Dammit, Blake Griffin.

I rarely devote posts to other athletes in lesser sports, but I am pissed this morning after watching my university's basketball team play last night, and I just had to get this off my broad, massive chest this morning.


I should be doing this to you right now, Blake Griffin. After last night's embarassing loss to Arkyville, you should be getting plenty of birds flipped your way, Blake Griffin.

You can tell I'm upset, because I'm calling you out with your first and last name, Blake Griffin. It's like when my mom used to get mad at me when I was little. She would yell out "Samuel Bradford, if you throw one more football into outer space, I swear I will never buy you another one! You could hit a plane or a satellite or something and really cause some damage!" or "Samuel J. Bradford - quit hitting 475 yard drives in the front yard, and get your one/sixteenth Cherokee ass into this house for dinner right now! We're having grilled wolf tonight and it's getting cold!"

The only way I would ever allow someone to take my picture if I was flipping the bird would be if Colt McCoy was taking it. Was Colt McCoy taking this picture of you Blake? I sure hope so. Otherwise, you look ridiculous, but not as ridiculous as this next picture...



Good God almighty! What in the name of the great Wayman Tisdale were you thinking? I don't care if you were in high school and this was some sort of skit or whatever. You could be the #1 draft pick in the NBA in June. If I leave OU, I will be the #1 pick in the NFL and you don't see any pictures of me in women's clothing floating around the internet do you?

The only pictures you see of me are wrestling gators, accepting various awards, running Wall Street, just chilling out, and dominating opponents on the football field.

Get your act together Blake Griffin before I have to beat your ass into submission... again. I will forgive you eventually, Blake Griffin, but for now I reserve the right to remain pissed at your effort last night and at these unsettling photos. Right now, I hope Wayman takes his number back at least until you earn it back, because you don't deserve to wear it at this moment.

To everyone but Blake Griffin right now, I wish you all a happy New Year.

10 Days To Gator Killin' Time

Most of you don't know this, but I loved to wrestle Gators back when I was in grade school. Once I got into high school, I moved onto grizzly bears, mountain lions, and more recently al-quaeda terrorists. But back in the day, I loved me some Gator-wrestlin'.

Just for gits and shiggles, and to get me in the proper mind set for the football game coming up, I went gator wrasslin' a few weekends ago, and here are some of the photos I ended up with...





Hey Tebow. My Heisman is bigger than your Heisman.

I'm Back!

Sorry for the long delay between posts, but I've been a busy man with all these awards I keep winning, Christmas, and getting ready for the Florida game and all.

You'll be happy to know that I sent Colt McCoy a picture of my Heisman Trophy with a note that said "Merry Christmas, Colt. This is the closest you'll ever get to holding one of these puke-face! Best wishes, Tim Tebow." Haha! He'll hate Tebow now as much as I do.

Anywho, I hope you utilized my last minute Christmas ideas below and brought tears to your friends and families' eyes upon receiving one of my great gift ideas below. I passed out some ninja throwing stars to all the kids at a local shelter in Oklahoma City and besides the one incident involving a stray cat taking a star to the face, there were no other mishaps whatsoever. Even that was no big deal because this world with one less stray cat is a one-less-stray-cat better world to live in now.

A couple of important BCS Championship preparation notes that I discovered while doing research:
If you youtube "Sam Bradford," there is "about" 886 videos of me doing my thang. I've spent the last six days watching those.

If you google "Sam Bradford," there is "about" 1,070,000 sites that contain something containing my name. I have little DeMarco going through every site and giving me a report on what's out there on the internet about me. He's not doing anything anyway with his missing hamstring.

One other thing I've been pondering during this Christmas break, which seems to be on the mind of many football fans, is should I remain at OU next year or go pro? Most everyone has failed to even include a third and very viable option. Let me discuss it with you first right here on my blog...

As most of you know, I am one-sixteenth Cherokee Indian. Well, my agent (ooops, what I meant to say was a person working on my behalf for no money whatsoever) is working on a deal and has put it on the table (no pun intended) to the Cherokee Tribe to be the national spokesman and part owner of the Cherokee Casinos. I would like to be one-sixteenth owner and share in one-sixteenth of all the profits that my tribe makes off of the stupid white man. In return, I will make appearances, sign autographs, play chef, and be an occasional entertainer at these casinos.

