The Cranky Copy Editor — Monday, October 13

It's an all-sports edition of crankiness, so here's what's pissing me off today:

Ken Whisenhunt, head coach of the St. Louis Arizona Cardinals. With Dallas trailing by three and less than 25 seconds left in the game, Cowboys QB Tony Romo completed a long pass to the Cardinals' 40 yard line. As the offense hurried to the line to spike the ball and stop the clock, an injured Cardinals player upfield didn’t make it off the field in time, and thus Dallas got another five yards because of the offsides call. The Cowboys were going to kill the clock anyway and try a game-tying field goal, so why didn't Whisenhunt or one of his coaches just call time out and keep Dallas from getting an extra five yards?! It’s not like they would have had time for a Hail Mary before lining up for the field goal. By doing nothing, Whisenhunt allowed the Cowboys to attempt a 52-yard field goal instead of a 57-yarder. Big difference.

Whisenhunt appeared to receive redemption when the Cards blocked the attempt by kicker Nick Folk. Except they technically didn’t, because the Whis called timeout before the snap in an attempt to “ice” the kicker. Of course, Folk made the do-over, sending the game into overtime. Luckily for the Cards and their about-to-be-suicidal fans, they won in overtime. But if there were any justice in the NFL, this would go as a loss in the standings, as Whisenhunt nearly fucked his team out of a win twice.

Bill Belichick. I used to have a grudging respect for Belichick as the loathsome, win-at-all-costs, cheating sonofabitch head coach of the Patriots. But after last night’s debacle before a national audience, I find him to be a despicable fraud. Because “fraudulent” is the only term that fits someone who, having worn the mantle of “evil genius,” leads New England in a prime-time game and loses badly to a team led by career hack Norv Turner. And no, having to put up with Matt Cassel as your quarterback isn’t an excuse. You could’ve taken the field with the cast of Murderball and spotted the Chargers 10 points, and I still would have expected you to win by at least two touchdowns. Those three Super Bowl victories on your resume? Meaningless.

Dustin Pedroia. Yeech. From the moment I saw this punk’s slack-jawed “what kind of bullshit is that” look after Rays pitcher Grant Balfour hit J.D. Drew in the shoulder blade with a

pitch in game one of the ALCS, I lost the ability to articulate but two words: “fuck” and “you.” You, Senor Pedroia, had no business being on national television making that face, and don’t you dare shift blame to the cameraman or producer: Knowing the cameras would be zeroing in on the Red Sox dugout, you should have made like you were foraging for another bag of sunflower seeds. Or maybe a Gillette razor to fix that horrifying patch of facial hair. Who the fuck do you think you are: Big Papi? Kevin Millar? You wanna be part of the 2004 Bosox? Hop in a time machine, asshole. At least that roster owned their look as the anti-Yankees, a bunch of smelly, unkempt Cowboy-Uppers with a golden horseshoe up their collective ass. You, on the other hand, just look like a douche. And I don’t give a fuck if you were the 2007 AL Rookie of the Year: You have no business being in a ballpark for any reason other than to pound back beers while perched in the nosebleeds. And yet, somehow, a 5-foot-nothing troll like you owns a World Series ring. Congratulations Red Sox Nation: You have your very own David Eckstein. At the very least, I guess we can thank him for answering the burning question: What if Giovanni Ribisi had been cast as Wolverine?