How could I be this good and Parasiliti at the same time?

November 12, 2004|y Big Sydney

We interrupt this week's picks for a statement from the prognosticator.

(I'm Big Sydney and I approved this message.)

I've been put through some unfortunate razzing since last week's column.

Now when I go out around the Dargan resort, it seems like everyone is yelling at me: "How you doing, Bob Parasiliti?"

I stopped over at the Dargan Jerky Bar for double teriyaki turkey and hear, "Is that you Parasiliti, or did you lose weight, Syd?"

I slide in at the Gravedigger-A-Go-Go, the local monster truck outlet and disco, and all of a sudden I'm targeted, "Hey, Parasiliti. I got some pictures of Big Sydney back when he was a baby on a Chicago Bears rug?"


Geez. You too, Mom?

There's no way that Bob Parasiliti clown and I can ever be confused.

Have you seen that hack lately? He's dumb enough to walk on the sidelines at football games. Me? I sit in the media room of my bunker bungalow and get the games piped in via video tape.

He always wears jeans and short-sleeved shirts without a coat.

What a wimp. When it's November, I just switch to the fur-lined coaches shorts and make a fashion statement out of my ensemble. Seersucker shorts with matching clipboard and hat. Eat your heart out Michael Irvin.

That Parasiliti guy is always in your face. While he's littering The Herald-Mail for 12 months out of the year, I'm kicking back and enjoying my three-month-a-year gig.

It's great being independently wealthy. I'm soaking up the residuals for my low-carb Spam recipe.

Sports. Sports. Sports. That's all that Parasiliti chump relies on. The only culture in his life is in the back of his refrigerator.

I'm a child of the arts. I have a musical collection of classic "Charge" chants played by Yanni and the complete Zamphere pan flute collection. And Slim Whitman, he's the bomb.

That should be enough to convince everyone out there that you can't confuse me with that loser Parasiliti.

But if you need one more thing to prove it, look at our prognosticating percentages.

I rule, he drools.

Heck, Parasiliti couldn't pick the winner in an unopposed election if his life depended on it. It only took me three times to get it right.

On with the predictions. Last week 18-6 (.750), season 199-50 (.799).


Smithsburg 41, Hancock 14: Leopards leave the Panthers seeing spots as Hancock hits the end of the Trail.

North Hagerstown 24, Francis Scott Key 20: Oh, say can you see the Hubs turning this into their anthem.

Frederick 20, Seneca Valley 17: The Cadets begin to make a 3A West point.

Martinsburg 44, University 13: Bulldogs turn University into an obedience school.

Buckhannon-Upshur 23, Jefferson 15: Raise your hands if you're Upshur.


Fort Hill 36, Walkersville 13: There's no fairy tale finish for Lions in this version of Malice in Cumberland.


Penn State 19, Indiana 14: Nittany Lions change recent Pattern-o.

West Virginia 33, Boston College 21: A win over BC could spell BCS berth for the Mountaineers.


Ravens 17, Jets 10: Martin and Lewis team up to prevent this from becoming a comedy act.

Steelers 28, Browns 13: Time runs out on Browns as Big Ben strikes eight (in a row).

Redskins 27, Bengals 17: Bengals come close but it's only a stripe tease.

Eagles 31, Cowboys 10: Hee Haw. Eagles get last laugh as Cowboys can't buck Owens.

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