My indian peeps are raking in some serious cash from these entertainment resorts and as one-sixteenth Cherokee, I believe I am entitled to some of the ownership and profits. Can you imagine how many new gambling degenerates I could attract if they put my face on these casinos. We would bury the Choctaw Casinos! And, by the way, the Choctaw suck! Who was their last Heisman Trophy winner? Huh? That's what I thought! Nobody!

Just to help me get properly motivated for the BCS game, I am pretending that Tim Tebow is Choctaw, Percy Harvin is Comanche, and Urban Meyer is Creek. I'm putting my crimson and cream warpaint on and I'm going to battle on January 8th!

So, before you go out and argue about whether I should go pro or stay at OU, just remember that I may forget both of those options and embark on a goal to put Oklahoma on the map as the most gambling state in America.

Last Minute Christmas Gifts

If you are like me, then you are just getting ready to begin your Christmas shopping. But, unlike me, you don't have all your Christmas gifts for everyone narrowed down to 12 awesome gifts. So, because I am The Great Sam Bradford, I am passing along 12 awesome Christmas ideas and the links so you can finish up your shopping right here in no time.

You're welcome.

This rocket launcher is the closest thing they make to having a right arm like mine, aka "The Sammy Cannon." This launcher will propel objects of destruction as quickly as one of my tight spirals finds an open receiver downfield. For the bargain price of only 400 bones, you can own your own rocket launcher, and feel and see the sensation of a Bradford spiral up close.





I rarely go anywhere without these. Sunglasses you say? Hell, no. These are genuine spy sun glasses that allow you to look behind you. For only about $71, you can own a pair of these. Sometimes, during practice, I don't even wear my helmet, just these. If I can see people in front of me and behind me, why do I need a helmet? Plus, these are sweet, because I can see all the ladies checking out my backside when I strut past them walking across campus.

Nothing says hours of fun like a yodeling pickle. I have about seven of these bad boys right now. Sometimes I'll stuff it in my jock when no one's looking and then I'll make it sing and say "Damn, boys. You wonder why I gets all the ladies? It's because my junk sings to them and your junk just hangs there like a willow tree!" That always gets a laugh. Occasionally Offensive Coordinator Kevin Wilson will just play the yodeling pickle through the speaker in my helmet instead of actually calling a play during the game. That's my cue to throw another touchdown. Get your yodeling pickle right here.

This gift is the gift that keeps on giving. Every man can use a hatchet. You always need a hatchet to chop stuff up, kill things, or even more docile things like shaving in the morning. I use my hatchet as a motivational tool for my linemen. I have my hatchet in my locker with a sign that says "Miss a blocking assignment - get a warning. Miss two, lose a foot." I keep telling Duke and Phil that it probably hurts to lose a foot by way of a hatchet. Get your hatchet here.

I use this fart machine practically everyday. In class. In my house. In the locker room. In church. I love putting this in Chris Brown's locker and then when Coach Stoops is going over the gameplan or something really important, I'll make it go off. Everyone will turn and look at Chris and then I'll say something clever like "It says Brown on the back of your jersey, but you better check for some brown in them pants!" Twenty bucks can get you your own fart machine.

I bought one of these towels, and sent it to Colt McCoy and autographed it "Texas Sucks! Sincerely, the 2008 Hesiman winner, 1st Team All-Big 12 QB, AP player of the year, Davey O'Brien winner, and BCS National Championship Quarterback."

Colt is a true butt-face. For only $19.95, you can get this towel and for another $8.95 you can get some butt-face soap to go along with it. Get one of these for that special butt-face that you know.

This is a grenade launcher in the form of a hand gun! Perfect for all ages, this sucker is only $190 and really useful when needing to blow shit up. When I'm not blasting enemy legs from their torsoes during the offseason, I put big marshmallows in it and fire 'em at the fat chicks walking around campus. Get yours on sale right here.

The mother of all Christmas gifts. The holy grail of hanukkah. That's right, britches, it's an autographed football from yours truly. I saw one of these on ebay the other day and the bidding was somewhere around a samtrillion dollars. You say a samtrillion is not a number? It is now.

