With the Mets no longer tenaciously controlling last place in the NL Central, New York really needed something else to talk about. Stage right, enter Dominique Strauss-Kahn. DSK, as he’s more commonly known, is a big name in foreign policy and international banking circles but wasn’t exactly a household name outside of France. Luckily for NYC (and unluckily for DSK), that all changed a few Saturdays ago.
Now, in retrospect, DSK’s path to the Riker’s perp walk seems like the culmination of a really bad day. You’re in your expensive hotel room, about to fly business class overnight to have a chat with Angela Merkel. Then bam, you’re doing an early morning shuffle in front of the NYC press corps. Which isn’t to say that DSK is the first person to have a really bad day. Look at this guy. First, the homerun goes right over his head. Then, a beer comes showering down all over it:
The main difference is that the unlucky recipient of the beer shower didn’t sexually assault a maid in his expensive hotel room (I assume). And to be fair, that is a pretty big difference.
There’s a lesson in this for all of us. Sure, you may be at the top of your game. Yes, you might be the assumed front-runner for the Presidency of La France. And it’s even possible that people will make excuses for you like, you’re being framed or engaging in a tragically nihilistic form of self-sacrifice. However, when it’s all said and done, there’s really only one thing to keep in mind. The lady who comes and offers you turn-down service is only there to handle the bed sheets.
RSBS Special Correspondent and Podcast miscreant, Mr. Johanna Mahmud reports:
Quips a la Johanna
You can follow Johanna’s tweets *HERE*
And so in this Podcast brought to you by Lifestyles…
The proverbial (and literal) gloves come off in this verbal masquerade of utter ridiculousness and yes, injuries do occur (though mostly to Johanna and, since they are mental in nature, hardly noticed). Among the topics of conversation one will find: Jeff’s wandering Forever 21 eyes, Zack Greinke’s ribs, the difference between a half and a full nelson, Cameroonian baseball, Bud Selig-bashing take 47 and much, much more… all to make you smile, laugh and play!
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*Special thanks to our PodMaster Keith Carmack. Keith is all over the interwebz killin’ it. You should definitely check out his crew and their subsequently hilarious podcast at Undercard Films. And keep your eye out for what’s next. Dude’s makin’ a movie!
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Recorded Saturday, March 12, 2011
Until recently, the only thing the French had on us was their seeming inability to accept obesity. This was a good thing. Not only has America become fat, we’ve also decided to accept it. Don’t take this the wrong way. I still fully support American attempts to inject bacon or bacon flavoring into any and every thing. However, that doesn’t mean you need to sit around all day and let the grease coagulate in your veins.
This difference exists in part at a cultural level. For instance, American sports tend to celebrate obesity, whether it be literal or clinical. Although I love the guy and wish he could have been on the Tigers at some point, David Wells didn’t exactly seem like someone who ever matched up the idea of “baseball” with that of “conditioning.” And although it’s easy to see the extra weight a 300-pound lineman is carrying, even running backs and linebackers tend to be obese by clinical definitions.
In contrast, think of the typically French sports or sports where they have done well. Soccer, rugby, sex. These ideas may be completely foreign to us but the one thing they all have in common is lots of cardio. Even the more sedentary French sports, like boules and drinking wine, tend to have unforeseen positive health impacts.
So why is it that even the French are now celebrating being overweight? Ok, maybe she isn’t fat but I like my models the same way I like my crepes: thin and slathered in Nutella. If we can’t count on the French to enforce these standards, where else can we go?
I think more than anything I’m just afraid that the French will become so much like us that we’ll no longer be able to make fun of them. That is not a world I want to live in. Who would we turn to for our jokes? Canadians? They’re too nice. No, I want a world that makes sense, a world where the French inspire simultaneous hatred and jealousy. Take note, France. This plus-size model thing? It simply will not do.
I say Prince picks on the overall fitness of US America.
Or something like that…
Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Happy Veterans Day! Thank you, to all those who serve! We tip our caps!
I hate to pile on the French since this hasn’t been one of the best weeks in their history but I have to add one more thing before we let this go. As you have probably noticed, I have a little thing about sportsmanship. This is somewhat awkward since I tend to be a terrible sport myself and have even been known to throw at opposing batters while playing softball (yeah, seriously). But, knowing this weakness in myself makes it much easier to spot it in others.
For every Armando Galarraga there’s an Alex Rodriguez. For every Nancy Kerrigan there’s a Tonya Harding. And for every Carlos Parreira there’s a Raymond Domenech. Raymond Domenech? Maybe this will refresh your memory:
Refusing to shake the hand of your opposite number on the world’s biggest stage is not exactly the best way to end a career. It’s not like Parreira had insulted Domenech’s mother and sister the way Italian defender, Marco Materazzi, is reputed to have done in the lead up to Zinedine Zidane’s infamous headbutt during the final of the 2006 World Cup.
And you know what, even if he had insulted Domenech’s mother wouldn’t the ultimate payback be shaking the man’s hand and showing that you’re the bigger person?
It has been a rough few weeks for the French. Their retirement age is about to go up to 62 and their World Cup team has become the biggest French snafu since the Maginot Line. However, intractable situations give us all the opportunity to shine and Domenech totally missed his. Me, I just make sure I’m not pitching when I play softball.
Say what ya want about the mighty market divas of the Yankees, the Red Sox, the Dodgers. Go ahead and hate on A-Rod, slam Manny, spit on Youk… whatevs. Sometimes they deserve it; sometimes they don’t. It’s all a part of professional sports.
But no matter how infantile and annoying MLB superstars can be (yes, I’m looking at you, Milton Bradley), none of them quite qualify as being as toxically asinine as Nicolas Anelka and his band of busted b!tches that once formed the French national soccer team.
You think Roberto Alomar spitting on John Hirschbeck was bad? Imagine Roberto Alomar spitting on John Hirschbeck during the World Series, with a big nasty particle-filled loogey, and all his teammates joining in.
Yeah. That’s sorta what France’s World Cup was like. But at least it’s over. And now we can think about… things that are worse than France. For instance:
Duh. You knew that was comin’.
Rob Blagojevich’s Image
For all of you who live outside of Illinois, be glad you do; ‘cuz this Blago crap is just now gettin’ started for real. The lego hair, the smarmy and disingenuous smile, the creepy way he talks to every woman as if she were a dumb, money-chasin, cheap-trick-happy cocktail waitress… this dude is going to the joint. Eventually.
You knew that was comin’ too.
It makes me sick that he was in my neighborhood. It makes me even more sick to know that he was at Sox Park. And it makes me Bush-Sr-Throwin-Up-On-Japanese-People sick to know he tossed the first pitch to Mark Buehrle!
You didn’t think this could end with anything worse, did you? I’m pretty sure I heard the Astros’ team on-base-percentage was the worse on-base-percentage in the history of time, including all dimensions — even those we are unaware of yet…
That’s why they’re called the LOLstros.
Hate me. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.