Dear Lord Baby Jesus and Taco Bell I’m Playing a Guitar Solo On Top of a Moving Train
In honor of the football lockout ending, I’ve decided to tell the world about the dumbest things in sports. I consider myself a world class dope, and this stuff blows even my face off.
Glasses on top of the hat in a baseball game when it’s sunny.
GUH… Ezequiel Carrera did this Sunday in the Indians/White Sox tilt. Amazing. He had sunglasses on his hat, didn’t wear them and then lost an easy popup in the sun that cost the Indians the game. I understand that the flip-down glasses aren’t cool and you feel like an octogenarian wearing them, but sorry, Eqequiel, you’re stupid. So stop it and wear them or continue to look like a fool and drop fly balls in the outfield and fumble about looking like a drunk college girl at a VH1 summer bash in Cancun.
Touchdown dances that occur before ACTUALLY SCORING A TOUCHDOWN!
DeSean Jackson did this during a Monday Night Football game and foiled the hopes and dreams of about a thousand fantasy owners who were trailing by 4 points or fewer. I WAS ONE OF THEM. He started dancing and gyrating and flipped the ball in the air before crossing the plane, and of course, he dropped the ball. Right then I wished and prayed a vampire would eat him from groin to chin.
Jacking up threes when being pulled.
Guys who ride the pine in the NBA do this constantly and make their coaches go mad. Basically, when a guy sees his replacement come up to the scorer’s table and knows he is about to be taken out, he calls for the ball and takes an awful shot to pad his own stats for the night, with no concern for the team. This makes me have bad-basketball-diarrhea.
Bill Belichick’s weekly undisclosed injury report made up of made-up things about players who are ALWAYS on my fantasy team because god and unicorns have no soul.
I’m reminded of this because EFFFFING FOOTBALL IS BACK!!!
Andrew Luck staying in college instead of PLAYING IN THE NFL
He wants to finish his last year of school. To become an architect. His brain will be mush after large men sit on him before he can fulfill his dream to become the next Gaudi. Real architects work something like twenty years making forty grand a year before they ever get to create anything. They also work 90 hours a week and have no lives. That sounds way more awesome then being a starting quarterback in the NFL, getting tons of action and making MILLIONS OF DOLLARS.
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his brain will be mush after large black men sitting on him before he can fulfill his dream to become the next Gaudi.
All it took was a new NFL collective bargaining agreement to make my globetrotting and oft voguish colleague, Mr. Allen Krause (9 year-old version pictured above), rejoice like he was at a Justin Bieber concert. Now that we know there will be football, Mr. Krause can use his soon-to-be Detroit Tigers disappointment as a perfect segue into yet another Detroit Lions season of disappointment.
The world will be good.
Still, I have a hard time congratulating a group of unionized millionaires on doing what they should have done to begin with. I know the owners were skimming and scheming, but these things need to be addressed and taken care of PRIOR to a lockout, PRIOR to pissing off a Joe Six-Pack fan base, PRIOR to holding my sports news hostage.
DIDN’T THEY LEARN ANYTHING FROM THE 1994 MLB STRIKE!?!?!
Look, I nearly died in ’94. I was crushed like a man forced to watch his lover in bed with another man. I went so far as to QUIT baseball for the entire 1995 season. If it weren’t for an Albert Belle sized tub of syringes and a jheri curl renaissance, I might still be hootin’ and hollerin’ over the CICL.
But, as is usually the case, no one cares how we, the fans, feel. As long as we keep schleppin’ out the dough, sports franchises and the athletes who make them will continue to spit on us. Because they can.
And, I can attest, a certain Mr. Krause would be the very first in line with a pocketfull of benjamins for some Matt Stafford lugeys.
Hate me. It’s cool. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Sad news: only one more day until the world ends, dear readers. Indeed, it’s days like today when I really wish the Mayans knew what the hell they were talkin’ about.
Instead, we all wait in weary anticipation of a 2,000 year old Jewish zombie (they call him “The Jesus”) so he can come down from the skies and act as Judgey McJudges-a-lot.
Ordinarily, I ain’t much of a judgmental person. I let folks be as they be, even if they be crazy. But if The Jesus — a supposed paragon of virtue — is gonna come down and act a judgin’ fool, then I’d like to get in on that action too, just for today.
So here ya go. Let the judging begin!
Yankees fans, I’m judging you. You lost six measly games in a row and suddenly the sky is falling?! When my Cubs fans friends (yes, I have a few) watch their team lose six games in a row they call it “April”. And don’t even get me started on M’s fans or Pirates fans… jeesh.
Mitt Romney, I’m judging you. Come on, dude. How can you pass universal healthcare in your state and still call yourself a Republican?!? Not only that, but how am I supposed to take you seriously when you believe in a book that was “translated” by a whackjob “aided” by an invisible bearded man in the sky?
National Football League… oh yes, I’m judgin’ the hell out of you. Didn’t you learn ANYTHING from baseball?!?! Good grief! Don’t you know that the strike of ’94 nearly KILLED the national pastime? You may benefit from having less intelligent constituents, but even the ignorant have a hard time forgiving betrayal. Just ask Whitney Houston.
Donald Trump, I’m judging you. The birther thing, well, I can see past that. But your hair. Seriously. It’s not funny anymore. It’s disturbing. I’m sure there’s a crime being committed there.
And finally, as we prepare to say ‘see ya’ to the cosmos…
MLB throwback uniforms, I’m judging you. If we’re gonna bring back the baby blue road duds… if we’re gonna bring back the Oakland puke yellow tops… if we’re gonna bring all this stuff from the 70s and 80s back in earnest, then we need to stop making them in the baggy size. Everyone in his/her right mind knows that those only work if we can see some protruding jock action.
Hate me ‘cuz it’s Thursday, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Leave it to my pessimistic and oft paralyzing misanthrope of a colleague, Mr. Krause, to dampen everyone’s Labor Day spirit by mentioning those two words most feared by fans of our national pastime: Baseball Strike.
Chris Carpenter pitched a one-hit, complete game shut out against the Brewers to further solidify the Cardinals’ grips on the NL Central crown and Al wants to talk about a potential baseball strike!?! This malicious posturing is akin to sleeping with your crazy ex-girlfriend on the eve of your wedding.
Why screw with pain?
Yet Mr. Krause has made a lofty name for himself by dropping unfounded speculation. So we’ll just go with it.
And by go with it I mean briefly say that given the collusion and vindictive-laden history of Major League Baseball and its owners, the Player’s Union has got to have the right to strike as a last (albeit catastrophic) resort. While the horrors of the impetuous strike of 1994 continue to wreak havoc on the game (disillusion among fans, PED scandals, destruction of small market teams, etc), the Union would be absolutely insane to go so far again.
But still, the choice must be there for them to have any leverage.
As great as baseball is, it is not responsible for governing a people. It is not responsible for policing our streets, putting out fires, getting people to work. If they wanna strike, they should be able to do so… then watch as our interest in the English Premier League collectively jumps to dramatic new heights.
If it ever came to that — baseball taking itself for granted… again — then I think we all know how serious the alcoholism epidemic will become among Major Leaguers. I know this because my Labor Day (just one day without work) looked a lot like this:
|Tosh.0||Returns Oct. 8th|
Now imagine 750 out-of-work Sidney Ponsons running through the streets of our nation and tell me the Players Union doesn’t know better.
Hate me ‘cuz I walk the walk, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
*Cap tip to Tosh.0 on the video.