I've held my tongue for too long. I'm not typically a conspiracy guy, and therefore I had to see something that was just too unfathomably egregious before I spoke up. Watching the Bruins slide tackle an opposing goaltender out of the entirety of the camera frame prior to scoring a goal that somehow withstood the most fickle review process in pro sports was just that. Seeing as the only precedent that has been set is one that nearly never fails in directly contradicting common sense, I now feel comfortable enough to declare that NHL officials have colluded to intentionally botch any and all goaltender interference calls so as to make sure the league addresses them in the offseason. And you know what, I don't even blame them. Refereeing one of the fastest, most action-packed sports at a professional level is difficult enough without having to define ambiguous regulations on the fly. If I were being held responsible for going in front of tens of thousands of raucous fans and pulling explanations directly out of my asshole then I too might make sure they were just a littttle bit shittier so that my employer might find it in their heart to throw me some proverbial baby wipes and clean up what's quickly become an absolute mess. The best way to guarantee foolproof changes are made on your behalf is to act a damn fool, and - by allowing a player to box a goalie out of his own crease in a way that would make Celtics' coach Brad Stevens proud - last night's officiating crew did just that. Honestly, if that decision wasn't a message to the league that was meant to read "fix it, you fucking idiots" then I must be living in a virtual reality, but I'm pretty sure even the NHL video game series fixed that particular glitch half a decade ago. So, whether or not my brand new tin foil hat accurately detected authoritative treason, let me just continue to believe it has since it gives me more peace of mind than thinking the people calling professional hockey games are legitimately this goddamn dumb.
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weird (adj.): 1) of strange or extraordinary character. 2) firmly kissing your child on the mouth for so long that it make Bugs Bunny feel uncomfortable. To be honest, I don't particular care how Tom Brady shows affection towards his children. To each their own, as far as I am concerned. That being said, choosing to do so by locking lips with his eleven year old for a longer period of time than his first crush either will or already has is weird. It's not right or wrong. It's not good parenting or bad parenting. It's not particularly heart warming or heart wrenching. It's just...weird, and if you think otherwise then I have some bad news for you, you might even be more weird. Let's, for one second, think about Tom Brady as someone other than a 5-time Super Bowl champion who just so happened to release a reality show-esque look into home life on the cusp of trying to capture ring number six. Imagine he was your run-of-the-mill neighbor, and you showed up to a block party, and as you were mingling he interrupted a game of two-hand touch to plant a big old wet one on his boy that lasted longer than your first sip of beer. If you're honestly telling me you wouldn't stop in your tracks and slowly look around to gauge if others were similarly taken aback before chugging the rest of that beer due to social discomfort? Well, congrats on being a casual fan of interfamilial tonsil hockey. That shit is weird, and failing to admit as much doesn't make you a better or more understanding person. All it really makes you a damned liar who is scared of questioning the ways of a superior athlete that would say "dude, what the hell was that?" if you saw your friend and his/her kid look as though they were auditioning for final act of Romeo and Juliet. And for those that don't think it's right to talk about this, here's a friendly reminder that this video wasn't shot through a window by someone who was lurking in the bushes of the Brady household. I'm sure Tommy boy had final cut on his one-on-one matchup versus time before displaying it to the outside world, and what he chose to release was a strong dose of weird that makes me even more likely to show love to my future son by giving an affectionate jab in the bicep and a "go get 'em, slugger". I'm just calling it like he wanted me to see it, and I'm calling it weird with a capital W.
I mean, at least he said it to his face? Of course, all he really had to "say" was the exclamatory sound effect made popular by a wheelin' dealin', limousine ridin', jet flyin' son of a gun when the only thing he's having a hard time holding down is his cholesterol. Still, from an obnoxiously entitled fan perspective, doing so about eight inches from the face of one of the most emotional, enigmatic players in the entire NBA seconds after his blown defensive responsibility made for a game-winning buzzer beater at his team's expense is about as ballsy as it gets.
Granted, it's all relative since it's common knowledge that Russell Westbrook isn't at liberty to respond in as "colorful" a way on the hardwood as he might be inclined to on the mean streets, but the bar is set pretty low by those that scream empty threats and derogatory insults from the 30th row. If nothing else, in his most impressive act of athleticism in over a decade of degeneracy, the kid that put himself in a position to have his right man-boob forcibly felt up by an athlete whose proved tough enough to play through a dented skull managed to hurdle that rock bottom precedent for fan boldness...
