Continue reading this post »

As Texans fans, we're pretty damned lucky in some respects. One that doesn't get mentioned a whole lot is ownership. While some other teams have owners who cannot keep from meddling (you know which ones I'm talking about), we have an owner who knows how to leave well enough alone. In fact, he does this so well, that whenever he does make a public appearance, it's rather a newsworthy event; like Groundhog Day or something.

Or at least Yahoo seems to think it is. Unlike every February 2nd, the appearance of Uncle Bob is actually interesting. What does an appearance by Bob McNair portend? My guess, it portends he wanted to say something.

You could click the link and read it yourself, but that would lead you away from here. And that would be a bad thing.

Or...

You could hit the jump and read poorly hacked out portions of the article. Jump with us. You'll be happier that way.

Continue reading this post »

The following is, from start to finish, a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive and/or dead are purely coincidental, so please don't sue me (because I own nothing of value); unless, of course, it's a reference to someone here on BRB, in which case REALLY don't sue me.

Chapter One - It's Good To Be The QB

Chapter Two - A Blogger Named Scott Brooks

Chapter Three - The Quarterback Is Dead

Chapter Four - Why Is Housekeeping Never There When You Need It?

Chapter Five - The Photograph

Chapter Six - I'm Looking For A Girl. Yeah, Aren't We All?

Chapter Seven - Finnegan's Eliot's Wake

Chapter Eight - When You Wish Upon A Star

When Scott arrived at the office, it was as quiet as a tomb. It did not start out that way, but when Scott entered, all conversation came to an abrupt halt. Their eyes fixated on Scott's bedraggled appearance. His hair looked like it had gotten into a street fight with a hair dryer and lost, his black shirt was untucked and badly wrinkled with scattered bits of debris from the ground clinging to it like so much decoration, and his typically upright posture was replaced with one more in keeping with a character from a Victor Hugo novel.

Scott did not notice, he did not care. All he could think about was the pain that screamed from the left side of his abdomen and the "conversation" he had, such as it was, with Texans defensive end Marcus Sheridan. Scott lurched into the elevator, which emptied out as he walked in amid people muttering how they would take the next elevator up. He leaned against the side of the car and mashed feebly the button for his floor until the doors closed.

Continue reading this post »

The following is, from start to finish, a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive and/or dead are purely coincidental, so please don't sue me (because I own nothing of value); unless, of course, it's a reference to someone here on BRB, in which case REALLY don't sue me.

Chapter One - It's Good To Be The QB

Chapter Two - A Blogger Named Scott Brooks

Chapter Three - The Quarterback Is Dead

Chapter Four - Why Is Housekeeping Never There When You Need It?

Chapter Five - The Photograph

Chapter Six - I'm Looking For A Girl. Yeah, Aren't We All?

Chapter Seven: Finnegan's Eliot's Wake

Chapter Eight: When You Wish Upon A Star

The drive from Jersey Village to Scott's house on the southwest side of town was an arduous one. Scott drove onto Northwest Freeway, which, at rush hour, was not so much a major thoroughfare as it was the world's largest mobile parking lot. The languid pace of his fellow commuters allowed his mind to drift to the drive time program "Wack and Jack," who were, for once, actually talking about sports. Listening to them talk about whether Ashton Yount could lead the Texans to the promised land made Scott think about Eliot Nash. Thoughts of Nash made Scott think about his death and the one person who could break the investigation wide open. This, in turn, only reminded him of how Julia eluded him not even an hour ago and made him want to mentally kick himself. Again.

Scott pounded his fist on the horn, blasting sound at the car in front of him. The driver in front, who was too busy cursing at the idiot ahead of him, hardly noticed. Scott did not know who to be angrier at: Julia for giving him the slip, or at himself for not recognizing her despite her hair color.

Despite feeling dumber than a box of hair, Scott felt vaguely encouraged by Julia's escape. He could not figure out why, exactly, he felt this way, but he did. It was just one more question heaped atop the quickly growing pile of questions to which he needed an answer.

