Before Jameis Winston, Peyton Manning Had His Own Sexual Misconduct Issue
What does Jameis Winston have in common with college-aged Peyton Manning? Other than being among the best quarterbacks of their time, they’ve both found themselves in hot water thanks to allegations of sexual misconduct.
Jameis Winston catches a lot of heat for his immaturity, and deservedly so. Even after the controversial rape allegation that cast a cloud over his Heisman-winning season, the Florida State quarterback has continued to make headlines for inglorious purposes, whether it’s stealing food from a grocery store or yelling graphic sexual slurs in a public setting.
He’s certainly no golden child. Then again, neither was Manning.Today he’s one of the most popular figures in the NFL, and well-known for his sportsmanship and for being an all-around good guy. But according to a new column by Jason McIntyre of TheBigLead, Manning should be counting his blessings that he didn’t grow up in the social media era. As the article points out, Manning had a sexual misconduct suit against him that is virtually unknown to the public at large.
In the suit, Manning was accused by a then-University of Tennessee female trainer of dropping his pants during an injury examination, and placing his buttocks and private parts on her face.That sounds bad on its own, but it gets worse: Another student-athlete observed the incident and, several years later, wrote Manning a letter, urging him to admit what he had done.The trainer immediately brought her complaint to the university, and she won a settlement from the school before leaving her position.
But the incident resurfaced several years later, when Manning wrote his perspective in his autobiography. He described the trainer as having a “vulgar mouth.” The trainer, who was then the program director at Florida Southern College, was demoted and apparently lost her job due to the vulgar accusation.Manning had settled with her out of court over the incident, but he had to re-settle with her once again after discussing the incident on ESPN , which violated the terms of the agreement.All in all, it’s a story that tarnishes the image Manning has cultivated over a long, successful career, and an incident that he no doubt regrets. If this had become a major national news story while Manning was still in college, it’s one that could have altered the course of his career.
So there it is everyone, finally proof that the dolphin faced sqeaky clean endorsement junkie is actually an asshole. So do you think he gets in trouble when he makes it to the NFL for putting his ass in some trainers face. Hell no he doesn’t, he does what every other rich guy with any sense should do, you pay for it to go away. That’s why Kobe is still playing basketball, he paid for his oops sorry about the rape heres’ season tickets and 5 million Colorado vacation. Its why Michael Jackson kept playing hide the match box car with every kid on the tilt-a-wheel. For Christ sakes ever Ferris Bueller killed 2 people in a car accident (I know right, changes that whole parade scene now) but you don’t hear about that on the E network.
The problems in the NFL dont just stop at moon landings. Theres wife beatings, kid beatings, OUIs, drugs, and thats just a weekend with Lawrence Taylor.The NFL needs to stop acting like counciling and talking about feelings is going to stop these animals from beating the shit out of every man, woman and child around. Yes, they should all be suspended but lets not act like this is a shock to people. Your telling me that it took an elevator video of a woman getting punched by her fiancé for people to say “wait a tick, these guys need counciling”. I mean personally I think a woman who can take a punch is sexy, look at Ronda Rousey.
The funny thing here is if we had cell phone video of that broad taking Peytons ass to her face, its possible that he would be an even shittier quarterback then he is now. So even Espns favorite highlight film Peyton Manning is an ass clown just like the rest of the NFL .Yes we have all done juvenile things like Peyton, I cant count how many times ive put my penis on peoples shoulders while they read at the library, but that’s just me enjoying the weekend. So before everyone starts crying about how bad the sport is and how they all should be kicked out of the league once they are arrested for jay walking, remember that even the NFLs binky is an asshole.
Well, after nearly 700 hundred years since (or at least since 1995) William Wallace delivered that famous inspirational speech before leading his army of Scottish soldiers in to battle, it appears as if Scotland may finally be free of being a part of the United Kingdom. A very exciting time and a great victory for Ireland’s smaller, angrier little brother.
In honor of that, let’s recognize 7 of the greatest Scottish characters in history. (interestingly, most of these Scottish characters are played by Canadian Mike Myers)
Now, let’s get pissed!
