Friday Foolin': Talkin' 'Bout My 'Broneration!

Normally, I be like F**k the NBA, but this is too good to pass up.

(clip courtesy of The Big Lead)
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Friday Foolin'

Jackpot, count it, etc.

(clip courtesy of YouTube)
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Thursday ThumbTubes & YouNails: 7-15-09

We haven't exactly treated the ol' TT&YN with the utmost of frequency or consistency, but that clearly doesn't mean that y'all don't love it. Right? I mean, our inbox is literally flooded, every single day, with questions, demands, and ransom notes practically begging us to make it a daily feature. While we can't do that, we can in fact, make some effort to bring it to you on a bi-monthly basis. That's how thoughtful and willing to negotiate we are. You, the reader, want 25 installments of this feature; we're promising two. No need to thank us. That's just the kinda guys we are. More then, of that which you love, after the jump.

Our first clip today means absolutely nothing to sports, but it's interesting in that the artist, Banksy,



has launched, and admittedly so, his latest endeavors upon the YouTubes, all in the name of inspiration provided to him by yours truly. Hence the similarity in names. "Hat Tip," as the kids are saying these days, to Old No. 7 for pointing out the guy's existence months ago, and to me for not caring enough to do anything about it.

So that was kinda cheesy, but not quite as cheesy as this:

Too cheesy? How about some mustard. And Olivia Munn,

who's making House appearances on consecutive days.

God I love America. And hey, so does this guy:

Since we're being patriotic a solid two weeks after July 4th,

The Peanuts are always good for the ol' nostalgia factor.

So is Eminem. Right?

Okay. Not so much, but baseball. Baseball makes us remember our youth.



Love the Carew bit.


Here's a top-ten list of the alleged best entertainers in sports.



The guy that winds up at the one slot wants to know how his Aspen taste.

Here's a list of the top ten comedians (by income) in the country.



Neither Larry the Cable guy nor Dane Cook are number one, but they're in there, and they sure are funny.

After the Manny Pacquiao/Ricky Hatton fight, I thought I remembered hearing that Pacquiao/Mayweather would be right around the corner.



Apparently, it's not.

Apparently, Terrell Owens has a new squeeze,



perhaps nullifying Old No. 7's theory



that he is, um, gay.



Finally, Gary Bettman got a raise, which I'm sure will make the anti-Bettmans thrilled. Interesting piece. I really appreciated it until I found out how much jack Bud Selig makes. Then I threw up a little bit.



To put it in perspective, you could take Roger Goodell's salary and lump it with Bettman's, or you could lump Bettman's with David Stern, and it would still not be as much as Bud Selig makes in a year.

That, my friends, is outright depressing.

And that, my friends, will do it for this week.
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Thursday ThinkTank: News of the Gay

We interrupt this regularly scheduled non-update of the House of Georges to bring you some things and some stuff. Consider said things brought, after the jump.

The Chauncey will wear #1 for the Nuggets next year. He's giving up on Old No. 7, much like Denver Bronco fans have given up on finding 7's replacement.

Rany Jazayerli has been banned, or blacklisted -- whatever you want to call it -- by the Kansas City Royals.

A collection of LeBron James crap: geigh.

While a look back at swimsuit models of the 1990s is not gay, following Kathy Ireland, my all-time favorite, on Twitter, truly is. Her Web site? Not much better.

Manny Ramirez is set to return to the bigs tomorrow after his 50-game suspension. Suspending him and letting him back in? No problem. Allowing him to play in the minors in the interim? Guh-ay.

I've never had a ton of respect for the Canadian Football League, but that's probably because I've never paid one lick of attention to it. What I can tell you, though, is that if you score a touchdown, and your end-zone celebration is to attempt a Michael Jackson impersonation wherein you lay down and pretend to be buried, you, sir, are gizzay.

That's your afternoon news. Stay tuned. More gayness, plus film (Update: Not really.) at eleven.
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Thursday ThumbTubes & You Nails: Back from the Dizzead

You'll have to just take my word for it when I say that I started working on this post this morning, many, many minutes before famous people started crumbling like the Berlin Wall. The purpose of the title was to imply that it's been a while since we pulled together a TT&YN, but that's kind of par for the course around here. Pick up a habit. Abuse the shit out of it. Go to rehab for a minute. Get out. Resume habit.