Continue reading this post »

...No longer a mystery. The Texans signed John Beck, formerly of the Redskins, to battlefight with University of Houston alum Case Keenum to be third string quarterback behind Matt Schaub and T.J. Yates.

For a third string quarterback, I'd say we could do (and have done) a lot worse for backups than Beck...though not by much. Beck has the benefit of having played under Papa and Baby Shan in Washington, so he, at least, has some familiarity with the offense. Which is good, I guess; although considering HOW he played in said offense, I still don't want to see him on the field any time soon, like ever.

Is Beck Kubiak's latest test subject in his "Quarterback Reclamation Project" or is he just a camp body to give Keenum competition for the last non-practice squad quarterback spot?

My thoughts can be found below the jump.

Continue reading this post »

The following is, from start to finish, a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive and/or dead are purely coincidental, so please don't sue me (because I own nothing of value); unless, of course, it's a reference to someone here on BRB, in which case REALLY don't sue me.

Chapter One - It's Good To Be The QB

Chapter Two - A Blogger Named Scott Brooks

Chapter Three - The Quarterback Is Dead

Chapter Four - Why Is Housekeeping Never There When You Need It?

Chapter Five - The Photograph

Chapter Six - I'm Looking For A Girl. Yeah, Aren't We All?

Chapter Seven: Finnegan's Eliot's Wake

The last embers of sunset were slowly consumed by the oncoming darkness as a lone limousine cruised up the road to the entryway of Nash's house. Between the limo and the house stood, in order: a tall, black wrought iron fence which surrounded the house, its spindles topped by gilded spikes; a squadron of very serious looking men, each roughly the size of a city block, clad in black suits that would make the Secret Service look like a comedy troupe by comparison; and a swarm of reporters, cameramen, and looky-loos hovering around in the hope of finding a story worth publishing, a picture worth posting, or a cute anecdote to share with the neighbors the following day.

Within this throng of humanity stood Jack McClanahan, his writing pad in one hand, and pinching the stub of his cigarette to his lips with the other as if his life depended on it. As he let out a cloud of blue smoke to a chorus of coughs and disapproval, he felt a sharp pain in his side. He dropped the stub, lost in the night, and reached to feel where the elbow had struck. McClanahan was a gaunt man in his late forties. He wore a simple white dress shirt, pristine blue jeans, and a brown suede jacket.

"The things I do for a story," he said in a rasp, feeling at the point of impact. He knew that would be a bruise tomorrow. It was moments like these that made him wish he had more meat on his bones.

He felt two more sharp pains in his lower back and let out a muffled groan. The crowd around him grew more agitated as the limo approached. When the limo stopped in front, one of the guards jogged around the crowd and talked to the driver through a cracked window. He gestured at the other guards to let the limo through. There was a brief buzzer sound and the gate began to open.

Continue reading this post »

We're getting to the nitty gritty of the draft, and the Texans only have one pick left in the sixth round. But anything can happen, that's the beauty of the draft; well, that and we can argue incessantly about the appropriate time to pick kickers in said draft.

More drafty goodness and our last (at the moment) pick are impending, join us for it, won't you? There are still plenty of questions left to answer: Will Rick Smith find a way to get a seventh round pick? Will there be any Colorado State players to poach? Do we take Stephen Hill or Coby Fleener? Oh...right. And will Wade demand the immediate surrender from all offenses the Texans play after the draft ends?

Tune in to find out...if you dare! And let's be honest, you dare. You know you dare.

Randy Bullock, Kicker, Texas A&M. I'll spare y'all from all the Aggie jokes that will ensue, there will be plenty of time for those later. I'll have more thoughts about our newest Aggie Texan after the jump.

Continue reading this post »

So in the fourth round we've taken a center who likes to eat opponents' turf, a return specialist/deep threat, and a defensive end.

Also, the Texans are apparently very fond of the Big Ten this year. I expect a rep from Colorado State to stand under Kubiak's window with a boombox blasting Peter Gabriel in the next couple of days after the draft.

In the meantime, take the conversation here.

