He Was a Fucking Horse

The NYT opines on the death of Barbaro. I crush my testicles with a lobster cracker. Both elicit the same low, haunting moan of regret - but only one was carried out in a futile, inappropriate, and misguided effort to know what it is to be human. The other was because I was dared to.

He's Just Sleeping

So Barbaro (who, as it was determined was NOT a magical unicorn or anything like that), was put down after succumbing to an injury and receiving more healthcare in the last 8 months than most people in third world nations ever do in their entire lifespan. At least we’re keeping it in perspective, right?

Oh wait. Wrong:

"This horse was a hero," said David Switzer, executive director of the Kentucky Thoroughbred Association. "His owners went above and beyond the call of duty to save this horse. It's an unfortunate situation, but I think they did the right thing in putting him down."

Brilliant on the race track, Barbaro always will be remembered for his brave fight for survival.

He’ll also live on holding macaroni to construction paper in second grade projects and for being crapped out by dogs. One or the other.

Side Note: which is more disturbing: The pictures, or the fact that they came up when I typed “horsie” into google images? But you gotta be impressed by those abs! They're magnificent.

Shopping Cart Racers are Winners, Nekkid.

On Saturday, NYC’s “hipsters” (read: unemployed) raced from Brooklyn to Queens in various ‘uniforms’ while pushing modified shopping carts. Obviously, a bunch of semi-nude idiots throwing food at each other required the presence of an NYPD helicopter (I assume this is the one they use for Stephon Marbury, but the Knicks were losing in Milwaukee this weekend, so it was free).

In a competition for whose parents must be proudest, it is a 15-way tie for first, last, and disappointment

I am seen in only a few pictures from the event (team COBRA’s locomotive cart). Actually, I am in tons of photos, but because I am part vampire I’m invisible in pictures. True Story.

All pictures here.

UPDATE: Behold some rockin' videos:

Chuck Norris Better Watch the Eff Out

Via Sports by Brooks and reader DP, what we have here is the culmination of youth sport culture.... a roundhouse kick to the face. Or as I like to call the move, "Why's my dinner cold?!"



Immediate update: There's also this one:



If YouTube is meant for something other than watching people get hurt, I don't wanna know what it is.

Allen Iverson is a Little Giant

We're dressed the same and both grabbing our shorts. We're like sisters!

Is it me or do they both look exhausted from writing funny things on each other's arms? I bet those sleeves are covering the pictures of dicks and swear words.

Super Bowl + Marriage = Turd of an Idea

Via Ben Maller, I see that some douchebag is gonna propose to his girlfriend in an ad during the Super Bowl. He started a website to raise money or something and now it looks like it’s gonna happen. He was on Good Morning America (disguised I presume) and has been doing radio interviews. I tried reading the website, but then my testicles shriveled up and I realized I was becoming a woman as I was reading it, so I had to stop at the part where the words started. I scrolled down and clipped a random piece from the webpage before I closed the browser and acted on the impulse to watch the Ghost Whisperer for it's plot instead of Jennifer Love Hewitt's sweet mystery-solving rack:

I’m actually working on the script every morning in the shower - some guys sing to themselves, others howl like Chewbacca (I used to have a roommate who tried to perfect that one) and I’m in there, trying to think of what to say during my 10 seconds on TV to propose to the woman I love.

Ummm how about, “You’ve probably noticed how secretive and distant I’ve been and maybe even thought I was cheating on you. But I want you to know that…. Good Morning America has the hottest interns I have ever seen. Seriously. I saw one chick’s thong and almost cried. And if you agree to marry me right now we can go back there and I’ll show you. I think her name was Kaylen or Kyla or Karyn or something. It was definitely stripper-sounding.”

Reading the Beer Leaves: Playoffs Week Deuce

First things first. The squad of mouth breathers is counting out the Bears (completely) and Pats. However, The ESPN Accuscore is predicting Bears and Pats victories. So this is truly a man vs. machine matchup – like a famous chess player pitted against a computer, but without all the Russians. Think of a group of open mouth neaderthals fondling their genitals in some sort of primitive competition. Now put them in suits and in Bristol, CT and you have the current state of NFL experts.