So this particular installment of this particular feature isn't going to get read win us any awards, but you know, it's nice to get the ol' feet wet again. Get post-jump. Enjoy.

Ah. Michael Irvin.



Has one man ever produced more headlines?

Triumph the Insult Comedy Dog at Bonnaroo.



(clip courtesy of Daily Motion)

Hey, look:



The NBA draft is tonight. Chill your sodas and pop your corn.

Uh, Wimbledon's going on. And if you're a girl that chases balls,



then look out.

(clip courtesy of Awful Announcing)

As mentioned,



Farrah Fawcett died today, which was totally bizarre considering that she and Ryan O'Neal just "announced" that they would finally wed like two days ago. At least that's when I read the story, anyway.

The picture ain't perfect,



but this was too cute to pass up.

(clip courtesy of Video Gum)

I'm in the grocery store last night. True story. I hear this older fella drop an F-bomb as he comes around the corner. I give him a look. He says, and I quote, "Sorry. That guy had an Obama shirt on and I had to ask him 'Are you really any better off than you were seven months ago?'" Fucking tool. Leave it to a Republican to a) jump down someone's throat at the market just because he feels like pouting, b) expect actual change in seven months time, and c) be a massive tool in general.



Leave it to a liberal to post that instance to his blog from his basement.
I don't know how old these are, but they're freaking hysterical:



Brief interruption to bring you this image:



Now back to real-life video game stuff.



Little tribute action:



Finally, I just have to say



No, no. Not really. Okay. Actually, really. But at least I like you enough to share this with you. Set aside some time. Go there. Entrance.
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Friday Fiction Fix: "The Descent of Man"

We might very well be licensed to slack a bit on the usual Friday, but I'll be damned if we'll head into a holiday weekend without a little Eff Cubed, if you feel me. It's been an interesting week on the House of Georges, and we might as well go out with a bang. We will, however, keep this one brief, so's not to give too much away. Be careful with your boats, beers, barbecues, and bongs out there, America.

T. Coraghessan Boyle is an American novelist and short-story writer who has been publishing since the late 1970s. He has compiled an impressive list of works and achievements including 12 novels, eight collections, a PEN/Faulkner award, and a Guggenheim Fellowship. He currently has a novel and a short-story collection in the works, with tentative publication dates of 2011, 2010, respectively. I would highly reccommend The Road to Wellville and The Tortilla Curtain; the wife is currently reading Talk Talk while I'll next take on Budding Prospects, a 1984 novel about growing weed. So if you don't know T.C. Boyle, ya betta' ax somebody, 'cause his stuff makes fer good readin'.

"I was living with a woman who suddenly began to stink."



"There were other problems, too. Hairs, for instance. Hairs that began to appear on her clothing, sharp...and brutal...Then too there was the fruit...



...these fruit fragments occurred principally in the bedroom, on the pillow, surrounding by darkening spots."

As one might imagine, our narrator is in somewhat of an uncomfortable situation to say the least.

"(She) was in the habit of sitting before the air conditioner when she came home from work, fingering out her hair, drying the sweat from her face and neck in the cool hum of the machine, fruit bits sifting silently to the carpet...hairs drifting like feathers. On these occasions the room would fill with the stink of her, bestial and fetid."



"One evening, just after her bath (the faintest odor lingered...), I lay my hand casually across her belly and was suddenly startled to see an insect flit from its cover, skate up the swell of her abdomen, and bury itself in her navel."

Our protagonist, with his frustrations now yielding suspicions, begins to ponder an investigation.

"At home I poured a water glass of gin, held it to my nostrils and inhaled. (She) sat before the air conditioner, her hair like a urinal mop, stinking...On the way to the bedroom I poured a second glass.

In the bedroom I sniffed gin and dressed for dinner...She appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in her work clothes: jeans and sweatshirt...'I figured I'd go like this,' she said."



