Wednesday Whatnot: Just Because
From the department of really awesome ideas...
(courtesy of With Leather)
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Looking to get Adjusted Expectations added to FanGraphs
From the department of really awesome ideas...
(courtesy of With Leather)
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Posted by
blairjjohnson
at
10:07 AM
3
comments
Labels: Boxing, Money Shots, StubTubes
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Awful tired now, boss. Dog tired. If you're still up, peep some stubes and tumbs, yonder.
You know it's a rough season when, um...
...this happens.
The feel-good, non-sports, don't-know-what-it's-about-but-I-like-it Tube:
If you secretly love Don Mattingly, and I know you do,
then you may or may not find this interesting. Actually, don't bother. It's stupid petty gossip, but dare I pass up on an opportunity to mess with Yankee fans? Course not.
Manny Pacquiao will get back in the ring,
and this time, it counts.
Everyone knows about "Sleeping Monkey,"
but how about swimming monkey?
Um,
go here.
If I tell you it's Lima Time,
you better be-leeee dat!
But don't believe...
...those crazy kids and their Tweets.
Know what else is crazy?
Two perfect games by the same dude.
Speaking of crazy...
No. Not the fact that these allegations have come out, but the fact that some listeners on the Sports TalkRadios today wanted to say that ESPN didn't post this story to their Web site yesterday because Big Ben is white. That is, if he were black, they would've posted it immediately. You know, 'cause that's how the man do.
While we're on the ESPN corner,
that was easily the dumbest commercial they've ever made.
We know that Dick Vermeil and Mike Shanahan were at the American Century Celebrity Golf Championship. We just learned, however, that Michael Jordan was there...
...with, um, something awkward in the background.
Tank's empty, kids. Come back next week. Bring more quarters.
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Posted by
blairjjohnson
at
10:18 PM
2
comments
Labels: Baseball, Boxing, If It's Not a Race Issue Please Find a Way to Make it One, Phantastic, Posting Links Instead of New Material, Soul-Glo, ThumbTubes and YouNails, Twitter
Well, it's been quite a long day, and though I really didn't work hard at all, it still seems as though the weekend is weeks away. Lucky for all of us sports fans that there's nothing to talk about with regard to the Kansas City Chiefs and the Denver Broncos, and thank the heavens there's an entire week of no football. That's just grand. I suppose I'll be spending my Saturday and Sunday doing household chores and attending functions I was signed up for without my consent. Thanks a million, NFL. At least I still have my man cave to lurk in. You can't take that away from me, you communist league higher-ups.
I don't know about you, but I'm glad that Mike Tyson is still, in some sense, around. And candidly honest. And, um, awkward...
(courtesy of Awful Announcing)
Apparently Playboy is holding its Sexiest Sportscaster contest, and it's down to the final five. Shockingly, the hype is that Erin Andrews is still in the mix, but my vote goes to Molly Sullivan.
If you're so inclined, you can cast a vote here. If you're one of those guys that pitches a tent at the mere mentioning of Miss Andrews, you might want to know about Mr. SEC, who yesterday created a 750-page picture gallery of the famous sideliner. The link is here, but wait a minute before going there, as they're trying to figure out how to get it back up without all of the visits crashing their server. Kinda sounds like an average day around here.
I was rollin' around in the Dot last week, and a co-worker told me this book 
was pretty funny, that he really enjoyed reading it. I've never read much R&R, but I understand he's taken a stance against the blogosphere in the past. And now ESPN has given Rick Reilly a blog. So far, it appears to contain nothing but short blips that are apparently funny to someone. Funny to no one, however, is the inclusion of the feature he's titled the Ricktionary. His first entry comes in the form of the suggestion that we get rid of the word "enjoy." So, go check out "Go Fish" and please, do not relish the time you spend there.
In an intriguing match of interests, Galactic Binder has put together a Top Ten list of Star Wars and sports crossovers. My favorite is number two:
Quickly now, from a positive note to a, er...not not negative one: Michael Irvin on radio was not enough. 
Michael Irvin went to television. Michael Irvin sucked on television. Michael Irvin got busted with some non-his paraphernelia in his car. Michael Irvin got removed from television. Now Michael Irvin will have a reality TV show. I am begging you: Shoot me. Shoot me right in the face. Shoot me now.