I can't tell you where to get one of these, because these are rare. I've thrown a fair share of these into outer space in case any aliens on other planets would like them. So, if you are lucky someday, you may just find yourself in possession of a beautiful treasure like this. I recommend you house a treasure like this in a bullet-proof, shatter-proof clear box surrounded 24 hours a day by ninja warriors.
Ebay has a whole truckload of fake Sam Bradford autographed stuff, so be careful bidding out there. Personally, I'm giving this picture out to all my teammates this year...

Speaking of ninjas, these awesome throwing stars are perfect for any ninja family members or ninja friends. Well, chances are if you know that a family member or friend is a ninja then you are already dead or about to die (possibly while reading this). Ninja and ninja business is highly classified information for the most part.

Personally, I prefer the eight pointed stars, but sometimes these little six pointed ones can be real nasty. Just remember to bring a towel to wipe off these bad boys after you catch an enemy in the skull, because there is nothing that sucks worse than having to get all that blood off of these once the blood has dried. Go here for all types of ninja throwing stars.

As many of you know, I am a scratch golfer... in my sleep. When I'm playing real well, I'm Tiger Woods worst nightmare. Anyway, I have no need for this at all, but for some of you duffers who continue to hit into me on the course (remember - I carry those throwing stars in my golfbag), you may want to check into the golf ball life vest so you don't lose it when you hit it in the water... and you will hit it in the water.

Nothing says Merry Christmas any better than a big ol' block of cheese. If you are creative enough, you could do something like have me carved into a block of cheese throwing a touchdown pass. How awesome would that be to get up on Christmas morning and to find that Santa had left you a cheese statue of me! If you need to order some cheese with rush delivery, check out Hickory Farms.





Let me introduce you to the reason why you'll spend ungodly amounts of time in your bathroom. No, I'm not talking about your three years of Brabuster Magazine you have hidden undeneath your sink. I'm talking about Toto Neorest 600. For those of you with some cash in your pocket, you can get this crapper for only $3,900, and let me tell you, it's worth every penny.
This japanese poop hole has a temperature control heated seat, front and rear warm water washing, remote flushing system, a drier system, and an air deodorizer so that your shit don't stink after you've done your bizness. I don't really require that, because mine don't stink regardless of what toilet I'm sitting upon, but for the average human, this is a good function for a toilet to have. Hell, the Neorest practically sucks the dung out of you. No more pushing or straining ever again!

I saved the best for last: The Neorest's high-tech, awesome flushing system sends your waste to the nastiest, stinkiest place in America - that's right, Austin, Texas! Sooner fans, don't tell me you wouldn't cash in what's left of your 401k to buy one of these especially knowing that all of your shiznit ends up in Austin!

There you go. You have everything you need right here on this post.

Merry Christmas!

The Great Sam Bradford Photo Album Part 3

If you're like me, you like looking at pictures of me, and since it has been awhile, here is another installment of my photo album...

Shotgun snap against Okie Lite. If you haven't got to me by the time the ball gets to my hands, your defense is toast. You basically have to defy the law of relativity or gravity or something like that and get to me before the ball does, because it takes me about .327 seconds to know where the ball is going and to throw it there.


See? This picture was taken with the very next split second and I was already releasing it. My blockers just stepped out of the way so the cameraman could get a cool photo of me throwing another touchdown pass. I threw about 12 touchdowns against Okie State. That was a fun game.



If you want to talk about bad teams, you can't leave the Washington Huskies out of the equation. In the third quarter of this game I started throwing the ball with my eyes closed. It was the equivalent of the scene in Star Wars where Obi Wan blindfolds Luke and then tells him to "use the force." That's what I did in the third quarter, and I still completed about 93% of my passes that quarter. The only problem is that playing the Huskies is also the Star Wars equivelant of Storm Troopers against ewoks. Wait... that would make me an ewok. Nevermind.



Me and Malcolm Kelly from last season. I used to love to tell everyone to make a huddle around Malcolm and then I would yell out - "It's Malcolm in the middle!" and everyone would bust up laughing except Phil Loadholt who has no sense of humor.

Notice in this pic that I have jumped higher than Malcolm. The camera angle may look like we are pretty even, but trust me, I out-jumped him by at least six inches. White men named Sam Bradford can jump!