"I was knotting my tie. 'And I wish you'd stop insisting on baths every night -- I'm getting tired of smelling like a coupon in a detergent box. It's unnatural. Unhealthy.'

When I returned from work the following day, (she) was gone...On the pillow in the bedroom I found a fermenting chunk of pineapple. And sobbed."

Thusly, the last straw, and the narrator is off in search of answers.

"It was dark when I got there...I began searching through the rooms, opening and slamming doors."

"Inside I found (her), legs and arms bare, pinching a lab smock across her chest. She looked puzzled at first, then annoyed. She stepped up to me, made some rude gestures in my face...Then I saw (him) -- in a pair of baggy BVDs.



I grabbed (her). But (he) was there in an instant -- he hit me like a grill of a Cadillac and I spun across the room, tumbling desks and chairs as I went.



I slumped against the chalkboard. The door slammed: (she) was gone."

Boyle's story is full of numerous surprises. You can obtain a copy of one of his short-story collections here.

That's today's Fix, kids. Dunno when we'll be back with another one, so be sure to check back every Friday afternoon, and the rest of the days that end in 'y,' as well.
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Carolina Hurricane Scott Walker Will Have No Part of an All-Boston Championship Party

Back when the Frozen Four was going strong, I made the not-impossible suggestion that Boston-area teams could sweep the four major professional sports championships this year, and even throw in a college-trophy trinket with a Boston University championship. Well, BU went on to win their championship, and the rest, as they don't really say, could've been history.

With the best-regular-season-record San Jose Sharks bowing out in the first round of the NHL playoffs, the Boston Bruins, perennial first-round choke artists, were left as the team to beat, the number one seed in the east. Their opponent: an always under-estimated Carolina Hurricane hockey club that lost the series-opening tilt, yet strung together three straight wins before allowing the Bruins to force a game seven.

Tonight's tilt was the third of three consecutive game sevens for the round, the first being Pittsburgh's domination of Washington last night. Detroit and Anaheim kicked off the game-seven action this evening, a contest in which the Ducks were shot down late in the third after tying things up at three halfway through the period. The Boston-Carolina contest went beyond regulation, however, and the first-and-only overtime period was mostly spent in the Boston attack zone. As the period dwindled, however, Carolina found a spark and put together the extra frame's best scoring chance moments before Scott Walker put the rubber in the twine, absolutely stunning the Boston crowd. Thus, Carolina will face Pittsburgh in the Eastern Conference Finals.

Now, what once looked like a potential Bostkkake, has seen some serious wind taken out of its sails. The Celtics, with chances to put away Orlando, fell to the Magic this evening, 83-75. They'll still have two more opportunities to advance, but if there's something in the Boston sports water today, it comes as no surprise, especially considering that the Red Sox, having generated 15 hits against Los Anaheim this afternoon, also stranded 17 men, and lost 5-4 in 12 innings. Obviously, it's early in the MLB season, but if the Red Stockings not winning a Series sets up the ultimate, a Dictator Belichick non-championship, than I'm all for it.

So now, we'll look at a battle of two Central Division foes in the west, while the Atlantic faces the Southeast. Scott Walker has spoken, and his anti-Boston vibe has been felt.
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Thursday ThumbTubes & YouNails: 4-9-09

Who's got time for classy intros? I dunno. The cinema? The symphony? Sitcoms? Not me. Not today. Get crack-a-lackin', y'all.

Apparently, the Masters is going on. I think this guy has the lead after day one.



How's that for some coverage?

Adrian Peterson was invited to say the traditional "Let's Play Hockey" at the Minnesota Wild game.



He real good.

(video courtesy of Deadspin)

This has something to do with basketball.



She might've been married to Jason Kidd, or something.

This should be flippin' stellar.

Might have a dash of rape, and a sprinkle of lobe-chewing, but still: awesome.

(video courtesy of The Big Lead)

I guess Tyler Hansbrough's mom is a MILF?



I don't even know what that means.

Can't get those coals goin' for the tailgate?



It's cool. Just keep a Ron Mexico jersey handy. Works every time.

