverly Hillbillies-sized contingent of shitfaced friends and acquaintances, he’s a national whipping boy. One anonymous Photoshop wag produced the following reaction to Sheep’s night of infamy:

Enough already! OK, OK, just one more.

It’s just not fair. Sheep’s just following the herd. Keeping up with the Joneses. And Scirrottos. And Bells. You might have noticed that Penn State, home of Joe Paterno’s grand experiment, has been catching up on a lot of the bad press its missed out on over most of the coach’s neverending reign.

Could it be that Sheep’s bad behavior is the unfortunate result of his toxic environment?

Since 2002, a slash-and-burn investigation by ESPN’s “Outside the Lines” discovered that 46 Penn State football players have faced 163 criminal charges. Twenty-seven players have been convicted of or have pleaded guilty to a combined 45 counts.

That’s a lot of bad role models, let me tell you.

So, before you rush to judgment and join the mob salivating to pillory Sheep, pause for a moment to consider what you might’ve done had you spent a season or two in his costume and running with a pack of unsavory Lions.

Editor’s note: During the Michigan State game, on the afternoon following his unfortunate arrest, Sheep was honored for serving as the mascot for nearly two years. Now that’s good, wholesome news your children and neighbors can benefit from.

Donovan wants Andy to lose a little weight, remember to take out the trash, buy him flowers every once in a while and cherish the quiet moments together. Andy wants Donovan to stop fumbling the fucking ball and completing passes to the other goddamn team.

I know a lot of strange, once unimaginable things have occurred since I last posted on this weblog.

I considered opening with a phony mea culpa and trotting out a laundry list of excuses for not posting since August. But what’s the point?

The reason for the absence of activity is simple: The Rube is downright lazy.

Always has been.

Always will be.

The Rube is to laziness what Babe Ruth was to prodigious inebriation and epic home runs. What Wilt Chamberlain was to scoring with basketballs and bimbos. What George W. Bush is to – oh, well, you get the idea. Lazy.

A lot of people, from Bristol, Conn., to Philadelphia to various other points on the world media map too stupefying to contemplate, are analyzing the fallout that will consume the Philadelphia Eagles in the wake of Donovan McNabb’s halftime benching on Sunday. It’s a mini-media circus.

Yes, Donovan McNabb probably won’t be in Philadelphia next year, the Eagles probably won’t be relevant again until 2020, and Andy Reid probably will explode, unleashing a disgusting torrent of blood, viscera and partially digested Oreos on horrified bystanders.

This is all very important, but it troubles me. I worry that the omnivorous media, in the course of practicing due diligence and showing uncommon restraint, will nonetheless inflict great harm on Andy and Donovan by exploiting their professional problems at a such a delicate time in their personal relationship.

Everybody wants a piece of this story. Even the venerable Bill Conlin, no doubt stunned by the way his withering cynicism prodded the Phillies to their first World Series championship (World Fucking Champions!) in 25 years, brings his literary élan to bear on this subject.

Things like this have a way of getting messy and devolving in ways nobody intended or anticipated. ESPN.com’s James Walker already thinks there’s good reason to be worried about Donovan’s mental health, keenly detecting “disappointment, shock and loneliness” in McNabb’s body language Sunday. And he’s probably on to something. First there was the whole embarrassing episode where he didn’t know that NFL games could end in ties. Then this. So much pressure. A man might crack under the strain.

Disappointment, shock, and yes, loneliness. So ronery.

Today, the Rube offers a birthday prayer: On Donovan McNabb’s 32nd birthday, I beg Ashley Fox and John Smallwood and Phil Sheridan and Bob Ford and Matt Moseley and Merril Hoge and the rest of our friends in the mainstream media to take a deep breath, extend Donovan best wishes and give Andy and Donovan some breathing room to work out their differences. Please halt the madness, if only for a moment.

Thank you!

P.S. Donovan and Andy will celebrate their 10th anniversary on April 17, the date the Eagles plucked the fledgling NFL quarterback with the second pick in the NFL draft. Traditionally, tin and aluminum are the discerning buyer’s choice for 10th anniversary, though in modern times, given as we are to gaudy excess, diamond jewelry has become popular. So says Wikipedia. All offerings should be sent to:

Donovan and Andy Forever
CO Philadelphia Eagles
NovaCare Complex
One NovaCare Way
Philadephia, PA 19145

As rivalries go, this one has been a lifetime in the making.

Literally, brother vs. brother.