CHICAGO over New Orleans -This is the upset pick. New Orleans will be upset, pundits will be upset, and people with American flags on their cars will be upset. The loss will probably result in Governor Blanco declaring a state of emergency and requesting Federal dollars to keep Joe Horn in the locker room. But a Saints win would be dangerous for New Orleans, as people would flow out into the streets, riot and probably smash the levees all over again. Truthfully though, the weather will affect the Saints in a way different than most think. That ball is going to be harder and more solid than my left nut (the titanium one). Chicago kicker Robbie Gould can send frozen hard balls through the uprights over 50 yards, but I doubt the Saints’ kicker can do much more than lightly cup them in the subway while being choked. This game will come down to the kickers. And in the end, Bears fans will be yelling the same thing I yell while making sex on a girl: RAAAWWR!

New England at INDIANAPOLIS - While Tom Brady gets some Gisele love, Peyton Manning gets blown by John Clayton:

The sentimentalists in sports would appreciate the feel-good story of Manning's finally getting his chance to go to the Super Bowl. Seeing Tony Dungy, who had a Super Bowl opportunity taken away from him in Tampa Bay, go to the Super Bowl also might bring a tear to the eye.

The only thing this scenario would bring to my eye is a RonCo knife.

I will cut you.

Yes, the Pats have been stymied by the Colts over the past few games. And yes, I had to look up what “stymied” means. And no, it doesn’t mean “enclosed in some sort of dirty place,” though it probably should. Good talk. But Tom Brady is 10-0 in Domes and the Pats have never lost an AFC Championship game ever. The Colts are playing like they are supposed to win, nay, that they deserve to win. The Pats play like they want 10 more fucking yards.

LEFTOVERS over Low Heat – whatever is in my fridge goes into the slow cooker at 9am. Whatever comes out at 12:30 is called lunch.

Hang over SUNDAY - Considering Saturday is a planned all night bender, this does not bode well for Sunday slow cooking. It’ll probably be a bunch of Gatorade, bread, and vitamins simmering on low heat, while a glass full of meats and sauces sits on the floor of my bedside where I vomited. Good times.

Mike Vick's Secret Compartment

According to the Smoking Gun, Mike (Michael) Vick was busted with a water bottle that had a secret compartment containing marijuana residue. Calls to Aquafina regarding the most awesomest water ever have gone unreturned.

Add "kind bud" to the list of weapons.

His disposal of the bottle aroused suspicion. Mostly because when he was approached, Vick dropped back 12 steps, ran left, then right, and then threw the bottle into the recycling bin.

"He never hits a receiver when he has to under pressure," a guard was quoted as saying. "That's what tipped us off. Had the bottle gone over the bin by 5 feet, or had he just tucked it and avoided us all to get on the plane, that would have been more normal. And wicked awesome."

Ok. Let's review for the record:

• Secret compartments in water bottles: Lame idea.
• Secret compartment in my basement used for "Leprachaun Love": Arousing, yet awkward
• Secret compartments in the wall behind the grandfather clock: Webster

Playoffs week 2 In Review:

ESPN announcers suck
(just like I said they would)

My picks: 4-0

Other numbers of relevance:

• Sean Salisbury positive mentions prior to the game: 4/yr (+/-4)
• Number of times Sean Salisbury referred to "as some sort of Nostradamus" post game: 912
• Number of texts sent to Steelers fan asking if they miss Vrabel: 2
• Number of texts returned composed of mostly swears: 1
  
• Minutes searching for decent anagram of Schottenheimer: 4
• Laughs generated by "Stretch Mine Hoe" : +/- 1
• Number of times Broadcasters alluded to improper celebration as it happened: Fucking nadda

AFC Sunday Live Blogging

I tried to Live-Blog the Pats/Chargers game, but it was too nerve wracking. That and I didn't want to actually live-blog a game.

Here's how far I got:

1st Quarter

10:57 - The Chargers' defense was just referred to as "Sack Happy"
9:58 - Parker has dropped two passes already. I like this guy.

Rest of 1st Quarter, 2nd, and 3rd Quarters

BEERS, BEERS, BEERS

4th Quarter

6 min-ish: OH GOD, NO! OH GOD! OH GOD YES!
2 min-ish: YES!!! NO!!! YES!!!

Post Game: 40 oz.

The End.

And would somebody call Mr. Tomlinson a Waaahmbulance please? And please find out where his team keeps all of their class. I'm sure it's somewhere in the locker room near Merriman's steroids.

Joe Buck's On-Air Orgasm

From the Seattle/Chicago Game:

It's 24 to 24 with 4:24 to go, and catch "24" tonight on Fox....