William Wallace
Fine, let’s get him out of the way. If Wallace was in fact real, then he was a coolest, toughest Scotsman that ever threw a stone. Badass to the core, he was perhaps the root of the freedom they may gain today. Mel Gibson’s portrayal was epic and here he delivers his most memorable speech; except, of course, for his anti-Semitic tirade.
Shrek
Big, fat, ugly, green do-gooder from the world of Disney, Shrek has to make the list. But like every worthy Scot, Shrek could kick some ass with the best of them.
Montgomery “Scotty” Scott
Nice guy Scotty was the heart and soul of cult followed 70s program, Star Trek. Innocent Scotty was the composed voice of reason of the starship Enterprise and always kept his composure even after being told to ‘Beam up’ that fat, smug, know-it-all Priceline-pushing bastard, Captain Kirk, a million times.
Scrooge McDuck
A Disney spinoff of the Dickens’ character, Scrooge McDuck epitomized an angry Scotsduck. Ruthless, unforgiving but somewhere inside that fluffy chest beat a heart full of haggis.
Begbie
This memorable lad from the dark and dreary Trainspotting set Scotland back a few centuries. An absolute madman, Begbie perhaps epitomized every Scottish stereotype ever imagined. But what a great kicker of the nuts.
Groundskeeper Willie
The Simpsons…..as a key member of the cast of the longest running sitcom in history, Groundskeeper Willie was the most animated man in town. Redheaded, fiery, and incredibly jacked Willie was the Scottish staple that kept the Springfield Elementary School clean and kept for more than two decades.
Stu MacKenzie
This father figure in the less-than-memorable So I Married an Axe Murder is my absolute favorite Scottish character of all time. The drunken, bitter but affable Stu (of course, played by Myers) embodies the Scottish spirit. Here is a compilation of Stu’s funniest scenes. Now, go give your mother a kiss or I’ll kick your teeth in.
I guess you can scratch role model off the list. Former Boston Red Sox closer Jonathan Papelbon is creating headlines for what he did in a game between his Philadelphia Phillies and the Miami Marlins, The Phillies are a dismal 69-81 so you can guarantee he wasn’t making news for his outstanding play. No, Mr. Riverdance (which now seems so lame) got himself thrown out of the game for a lewd gesture he made while walking off the mound.
It all started when Papelbon entered the game up 4-1 and ready send the fans home happy. Well, Miami apparently didn’t get the memo as they rallied for 4 runs in route to a 5-4 win. While walking off the mound the Phillies’ closer was deservedly met with boos from the crowd. He didn’t take it very well and “allegedly” (my editor said I had to write this to stay out of legal trouble) grabbed his crotch in a show of outstanding class.
The MLB has since come down and suspended Papelbon for seven games.
The only thing I can say to that is… stay Classy Jonathan.
Dusting off another “oldie” this week in honor of my good buddy, Mark, who is going through this very passage of life today. Godspeed, sir.
(First published in October 2012)
Again, I am dropping my proverbial pants (pun intended) to review a topic with you that is very personal, intimate and embarrassing all in the name of humor; Vasectomies. More than three years have passed since I went through the incredibly easy, but equally humiliating, “procedure” of being neutered. Snipped. Spade. De-manned. Vasectomized.
As I watched (well, not ‘watched’, I mean ‘witnessed’…I mean 2nd hand…bad choice of words – ‘HAND’ – …damnit! Nevermind.) my best friend go through this passage of life for a significant population of married-men-with-children-who-want-no-more-children-and-their-wives-are-finally-putting-their-foot-down-after-all-their-bodies-have-endured-giving-birth-to-your-kids-you-selfish-son-of-a…population, I was reminded how difficult this journey was to manage.
Before you jump down my throat, ladies, I do not mean to suggest that this minor surgery is nearly as physically painful (in most cases) compared to delivering a child, but I will contest that the mental anguish which we brave SeaMen endure is worth recognizing. I am not even going to attempt to compare this experience to the ‘joy of childbirth’ (isn’t that what you all called it BEFORE you went through it?). I won’t do it, but let me relay the internal strife we, as men, must undergo to get through the process of being neutered like your cat, Mittens.
A walk down men-mory lane….