As every chapter is written, with each victory and mirroring defeat, both sides live or die, rise or fall, smile or cry with one another in mind.

What was once a healthy competition, has evolved into an all-consuming disease. Neither side will ever truly satisfy their lust for victory or quench their ultimate thirst for domination. But they must continue to return, if only to deny their opponent even a minor moment of enjoyment.

And so it was this year in the annual battle for the legendary Beach Party Cup. For those of you who don’t know about it–fuck off. For the rest of you out there, read ‘em and weep Gray Team.

Not only will we continue to drink from the sacred plastic gold chalice all year long, but you will never taste the goodness of a frothy beverage from its confines again! The Red Team rules! Beach Party ’08 Champs!

Box score:

Grayland Beach Bowl ‘08

Red Shirts 4, Gray Shirts 3 (3OT)
Gray 0 1 2 0 0 0 0— 3
Red 0 0 0 3 0 0 1— 4
Second Quarter
Gray—Parker 10 pass from Pollock.
Third Quarter
Gray—T. Smith 15 pass from Pollock.
Gray—Beck 5 pass from T. Smith.
Fourth Quarter
Red—J. Turnbull 15 pass from T. Turnbull.
Red—J. Turnbull 12 pass from T. Turnbull.
Red—J. Turnbull 8 pass from T. Turnbull.
Third Overtime
Red—Aguilera 7 pass from T. Turnbull.

Please disregard any residual vitriol that might stain this letter, for I’m just one more representative of the hateful vermin that crawl will-nilly through the blogosphere, one more pathetic, get-a-life loser.
But, Bob, I’m worried about you.
Somewhere along the line, you evolved from one of America’s most perspicacious, informed observers of the sports world to the self-appointed watchdog for the true spirit of athletic competition.
I don’t watch a lot of TV, so I’m not sure when or how this occurred. But there seems little doubt that it’s happened, Bob.
I’m sure you’ve never intended this. It’s likely you have no idea that you’ve gone from welcome living-room guest to insufferable panjandrum, as our powers of insight can weaken significantly when we turn our gaze upon ourselves.
If you’re not teaming with an apoplectic Buzz Bissinger to assail the vulgarity of bloggers, Bob, you’re coming down on Jamaican sprinter Usain Bolt for his world-record performance in the 100 meters in Beijing.
Again, I didn’t see your commentary, so maybe it’s a little unfair of me to reference this latest example of your growing priggishness. I gather you found Bolt’s short-of-the-finish-line exuberance disrespectful to fellow competitors and fans alike, not to mention the righteous poobahs of the corporate media colossus.
Really, Bob? Aren’t you better than this?
You sit amid a global marketing circus put on by the shamefully hypocritical International Olympic Committee and hosted by a totalitarian government desperately trying to rein in its burgeoning population of 1.3 billion, and this is the best you can come up with for a morality play?
A little showboating on the way to … an Olympic gold medal and world record?
Even in the unlikely event, as at least one person suggested, that Bolt slowed his pace for financial reasons, does this really make him an apt subject for your ire?
You’re not listening, are you, Bob?
You serve at the pleasure of NBC Universal, which is part of an $800 billion godzilla called General Electric, one of the the world’s great manufacturers of military hardware and other assorted instruments of widespread death, and you’re vilifying a Jamaican sprinter for celebrating prior to the finish line in a race he won?
Have you lost your sense of perspective, Bob?
I know there might be some logical fallacy here, Bob, implying that somehow your hands are dirty just because NBC pays you an heiress’ ransom for the rental of your wit and wisdom.
But you know what the ancients said about little men in glass houses, right?
Instead of turning your finely honed rapier on Usain Bolt, Bob, you might’ve apologized to your audience for burying the 100 meters in your coverage. Perhaps if an American runner had won the race, this might not have been so. I hate to accuse you or your paymasters at NBC of having a provincial outlook, but I’m going to have to do it anyway.
I digress, Bob. I didn’t set out to wallow in negativity and meanness. I simply wanted to give you a heads-up, hoping there’s a slim chance you might turn back from your course and rediscover a little humility along the way.
Because, Bob, I am sorry.
It’s just sad, Bob Costas as Little General (sorry for gratuitous reference to your stature), overlord of all that is good in sport and grand inquisitor of all that might corrupt.
Perhaps it’s not too late, Bob.
I know you’re a student of history, Bob, so I’ll leave you with that oft-quoted, cautionary warning given to us by Lord Acton.
“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.”
Tread carefully, Bob.

Sincerely,

Rube