Every year around this time, I put out a special post about the NFL draft. Okay, so it's only been one FanPost last year (click here to read last year's "Scenes From A Draft"), must we quibble over fine points? Anyway, with the draft mere days away, we here at Battle Red Onion have been hard at work watching the teams of the NFL determine which of college football's best will become part of their squads. We'll go behind the scenes to see what goes into choosing players and the surprisingly difficult task of getting their names called out, and what goes into the broadcast of the NFL equivalent of Christmas.

While there is some conjecture and nonsense involved, there is also some hard-hitting fact-based journalism as well (actual contents: 99.9999% Conjecture, .0001% Facts...and even that's pushing it, considering the draft hasn't happened yet).

Since this post will be on the long side as it is, let us waste no more time with any further ado and get right to the draft. The Indianapolis Colts are on the clock.

Continue reading this post »

The following is, from start to finish, a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive and/or dead are purely coincidental, so please don't sue me (because I own nothing of value); unless, of course, it's a reference to someone here on BRB, in which case REALLY don't sue me.

Chapter One - It's Good To Be The QB

Chapter Two - A Blogger Named Scott Brooks

Chapter Three - The Quarterback Is Dead

Chapter Four - Why Is Housekeeping Never There When You Need It?

Chapter Five - The Photograph

Chapter Six: I'm Looking For A Girl. Yeah, Aren't We All?

After stopping off for a macaroon at Katz' deli, Scott pulled into the parking lot adjacent to Trample. The lot belonged to a print shop which served, during the shop's off hours, as a backup parking lot for clubbers who were hesitant to spend exorbitant amounts of money for valet parking. He tossed the macaroon wrapper into the backseat of his beater car. The crumpled wrapper bounced off of other crinkled plastic and paper wrappers which had rapidly filled his backseat. Scott looked into the back of his car and sighed. He knew if he didn't clean his car out soon, he'd have to swim to get to the steering wheel.

As he got out of the car, he surveyed this "trendy hotspot" that Knile dismissed with his usual hipster disdain. For such a hip place, it sure didn't look like much from outside. It was a squat, two-story boxy building with little adornment on its outer walls. It didn't even have a sign out front, just a single row of neon light which bisected the two floors. The light was off and looked out of place on what had been an industrial warehouse once upon a time.

The valet parking lot next to the club was almost entirely devoid of cars, save for a single blue Cadillac parked with its wide nose almost pressed against the right side of the building. The lot had apparently been cordoned off in the time since the Cadillac had parked there.

Scott jogged across the street and grabbed the handle, hoping it was unlocked. The door opened with little effort and he entered the sleeping club.

Continue reading this post »

Despite a good free agency period last year, I didn't know what to expect out of the Seahawks in 2011; all I knew was that it would end badly.

Why? Because Tarvaris Jackson was signed to be the starting quarterback. Him or Charlie Whitehurst.

As a person, I'm sure that Jackson is a nice guy, the kind of guy I'd even invite over for a dinner of alder-planked salmon with beurre monte sauce. As a quarterback, however, I hate him in the same way I hate Starbucks, that professional basketball team in Oklahoma City, and people who ride bicycles on major thoroughfares as if they were driving an actual vehicle (though not necessarily in that order).

However, the Seahawks were not horrendous last year. In fact, up until Week 16, the Seahawks were still in contention for a wild card spot. Again, this was with Tarvaris Jackson under center.

How did this happen? Well, the defense proved to be downright beastly last year, ranking 9th against the pass and 11th against the run according to Football Outsiders, and the Seahawks discovered how a handful of Skittles can turn an ordinary, mild-mannered running back into Beast Mode (otherwise known as the emergence of Marshawn Lynch).

Combined, this gave Seahawks fans a glimmer of hope that maybe they wouldn't spend the next decade or so mired in a pit of inescapable suck.

Still, the Hawks did have two pressing needs that had to be addressed.

What are they? You'll have to hit the jump to find out!

Continue reading this post »

(Ed. note: Sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen.)