May 2009
After 3 children and nearly 3 years since the birth of our youngest, my wife ‘encouraged’ (and by ‘encouraged’ I mean ‘demanded’) that I ‘cut the cord’, ‘close the barn’ and host an ‘all-things-must-go sale’. I finally conceded to her and decided it was my time to step up and face the scrotal-carving music. After all, she was right. She bore us three beautiful children (of course, I did have ‘something’ to do with it, no? Probably a bad time to bring up that old adage about Men vs. Women? If you put 1000 women and 1 man on an island, in theory, you could have 1000 children one year later, while if you had 1000 men and 1 women on an island….yeah, right….forget I mentioned it) and it was time to move on to the next phase of our lives as parents.
Visit 1: The Consult
Before we soon-to-be-sterile suckers get the privilege of having our seed bag scraped open by Dr. Notsofeelgood, we must first take part in a ‘consult’ visit. Without knowing what to expect during this initial visit to the medical practice of Dewey, Pinchem & Howe, I did have the presence of mind to know I was going to be a nervous mess, so I did the logical thing; drank heavily before my appointment. After several mini-van sized draught beers I was ready to embark on this testical journey. I calmly walked into the office, checked in, sat down and tried to relax before I met with the nurse practitioner, Ms. Squeezy Van Nuttwister. Now, I am no Norman Einstein (by the way that is a reference to a slip of the tongue by NFL Legend-turned-Sportscaster, Joe Theisman. I know Einstein’s first name was really ‘Harold’) but I do not recall any ‘consult’ I have been a part of which required another party to take a firm grasp of my twig and berries for exploratory purposes? Maybe I am wrong but my recollection of a, so called, ‘consultation’ usually involved a conversation, a cup of coffee and an exchange of business cards. Never heard of the kind that would require my ‘potato sack’ to be fondled by Nurse Ratchet?
I tried to provide some levity to the uncomfortable situation.
A serious and stern woman, the nurse attempted to be very business-like in her pre-surgery instructions to me…
“Now, you will need to shave your scrotum just prior to the procedure,” she explained.
“Just another Thursday at the McCabes, Sweetheart,” I sarcastically responded.
Without cracking smile, she continued….
“Also, following the procedure, after adequate rest you will need to ejaculate approximately twenty-five times before returning with your test sample.”
“Makes sense to me. By my calendar I should be back here on Tuesday then.” The oh-so-funny-inebriated-and-terrified-patient retorted.
Finally, a small smirk appeared on her face.
“Look, I am sorry to be a wiseass. I am just really jumpy about this whole thing,” I implored.
“Have no fear, Mr. McCabe, this is actually quite an easy, quick and painless procedure,” reassured the person who has never had a ‘ball and chain’ attached to her anatomy.
I walked out…not feeling a whole lot better about the situation.
Moving on…
Visit 2: V-Day
You may recall when I wrote about Panic Attacks in which I describe an episode of anxiety so worrisome I actually called an ambulance to come to my aid. What I did not include in that story was that incident occurred just 2 days before my castration vasectomy. Coincidence? I think not.
Walk into ‘Dr. Kevorkian’s Office of Ill Repute’ in a state of pure horror for what was about to happen to me and ‘my boys’. After what seemed to be an eternity out comes my buddy, Sir Balldesack, to murder the fruitful existence of my ‘two oldest friends’.
A funny and affable guy, Dr. Derection, guided me to the operating room. After a few jokes and some general guidelines to how he was going to be ‘Deconstructing Harry’, I actually breathed a sigh of relief.
First he was going to inject a local anesthesia into ‘the twins’? OH SHIT!
Here it comes…..ah…ah……whew, that actually wasn’t too bad. What’s next, Doc?
Oh, time to slice open the ‘bag of peas’ (which, ironically and literally, would become my best friend during recovery)? Super.
Eyes clenched (along with my butt cheeks), I anxiously awaited the pain to begin. Amazingly, it was not so bad and before I knew it, it was over.
“Mission Slay Bells”: Complete.
Amen.
After a few more off-color ‘cookie’ comments from Dr. Junkenremover, I was on my way home to rest my, now retired, ‘Generals’.
A dispute between two employees of a Fallston business over a meatball during lunch Thursday led to a stabbing, the Harford County Sheriff’s Office said.