(video courtesy of Tailgating Ideas)

The gals at Babes Love Baseball have a respectable story on Nick Adenhart.



which is -- how do I say this -- the total opposite of the one at With Leather.

I think Cecil took over my brain for a minute,



forcing me, literally, to post that.

(video courtesy of Today's Big Thing)

Will the next Winter Classic be at Fenway?



Who knows. Apparently it's a secret.

Know what's not, though? Watch the whole thing:



Goose bumps, yo. Goose bumps.

(courtesy of Brahsome)
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Wednesday WhatYouWill from Wellington

So we're down in this hole of a Kansas town, and what a perfect opportunity to talk about random bullshit. For example, the picture you see here is the breakfast my colleague BrotherJents consumed this morning. This is appropriate because it is random, but not bullshit. He ordered three breakfasts: One had a chicken-fried steak with gravy, two eggs, hash browns, and toast; the second had two eggs, two sausages, two pieces of bacon, and hash browns; and the third had two pancakes the size of my head. And this was normal. For real.

I know what you're thinking: typical fat midwesterner. But no. He's actually a pretty buff-ass cracker. On a normal day, he'll have had two or three breakfasts before lunch, but since that wasn't an option on this particular morning, he had three in one sitting, and knocked back every last bite. It was a feat, I tell you. A feat.

More enthralling details of our visit to the town named after the Duke, after the jump.

After our arrival last evening, I did what I'd do on any other Tuesday evening: I went to the bar. And it was a treat, let me tell you.

It involved walking from the premises of our dumpy hotel, across a field, and into the neighboring drinking establishment, which pretty much looked like the bar of a dumpy hotel, only without the hotel part. There was quite the crew (four) there, and I immediately discovered that the topic of conversation was sports. My first thought was that these Wichita wanna-bes probably knew very little about sports. Turns out they know quite a bit about the NBA, potential NFL draft picks, college hoops, quarterback stats, and Combine times. Their problem, I decided over six partially frozen Miller Lite cans and a pair of shots, was that they sandwich phrases of their knowledge between slices of the typical bumpkin slang you might expect.

Some highlights:

1) A fifth local quickly joined the ambience after I sat down, and he wanted to have his tab run on a credit card that bore someone else's name. The bartender, being the sleuth that she was, had the patron call someone (from his phone) that I'm certain was the card's owner, to give the bartender the thumbs-up on his drinking privilege.

2) The bartender, after hanging up, poured a drink for the man, then scolded him for continuing to be on welfare, a luxury afforded to him by the hard work of "us taxpayers." Naturally, his response was that his drink was not stiff enough.

3) The house special for the evening was a $3.75 vanilla vodka-Dr. Pepper. I stuck with the frozen Miller Lites.

4) It was at this point that the NBA came up, and debate centered on a comparison of Magic vs. Bird against any other duo of rivals these guys could think of. It was decided that there was no comparison because "there wasn't any other white guys like Bird" to play against the other black greats. It was also ascertained that there was no one "really good at all" to play against Jordan during his time. I wanted to say Vince Carter, but I didn't.

5) The clan having this chat included this one sort of guy that seems to follow me everywhere I go in this country. Think what you want; say what you'll say. But know that this breed of folks is populating the country at alarming rates. And he is the asshole Hispanic Californian Raiders fan. There are characteristics about this guy that are almost always immediately noted: a) he tends to be drunk 19-20 hours a day, b) he knows everything about every theory, concept, and fact in human existence, but c) forgets semi-important details about his team like who they beat last year (Editor's Note: This representative naturally remembered that the Raiders had beat Denver and Kansas City. I was tempted to remind him that his other impressive victories came against Jet Favre, Gary Kubiak and the Texans, and his certainly once-beloved Chucky and the Bucs. But I did not.), d) has spent the massive majority of his adult life single, can't figure out why, and has no problem announcing it to anyone who'll listen, e) frequently accepts rounds bought by his friends, but is conveniently in the restroom every time it's his turn to buy, and most impressively f) always thinks that there is both absolutely nothing wrong with any aspect of the way the Oakland Raiders franchise is run, as well as a 12-4 season straight ahead.

