Right now over 300 college kids are parading around in sponsored spandex performing the President's Fitness Challenge for a bunch of googley eyed grown men. Well-paid football professionals and numbers geeks are oohing and aahing over tenths of a second in an effort to figure out which specimen they'll hand over the $50 million "Deal or No Deal" briefcase. Endless numbers of greased up Mel Kiper wannabees are plotting these numbers into formulas trying to find the NFL equivalent of e=mc2. Here's a tip: You can slice and dice these digits all you want, but when the digits don't mean anything the only solution you'll come up with is that you are wasting your fucking time.

Imagine if we held a combine for NBA prospects and we judged them by the speed of their 'suicide sprints' or by a tense game of "horse" (no dunking allowed of course). Or for baseball players we measured their prospective power hitting ability by how fast they can swing their arm submerged in an above ground pool.

Part of me thinks this is some large conspiracy by the entire NFL scout community who doesn't feel like breaking down game film of 200+ schools. Simple numbers are much easier to organize on Microsoft Excel then say something like intangibles or I don't know...talent! So to make it easier they pull out their handy dandy stop watch, yell "go" 1...2...3...4...5 "nope, no good, next and go" 1...2...3...4.4.25 "WOAH, jot that kid's name down. 4.25! You can't teach that!"

It reminds me of when I used to pull out my large black casio keyboard watch (aka chick magnet), switch on the stopwatch function and see how quickly I could click it on and off. (for the record I broke .08 once) This 40-yard dash serves about the same amount of purpose. Here's a crazy idea, why not have these players run in pads? You know the stuff they actually play in? And why not have them run with a couple of obstacles (oh I don't know, say some guy bumping them on the line?), and after they have done cardio for the last 2 1/2 hours. I'm sure my 9 year old niece would be awfully competitive with me in a foot race, though I'm quite confident that if we strapped 15 pounds of foam and hardened plastic onto her frame she wouldn't stand a chance. Now if we both had to in pads plow through a 230 lb linebacker after moving furniture for the last 150 minutes to get to those 40 yards, I like my chances.

Now to test strength they use the bench press. What better way to determine the physical strength of a player in a sport dominated by leverage than by testing how strong their breasts are? It's a completely archaic measuring tool. All I can envision are these 600 NFL scouts equipped with massive chests and itty bitty legs roaming the combine grounds going up to players and asking them like that Emilio Estevez SNL Skit "Hey you, how much ya bench?" ... "You! the All-American Fred Biletnikoff winner, I don't care about your stats, answer one thing: How much ya bench?" I suppose if everyone in the NFL was a paraplegic lining up on the line of scrimmage plopped in their motorized scooter it might come in handy, but we haven't gotten there yet. If the NFL really wanted to beef up their scouting they'd have players do squats or dead lifts - exercises that actually incorporate 3/4 of your body rather than just your tits.

Let me tell you a story about a kid I knew in high school. He was a brainy fellow, with a body the consistency of lemon merengue custard. He was a whiz on the black and ivory keys and could play the meanest baddest version of the Charlie Brown theme song that you've ever heard. So come gym fitness test time (we didn't have to wear spandex) our teacher tried to see who could bench 225lbs. A few of the guys on the football team were able to do it, while most failed. However, this soon to be Yale grade who probably only associated "Crunch" with a Nestle Bar accomplished the task with ease and for the rest of his tenure paraded around the high school halls with his "I Benched 225lbs" manly man t-shirt with fatboy pride. It was the biggest 'FU' to the jock community outside of graduation day. 1,400 teenagers soon figured out that the test didn't mean shit, yet the most lucrative sport in the U.S. still hasn't had their unathletic geek benching 225 moment. Well allow me to illuminate one for them.

Last season the Jets drafted Vernon Gholston, a guy with the physique of what I envision Adonis having if he drank three daily Androstenedione Slushee Big Gulps and had roids pumping through his body 24/7 on an IV drip. They were so enthralled with his 40-time and his 37 reps of 225lb bench press that they took him with the #6 pick and threw $40 million at him. He responded with all of 13 tackles. Yes, he barely registered half a tackle for each million in his $21 million signing bonus gift card. You want to know how that was possible? Its because HE DIDNT KNOW HOW TO PLAY FOOTBALL!!! The guy didn't know how to use his body nor could understand what the hell the offense was doing on any single play. Of course, if you told him to line up and run in a straight line the guy was a maestro. Nobody is better at sitting on a bench and lifting something repetitively than Vernon. Next year, during week 11 with 3:12 left in the 3rd quarter when the Chargers and Jets go at the "lifting steel several time" competition, we will own them!!!

So in conclusion, any GM (especially one who wears a green starter jacket) who gets approached by their scouts about prospects who had a 4.3 or a terrific shuttle do the NFL loving community and I a favor - Fire them and tell them that they are wasting your fucking time.

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