Monday, October 23, 2006



v. clocked
1. To time, as with a stopwatch: clock a runner.
2. To register or record with a mechanical device: clocked the winds at 60 miles per hour.
Then, I found this definition on

v. clocked
1. Act of knocking someone the fuck out: Hey biatch, you got clocked!
Which I found very amusing. And closer to the connotation I was looking for.

I would like to add another definition to this list:
v. clocked
1. Losing because of time, or lack thereof, as depicted by a device used to tell time.
2. What happened to the Philadelphia Eagles this past week.
Yep, it’s a sports blog! FOOLED YOU! (snicker)

Yesterday, with 4 seconds remaining, the Eagles lost to the Buccaneers because Matt Bryant, the Tampa Bay kicker, hit an improbable 62 yard field goal with four seconds left.

62 yards! For those of you not familiar with football, the NFL record for a field goal is 63 yards, which has only been done twice. Ever! Matter of fact, only four guys (now five) have ever hit a field goal that was 60 yards or more.

"But it has been done", you say. And I say, "Yes, it has, but not by some bum who hasn’t hit anything over 40 yards all year and who’s career long up to now was only 50 yards." And by now I'm choking you.

But here’s the thing. Four seconds. Without those four seconds, the Bucs don’t win. Without those four agonizingly small ticks, those damn Iggles win. The only reason I bring this up is because the Birds had a chance to run those four seconds off the clock. At least, one Bird did. The excellent and awesome Brian Westbrook, whose heroics go unsung far too often, and was the only Eagle who looked fresh the entire game. His late game 52 yard catch and run touchdown was impressive, fantastic, and should’ve taken four seconds longer. I now want you to see the play I just described, where Mr. Westbrook makes four people miss, and I want you to watch the very end of the play.

He slows down to a walk! Had all the time in the world. Could’ve had tea and crumpets, or maybe more appripo, a cheesesteak. But he slowed down, and could’ve shaved FOUR seconds off the clock. Now, by no means am I suggesting that Westbrook should have known to stay out of the endzone for four seconds, should have known that those seconds would cost them the game, should’ve known that Matt “I’m Nobody” Bryant would hit a 62 yard field goal to win it.

But man, did I want H.G. Wells’ time machine, or at least an ’85 Delorean. Just to be able to yell at Westbrook something about theatrics, to take his time, to moonwalk into the endzone (which is kind of hard in cleats), something to take those four F-ing ticks off the clock. But alas, H.G. Well’s dream machine was absent, and Michael J. Fox was too busy guest-starring on some show desperate for ratings.

And so, the Eagles got clocked: They got knocked the fuck out.

But they also got clocked: Losing because of time or lack thereof, as depicted by a device used to tell time.

Of course, there’s always clocked: Getting knocked the fuck out with a device used to tell time. See below:

Kids are stupid,

n. JQ
1. A bitter and hateful Philadelphia sports fan (Like there’s any other kind.)


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