ESPN Experts About to be ESPWN3D.

Look at this crap. For Post-Season Week 1, the experts overwhelmingly picked winners (Colts, Pats, Eagles, Seahawks), and one week later, the experts are picking against those team en masse. Every team that has enjoyed a bye week has been absent from the playoffs for a number of yearsv while their challengers now have one playoff win under their belts and nerves of high grade steel.

You know what else really grinds my gears? Salisbury is the only one taking the Pats. This KSK post puts it in perspective mathematically:

Bill Belichick's Rings - Marty Schottenheimer's Rings = Bill Belichick's Rings

Or as I told a group of nursery schoolers "That's what grown-ups call 'Effed in the A.'" I know they learned the alphabet right there, but I also like to think they learned a little bit about life too.

The Saints Hate Your Marraige

Oh please. Cry me a fucking river.

"I cried all last Sunday," said Chauffe, 26, recalling her reaction when she learned that football would conflict with her real life. "And I feel really, really bad for the people who already bought playoff tickets who have to be'' at the wedding.

Two bridesmaids and a groomsman who paid $600 for his seats will be letting their tickets go, Boland added. They will miss a game that would be historic for Saints fans even without the backdrop of Hurricane Katrina's devastation; the Saints have never hosted a second-round playoff game before.

Maybe it's not the game, lady. Maybe it's the prospect of having to sit around your ugly relatives who make awkward banter at you over mushy pasta and questionable lamb, while people in their mid-twenties do the running man to Bust a Move and jump up and down to Living on a Prayer.

Or maybe it's because Drew Brees has a better completion percentage of offensive passes than your creepy Uncle Lenny.

Or maybe - just maybe - it's because they know that you have a coin's flip of getting divorced, and even if that doesn't happen, some gay people getting married in Massachusetts are threatening your marriage anyway.

But it's probably your Uncle Lenny. That dude is gross.


Note: I was in a wedding during Game 3 of the Red Sox vs. Yankees in 2004. And instead of pissing themselves over the fact that people wanted to see something historic and uplifting, the couple embraced it, wheeled in a TV during the reception and made it part of the wedding. It was awesome (up until the Sox were getting beat like rented mules).

Note II: After you cry me that aforementioned river, please put up a rope swing because those things are the bomb. Then you can watch my awesome impersonation of Jeff Buckley.

Reading the Beer Leaves: Playoff Edition

Colts over BALTIMORE– Initially it will be quiet as many Ravens fans cautiously file in wondering if they really are at a home game in the postseason or if they passed away in their sleep. Football Outsiders notes that the Ravens run up the middle often, and the Colts were effective at stopping that against Kansas City. I initially picked Baltimore here, but then I realized that “Coach Billick” also spells, “Local Bi Chick” and that's one ugly local bi chick.

SAINTS over Eagles – With the extra week off, the Saints should have adapted to breathing whatever the fuck is still in the air in New Orleans. It isn’t thinner like Denver, but is actually thicker and syrupy with the smells of human misery and feces. I’m not going to say that rooting for Philly is like rooting for hurricanes, but it is exactly like rooting against american levees.

BEARS over Seahawks – Think about it. Pretty much anything that goes into Chicago dies. Happiness, warmth, opportunity, prostitutes, optimism, you name it. The Bears will survive despite their Rexticular cancer, but Seattle is sucking harder than a Hilton sister on a dare.

Patriots over CHARGERS – I never thought I’d actually like Ticketmaster more than San Diego. If I were going to the game, I’d bring the snow shovel I use to bash in the heads of people who take the parking spots I clear out in the winter. It hasn’t been used for shoveling all season anyway, and like a violin or Nicole Richie, needs to be used and slammed every now and then to keep it in condition. Plus, San Diegans don’t even know what a snow shovel is. I could just be like, “Oh this? I use this to help me pee.” Which would be true. Don’t ask.

BEER over Head – At roughly 7:30pm Sunday EST, this will be happening regardless of the Pats outcome. Whether it’s due to celebratory toasting (which it will be) or because the contents of a bottle tend to spill upon the surface it was smashed, beer will be worn like the protective second skin it is.

David Beckham, I Have But One Question

Will you call it football or soccer?

Although to be honest, you could say either and you'd be the best player on the Raiders or the Galaxy (which sounds more lake a WNBA team). So there's that.