Play action here, or as I like to call it - "Fake Sucky Running Play Resulting in a touchdown to (fill in the blank)." Also known in the huddle as FSRPNTD - (player's name). As we all know, running plays suck except when I run a QB draw or a bootleg. Sometimes, I'll get in the huddle and act all excited and say stuff like "DeMarco, you're getting the ball! Isn't that great!? Your mom is going to love this play!" And when he starts to act all excited and starts foaming at the mouth like he does occasionally, I'll yell "Psyche!" and call FSRPNTD - Gresham, and toss another touchdown instead.




Texas Tech last year. Duke Robinson is right there saying something stupid like I'm sorry I let you get crunched by an undersized, less talented defensive lineman from Texas Tech.

Idiot linemen.

Here was on the sidelines joking with one of my teammates. I said, "Hey Juan, you don't look Mexican. Yet, your name is Juan. What gives?" Then, he said, my name is Juaquin, not Juan. I was like what the hell kind of name is Juaquin? Is that half Mexican, half Jamaican? He just turned around and left while I yelled out 'say hello to your pops, Julio, for me!' I'm pretty funny when I want to be.



This A&M dude on the ground is trying to grab a piece of the Sammy Cannon. I said whoa, dude, I don't play for that team. Steers and queers in Texas. Steers and queers.



Speaking of queers, here is Colt trying to hold my hand after the game. If there were another word for "gay" it would be "Colt." In fact, I may start that trend. Use it in a sentence, Sam! Ok. That dude wearing the pink Texas shirt, shorts, boots, and talking with a lisp is so colt.

Hey Colt, remember the Heisman Trophy ceremony this year? That was awesome!


I obviously hate this picture. Colt McCoy was trying to kiss me, but he forgot he had his helmet on. It was during this embrace that I whispered to Colt "You ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" He didn't say anything, and I'm pretty sure that he knows that he is dead next year.

Hey Colt, see you in the BCS Championship game in a few weeks. Oh, wait...

Weekend Football Viewing - My Take

I didn't realize how bad some football programs around the country have it until I watched some college football this weekend with my dad.

I kept telling my dad to flip the channels and quit watching whatever high school state playoff games he was watching, or else I would have to get up and beat his ass. Time and time again, he would say, "Sam, shut your pie hole. I told you, these are college teams playing. There are no high schools named Arizona University High School or Navy High School or Fresno State High."

I just kept shaking my head in disbelief because my eigth grade team would have beaten these collegiate imposters, and also that I would have like to have gone to Navy High School.

Can you imagine going to school everyday and taking Submarine Driving 101, Shark Wrestling, or a Navy Seals elective about learning how to snap enemy necks without a sound? Effing awesome! I would have been one bad-ass navy seal if I hadn't decided on my career path which has currently led me to being the best quarterback ever and being the best ninja in the world. The ninja thing is on the d.l., but everyone knows about my QB skillz. If I have to show you my ninja skills, then that basically means you are about to die. So, don't wish for me to show you some ninja moves.

Well, anyway, I hope you didn't waste your time watching these pretend football games, because if you did, you are either a loser, or you didn't have control of the remote control, or like me, you thought you were watching some state high school playoffs somewhere. Go Navy!

Rub Some Dirt on it, Demarco

So, everyone has heard by now. Little DeMarco Murray is out for a while with a torn hammy. Little D has some positive attributes that he brings to our team on occasion, but for the most part it's no big deal that we lost him.

Everyone knows that I am the team, and like I've told Bobby Stoops all year long - the national championship goes through my right arm, not some hole in the offensive line for one of our running backs.

Bobby understands that and so does the rest of the nation. We're playing Florida, people! Not the Pittsburgh Steelers or New York Giants. It's just Florida.

They have that little quarterback that reminds me of the big, fat dude from Kentucky a few years ago. What was his name? Oh, yeah. Jared Lorenzen. Remember him? The Pillsbury Throwboy. Almost identical to Tebow. Big and fat and hard to bring down if you play defense. Thankfully I don't play defense, though I could if coach would let me. I'd be leading the country in sacks if I did, but that's a whole different story.

Anyway, us without DeMarco Murray is like Florida without Tim Tebow and Percy Harvin and Urban Meyer. That's pretty much the equivalent. Those guys are nice players, but they are not necessary.