Now, I don't condone his actions and think that whatever punishment he received for choosing the immediate aftermath of an NBA game as the perfect time in which to step on any sort of playing surface for the first time since his teens is justified. However, that reckless display being the pinnacle of audaciousness from the audience is pretty telling of how hecklers at sporting events are merely paper tigers in roar only. Gritty. Hard fought. Resilient. Are there any other complimentary adjectives that are best used to describe a performance that was frustrating and underwhelming in almost every way other than its outcome? If so, then feel free to just attach them right on to the description of the Devils last minute victory over the Flyers. Beggars can't be choosers and I would have gotten on both knees if it meant ducking the gut punch of another four point swing at the hands of Philadelphia's most prominent fuck bois, but you'd have to be the spokesperson for Dove to call that win anything close to beautiful. After a first period that was somehow more chaotic than it was a stunning portrayal of everything that has held the Flyers back from living up to their potential over the last decade and a half, the Devils looked fairly awful for the majority of the final forty minutes. The passes that weren't ill-advised were off-target, the defensive zone coverage was - quite literally - pointless, and the chances against a backup goalie that looked shakier from the jump than Michael J. Fox going skydiving were few and far between. It's tough to be too critical after a come from behind victory against a division rival, but the Devils were very, very lucky to still be in a position in which one shot was the only opportunity they needed to avoid a slip in the standings.
Now, that shot coming from the aware and awaiting stick of Damon Severson, following yet another heady play from an oft-scrutinized kid who has looked like an entirely different player as of late is a great sign for the Devils. By starting to get on the scoresheet with relative regularity, Pavel Zacha is finally lending credence to his chemistry with both Miles Wood and Kyle Palmieri, and that is huge for a lineup whose season-long second line struggles were starting to catch up with them. Still, other than his big night and Nico Hischier rubbing a little salt in the wound by giving the Flyers a first hand look at what could have been had the Devils drafted slightly more conventionally, last night was full of more questions than answers. The main one of those questions being whether or not the Devils realize that having a great penalty kill shouldn't encourage you to take dumb penalties. Maybe the boys need a team viewing of 40 Year Old Virgin during their off day to drive home the following point, but - as it turns out - if you don't use it you actually don't lose it. After about as good of a start as they could have hoped for, two back-to-back bird-brained infractions essentially handed the equalizer to a team whose power play historically gives them fits. Even though no number of punches to the face can fix stupid, Travis Zajac's retaliatory punking of the professional goon who lost any and all benefit of the doubt about four suspensions prior to adopting the ISIS method of intimidation was an awesome moment that say a lot about this team togetherness. Unfortunately, the ensuing two minute minor he received for efforts that might have been able to straighten Rocky's smile led to the game tying goal, and that being the most necessary and understandable penalty they took all period says a lot about their lack of discipline.
It's a problem they somehow managed to overcome while making Broad Street look like it's the home to some bush-league bullies, but taking the all-is-well approach won't end well if they bring a similar effort on Saturday. They have been on the ass end of some undeservedly bad losses recently (most notably the Bruins game), so I'll gladly prioritize the picturesque visual of Nico Hischier ever-so-humbly celebrating a grungy game-winning deflection over the fact that it defied the rest of their performance. Still, despite beating and beating up the Flyers, they need to stick-and-move on if they plan to go toe-to-toe with the Penguins.
Never in a million years would I say that what Blake Griffin brought to the Los Angeles Clippers franchise wasn't worthy of a heads-up phone call basically saying "Hey, you know that gargantuan contract we signed you to a couple months ago in hopes you'd become a legendary team leader? Yeah well, it's a bit costly for our tastes, so...enjoy Detroit!". He definitely deserved to find out his life was being uprooted in a way that wasn't insanely public in nature. That said, if you're looking for someone to blame as to why a professional athlete had to first read about his chilling move from Southern California to the Midwest on Twitter then you best find the nearest mirror. I don't know how Adrian Wojnarowski gets his hands on all of these explosives, but if Woj bombs were filled with cocaine then sports fans would be the ones frantically itching to get our hands on the next bump. We're jones'ing for up-to-the-second breaking news and the NBA's most notorious insider isn't afraid to crack the door to the outside and deliver us our fix. As the addicts, we are the ones that are responsible for keeping the dealer in business, and the dealer's business just so happens to be beating everyone else to the punch. Now, I suppose my view on things is highly dependent on who leaked this information, but I'm more inclined to believe that Woj has every NBA-affiliated phone bugged than I am to believe that the high level members of the Clippers front office - who were theoretically still hammering out the details of the deal - decided to pawn off the delivering of bad news on a reporter...