The following is, from start to finish, a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive and/or dead are purely coincidental, so please don't sue me (because I own nothing of value); unless, of course, it's a reference to someone here on BRB, in which case REALLY don't sue me.

Chapter One - It's Good To Be The QB

Chapter Two - A Blogger Named Scott Brooks

Chapter Three - The Quarterback Is Dead

Chapter Four - Why Is Housekeeping Never There When You Need It?

Continue reading this post »

Well, Peyton Manning chose the Broncos. That means free agency's over, right? Right? What do you mean there are OTHER free agents still on the market? And other teams?! What lunacy is this? At any rate, we're not devoid of stories now that the man with the prominent forehead has taken himself off the market.

Will a scorned Alex Smith find it in his heart to forgive the 49ers for running around with Peyton Manning behind his back? Will he sign with Cleveland just to show them what for? (Spoiler: No, nobody's desperate enough to sign in Cleveland).

Will we laugh as heartily about David Garrard signing with the Miami Dolphins after whiffing on their primary free agent targets and Jeff Fisher? Does Jeff Ireland not bathe and that's what's keeping free agents out? Since Vince Young can't find a job, does this mean he no longer just winz gamez?!

And we can't forget the new mindless blather that we'll be subjected to: Which poor/dumb soul will make the trade for one Tim Tebow? Since we will likely expect ESPN to be covering this 24/7 now, I advise you do the decent thing and just pitch your TV out the window.

Oh, and the Traitors screwed themselves over in free agency. Yes, this still makes me smile.

Continue reading this post »

Continue reading this post »

The following is, from start to finish, a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive and/or dead are purely coincidental, so please don't sue me (because I own nothing of value); unless, of course, it's a reference to someone here on BRB, in which case REALLY don't sue me.

Chapter One - It's Good To Be The QB

Chapter Two - A Blogger Named Scott Brooks

Chapter Three - The Quarterback Is Dead

Chapter Four: Why Is Housekeeping Never There When You Need It?

Sunlight peeked through the blinds of Scott's bedroom directly at his closed eyes. Scott thrashed and whirled in his bed, wrapping himself in thick blankets to resemble a giant burrito. His eyes opened slowly and blinked mechanically as he let out a groan and sat up, still mostly ensconced within the burrito.

"Ugh, lord, what on earth did I do last night," he asked to an empty bedroom. He squirmed until the upper half of his body came free from the blankets and looked around the frilly bedroom; a concession he made to his wife when they moved in four years ago. He rubbed at his temples gingerly, "My brain feels like Dontari Poe is tap-dancing in it."

Scott shoved the rest of the blankets off of him, taking great care to move as delicately as possible to keep Dontari Poe from doing an encore. He got out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom.

Continue reading this post »

Hello, good evening, and welcome to the end of the week. We hope this post finds you well and not trapped in David Carr's evil underground lair/hair salon.

As with the last few of these threads, feel free to use this space to ponder and pontificate on whatever happens to be on your mind, Texans-related or otherwise. It can be whether we'll hang on to Mario Williams or the relative merits of your favorite BRB writers in an ultimate steel cage death match. The forum is yours to use as you wish. Just mind the panda suits and the part of the carpet that smells funny. Really, it's for your own good.

As usual, keep the community guidelines in mind and a song in your heart (or something) as you post your musings.

The following is, from start to finish, a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive and/or dead are purely coincidental, so please don't sue me (because I own nothing of value); unless, of course, it's a reference to someone here on BRB, in which case REALLY don't sue me.

Chapter One - It's Good To Be The QB

Chapter Two - A Blogger Named Scott Brooks

Chapter Three: The Quarterback Is Dead

Texans Star Quarterback Eliot Nash Found Dead

By Jack McClanahan

Eliot Nash, a four-time Pro Bowl quarterback and former NFL MVP, was found dead early this morning at a motel on Hamilton and McGowan, sending a wave of shock throughout Houston and the NFL community. Nash, 32, had died of what the police are calling apparent heart failure.