Anyway, after I heard that DeMarco had a torn hammy, I called him up and said, 'yo, DeMarco. It's a good thing it's only a torn hammy. You should be good to go in about a day or two, huh?'
He just sighed and said he was out for five months, and then I think he started crying.
I was like you're joking aren't you. That's funny, man. That's funny. You almost had me.
And then he said, 'seriously cracker, I'm done until next season.'

Now at this point, I got a little pissed and yelled at him about how I played a whole game after my appendix burst in high school and I also let him know that I didn't just tear some ligaments in my left hand. I freakin' shattered every bone in there and I'm still playing come January 8th. I also let him know that I once played a whole game in high school legally blind after some chick pepper sprayed me in the face before the game (long story), and still threw for 8 touchdowns and 500 yards.

I told him to just rub some dirt on it and get back to practice and then hung up the phone.

I Rule The World!

Here I am sounding the opening bell to kick off trading at the New York Stock Exchange today. This is Wall Street. This is where it all happens. This is where our economy went to hell and this is where it will rebound all thanks to me. If you'll notice, the stock market jumped up and closed 359 points higher today after my opening bell ceremonies. It's very cool that it jumped up 359 points, because that's also the number of points we hung on Texas Tech this season.

There was no other reason for the large gain today. It was me, plain and simple. If they were smart, they would hire me to ring the opening bell everyday and they would let me do it from Norman. That's just smart business practice.

You can check me out right here ringing the bell.

And you can check out my interview on CNBC right here.

If you'll notice in the interview, the reporter is an idiot who knows nothing about football. I almost gave her a Heisman stiff arm to the head, but decided against it. She has to constantly check her notes for my stats and other general information that she should know by heart. She did want to get with the Sammy Cannon after the interview, but I don't have time for chicks with no knowledge of my greatness. I want someone who wants me because I am a stud football player who will be raking in millions soon, not because I have a silky tongue, and put Brad Pitt's looks to shame.

One thing I will take exception to: She mentions in this interview that I am a finance major and am holding a 3.95 GPA currently. The only reason it is 3.95 is because I'm smarter than many (ok, most) of my professors and they don't like it one bit.

Speaking of stock going down, poor DeMarco Murray stock. That stuff took an AIG-like tumble today with that whole torn hamstring thing. This is why I don't invest much in running backs. If you stay with the ninja-like, good looking quarterbacks, with great taste in cheeses you will always prosper.

More on poor DeMarco at a later date.




Left = idiot reporters. Right = greatest football player of all-time

Boomah! Me And Billy Downtown NYC

OK, Sammy-faithful, there has been a lot made of Saturday night's Heisman Trophy presentation when former OU badass Billy Sims yelled out "Boomah!" about 800 times on my way up to the podium for my acceptance speech. Some fans were embarrassed. Others thought it was funny. Let me give you my take:

If I was embarassed by Billy, I would have just walked up there punched him in the nutsack and yelled out "Boomah!" as he was falling to the ground. Look, Billy was probably just hopped up on some of that Sammy-juice and cheebah cheebah. He was just expressing his enthusiasm for the greatest player in OU history, and I appreciate that. Maybe he hopes he can be my agent or body guard or accountant one day. I don't know and I don't care because when he played like 60 years ago or whatever, the man could ball. And if you can ball, you are alright with me.

I looked back through my notes from years past and at one time when I was about 13, my dad told me about this OU running back named Billy Sims and how awesome he was. So, upon that recommendation, I considered Billy Sims one of the baddest men on the planet as you can see below. This is a short excerpt from my monthly publication circa 2000: "Sam's Baddest Men on the Planet" list:

#3 Billy Sims

The smile. The charm. The fro! This dude couldn't be stopped from what my dad says. I'm sure he made all of his child support payments and instead of feeding his kids, his first wife just went and got lypo for your money. We want pre-nup! We want pre-nup!

#2 Samuel L. Jackson

Two words for you: "Pulp" and "Fiction." Sometimes when I am at the line of scrimmage under center, instead of audibling, I just yell out "And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the lord when I lay my vengeance upon you."

And, for the 156th month in a row...
#1 Sam Bradford

Living the dream, baby. Living the dream. Living your dream too.

Was There Ever Any Doubt?