Notifying a player that he might be on the move is just about the quickest way to find yourself stuck with a pissed off franchise player if trade talks start trending in the opposite direction. The only thing definitive about that tweet is that it is sure to get immediately consumed by millions upon millions of thirsty internet users with one click of a button. Therefore, if you think it's shameful that we found out Blake Griffin was probably getting traded at the same time that Blake Griffin did then you're being pretty ignorant of how shameless our demand to be in-the-know has become in 2018.
And there you have it. The candidate most likely to spoil Marshon Lattimore's seemingly inevitable reception of the Defensive Rookie Of The Year trophy issss... ...the pesky, unforgiving staircase on the way up to the podium! My deepest sympathies go out to Tre'Davious White and T.J. Watt, because - as impressive as they were - the nervous energy of Marshon Lattimore is the only thing that can cost him his well-deserved moment of reverence. That quote is likely an attempt at being relatable, seeing as I highly doubt the guy that displayed not a single second of hesitancy in elevating his game to mirror that of some of the most freakish, sure-handed athletes in all of football is truly concerned about being made to look foolish by some steps, but I'll be damned if it's not telling. The fact of the matter is that the only thing the Saints' shutdown corner should be concerned with is remaining humble - and upright - in the imminent acknowledgment of a season that was far and away more impactful than that of any other first year defensive player. Considering all Cameron Jordan needed was some help for his dominance to show through, it was the efforts of Marshon Lattimore that allowed for the flipping of what had long been a nauseatingly defenseless game script. The Saints' defensive backfield used to be considered public property in which any and all comers could feel free to host field days. There's a couple factors that have made sure that's no longer the case, but the most important one is the instant comfortability of a kid whose first order of business as head of security was throwing a wet blanket over a tire fire of a secondary. That's right. The former Buckeye whose proclivity for cheeky coverage was highlighted by him catching an interception with his ass. The dude who turned Mike Evans into someone whose more dangerous as a cheap shot artist than a pass catcher. The one. The only. My, and soon-to-be your, DROTY. No need to be trippin', because it's quite obviously Marshon Lattimore.
I tend to think that Aaron Rodgers can be rather bratty when it comes to getting his way, so initially I was inclined to criticize him for thinking an organization has to consult with its players - no matter how important they may be - before making a staffing decision. Unfortunately, this is the Green Bay Packers we are talking about, and seeing as Mike McCarthy is still the one that gets credited with calling plays (if and only when they happen to be working), they no longer get the benefit of doubting the counterproductively of their moves. Never mind that it would appear to be thee most common of sense for a quarterback as transcendently talented and experienced as Aaron Rodgers to have a say in who his damn-near-personal position coach might be. The real shame is that the franchise that's failed to make the most of his prime actually thinks they know better than him. Yup, the same group of people that has left their best player to scramble around an under-protected pocket in hopes of finding the smallest window to throw to over-protected receivers thinks they are more in tune with who can best maximize the already-honed skills that have been powering the offense all along. The things Aaron Rodgers provides a team that's completely reliant on his arm aren't even coachable, so - in employing someone whose sole biggest responsibility is not annoying the franchise player - the Green Bay Packers somehow managed to fail months before his first day on the job. Perhaps it might behoove them to go as far as hiring Danica Patrick to join Aaron Rodgers for "position meetings" if that's what it takes for them to reach the happiest of endings, because - as high maintenance as he sounds - his satisfaction should absolutely be their first and last priority.