Deputies were called around 11:10 a.m. to the business in the 2300 block of Belair Road, where they learned there had been an argument over one employee eating the other’s meatball from his lunch, Sheriff’s Office spokesperson Cristie Kahler said.
A fight ensued and the employee who had eaten the meatball was stabbed in the arm by the employee whose lunch he had taken the meatball from, Kahler said.
The victim, a 36-year-old Aberdeen man, was taken to a local hospital and later discharged.
The assailant, a 31-year-old Edgewood man, fled the scene.
An arrest warrant has been issued but the man had not been served as of Tuesday afternoon, Kahler said.
To be honest, this story is less a story about poor behavior among two colleagues in the work place and more of a story on society’s current relationship with the meatball. Back in the day, it was nothing but “Spaghetti and Meatball this” and “Meatball that”…Americans dinner tables were just lousy with meatballs. It was all about meatballs. People even started being defined by their meatballs…how big, how rotund, how soft, and how juicy:
“Have you heard from Bill at all lately?”
“Which Bill? Bill with the meatballs that are so big that they make him walk funny? Or Bill down the street who lost one of his meatballs when he was hopping a chain link fence running from the Cops in high school?”
Now, it’s a totally different story. I have north of 450 contacts in my phone and I’m fairly certain not one of them knows how to roll a meatball. Meatballs are so scarce that some of us have no qualms about stabbing coworkers just to get a little nibble. We need more Meatballs! Go ahead moms everywhere; keep rolling out that cute meatless veggie red sauce bullshit on spaghetti night. It’s only a matter of time before your kid is pawning your wedding bands to get their next meatball fix. We’re seeing it all too often these days. If you don’t want little Suzie hanging out behind the bowling alley in a year or two, “creatively” generating cash for meatballs, then it’s time to start rolling that meat!
I post this one every September 10. If you have read it before, move on with your day. If not, here is the strange timeline of events leading up to the birth of my second child – 10 years ago today.
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Planes, Trains, & Automobiles: The Birth of Elizabeth
September 7, 2004
My wife (we’ll call her “Amy”) and I were making one of our final visits to the OBGYN. We were anxiously awaiting the arrival of our second child (we did not know the sex). Amy was thirty-six weeks pregnant and up until that point things were moving along as planned. I had a two-day business trip to Chicago the next day. Following the exam I asked our doctor, “Doc, Am I OK to go on this trip?” She quickly responded, “Oh yeah, Amy is not going anywhere yet.” Amy gave us both a look of disappointment as she realized she had another four weeks of the long, hot remaining summer days ahead of her. However, I felt a sense of relief as we walked out of her office to return home.
September 8
The next day I took off for the Windy City feeling relaxed.
I arrived late afternoon as there was little business to be taken care of that day. The next morning I was begrudgingly starting an intensive two-day training session on a software technology (yeah, real fun stuff!). My colleague and I grabbed dinner and found a pub in Chicago that was actually showing our beloved Red Sox. The Sox were, once again, making a spirited run toward the playoffs, but we all know they will ultimately let us down, right? (of course, you remember what happened that year…but I digress). So we watched the game and shut it down early knowing we needed to be in a classroom bright and early.
September 9
Next morning arrives with no surprises. We jump on the subway out for the Hyatt at O’Hare Airport. Class began promptly at 9AM. Within five minutes of listening this geek instructor speak I knew I was in for a long couple of days. Not fifteen minutes into this torture, my cell phone (rudely NOT set on vibrate) rings. It was Amy. Normal circumstances I would push her right to voicemail but with Baby #2 pending I knew I had to take this one. I provided the instructor and my classmates with the gratuitous, silent, “Excuse me…I’m sorry” as I slithered out of the room to answer the call.
“Hello” I answered.
“Hey”
“Hey, what’s up?
“Well…(she giggled)..I am in labor.”
Gulp.
“You’re what! But Dr. So and So said…but…what…huh?”
Amy calmly explained that she did not feel “right” that morning and decided to bring herself to the local walk-in near to our home (We chose to deliver our children at a large Boston hospital – 30 miles away). Apparently, the doctor quickly concluded that Amy was, in fact, in early stages of labor and should get herself into the hospital as soon as possible.