The body was found by a housekeeper who entered the room not realizing that the deceased quarterback was still in his room with his back turned to her. She says that she knew something was wrong when she apologized for entering without permission and he didn't move an inch from where he was. She then noticed that he wasn't breathing and immediately called 911.

A few minutes after police arrived at the scene, people started crowding around the room, trying to get a look at where the quarterback spent his last hours.

Houston Police spokesman Peter Nguyen declined to state what was specifically responsible for Nash's death, saying only that they do not suspect foul play. He also states that the police are examining all the possibilities in this senseless tragedy.

I can't believe he's gone. Just...just like that.

Hang on, maybe it's a mistake. It IS Flapjacks reporting, after all.

Continue reading this post »

The following is, from start to finish, a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive and/or dead are purely coincidental, so please don't sue me (because I own nothing of value); unless, of course, it's a reference to someone here on BRB, in which case REALLY don't sue me.

Chapter Two: A Blogger Named Scott Brooks

The locker room fell silent, the absurdly loud screech of Slippy McNulty blasting on the radio notwithstanding. Players looked at one another as they murmured that none of them had seen their starting quarterback.

Coach Verdieri grunted and stomped back into his office and slammed the door behind him. The players could see him lift the phone to his ear and mash buttons on an unseen phone. The murmur grew into a quiet collective grumble as they waited for word on Nash's whereabouts.

"I hope it's nothing serious," said a wide receiver to nobody in particular.

One of the other linemen grunted bitterly, "'Serious?' He's probably got a case of beer flu and he's so plastered he couldn't find his way out of his own house."

"I don't buy it. He wouldn't. Not today, he wouldn't do that. Would he?"

"How many games did he almost miss this season," the lineman asked, "four, five games?" He threaded his arms through his shoulder pads. "I'm just surprised it took him this long to miss a start."

Continue reading this post »

The following is, from start to finish, a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive and/or dead are purely coincidental, so please don't sue me (because I own nothing of value); unless, of course, it's a reference to someone here on BRB, in which case REALLY don't sue me.

Chapter One: It's Good To Be The QB

It was a cold January night in the city of Houston. The town was electric in anticipation of hosting the Texans' first AFC Championship Game. Fans from all walks of life wore some combination of battle red, steel blue, and liberty white on their person the whole week prior to the game. The only acceptable subject of conversation was how the Texans would fare against their longtime nemesis on the gridiron on Sunday. Football fever had swept through the city and every man, woman, and child was caught up in it.

Everyone, that is, except Eliot Nash, the Texans' starting quarterback.

Continue reading this post »

Well, here we are once again, faced with a major sporting event which pits a Boston team against one of the 374 New York teams, two cities where not reaching the championship in any given year is grounds for firing the coaches, the players, burning the stadium to the ground, and pouring salt on its ashes. The hype will be an immense, all-consuming smorgasbord of impenetrable bullcrap with the intention of making this year's Super Bowl palatable to a national audience.

And I'm sure that after all the pablum has finally been spewed by the major media outlets--you all know who you are--that this year's Super Bowl will have every man, woman, child, pet, and some houseplants east of the Hudson River completely enthralled.

As for the rest of us, we're stuck looking for reasons to care about this year's rematch between Peyton Manning's little brother and the three-headed embodiment of all that is evil; those three heads being Bill Belichick, Tom Brady, and Rodney Harrison (Of course he still counts, have you seen what he calls "analysis?").

So with that in mind, here's a primer on what to expect during Super Bowl week; because while many of us may not care about who wins and loses (with the exception of whether David Carr gets a Super Bowl ring), there's no reason why we can't derive our own amusement from the...the last game of the year.

Take the jump...I'm all verklempt at the idea of no football.

Continue reading this post »

Rivers' exquisitely crafted note of gratitude to Wade Phillips gave us an idea. For the next several days, we'll periodically be posting entries thanking various people who had a hand in making the Texans' 2011 season as enjoyable as it was. The season's over, which blows, but there's a lot to appreciate, and it's a loooooong offseason, so let's do take a minute to say thank you.