The biggest surprise last night was seeing those Heisman voting totals. What's up with all those first place votes that Tebow and McCoy received? Did those voters not see me play this year? Obviously not. Well, you saw my gracious acceptance speech, but what you didn't get to hear was my original acceptance speech that was trashed at the last minute by my dad who said it was not appropriate. Here was my original speech...

(Walk up to stage. Smile. Take in all the applause. Step up to the microphone and lead off with...)

Suck it, Tebow! (wait for laughter to die down).

First off I'd like to thank myself for being so awesome. My awesomeness in unparalleled by anyone in this room - including all these old dudes behind me. By the way guys (turning my attention to all of the past Heisman winners behind me), get a life. Quit living in the past and talking bout the old times when you used to be good. This is all about the present, baby. And the present is honored to have me as the winner of the 2008 Heisman Trophy.

I'd also like to thank my arm which makes cannons and machine guns tremble. I'd like to thank my brain for out-thinking all of my stupid opponents.

Quick joke. What doesn't have a Heisman trophy, has to play in a regular crappy bowl game with no chance of a national championship, and rhymes with Bolt Annoy? Need a hint? He's also the first openly gay quarterback in Big 12 south history. (Stare viciously at this other QB finalist/NYC freeloader in attendance until he cries like a baby)

Besides me, I'd like to thank my dad who first, had the foresight of playing football for the University of Oklahoma, and secondly, for picking out the mate that he knew in combination with his genes would create the superbaby that would become myself.

I'd like to thank the ninjas of the world for supporting me in my off-season ninja assignments and helping me to achieve oneness with the football.

A big thank you to Fergie for putting out inspirational music that pumps me up before every game.

Thank you to the state of Wisconsin for continually putting out some of the finest cheeses in the world. You should always be part of the United States of America no matter what the people of Michigan say.

Thanks to my heroes growing up - Johnny Utah and John Blake. If not for that painful knee injury, Johnny Utah would have the been the greatest of all time until I came along, and if not for the failed rejuvenation of the wishbone, John Blake would now be the most winningest coach in OU football history and I would be compared to the likes of JC Watts and Jamelle Holliway.

I'd like to thank my teammates for keeping up with me... for the most part. It is not easy keeping up with "the man," but I do appreciate the effort put forth by approximately 12% of my teammates back in Norman.

I'd like to thank myself again for continuing to make Coach Stoops millions of dollars per year and for making him look like a recruting genius. I'd like to thank myself for securing many more future head coaching jobs for guys like Kevy Wilson, Josh Hasbeen, and maybe even Cale "My brother's a man!" Gundy someday.

In conclusion, in the spirit of the season, let us all hold hands and rejoice in the Bradford of the moment and give thanks for all things Sammy.

The Heisman is my bitch now! Tim Tebow has no balls!
Thank you, goodnight, and may God and myself bless you all!

(Wave. Take numerous bows. Be prepared to remain on the podium until 10 minute standing ovation dies down. Go punch Chris Fowler in the face with cast and remind him that Sam Bradford made his job easier and that his face would now look better. Tell Chris to take a message to Kirk Herbstreit and Lee Corso. Tell Chris to get out a notepad. Write "Dear Kirk and Lee" then punch him in the face again.)

Chill, Captain Nosehair. Chill.

So, I'm here in New York City today, and besides this national championship thing, all I've been hearing about is Texas Tech coach/pirate wannabe Mike Leach bitching and moaning about his QB Graham Cracker Harrell (I just came up with that cracker part. That's funny) not getting an invite to the Heisman ceremony.

Look, Captain Crazy, if it were me, I wouldn't want to go anywhere if I knew I was going to get my ass kicked. Thankfully, I don't really know what that feels like, but if they let Graham come to New York City, he would get his Red Raider ballot ass kicked just like when he came to Norman. Only this time he couldn't hide beneath his helmet. He'd just have to sit there in the audience in total embarassment with all his fourth, fifth and sixth place votes. It's not worth it.

So, I say to Captain Leach that it's a good thing your boy was not invited. It saves Red Raider nation more embarassment and humiliation.

