U.S. federal agents seized over 500lbs of cocaine in Calderon’s Puerto Rico home. I’m thinking he wishes that Puerto Rico wasn’t a U.S. territory right at this moment. Calderon denies any knowledge of the drug in his home. He must be high.

If something was in your house, that weighed 5 times as much as you do, wouldn’t you know? Like, if a Volkswagen Bug just showed up in your living room, wouldn’t you kind of take notice and think to yourself, “Self? Why is there a Volkswagen Bug in the living room?”

Yeah, me too.

Calderon, a former boxing champ, recently announced that he would be seeking a return to the sport and was working on getting to his fighting weight of 105 pounds. Ahem. Although, Calderon says the house where the drugs were seized is one of his many rental properties and he was unaware of any illegal goings on.

Calderon continues to train so that he can float like a butterfly and be high as a kite. Wait. That doesn’t sound right.

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I haven’t, I should say, until this year, when I decided to make up for years of blissful ignorance and throw myself headlong into not just one (or even one variety of) fantasy football experience, but four.

I have always been an all-or-nothing sort of person, and it turns out that after listening to my fantasy freak friend go on about her very favorite hobby for three seasons, the curiosity was too much to take.

(And so was the peace of mind, apparently.)

I started to get nervy about it in my mind. “Hey, I could figure this out,” my nervy mind thought. “I have been to one whole NFL preseason game, and I’ve watched several on tv.”

I was not interested in leaving this thing unconquered.

So I did what any good combination slacker/overachiever would do: I printed out a lot of lists of statistics and names and teams and positions. I made lists of guys I wanted to snag for my teams, learned some new terms, and had some heated GCchat time with a fellow new person to the league just before the draft, wherein we took turns saying, and I paraphrase, “OH MY GOD I DON’T KNOW WHAT IN THE HELL I’M DOING! What does this MEAN? I am not drunk enough for this!”

(That last line isn’t paraphrased at all. I remember that one pretty well.”)

But I was still feeling pretty good. I felt that I knew some solid choices that I wanted to make, and I felt reasonably sure that even a person of my feeble football knowledge could read CHARTS, for God sakes. I’m an EDUCATOR. I own MANY HIGHLIGHTERS.

So I settled in, engaging in ridiculous, hilarious banter with the other people in my league, kind of learning to navigate mastering the website, and even feeling a little bit satisfied. I got a decent running back or two. I picked a solid quarterback.

And then I hit the wrong button and picked a kicker — Neil Rackers of the Houston Texans — accidentally. I learned that this was an error based on the string of giggles coming from the draft chat, and the request of a few people that I return next year because it’s not like I was going to pose any kind of threat.

And then I learned a few days later that my first-string QB, Peyton Manning, was almost immediately put on the injured list for a series of neck surgeries. AND I picked a running back — Arian Foster — who has the hamstrings of my grandma, may she rest in peace, so HE was off of my list for the first week.

And it was an ugly week.

But I will say to the haters that my new friend Neil Rackers, playing a Peyton-less, shell-shocked Indianapolis, and my not-too-shabby backup QB Joe Flacco (Go Ravens!) helped me be in last place by only three points. This is saying something given the lackluster performance of the rest of my team. There really isn’t any guarantee that this week will go any better, but thanks are due to my head-to-head opponent and supposed friend, who not only beat me by many, many points, but rechristened my team NiceRackers.

And I have to admit that this has been a lot of fun so far. Foster is supposedly back tomorrow, so we’ll see if my Texans tag team can get me out of the basement. It’s really too bad I don’t own a Rackers jersey yet, but forget about any other deities — around here these days, it’s WWNRD.

Really. What Would Neil Rackers Do?

Hence, a federal obstruction charge leveled on one, rather beefy Mr. Clemens. A trial which has just ended in a mistrial. Yay for wasted tax dollars!

Roger Clemens, testing the tensile strength of the fabric of his suit, and looking snazzy with his manpurse full of roids stylish satchel, his attorney who firmly believes that three-ring binders make one look more official and some dude in a blue tie, arriving in court on Wednesday.

Why the mistrial, you ask? Apparently, while discussing a matter of instructions, away from the jury, one of the attorneys left a video playing in the courtroom. Now, this video wasn’t Spongebob, Real Housewives of East Bumblefart or even a little harmless porn. This was a video that clearly displayed written statements by Elijah E. Cummings (D-Md) questioning the legitimacy and the credibility of one of the key witnesses in Clemens’ defense. These statements were made in the Congressional hearing in 2008, where Clemens denied any use of steroids or other performance enhancing drugs.Um, oops.

“Sadly, I have reached this conclusion,”said presiding justice, U.S. District Judge Reggie  Walton.

An earlier ruling was at issue, where no prior testimony was being allowed into evidence, including testimony from Clemens’ former teammate, Andy Pettitte.

“We’ll never know what impact that will have on how this jury decides this case, when we have a man’s liberty’s at stake. I am troubled by this. The government should have been more cautious.” Said Walton

He added, “I don’t see how I unring the bell” and keep the jury from considering what was on the video screen.

