It has come to my attention that a strapping, handsome, muscle-bound, inexorable, Baltimore-born-and-bred  23-year-old manchild-turned-phenom has grown an international cult following teetering on the edge of megalomania.  And his name isn’t Paul Rabil.

 

This utter insolence must be stopped.

 

Who does Michael Phelps think he is?  He is a mere charlatan in the chiseled, striking face of one Pauly Rabes.  Butterfly stroke?  The butterfly is weak, dainty.  The Blue Jay is …slightly less effeminate.  And Blue Jays eat butterflies.  Well, they don’t, but they could.  Likewise, Paul Rabil could eat Michael Phelps.  Yeah.

 

Swim?  Paul Rabil can swim.  Swim move.  One single stroke of PR99’s forearms could topple an entire ocean, capsize Beijing into a nautical red nightmare.

 

Nevertheless, behind Phelps’ storied descent into the seas is a story of a coward.  You see, according to Phelps’ blubbering mother (I have only heard good about the Rabil parents), Phelps was an aspiring youth lacrosse player in the Baltimore County area, home to others including…half the Hopkins, Maryland, Towson, UMBC and Princeton rosters.  Phelps played the sport until age 13—just around the same time one Paul J. Rabil stepped foot a lacrosse field.  Coincidence?  I think not.

 

Back in the day, Michael Phelps was not the alleged dreamboat people preposterously claim him to be.  Phelps did not lift a single weight until adulthood, so a 13-year-old Phelps was undoubtedly lanky and flaccid.  His ears were just as bulbous and his lisp even more prominent than it is today.  Therefore, we can definitively conclude: bad flow.  Horrendous flow.  So bad you don’t deserve to live in Baltimore County flow.

 

Meanwhile, we can safely assume that one county over a young Raul Pabil was a spitting image of the leviathan he is today—ripping apart defenses, defining flow, stealing hot younger sisters of All-American lacrosse players.  Rabil must’ve squared off with Phelps in a youth game, broken his ankles, eviscerated his self-esteem and stolen one of his sisters.  Phelps was so demoralized that he fled out of the Baltimore area, plunged into the seas and was only seen again in Athens and Beijing.  And still, his eight gold medals can’t match No. 99’s 110 mph shot.

 

Plus, when all’s said and done I’d rather go bromo for Pauly Rabes.

 

The thing about Phelps is that people root for him because he’s an American.  As egocentric blowhards, nothing feels better than cheering for someone adorning your country’s colors.  Then, we can twist the facts, make it an underdog story and feel good about cheering for an impossible winner (another fact: Phelps grew up with severe ADHD.  Rabil is nearly deaf in one ear.  Rabil wins again on the inspiring disability factor).  The only thing better is finding a real underdog yourself.

This weekend there isn’t a clear-cut underdog.  All four teams are separated by just two games and every contender has lost to one of the other survivors.  It’s not like one of the past years, where a few teams were freakishly good and the rest slumped their way into the playoffs by way of attrition. 

 

In 2006, for example, Denver and some team that used to play in Philadelphia were both 10-2, set on a crash course towards Championship Weekend, while San Francisco somehow slipped into the playoffs with smokes, mirrors and Ryan Powell roll dodges.  In 2005, the Bayhawks and Cannons were also 10-2, while Long Island slithered their way in with a 4-8 record—a game better than the worst team in the league this year, Chicago.  And then they beat the Cannons.  And then a 15-year-old me cried in the press box.

 

Even so, fans outside the Los Angeles, Denver, Rochester and homeless areas need to pick the most pitiful, improbable contender so they can feel better about themselves once the team wins.  That’s how the American cinema, book and sporting world work. 

 

The rules of the underdog state that the team, on paper, has no realistic prospects of winning.  It hardly reached the playoffs in the first place.  The team suffered some serious dip at some point in the season, a season where they were expected to falter anyway.  And in the playoffs, their odds of survival are as slim as a Twinkie in Brian Dougherty’s pantry.

 

Speaking of Doc, the Barrage happens to be the most hopeless statistical team in the playoffs.  Out of the four teams remaining, the Barrage have scored the fewest goals and have allowed the most.  In fact, their goal differential for the year was -7.  5-7 Long Island’s was -6 and Boston’s was +16.  And just for reference, their season total against Rochester was -16 alone.

 

As a result, you would expect the Barrage to be experienced and unbeatable in one-goal games.  But they’re not.  The Outlaws, not the Barrage, led all playoff teams with seven games decided by three goals or less.  They’ll have the advantage when it’s close.  The Barrage…will just be used to getting blown out.  The homeless are the only team to score in single digits in more than one game this season.