Nate Davis of USA Today has put together a list of some of the greatest NFL athletes never to take a Super Bowl field.
Pretty unfortunate for a lot of those guys. Pretty good read for the rest of us. But back to uplifting...
(courtesy of Sharapova's Thigh)
Now, we mentioned Brenda Warner in last week's installment, and, while I don't think she'll be starring in or attending the Lingerie Bowl,
which may or may not feature -- but really, who cares? -- such talent as this:
Busted Coverage has an interesting look at her recent transformation.
And we'll go ahead and close it out with some Lingerie Bowl footage...
...'cause why the eff not?
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Posted by
blairjjohnson
at
5:01 PM
1 comments
Labels: Boxing, Brenda Warner's Attractiveness, Hatin', I'm Begging You to Please Just Shoot Me Now, This Blog Totally Needs More Star Wars References, ThumbTubes and YouNails
Sports fans, these are tough times. The landscape of jockhood is littered with stories about assholes, pricks and outright salad-tossers. Read any sports page or catch any talk radio broadcast in America today, and you get nothing but whining bullshit by and about some of the most unlikeable athletes imaginable.
Posted by
old no. 7
at
1:35 PM
0
comments
Labels: Baseball, Basketball, Boxing, Bud Selig Is A Bookish Beelzebub, Cooperstown, Crack Pipes, Crazy Fuckers, DoucheBaggery, Football, Gayrod, Michael Vick Should Be Incarcerated But Not For Dope
I know, the weekend is almost over. And nary a post from the HoG's designated leisure time employee.
Thing is, I have a crazy lack of regular and unfettered computer time in my life. Either I wait to access my wife's work laptop, which I'm using now, or I use the awesome powers of my mind. Soon enough this problem will be a thing of the ancient past, like cuneiform or automats, but for now it's a figurative stick in the collective imaginary eye of HoGNation. So, my apologies.
Saturday ended as one of the biggest days on the year's sports calendar, what with the Kentucky Derby, NHL and NBA Playoffs, some fine baseball and a boxing match that ended up being a pretty big deal even though its organizers tried their hardest to let it slip under the radar. The whole thing was positively fraught start to finish: Chien-Ming Wang missing out on a perfecto late after we HoGsters applied our awesome Power O' The Jinx, the Utah Jazz bludgeoning Tracy McGrady with their familiar Cro-Magnon hooping, some horse no one outside of the old folks home or the New Jersey mafia had heard of until last week earning a brief few weeks of fame and, of course, "Pretty Boy Floyd" beating "The Golden Boy" in the Match to Save Boxing.
You know what boxing needs? Fewer gay nicknames. "Iron Mike" was a nickname. "The Greatest" was a nickname. Hell, "The Bayonne Bleeder" was a nickname. No wonder no one cares about the sport these days--this coming from a guy that actually likes boxing.
Still, it's hard not to like the way Mayweather fights. In a sport dominated by enormous, craftless Russians and a million nondescript tomato cans, he kills with guile, speed and unbelievable defense. Would he have beaten the De La Hoya of 10 years ago? I say yes. Lesser boxers did. But Mayweather is at a spot to which only a few guys--Ali, Marciano, Sugar Ray Robinson--have ascended: he can legitimately claim to be Greatest Ever. He isn't, but he can claim it. And no one will tell him no...at least to his face.
De La Hoya, on the other hand, could care less if he won or not. He could have sex with any woman in the American southwest, is worth something along the lines of a shitload and actually promoted this fight himself, via his Golden Boy Productions company. Making millions of dollars to get pummeled is nice; making millions more than the pummeler is even better.
And basketball. I haven't even addressed the Nuggets' latest postseason failure, but since they get more ink and airtime in this town these days than my beloved Broncos do, I'll keep it short and to el pointo--they need someone, anyone, who can reliably shoot a three-point shot. Let Camby go, get something in return, let Nene continue to develop into a dominating power forward ala Elton Brand, let Blake go and bring in a point who doesn't look quite so much like this guy and they'll be fine. Really.
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Posted by
Cecil
at
9:33 PM
0
comments
Labels: Baseball, Basketball, Boxing, Dead Languages, The Power O' The Jinx