This cat had some fantastic add-ons to throw in, such as 1) Tom Cable is going to be the most successful rookie coach the league has seen in ages, 2) Ashley Lelie is fucking awesome, and 3) JaMarcus Russell is going to go off this year. These observations I also took in in silence, but for this set of statements, I was literally uncapable of formulating words.

6) Said Raiders fan, in between spouts of his commitments to excellence, participated with a convinced, while loud-and-uninformed voice on the NBA debate. I think his sole purpose in participating was so that he could say "that AIDS-havin' Magic Johnson" as often as possible before it was time to go.

7) At one point he wanted to argue with his friends about where Dirk Nowitzki went to high school, even though none of his posse (admittedly) knew. Nor did they want to debate his absolute certainty on the matter.

8) Eventually, more and more folks showed up, and it seemed as the numbers grew, so did the number of paper-ID-having patrons. You've seen these. They're the lengthy receipt-looking IDs one gets when one's driver license is suspended for driving under the influence of alcohol. What I didn't know about these folks is that they're none too happy to pay the $24 required for the ID, but they are all more than willing to drive to work, begin drinking at the precise conclusion of the work day, then drive to the bar for more drinking before driving home.

9) Unless, of course, the topic of the titty bar comes up, and then anything goes. What I appreciated about last night's guests was that they all, young, old, men, and women, were well-educated about the nude-bar options available to them. I learned of them quickly, as I was one of the first invited for the trip that (I think) never happened. There's Michelle's in Derby, which "ain't bad but it's only topless." There's Wild Wild West up in Salina, where a guy can apparently get cheap dances and inexpensive hand jobs if you know the secret hand shake, or Jezebel's (NSFWish) in Wichita, where the talent is "ripe, the best around." I wasn't sure if I had a preference as to which club the group selected, but I was sure of two things: a) there would be huge amounts of drunk driving involved, and b) I would not be along for that ride. But it was an interesting conversation.

10) The bar is called the Round-Up Room. I mention that to mention this: The bartender at the Round-Up Room, one of few saloons in town, knows her local industry counterparts. This was evidenced by her knowledge of the staff at the pub on Old Orchard Road where, and I kid you not, her brother-in-law's brother-in-law pours the drinks.

It was at this point where the place actually got a bit crowded, and strangers were buying me shots faster than I could pay my tab and get out. Some closing overheard tidbits included phrases like, "anybody who banks up at Panhandle knows that they'll cash your payday-loan check for you," and "I busted my hand up good when I was taking them machinist classes," and my personal favorite, "They put him on a regular horse, and oh my God, when that motherfucker started trottin'..."

And I was on my way. It was quite the evening, one of those in which you never know how much you're learning until the moment has passed you by. Good times.
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Thursday ThumbTubes & YouNails: 2-12-09

The weather around Kansas City couldn't be any stranger. Come to think of it, nor could this cavern of odd we're lurking in with regard to the sports world. Admit it, it's just plain weird. Or don't, and click ahead for some ThumbTubeage, and YouNailin'.

Hey, look:



The NBA's All-Star Weekend is a mere hours away. Yee. Haw.

The Sporting News has compiled an interesting list of awkward sports interviews. In the mix are some Charlie Hustle,



some Iron Mike,



and some Rocket Sauce:



They also have a pretty flippin' fantastic interview with Will Farrell.



In it are sports, humor, and HBO. What more, besides boobs, could you ask for?

Fawvh gee-uh.



Get ya' dis-counted Fawvh gee-uh, hee-uh.

In notes of the random, bizarre, and randomly bizarre, check out Joaquin Phoenix on David Letterman:



SFT Sports wants to know which you value more:





Women or sports?

In news of beisbolistas, MLB Commissioner might try



and suspend Alex Rodriguez. I mean, if we're going to cover the man, it's going to be in this venue. Oh, and while we're on the subject of massive knobs,



apparently the Man-Ram has published a libro. Suh-weet.

On a lighter note, how about some Sesame Street?



You know.