After about 10 minutes of freaking out in the lobby of the hotel, I got a hold of myself and took action. I called my office and asked my assistant to look into the earliest possible flight out of Chicago to get me back to home. Within a few minutes she had me booked on 12:45PM flight from O’Hare to Logan, arriving in Boston around 3:45PM.
3:45PM! DAMNIT! This was baby #2. Number 2 always comes faster than number one (at least that is what I remember from reading the cliff notes version of some baby book in the bathroom). The panic set in again, but this was the earliest option.
I rushed back into class, relayed the story to the group and ran out to the sounds of applause.(stay tuned, this is only the FIRST time I would receive applause on that fateful day).
Ran outside of the hotel and hailed a taxi.
“O’HARE…AMERICAN. Step on it!”
Did I just say ‘step on it’? What am in some 1960s Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin movie? Why am I rushing? I had 3 hours to kill in the terminal before I was going anywhere. Nonetheless, it seemed like the right thing to say. What I did not realize in my overexcited state was that I was ALREADY at O’Hare. Remember? What ended up being a fifteen minute and $12 cab ride could have actually been a 7 minute walk if I was at all lucid in my thinking. Threw the cabbie a $20 and ran out. Again, why am I running?
Arrive at the American desk, collect my ticket and I am good to go….in exactly two hours and thirty-seven minutes from now. Uhg.
I frantically paced around the terminal like a cocaine smuggler at the border for about 20 minutes. Called Amy to check in. All was well and she was closing in on the hospital thankfully chauffeured by my mother (Love you Mom!). OK, good. Now what do I do?
I grab a newspaper, but who am I kidding, I can’t read now. Try to grab a bite to eat. Not hungry, too nervous. I needed to calm down. Wait a minute, maybe a little dose of the old Irish cure-all would do the trick (stop judging me – I know it is 10:30AM – I am about to have a baby 1000 miles away!)
I slide into one of the many airport gin joints where there were only 2 other patrons (you know, because it’s MORNING TIME!). Both were women, each enjoying a ‘morning refreshment’ prior to boarding their respective flights. I took a deep breath and ordered a beer. As I guiltily sipped my drink, I slowly calmed down. The first one went down surprisingly (and by ‘surprisingly’ I mean ‘expectedly’) fast. I quickly reordered another and sat back.
The bartender (we’ll call her ‘Judy’ since I was in no position to remember names), a very nice older lady with a thick Chicago accent, and I began to talk. Within a couple minutes I was relaying my story to Judy and explained why I found myself pounding Budweisers at 10:30AM and have no baggage whatsoever. She was very gracious and comforting, ‘Don’t worry, sweetie, you’ll make it’. At that point I realized my two co-alcoholic lady friends had been listening to my every word.
I was rapidly peppered with questions and comments
“Ah, how nice!” one exclaimed.
“Is this your first?” the other chimed in.
“Are you nervous?”…it continued.
(My inner monologue screamed – “YES! DAMN RIGHT I am nervous! Why do you think I am sitting at this bar at 10:30AM you crazy booze-riddled broads!”)
But what actually came out of my mouth was…
“Yes, thank you, it is exciting.”
“No, this is our second. We have a boy at home now” and
“No, not really.” (bahahaha…they knew I was lying)
I chatted with ‘Saucy’ and ‘Boozy’ for a while which, in hindsight, was a helpful distraction. By the time I next looked at the clock it was only about an hour until my flight. I paid the tab and headed for the gate. Slightly relaxed at this point, I made a few random, useless phone calls to friends and family informing them of the pending arrival…and would I make it in time?
Finally…12:45PM. I quickly boarded. I had never looked at my ticket but to my dismay I was in Row 28, Seat E (yeah, that’s right, the middle seat). Are you kidding me? I sat for a moment but then decided to see if the flight crew could help me out at all with a placement closer to the front of the plane. Every minute is going to count, right? I want to get off this bird the second it lands – seat 28E will cost me a minimum of 10 minutes. So, I make my way to the back where the flight attendants were prepping for take off.
“Excuse me. I hate to be a bother but is there any possibility of moving to a seat closer to the front of the plane?” I requested.
“I am not sure we can do that, sir,” stated Julio, the flamboyant flight attendant explained.
