When I was pondering whether to dub my blog Pacman Jonesin’, one morbid — but honest — question kept popping up in my head:

What if Adam “Pacman” Jones dies? What if Pacman ends up like 2pac?

Seriously, he could. His lawyer, Robert Langford, can keep saying that even though he may not be a good guy he’s not a killer or a shooter. Whatever. He can keep saying that he’s a football player that ran with the wrong crowd, and that he’s an easy target. Again, whatever.

He’s neither a good guy nor a football player anymore. It’s like Carlito said to Kleinfeld in Carlito’s Way, “You a gangster now.”

Pacman’s life closely mirrors the lives of fallen rap superstars Tupac Shakur and Christopher Wallace, not the lives of other star cornerbacks like Champ Bailey. The messed up thing is that a gangster persona comes with the territory if you’re a gangster rapper. To some degree, gangster rappers have to act gangsta — it’s their bread and butter. Pacman is a filthy-rich NFL player, his bread has already been buttered to shit. For Pacman to act like this is just idiotic, but that’s what he’s chosen.

Because of that choice he’s no longer a football player — he’s a gangster.

Yes, Pacman has joined the pantheon (what? Bill Simmons doesn’t have a patent on the word) of troubled professional athletes. When we remember the beginning of the Roger Goodell-plays-God era we’ll always remember Pacman. 5 years from now. 10 years from now. 20 years from now. For better or worse, Pacman Jones will long be remembered, and that’s one big reason why I chose Pacman Jonesin’.

Before it’s said and done, however, Pacman will also be remembered as a gangster. A thug. A hooligan. Bigots will call him something I don’t agree with, and will never write nor say. He’s single-handedly worsened the rep of two of my biggest passions — Hip-Hop and the NFL. The messed up thing is that he’s not even a rapper. His obsession with being gangsta like a rapper, 50-ish if you will, might not only cost him his football career, though. His thug love might end up costing him his life.

(FYI, even though I am a white Midwesterner sitting behind a cushy computer chair, I’m not a poser — I’m a lifelong rap fan. Sure, I listened to Pearl Jam, Nirvana and Soundgarden growing up, as well as 80s music and Classic Rock. I also listened to A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, NWA and Public Enemy. My point — I’m not one of these old, fatass honkies who sits around blaming everything on minorities and rap.)

That being said, I don’t feel bad about poking fun at Pacman with my site’s moniker. Even if he did die, which would be absolutely terrible, it’s not like he’s Christopher Reeve. Hell, he’s not even Pac or Biggie. Let’s not make a martyr out of the POS. He has the talent of Deion Sanders and he’s throwing it away to be like Young Buck. That’s just ignit. How many people would do absolutely anything to be as good of a football player as Pacman?

Furthermore, what about ex-pro wrsetler Tommy Urbanski? Pacman just can’t play football. Urbanski will never walk again. He was just a real estate professional managing a strip joint at night to help put his wife through law school. OK, maybe he should have been managing a Denny’s or something, but he didn’t deserve to get shot. He’ll never walk again because Pacman regretted throwing $81,000 up in the air. I’d instantly regret throwing $81 up in the air, but I wouldn’t shoot anyone over it. I’ve seen a stripper almost beat a girl’s ass because she pulled a dollar off the stage. Dumbass tried to pull back 81 Gs and he should have known better. If you don’t have cake like J.D. and Nelly, don’t act like you do.

Basically, because of Pacman and his stupidity, a good (as far as I can tell) man will never walk again.

And his name is Pacman. Making fun of Chris Henry and Tank Johnson is a grand ol’ time; making fun of Pacman is becoming a national pastime. Really, Pacman has become the face of the NFL’s eff-ups. If there was a Fellowship of the Thugs, Pacman would be Frodo, going to dump what’s left of his career right into the smoldering lava of Mount Goodell. So Pacman really is an icon that represents the Chris Henrys and Tank Johnsons as well as himself.

These guys are so ridiculous that at this week’s rookie symposium the message is simply going to be “Don’t ever do anything that Pacman Jones would do… or Chris Henry… or Tank Johnson.” That’s why Pacman’s The Namesake. Because he makes Ron Artest look like Mister Rodgers.

Anyway, welcome to the site. PacmanJonesin.com is my blog so I’m going to run it as such and write about basically anything I want. That being said, it’s part of the network and is first and foremost an NFL blog. Now, the mix is more like a fusion of football, entertainment, life and other sports than just a straight NFL site, but you will get more than your fair share of Goodell’s league over here. Trust me.

You will receive a healthy dosage of both fantasy football and the UFC as well, and also a little bit of my weirdest obsession, Rachel Nichols, along with some rumblings about other broads. It’s a well-documented fact that she doesn’t blink, and that along with her being a redhead… yeah, she’s a freak. She’s married in real life, but not in my blog fantasies. You’ll hear plenty about her and the other weird obsessions. Well, at least until some little firecracker I’m talking to threatens my anatomy. No worries — most girls I meet don’t even know what the hell a blog is.

What is a blog, anyway?

It’s the modern-day garage band.

It’s technology giving every talented writer (or passionate fan) sans a J-school degree the chance to shine. Unlike say film and filmmaking (my old industry, what I went to school for and something I still dabble in) there is mostly a level playing field with blogging. Sure, someone like TrueHoop’s Henry Abbott may get taken more seriously than most because of his journalism degree. Sure, a major newspaper blogger will have a built-in base. Still, it evens out. When you are an independent blogger you can have your blog designed to fit you, not to mention that you can write whatever you damn well please.

That’s why I’m here. I love expressing myself, and blogging lets me run wild creatively. I also love thinking that my content will help even just a few readers make it through their “Case of the Mondays” or Hump Day blues. And that I can do this so cost efficiently from essentially anywhere in the World. To me, Blogs aren’t Rubik’s Cubes, or Hula Hoops, or Prodigy or even LaserDisc. This isn’t a fad or a trend — blogs are here to stay. People got so damn sick of the media that we stood up and said let’s be the media. Honestly, we’ve done a pretty good job for the most part.

That was a mouthful, and I’m glad you made it through. We’re all brothers and sisters now, so…

Ladies, I hope that I don’t offend you too much. This blog is for you as well. If I’m being a disgusting slimeball pig, or basically a man, just move on to the next post. Please.

Fellas, here’s a quote for you:

If any of us get laid tonight, it’s because of Eric Bana in Munich.”

Even though I’m not a Jew, that’s still so true.

Everybody welcome to the site and enjoy!

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