Graham, no one remembers your heroics in the win against Texas. The only thing stuck in most peoples' minds is your total meltdown in Norman. Look, our defense is nothing to write home about (sorry guys, but I haven't written home about you guys once this year), but Graham Cracker came into our house and only managed 14 points. I'm not even counting that last touchdown against our waterboys and equipment managers at the end of the game.

Graham, thank Red Raider nation that you are at home, dude. Watch me on tv with your crazy-ass pirate coach. Eat some cheese, drink some snapple, and chill.


A recent photo of The Great Sam Bradford for you guys to check out:


Here I am in Orlando answering stupid questions from the stupid media. Look at the crazy eye look I am giving that reporter. He asked something stupid like do I think I will win the Heisman Trophy. Of course, I responded. Would you really want to piss me off? Look at my eyes. The eyes are the windows to the soul and they will give you your whole story, loser.

I Wish The Davey O'Brien Award Was Made of Cheese

Another day, another trophy. So I just won this trophy yesterday in Orlando. It's called the Davey O'Brien trophy (and it's not made of cheese; funny joke, dad, very funny). So, I was really ok with winning this award until I found out that this Irish QB named Davey, whom the trophy was named after, was from Texas.

What's crazy is that this dude sat on the bench behind Sammy Baugh (the other trophy I just recently won) for two years at TCU before he got to start. I've been a starter in everything I've done since the moment I was born. When I was in the nursery, I was first team crier. I out-cried all those other loser babies. I started on the high school basketball team. When I 8. But, I digress. Anyway, after that, O'Brien became a starter and led TCU to an undefeated record the next year (I doubt they played OU that year).

Anyway, when he got done at TCU, he played for the Philadelphia Eagles beginning in 1877 or some time around then, and they paid him like $25 a game and that was like being a millionnaire or something back then. I zoned out after that until they called my name.

Anyway, you might check out ebay next week if you have any interest in purchasing this trophy.

Check Me Out!

If this play doesn't win the Heisman Trophy for me then the Heisman Trophy can go to hell. Literally. It can burn in a fiery inferno of demons for all I care. It can roast in Satan's pit along with O.J. Simpson. And Madonna. I don't need that trophy anyway. The Heisman Trophy needs me. It needs me to make it meaniful. It needs me to give it legitimacy. It needs me to complete it. That trophy needs me to hold it up and smile for the photographers so that everyone in the world will know that I am the best player alive.

I heard the winner also gets a holiday Heisman ball of cheddar as well.



The Cream Puff State boys were surprised that I could jump so high. See how I bounced back up after the play? Tim Tebow or Colt McCoy would have been rolling all over the ground screaming like little girls who had their ponytails pulled.

Sammy Wins Sammy Award

That's right, britches. I won my own award yesterday - The Sammy Award for best damn quarterback on the planet. Apparently the name of the trophy is the Sammy Baugh trophy. I am going to have my personal engraver etch in my last name over the "augh" portion, because I think it's stupid for a quarterback that played back in the 1800's to have his own trophy.

This Sammy Blaugh dude couldn't carry my jock if he was playing today. He would have transferred to Southwest Hellhole State University by now trying to get some playing time.

That Sammy wore a rubber helmet, and played his games in gravel pits with a ball of twine. This Sammy wears a real football helmet (only because the rules state he has to), plays on the best football field in America, and throws footballs so hard that it makes the wind hurt.

Seriously, look at some of the names of the past winners:

Colt Brennan - Hawaii - what a joke; I was better as a Putnam North sophomore

Stefan Lefors - Louisville - who?

Kliff Kingsbury and BJ Symons - TTech - those guys have been awesome pros! (warning to Graham Harrell)

Chris Weinke - Fla St. - remember when Torrence Marshall scared the 33 year old Weinke so bad before the game that their offense couldn't even score on OU in the BCS championship game?

Ryan Leaf - Wash St. - I think he's dead

If these names are indicative of the type of talent that typically wins this award, I may choose to return it so that it doesn't jinx me.

Anyway, my apologies to any of Sammy Dagobah's relatives that may be reading this truth right now. Thanks for the hardware anyway. For now, it'll go right between the bronze bust of my head and the picture of me wresting a great white shark in the Pacific Ocean on my parents' fireplace mantle.

Ahhh! My New Hand!

So I was in the hospital getting my surgery done yesterday morning on my thumb when the surgeon, who was a closet UT grad, lopped off my arm and replaced it with this!