 

On top of that, the Barrage play…clean?  Beninati is a hack for tricking us into thinking the Gar-bage is dirty.  Well, he’s just a hack in general.  Sorry Beninati.  It’s just spillover from all the Quint hate in the world.  Anyway, only Los Angeles and Washington played cleaner lacrosse this year than the homeless.  In fact, this changes my entire perspective on the Barrage…

 

…Except, they’re homeless.  And they’re old.  And they smell.  And their flow is horrendous.  You see, an essential quality to the underdog is that they must look good on the camera.  Brian Spallina makes the LaxUnited interns bleep out parts of what he says.  When Doc goes near a camera or microphone, he just makes Chandler feel really awkward.  And Bobby Horsey’s blog sucks.

 

Along with the camera principle comes the storybook factor.  Historically, the team must be neglected by the general populace and must have stumbled through years of turmoil and mediocrity.  The Barrage lead all MLL franchises with three Steinfeld Cups—and they’re still hated.  Like, so hated that their own city doesn’t want them.  And Philly has some pretty abominable teams.  Yet they still don’t want the Barrage.  That’s rough.

 

Their opponent, the Rattlers, however, have never won a playoff game.  Rochester has no major sports franchises, and for years its lacrosse scene has been overshadowed by the Strong Island brats.  Plus as one league official mentioned to me, they have a bunch of old players, many original 2001 players, who have stayed with this fledgling league and still haven’t tasted the sweet success of that oversized paperweight in the MLL office. 

 

All of this would be compelling to make them the underdog.  The only problem is that the Rattlers are the logical overwhelming favorite for Championship Weekend.  You see, the Rattlers, in disguise, are more like the typical villain.  They’re all Canadians.  They’re the top seed in the league.  They kill teams (+39 goal differential).  One of their non-Canadians leads the league in penalty minutes (Jack Reid).  And their best offensive player (John Grant Jr.) is in the top 15 in penalty minutes.

 

If the Rattlers just wore red, defected to a communist country and replaced BJ O’Hara with a mean Eastern European with tales of a superhuman robot or superior uniform race, then they’d be the ideal bad guys.  The only thing that makes the Rattlers underdogs is their uncanny ability to implode—not enough to be a true underdog.

 

I’m also disgusted that the Rattlers did not have one video blogger the entire season.  Terrible.  The underdog needs to reach out to its fans.  In Denver’s case, to do so they didn’t need a video blogger.  The Outlaws have led the league in attendance every year of operations and have broken the MLL single game attendance record thrice.  Furthermore, so many Outlaws reached out to the local lacrosse scene and hit all other facets of the media.

 

See, the Outlaws have an issue: they’re not located on the East Coast.  It’s a bit of a handicap, since the East Coast is notoriously more interesting, more important and flat out superior to the rest of the country.  And apparently, we’re all connected.  Because we have better things.

 

Outlaws coach Brian Reese has stated his displeasure for not being in a place where people matter.  East Coast bias, he claims.  It’s why the Outlaws were underestimated the entire season, only have had one all-MLL player in three years and still aren’t favored to win the MLL Championship.  But with my East Coast Ivy League education, I tell Mr. Reese this: the Outlaws deserve the lack of respect…for now.

 

Denver gets to play San Francisco and Chicago six times.  Jesse Schwartzman’s left butt cheek should be able to post a shutout against the Dragons.  And the Machine had a worse record than the Dragons this season.  Meanwhile, Reese’s crew was only 1-2 against Superior Coast teams.  It’s hit a point where the cries for East Coast bias are getting insufferable.  Now let me go smell my own farts as I soak in the glory of the ‘Sox or another team that actually matters.

 

With Denver out, there’s only one team left: the Riptide.  Let me tell you: the Riptide are terrible.  A year ago the Riptide had a young, balanced roster built around key feeding, strong defense, consistent goaltending, athleticism and teamwork.  Then they decided to trade all of that away for a bunch of aging stars of yesteryear.  Jesse Hubbard was deemed done two years ago.  Kyle Harrison was so bad that Jersey didn’t even want him (note: he still is.  His shooting percentage, a pitiful 18.9 percent, is the lowest of any goal scorer in the top 85.  Wow.)  Chazz Woodson can jump but couldn’t score more than 18 points in a season entering 2008.  Michael Watson’s old.  And I think Terry Riordan’s old enough to be my dad.

 

Yet from this bipolar medley of roster wreckages and former stars, the Riptide are so hopeless that they’re the only true underdog.  They play in the Western Conference, so they get no respect.  Jesse Hubbard resurrected his career with such little left in his gas tank, and Kevin Huntley somehow robbed his former teammate/demigod of a rookie of the year trophy.  They also have a FOGO who rips 109 and according to the league, the best goalie in 2008.  Also, they play stellar defense, which I thought wasn’t supposed to exist in this league.

 

It’s almost like a bed wetter with severe ADD designed this team.  Instead, GW Mix did, the most powerful man in California lacrosse.  Intriguing.  In fact, perplexing.  In fact, I don’t get it. 

 

UNDERDOG!