“Well, my wife is actually in labor in Boston, so I was just hoping to….”
“OH MY GOODNESS, HOW WONDERFUL!” exclaimed a suddenly slap happy, limp wristed Julio. “I WILL LOOK INTO IT RIGHT NOW! OOOOHHH!!”
Not five minutes later…Row 7! Still in seat E, but beggars can’t be choosers. I’ll take it!
I look to my right and, low and behold, my friend Boozy was sitting next right next to me!
“WHOA, it’s you!” I said.
“Yes, I told you I was headed to Boston, remember?” stated Boozy.
“Oh yeah! That’s right” (I had no clue she had said that…I was slightly buzzed and as nervous as a pregnant cheerleader at Prom)
“Before I forget,” she said “here is my card. I work for a children’s book publisher. Let me know how you make out. I’d be happy to send you some books for the kids”
Wow. This day is getting more interesting all the time.
Before I could utter a thank you to Boozy, my new Man-crush, Julio, was dropping nips of Dewars on my lap.
“Here you go, Mr. McCabe. I want you to relax and enjoy the flight! You are going to me a Papa soon,” Julio giggled as he sashayed back to his station.
Unreal. Free books, free booze. I am liking this emergency evacuation thing.
Off we go to Boston. Surprisingly the flight seemed to go by rather quickly. (3 beers, 2 shots of scotch and some useless conversation will do that I suppose).
The Captain comes on and informs us we are making our final approach into Logan. Thank you for flying with us, blah, blah, blah. I grabbed Julio as he glided past me.
“Julio, one more favor, buddy. If at all possible, can you help me get off the plane first so I can get out of the airport as quickly as possible?”
“Of course! This is just so exciting, I…”
I interrupted him “Yeah, I know, Julio. Thanks. But if you can please be discreet, I just want to get up and get off.
“Of course”
Thirty seconds later.
“Ladies and gentlemen we have a special announcement,” I hear Julio squeal over the intercom, “The gentleman, seated in Seat 7E, is an expecting father! His wife is in labor right now!!!!”
Once again, the applause and cheers begin like the sounds of the Fenway faithful during a late inning rally.
So much for being discreet, Julio. Thanks, pal.
In any event, all of my fellow passengers were very gracious. We landed, everyone wished me well and let me disembark first off the plane.
The sprint begins; again. I am running through the terminal like a madman. Cell phone is now completely dead, so for all I know Baby #2 is already here. Nonetheless, I had to do my very best to get over to Brigham and Women’s Hospital – about 20 minutes away – and hopefully catch the birth of my child.
The automatic doors open to the street. Daylight! Almost there! Need a taxi. Look to my left…of course…fifty person line all waiting for cabs. COME ON!
I decided this was no time to be patient and polite, so I take myself to the front of the line. There stood a very large, rough looking red headed American Airlines employee assisting folks with taxis in an orderly fashion. Well, here it goes.
“Excuse me, sir,” I uttered meekly.
“WHAT!?!?!” he screamed as he snapped his neck around to see who was bothering him during the rush hour
“Sorry to bother you, but my wife is in labor over at the Brigham and I was hopin…”
“NO SHIT! GOOD FOR YOU BUDDY! EVERYBODY LET THIS GUY THROUGH!”
I skipped past the line and my new giant friend whisked me into the next available cab.
“Get this guy over to the fucking Brigham fast!!!” yelled Big Red.
Thank you, boss!
Off I go again.
“Ahmed” (my Middle Eastern taxi driver) wanted to do nothing but ask me questions and make small talk. By now, I am starting to feel tired, the nerves are in full gear again, and I can not reach my wife or anyone else for that matter. I just want to get there and, God willing, see the miracle of birth for a second time. Shutup, Ahmed!
Pull up to the curb.
Pay the fare and begin my race up to Labor and Delivery, floor 10.
Get in the elevator. Come on….hurry up – I thought to myself. I could be missing everything. Get to the nurses station. “Amy McCabe’s room???!!!”
They direct me down the hall.
I run into the room. I made it! I witnessed the birth of, what turned out to be, my first daughter, Elizabeth…..22 hours later.
Can I Be Frank & Crew? 