For no reason whatsoever. Word. 'Em. Up.
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Thursday ThumbTubes & YouNails: 11-6-08

This feature can, on occasion, be extensive. Lately, however, it's been brief, if even available at all. We're sticking with brief today. In fact, this might be the briefiest YT&TN we've ever compiled. With reason. First, there're only a few stories worth mentioning, and after the jump, they'll come in the form of 'nails. Second, it comes with great pride that we deliver one lone 'tube today, and it is perhaps the greatest, most 'tubetacular clip of all time. So climb aboard.


The Love of Sports has compiled a list of the Top 20 Canadian Athletes of All Time.



Yeah. Right. No Matt Stairs? No Stubby Clapp? Give me a flippin' break.

Big Daddy Drew's Jamboroo is up over at Deadspin. Always a great feature, always has an updated list called "Fire This Asshole,"



and this week, a) teaches you how to quietly open a can of beer, and b) it links to this, which is savory, stellar, and solid.

Finally, AI wants his fans to know that he's going to carry out his coaches demands to the best of his ability on the basketball court.



Now, if we could only summon Jim Mora.
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Thursday ThumbTubes and YouNails: 6-19-08

We're back -- and full of material someone else published that we discovered -- for another installment of ThumbTubes and YouNails. In a feature that always guarantees good times (Editor's Note: Not really.) , we've got a small collection of photos and clips spanning the sports world of baseball, basketball, football, soccer, and even some non-patented, unoriginal miscellaneous nonsense. So get your mouses loosened, your speakers turned up, and your browsers refreshed. All that, some pretty bad writing, and more, after the jump.

In baseball news, the Royals just completed a sweep of the Cardinals in St. Louis, which tops the good-times heap in my book. Being a bit out of the loop last week, I hadn't been aware of the situation between Royals TV announcer Ryan Lefebvre and Texas Ranger Milton Bradley. Here's a clip of what was said during the game:



(clip courtesy of Royals Review)

And here's a summary of how Bradley responded. Being a longtime fan of Lefebvre's, I'm already biased to the situation, which I really don't think it was much of one anyway. Prior to last year, I already thought Bradley was a piece of work. Then, when a transaction with Bradley and the Royals fell through at the last minute (Editor's Note: Given aforementioned opinion, I was not in favor of such a trade.), it only added to my perception of the journeyman outfielder. Now I think he's more a piece of work than ever. (Note: I do not mean to imply that I was only temporarily out of the loop; I am frequently -- I only just learned, via that linked story, that Nolan Ryan is the president of the Rangers.) In other news, Bobby Petrino no longer coaches the Falcons, and Bob Knight has left the Texas Tech courtside.

In notes of random, Thunder Matt's Saloon speculates on what the Cubs need to do to take it to the next level, while the Big Lead offers a follow-up to their bit on sports journalism salaries, and the NFL's image continues to take a beating with bizarre off-the-field incidents.

We tend to leave the gratuitous pictures of intoxicated professional sports figures to the more professional sports bloggers. On occasion, we'll jump aboard, especially if we ain't talkin' 'bout practice.









(photos courtesy of Drunk Athletes, via What's Poppin')

Um, the Celtics won the NBA championship the day before yesterday, and Kevin Garnett stopped in for a succinct summary of super-emotion...awk-ward...



(clip courtesy of Can't Stop the Bleeding)

And Awful Announcing has one of their own...

Stu scott
by bsap11

Stuart Scott works for ABC? Clueless. Somebody, quick: Construct a noise meter, see who gets booed louder, David Stern or Gary Bettman. Then get back to me. Or not.

In other Awful Announcing bits, they're monitoring the Jemele Hill story quite closely. Apparently, a Boston radio station seeks to enact upon Hill the same repercussions she expressed for Don Imus back when Imus made his infamous statements that led to the termination of his employment.

If interested in Euro 2008 soccer news, go here. If you're only interested in the "part" of the tournament wherein topless Austrian porn stars in body paint and thongs played a match



against Germany, and were photographed, go here. Yeah. Me too.

(courtesy of those palindromists, Lion in Oil)

And if you like mullets, and I know you do, Campus Squeeze (courtesy of Gorilla Mask)



gives us a decent look at some of the better ones in sports over the years.
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