“In my view, Mr. Pettitte’s testimony is going to be critical as to whether this man goes to prison, and I can’t in good faith leave this case where a man’s liberty is at risk when the government should have assured we are not in this situation.”

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“Hey, I’m in a Doublemint football commercial!”

“Whoo! I got a helmet way up high on my head!”

See? Just your average richer-than-you football player, friendly-looking, smiley dude.

But then Laurence smokes up and gets arrested after a Rick Ross concert. I don’t know who that is, but it was certainly the kind of occasion for which one rocks a special hairdo.

Yes, Laurence got his hair did (or maybe just did it himself) and then got arrested for pot possession and carrying a weapon while under the influence of drugs when the police pulled over an Infiniti he was riding in. He had a concealed carry permit and everything but even that goes out the window when drugs are involved. Good to know.

And yes, he does look contemplative, and stoned. But I really have to admit that his hair looks adorable.

A Deadspin commenter called him Pippi Bongstocking, which is so much better than anything I’ve come up with. I mean, I called him “Laurence Longstocking” immediately, but that was far too easy. You win, Deadspin commenter. But sadly, Laurence didn’t, so I wouldn’t call this sassy hairdo very lucky at all.

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Yeah, ammonia, Brady said on the WEEI Dennis & Callahan radio show Monday.

We all do it. It’s kind of a receiver and quarterback thing.

It’s legal, sayeth the NFL. The New York Times reported that NFL rep Greg Aiello e-mailed to say it wasn’t prohibited but it was a practice monitored by their “medical advisors.”

But anyway, it didn’t help.

Brady also got some shots in at Antonio Cromartie and the Jets, basically saying it was too bad that they got their confidence from trash talk and that was why they won the game.

When you’ve had a good year, you can say whatever you want to say. I wish we’d won just to be able to shut them up. But we didn’t, so it just validates what they think it takes to win. That’s where they get their confidence from. Like I said, I certainly wish we’d went out and executed a lot better. But we didn’t.

This says nothing about what it takes to really win a game in the end, which is to put more points up on the board. The Jets may have mouthed off pre- and post-game, but it wasn’t just their confidence that kept Tom Brady from scoring, right?

There there, ammonia boy.

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Elsa, Getty Images
Jim Rogash, Getty Images
Michael Heiman, Getty Images

It wasn’t just that he wanted out. He wanted out on his terms and his terms alone. He wanted out publicly, making the Sens beggars everywhere they went. And when we tried to make the best deal we could for him, trading him to Edmonton for a couple of good players, he then even had the nerve to kick in a no-trade clause. His no-trade clause,  when he wanted to be traded. In the end, he left Ottawa with no choice but to just dump  him and trade him for whatever we could take, which was nearly nothing.

Nobody  understood why. He made vague references to having a “diminished role” and not enjoying the team dynamics. Rumours spun about inappropriate dalliances in the community, putting his junk where his junk didn’t belong. Nothing could ever be confirmed. All we knew was that 1/3 of our terrific Spezza/Alfie/Heatley trio, the Cash line, the Pizza line, wanted out.

“But we thought everything was fine!”

Sigh.

We’ve struggled since, we’re not gonna lie. We’ve been to therapy. Went through the various stages of grieving (crying, sweatpants, then cover your jersey with electrical tape stage) and last night, we got to the confrontation stage.

Heatley came back to town.

The chants started even before the game. Heatley sucks. Heatley sucks. Heatley sucks.  Choruses of boos during the warmup, the introductions, every time he touched the puck.

And ohh, the signs.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your fans.

Million Dollar Baby.

Waaaaaah.

Heatley Sucks.

You can't spell Heatley without Hate.

And my personal favourite: Even Yashin thinks you’re a jerk.

At the start of the third, a group of fans made their way to ice level and pitched their Heatley jerseys on to the ice en masse. Those things cost a lot of money. It didn’t matter. Throw them away. Publicly. And in front of his face.

Point made.

We were good to you.  We thought you were part of our team. We thought we meant something to you.

We were wrong.

At the end of the game – another disaster in this ongoing disaster season for the Sens – almost before the buzzer rang, Heatley ran for the dressing room, probably to avoid anticipated flying debris. At that point I almost felt bad for him.

Heater can't take the heat.

Almost.

But not quite.

Ok, I kid.  Well, not really.  We did have a game last night and we did lose but so did our (growly announcer voice)CLEVELAND CAVALIERS!( /growly announcer voice)  For the first time, the Cavs were facing longtime “savior” and now prodigal son, so-and-so.

Now, since I was playing hockey I didn’t see the whole game, but I did catch the beginning.  And evidently I stopped watching at exactly the right time.  When I stopped watching, the Cavs were winning, that mindless twit was playing passively and Drew Carey was looking skinny and kind of creepy actually.  After that, festering puss bucket played really well.  I would have expected as much, but I hoped maybe he’d be injured somehow and unable to perform.  Did he take any shots left-handed?  No?  Did he complain that Heat fans took him for granted?  No?  Did he note the irony that “Heat fan” is oxymoronic?  No!  Tell me that he at least looked syphilitic?  Yes?!  Please tell me yes!  This is all I need out of life.