Watching the NFL Draft as a Texans fan has always been something of a rite of passage. Until recently, the high point of every season in this team's history has come in April when the commissioner would announce the next, newest Houston Texan. Previous drafts have left fans wanting to kick puppies, drive into oncoming traffic, or drive freshly-kicked puppies into oncoming traffic (Travis Johnson and C.C. Brown say hi).

Last year was not one of those drafts. Last year's draft was responsible for netting the team three rookies, in particular, who played integral roles to the team's success this year. Without these three players, this dream season doesn't happen, so I want to take a moment to thank them individually for battlin' when they were needed most this season.

Continue reading this post »

At about 9:30 a.m. Houston time (10:30 a.m. in New York, 7:30 a.m. in Seattle, or 6:30 p.m. in Antananarivo), I will be gracing the airwaves of TribLive Radio in Pittsburgh to preview the Texans' divisional round matchup against the Ravens.

If you're interested in hearing me make a complete idiot of myself on local radio, rage about certain bad calls in certain games that shall remain anonymous (coughweekfourcough), and probably embarrass BRB as a whole, then click on the link above, and click the "Listen Now" button in the middle of the page.

There's no way this ends badly, right?

Remember Friday when I asked you to take lots of pictures and soak up the atmosphere at Reliant for the Texans' first playoff game (and win)?

Well, consider this post your own personal repository for all your pictures and stories of what is currently the single greatest game in Texans history. Sorry, 19-10, you're still awesome, babe, but I think you've been supplanted.

Post your pictures in the comments section along with any stories you have or your point of view on the day's festivities.

How did you react when Bum Phillips came ambling out of the tunnel? When Andre Johnson finally scored his first (and certainly not last) playoff touchdown? When J.J. Watt plucked that ball out of the air and scampered into the end zone for the tie-breaking touchdown to end the half? Or even when Arian Foster did his version of the Dream Shake in the end zone?

I want to see and hear it all. So with that said, the floor is now yours. Make good use of it, folks.

The only rules are keep it safe for work and please include captions so we all know what we're looking at!

(Props to MeMongo for getting the ball rolling with this FanPost loaded with pictures he took.)

Bengals vs Texans coverage

So I understand some of you are going to the Texans game on Saturday. Got your tickets and everything? Wonderful. Gonna do some tailgating while you're down there? Fantastic.

As I live a scant 2,500 miles away from Reliant Stadium and will be unable to attend, let me be the first to say you suck I'm very happy for you.

Frankly, I'm just happy that I'll finally get to watch a Texans game from the comfort of my couch on my new TV with a cold, refreshing Shiner in hand (hey, Shiner, how about an endorsement deal, huh?). But there's still a part of me that really wants to pawn everything I own (including housepets), hop on the first flight to Houston, and partake in the festivities.

Sadly, all my worldly possessions (even the pets) came to about $38.27 and, somehow, a jar of pickled eggs. So I will not get to watch history happen in person.

But you, you glorious ticket holders and tailgaters, you can help!

Jump to find out how!

Continue reading this post »

With the postseason now officially underway, everyone is understandably talking and writing about the playoffs; the teams, the players, the match-ups, and who they think has the best chance of hoisting the Lombardi Trophy in February.

Many of these conversations/articles will be insightful, chock full o' knowledge about the 12 teams gearing up for glorious combat for our amusement. They will make you a better informed football fan, and, possibly, a better human being for reading them.

If you like the sound of that, I suggest you find one and read it.

Instead, we present to you, Battle Red Faithful, a vitriolic, sarcastic, snark-laden prayer for all the haters out there about 11 of the 12 teams playing this post-season.

It may not be coherent; in fact, if I manage to write this without typing every other letter backwards, I'll consider it a grand success. It may not be thoughtful, but this is the playoffs. This is no time for rational thinking. Instead, let us swim, nay, marinate in hate for our fellow playoff teams until our fingers become pruny.

So with no more ado, let us take the jump and make our first offering to the god of Texans' playoff success: Wade.

Enjoy. And if you happen to be a fan of one of the teams listed here, well...haters gonna hate, I guess.

Continue reading this post »