First Press Conference:

Reporter: So you're here to play Soccer. What is that?
Beckham: Well, the MLS has been around since 1996, and it's the most popular sport in the world.
Reporter: Actually David, Lou Gherig's Disease has been around for awhile. But back to this soccer thing - that's what you call it?
Beckham: Well we call it Football in the UK and everywhere else in the world.
Reporter: I see. And this soccer -football- as you called it, is this just a new version of the XFL? Is Vince McMahon involved at all? Also, your alien wife has fake boobies. Care to comment?
Beckham: I don't see Kiera Knightly anywhere. I thought she might be here.

Shopping Cart Racing is Legit-ish

As a (new) member of Team COBRA, I'm proud to see that CBS and CSI:NY came to see the error of their ways and not use the Idiotarod and its participants as nefarious individuals capable of nefarious acts. This is a sport that demands ruthlessness, sabotage, and endurance. It's a lot like curling, but without all that fruity curling.

Outside of CBS, a protest was held, and a statement was read (via twang of the void)

The time for silence has ended. For too long now corporate America has been assimilating our culture, twisting it, exploiting it, ignoring Truth in the favor of titillation. What I speak of is, of course, the noble art of shopping cart racing. And when I say corporate America, I am speaking of CSI:NY (or “CSI: New York,” as most people refer to it).

Tonight's episode of CSI:NY, entitled “Obsession,” is described in CBS's own words as follows:

“A man found dead in the snow with a price tag hanging from inside his stomach leads the CSIs to the annual Idiotarod race where young New Yorkers in creative costumes race decorated shopping carts from Brooklyn to Manhattan as if they were dog sleds.”

Notice the use of the name “Idiotarod.” We, members of the Carts of Brooklyn Racing Association (commonly referred to as COBRA), are the organizers of the 2007 Idiotarod. Let us first deal with the inaccuracies of that description of the event. One, not all racers are “young.” Racers come in all ages. The Idiotarod appeals to the human soul and we all agree that the human soul has no age. Two, more than just New Yorkers come to race. From across the country, or at least the tri-state area, racers come to New York (and spend money here, I will remind you) to experience the Experience. Three, there is no snow. COBRA believes there will never be snow again. And we would like to thank Al Gore for inventing global warming.

But more importantly, COBRA and shopping cart racers the world over, are distraught by the use of the name Idiotarod. COBRA was contacted by the producers of CSI:NY in November. They asked if they could use the name. We expressed a full willingness to work with them on a story. A story that would convey the excitement of the Idiotarod. That would convey the drama, the thrill, the pageantry, the magic that makes the Idiotarod such a special event. But we could not agree to the story presented to us, a story of stealing carts from the homeless... and of murder most foul. But the producers declined, stating that they had to start shooting in a week and there was no time to work with us. They stated they would not use the name.

And we see that they have used it. The irony in the title “Obsession” is not lost on us. This is just yet another example of the pattern of the media giants using the culture of shopping cart racing for their own nefarious gain. For too long we have sat back and watched them portray us as thieves and murders. We have been exploited for too long. We will no longer stand by silently while they continue this derogatory and negative agenda against us. Shopping cart racers are tired of hiding in the shadows. We are tired of being stereotyped. If our children continue to be bombarded by this, I dare say, hate, how can we expect them to grow up, to hold their heads high, and to say to their friends Bobby Joe Filbert and Sally Jane Kemper, “My parents are shopping cart racers, and I want to be one too”? Really, I ask you. What about the children?

I would like to make it clear this is not an attack on CBS. They have many fine programs. Personally, I always enjoyed Murder, She Wrote. I am a also a big fan of The Ghost Whisper. Jennifer Love Hewitt is dreamy.
Thank you.

Cheap Shots

• A horsie is recovering from an injury and is given the best care money can buy. This is a magical unicorn or something right? No? You sure? Fuck.
  
• Jason Kidd gets divorced claiming spousal abuse. Pot meet Kettle. Now Pot, hit Kettle again and then tell everyone she fell down the stairs.
• McGwire didn't make the hall of fame. Maybe it's because he cheated. For a long time. If he ever gets in, it better be years after Pete Rose and Roy Fucking Hobbs.
  
• The San Diego Chargers are trying to box out Pats fans from Sunday's game. This will surely backfire. If you try to deny New Englanders anything, no matter how trivial, they will want it more. We didn't dump that tea in the harbor for the fun of it. We did it because we dressed up like native american stereotypes. I think my point is clear.

update: MS provides this Tea Partay video. Holla atcha Chowdaheadz.