Pysch! LOL! Who uses the word "psych" anymore? What is this, 1987? Sorry to scare you all with the new hand joke. I just thought it would be a fun way to start off "We're Going To Kick Gator Ass Month." You can just call it WGTKGAM for short if you want.

My thumb ligaments are just fine in case you were wondering. I will probably be at practice today after the morphine wears off. In case you forgot, I hurt it in the game against Okie Light. After I was tackled, Orie Lemon bent my thumb back while we were in a big pile up. I said, "dude, that doesn't feel good. what are you in first grade or something?" He didn't say anything. He just bit me on the arm after I said that. It hurt so much that I just yelled out Son of an Orie Lemon! MotherLemon! You are one big Orie-hole!

It was really a boring day yesterday. I pretty much sat around the hospital all day yesterday throwing footballs in the hall and munching on a big block of provolone that my mom brought up.

I will tell you one thing. Nurses have great hands. I zipped bullets at them all morning as they were coming and going. Not one drop. If I could put these nurses hands on some of my receivers, tight ends, and running backs, my completion percentage would be 96.7% (I did the math in my head).

Also, I'm not sure if it's the morphine or not, but I'm pretty sure I cured cancer this morning. And, I'm also positive I saved a patient's life when the doctors couldn't find the defibrilllator to restart his heart. I just whipped out a Nike 3005 football and threw it right at the dude's chest, and his heart started beating again. Awesome am I.

Now, onto some cool photos of the Big 12 Championship thumping we gave Missouri.

First off is this photo of two of my fans. That's Rhett Bomar on the left and Keith Nichol on the right. Those two crazy quarterbacks are still big fans of mine. I will be in New York City this weekend accepting my Heisman Trophy and I can't wait to see Colt McCoy there. I want to ask him what it's like to be in the "Wecan'twinthenationalchampionship.com Bowl?" He'll get a kick out of that.


Look! There's my injured thumb right there in that soft cast. I'm holding up three fingers because that's my gang sign for all the fellows back home - The Three Amigo's Third Street Gang. It's mostly me and my hardcore Putnam North boys from high school. We also let tight end Quentin Chaney in the gang because he doesn't have any friends, and we needed to add a minority to our gang for government monitoring purposes. Our gang colors are maroon and gold and we mostly prank the stupid, poor retards at PC and PC West High Schools.


Speaking of gang members, this picture doesn't have me in it, but I love Quinton Carter's hair. I am going to grow mine out like that for next season. I am also going to take up pot smoking, listening to a lot of old school N.W.A., and pouring out liquor for my fallen homies. I call Quinton "QC" because that's his initials and because he's like Quality Control when it comes to controlling things in the secondary. He's also a nuclear physics major with a hunger for oranges I think.


Here I am running back under the tunnel to the locker room while all the fans cheer me on with chants of "Eat more cheese! Eat more cheese!." By the way, I know you're thinking it, so I'm just going to say what you're thinking - my ass looks good in white.


Here I am telling Brandon Walker that I was going to punch him in the face if he ever let his man get by him. I said, "Brandon, I'm going to punch you right in your big, fat, ugly face. I am going to bust my hand right through your face mask and make cottage cheese out of your nose if you miss any assignments." That's how I pump up the big boys upfront - threats of physical harm.


Here I am screaming at some of our fans. "I am the best! I am the best!" I yelled as they congratulated me. This is also where boosters slip me $100 bills.

Look at all the happy faces I give people. One of the girls to my left was holding a sign saying she wanted to have my baby. Lots of women do. But I tell them all the same thing - my super babies will only be able to be held in the womb for a full 10 months by someone like Wonder Woman or when Halle Berry was Storm. Maybe Catwoman. Anyway, it will take someone with super strength and awesomeness to have my babies.

Finally, here I am celebrating with my receiver, Juankin Iglooskates. I like Juan because he can catch most of the fastballs I sling at him every game. After the game, in a better effort to communicate with him, I told him "felicidades amigo!" which means "Congratulations, friend!" He looked at me and said "I don't speak spanish, you cracker!" We both laughed. I thought all Puerto Ricans spoke spanish.

My thanks to the Oklahoman for all these awesome pictures of me and the one of Quentin Carter.