No Housekeeping, Just Towels

Editor's Note: There's been some confusion aired as to the delicious domestic help pictured at right. This is NOT this week's installment of We Are Hot Chicks Wednesday. That, I've been assured, is forthcoming. Feel free to ogle the maid, though, in the meantime...

Let's get caught up on some HoG business, shall we? While it's nice that you've taken the time to hang out here at the House, we want to make sure that you're fully exposed to the waves of excellence that spurt out of the various orifices of our porcine multimedia empire.

Bankmeister and I are engaged in a running dialogue concerning sports fandom that's gone on for over a decade now. We turned on the tape recorder last week and documented a slice of it, and that slice can be found at both Arrowhead Addict (for fat Midwesterners) or Predominantly Orange (for tanned, trim Rocky Mountaineers). Our subject was young Jack Elway, the high school junior that we've devoted many thousands of words to now, and that's not creepy at all. Banky's further AA work can be found here, here and here, and I've been banging the PO as often as my busy summer patio/beer schedule allows.

Showing that even beefy sportswriters who wear Hawaiian shirts read the HoG, Jim Armstrong mentioned Young No. 7 yesterday in his Notes. While I love the thought of the kid taking snaps as a Ram, so long as he stays out of Boulder we're OK. If Screamin' Dan Hawkins gets his crazy mitts on our beloved Jack it'll be four long years of Hell. Go play intramurals, brother. This is Division 1 football.

I've been critical of Cubs catcher Michael Barrett in these pages, and apparently whoever runs the Baby Bears hangs out here as well. Barrett got shipped to San Diego this morning. Take that, bitch. As if getting your ass kicked by Big Z wasn't humiliating enough, we're going to send you to MLB's most desirable city and a first-place team. Burn!

People that make signs and display them at sporting events are generally either tools or registered sex offenders. Try and pull that shit in front of me and you're likely to get mustard smeared across your seat (I'm very hostile, yet oddly non-confrontational and passive-aggressive). But these signs here are beyond precious. God bless college baseball fans.