Turns out that that insolent cad is pretty good at basketball.  We all knew and that was never the point.  In the seven years I watched him play, I probably only saw him play a handful of truly bad games.  I expected that he’d play well.  And he did.  I didn’t have to see the game to know the ease with which he dominated is the perfect indictment against his performance against the Celtics in last year’s playoffs.  I know back then he was concentrating on faking an elbow injury, but he’s a gifted charlatan and even when distracted he can put 25-5-5 on you.

Oh well.  I wanted to be mad, but I’m haven’t been able to sustain the anger all these months.  Once you realize somebody quit on you, there’s no sense in being upset.  There’s no running down the street after them or standing outside their house, boom box raised overhead.  Maybe I’m wistful for the old timey 2008 team, but overall, it’s meh.  Not to say it didn’t sting, seeing him in an opponent’s uniform.  Yesterday it was like your ex-wife showing up at your house in her shiny new Ferrari with her handsome (basketball skills-wise) new boyfriend (Dwyade) and their lovable pet t-rex (Chirs Bosh).

So it goes in Cleveland .  All we can hope for now is an angry Dan Gilbert response letter.

So on this Thanksgiving holiday, a few of our writers shared the sports-related things they are most thankful for this year.

Sarah’s gratitude is almost always exclusively reserved for good things happening to and involving the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and her ability to watch them play or wear their team colors.

I don’t know why they haven’t given her season tickets for life and a box seat yet, quite frankly. She’s kind of a big deal on the internet — it could mean good PR for you guys. Listening, Mark Dominik? It would be a very wise move.

“I am thankful that the Bucs are over .500 this year. I am also thankful that my father-in-law  got me box seats when the Bucs come play the Redskins.”

Clay, our relentless Bret Favre watchdog,  kicker analyst and, um, fashion consultant:

These guys are not known for their locker room decorum, and if you look at Ochocinco and Moss, they’ve bounced around the NFL like a basketball which, of course, is not particularly common, given the NFL’s short season. And T.O. … well, then. Allen Iverson? Playing in Turkey.

Look, I’m not saying I’ve worked with these guys personally. Hell, I don’t know if everything people say about them is true, and I sure as shit have no room to talk, given that I defended Michael Vick, but it’s telling to me that guys who were notorious douche canoes throughout their career are having a difficult time finding a reasonable home to finish out their legacy. Maybe — just maybe — professional sports, the fans and the staff who must endure them, have had enough with the primadonna bullshit. And given their behavior and astonishing lack of professionalism I wouldn’t be looking for them next to Jesse Palmer (OMG CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT GUY IS ON ESPN?) after they retire. Maybe — MAAAYYYBE — there’s a lesson in there for younger athletes. Not that I’m looking in anyone’s specific direction (LEBRON JAMES COUGH OMG DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD?).

We can only really hope that the T.Ocho Show is the closest thing to a broadcasting career Chad Ochocinco ever gets.

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Jonniker enjoyed watching Randy Moss when he played for the Patriots, when she wasn’t taking her afternoon nap.

The Leafs are undefeated.

It’s time to start hoarding bottled water and canned goods, people.  Seriously.

The Leafs haven’t started this well since the 1999-2000 season. And let’s compare to last year, shall we, when the Leafs started 0-7-1? Actually, let’s not. Or if we do, only to say how times have changed.

Sure, it’s only a handful of games in to the regular season. And two of the teams the Leafs defeated are off to spectacularly bad starts. The Ottawa Senators are 0-2-1; Pittsburgh’s 1-3-0. Not exactly cup-winning form.  So despite the crowing of the Leafs fans, it’s not like they’re cutting swaths of amazingness through the NHL ranks and blowing away all the competition in a blast of fury.  So far, they’re just coming out on the top side of teams who are still struggling to get their skates under them, as it were.

Still, these wins must feel pretty damn good to a long-suffering Leafs fan. Their three wins have come against their three favourite teams to loathe:  Montreal, the traditional rival from just down dere on de 401; Pittsburgh, the home of surprisingly goal-free Sidney Crosby and his punk-ass friends; and Ottawa. Ottawa, the team that Leafs fans despise with a particular joyous passion. They are alone in the NHL in gleefully booing Daniel Alfredsson, captain of the Senators, for a long-forgotten it-looked-kind-of-maybe-dirty-but-totally-wasn’t hit; they cackle with glee at the memory of four years of early playoff exits delivered to Ottawa via Toronto; they schlep up the 416 every chance they get to see the Leafs and Sens battle it out on Ottawa ice, since tickets to see Toronto on home ice are impossible to get despite their dismal record (the only explanation being that Leafs fans are gluttons for punishment). So these three wins are golden for the Leafs.

And aside from who they defeated? The fact that they defeated at all, is big news. Three straight wins! When’s the last time a Leafs fan could say that?

Know, ye of long suffering: the season is many months. The fact that the phrase “Leafs undefeated” can trend on Twitter after just two games?  Well, they’re a crowd of hungry people, these Leafs fans. We’ll give them their moment. Reality will come crashing in soon enough, I expect.