My Child Will Be Named Fierce Berry

Brooke Burke's second child was named Sierra Sky, and her third has been named Heaven Rain. Welcome one and all to the Gatorade Baby era. Your child may now sound active and delicious at the same time.



Add this link to the list of acceptable baby names going forward. I just added her to my list of acceptable babymakers going forward. So I think we're done here now.

Pete Carroll, Come Back to Mediocrity.

Word is that Pete Carroll is listening to the unique ideas of the Miami Dolphins:

"This was the only time I've even thought about talking with anybody [from the NFL]. Here's a situation where a guy would give a head coach the opportunity to do anything he wanted to do. He's an awesome guy."

"It's a one-voice program. I don't think there are any other situations like that in the NFL."

Ohgodpleaseletthishappen. Saban could've turned the Dolphins around in 1 or 2 more seasons, but with Pete Carroll coaching, it pretty much locks up the AFC East for the Patriots for the next decade. Plus us Patriots fans will get to see the Pete Carroll Face on the opposing sideline for once.

Reportedly Carroll has already been to Florida and made a deal with his number one draft pick.


The problem with a "one-voice" program is that the voice could potentially be Pete Carroll's.

Carroll: OK Duante, uh.. be like Matt Leinert in 2005 now. Readygo.
Culpepper: I will murder you.

Terrell Owens is a Firerer--err. rerrer.

T.O. Fired his Publicist today. Let's be real. He should have fired this chick awhile back. Look at how much she's upstaged the poor guy.
via google:

• Terrell Owens "likes puppies" 10 returns
• Terrell Owens "clinically insane" 227 returns
• Terrell Owens "touched me down there" 1 return
• Terrell Owens "psychopath" 1,290 returns
  
• Terrell Owens "publicist" 43 THOUSAND returns

So not only does she make herself the story all the time, but she didn't even do her job. Look at the hard data (heh. hard). The Blue line represents Searches (top) and News References (bottom) of Terrell Owens - basically a graph of a publicists effectiveness, no? The Red line is the same criteria for MURDER.


The Result? T.O. is less discussed and talked about (or popular) than murder. Great job publicist lady.

If I was T.O. I'd demand to know why more people are not writing about how he's touched people down there. One return! One effing return! What does he pay her for if not for publicizing his exploits and prowress? If your career depends upon you being a manic-depressive destructive man-child, you've got to make sure the people you hire protect that successful brand. I'd hire a publicist for that if I had to, but my billboard campaign does more than enough.

YFTS: the relaunch

Your Fantasy Team Sucks is relaunched. It was previously dedicated to recapping the events of an annual fantasy football league, the FUFL. And that trend will continue, no doubt. But it's more than that now. It's a blog on sports, idiots, and beverages - the ultimate formula. Add any two together and you get the third. I imagine you have questions like, What does this site do? Why are you doing it? When's lunch? Awwww Tuna?! Gross.

Here's the answer to some of the above. It's pretty much the standard bearer for the sophisticated nature of the site.

I like to think that YFTS is the most original website on sports.

So welcome, enjoy, and stop smelling your fingers. It's creepy.

35 Balls

When people ask why I like sports, I generally respond that it's not that I like sports, it's that I like watching people like them fail at children's games and occaisionally iunjure themselves.

And the title of 35 balls to the face in 32 seconds is completely misleading. It's nothing special. I'm pretty sure Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton have already set the land/speed records on this with more balls in less time. But that's another video.

Jeter Scores in Offseason

After seeing the pictures in the New York Post, I can only assume that Jeter's Driven cologne may actually work. How else can this picture be explained?


At first I thought they might be playing ladies volleyball, talking about makeup and kissing boys, but then I realized from the other photos that he's hitting that chick. Now what the hell does this douchebag have that I don't? Take away his millions of dollars, worldrenowned fame, endorsement deals (free gatorade!) and all that, and he's just like me. Only I bet he doesn't have his own bedroom at his mother's house just the way he left it, or an STD so aggressive it's named after him.

I've got my own cologne too, jackass. And it's reserved only for one special lady at a time. I just dab it over a cloth, press it to her face and she just goes comatose with arousal. I call it Night in My White (Van). Ladies, call me.

For the record, I had to write this post twice. There were too many typos from writing it with clenched, angry fists.