Well, I can't say it's a surprise that the player who has always prioritized winning above all else has considered putting himself in a situation where consecutive championships would be the most foregone of conclusion. It's not like he hasn't "heroically" stepped in to use and abuse every opportunity he's been given to a foreshadow another diabolical departure from Cleveland. Whether it was Isaiah Thomas getting traded from the organization that he donated hundreds of millions in earning potential to (via the now-suspect health of his hip), or Blake Griffin getting shipped out of LA months after being all-but-promised a statue outside Staples Center, LeBron James has never let a chance to highlight the hypocrisy of the concept of loyalty in professional sports pass him by. Don't, for a damn second, think there's not a very selfish reason for him appearing so selfless in doing so. I do, however, find it a bit shocking that LeBron opened himself up to this type of criticism by even admitting that the thought of joining the team that was built to destroy him has crossed his mind. More than likely it's just a passive aggressive ploy to get the Cavaliers to throw the entirety of their future in the dumpster and set it on fire so that his last few months in Cleveland aren't spent leading a hopeless team through the trials and tribulations of petty, high school hysterics that he, himself, encouraged. But like, let's just say the seemingly impossible doesn't come to fruition and he doesn't end up making a complete mockery of what little parity is left in the NBA. He's still invited a goddamn tsunami of backlash by making it seem like he sits around daydreaming about joining his biggest rival and sleepwalking his way to more titles while his current locker room is in more interactive disarray than a failed social experiment. Even if he doesn't join 'em, the fact that he can't beat 'em has him hypothetically willing to let bygones be bygones mid-fucking-season is rather pathetic. Considering the source of LeBron-centric "leaks" is only as anonymous as the 6'8 physical anomaly with the hairline of George Jefferson, I personally don't buy this bullshit. Unfortunately, I could have said the same exact thing in regards to similar reports about Kevin Durant approximately two years ago to the day, so who even knows what kind of rabbit the Warriors are capable of pulling out from under their salary cap. I just know that if, on the off chance, it ends up being a starting five that might as well wear Western Conference All Stars jerseys then - whether fair or not - the NBA would be in as much trouble as LeBron's legacy. GonzagaBulletin- Every season, BYU enters the Kennel for the highly anticipated West Coast Conference match-up and is welcomed by by a sold-out McCarthey Athletic Center which features an overpacked student section that bleeds into the aisles, a slew of punny signs and an array of costumes.
Of those costumes, there are a handful of students dressed up as Mormon missionaries. This year, Gonzaga University is trying to change that. On Friday, Jan. 26, a meeting was held that included members of the Athletic Department, University Ministry and Mission, Student Development, Advancement and Alumni and the General Counselor’s Office to discuss ways to eliminate the mockery and mimicking of Mormons. “[Those costumes don’t] really represent who we are as a university and it shines bad on us and doesn’t show a welcoming community that supports everybody,” Colleen Vandenboom, assistant dean of Student Involvement and Leadership said. “So every year it has come up and we have been talking a lot with Kennel Club and they agree — it’s not cool.” “The missionary costumes and posters that degrade the Mormon faith that show up in The Kennel every time we face the Cougars makes my stomach twist into knots,” Murphy said in her letter. "We are a Jesuit institution that stands to ‘foster a mature commitment to dignity of the human person, social justice, diversity’ and ‘cultivates in its students the capacities and dispositions for... ethical discernment, creativity, and innovation.’ How are we living up to this mission if we are tearing down the spiritual identity of others?" ------------ Now this is what we call foresight. Seriously, good on Colleen Vandenboom and the rest of The Kennel Club Board for getting out ahead of this. If there's one thing I know anything about drunken mobs of college sports fans it's that no taunt that is too venomous for their blue blood, but if there's two things I know about drunken mobs of college sports fans then the second is that they always take heed to authority. Therefore, if a bunch of Zags fans show up in horse drawn carriages loudly and proudly preaching the virtues of keeping a dry dick by way of abstinence and a dry campus by way of student-led sobriety you can be sure that they are just doing so out of undying respect for their opponent. Just one question though, is nothing sacred anymore? By that I don't mean the differing beliefs and morals of the visiting team should be off limits to a raucous student section, but rather that mocking others for their religious affiliation is a tradition as time honored as praying to potentially mythical spiritual figures. I know it's 2018 and students - no matter how inebriated - should to be inclusive and all that jazz, but being part of a denomination as historically intolerant as Christianity is inherently exclusive. That's why actual wars have been incited over more harmless acts of disrespect than outfit mimicry. As far as being holier-than-thou is concerned, a little jabbing and jeering between Conference foes is about the most positive interaction that has taken place between rivaling religious institutions. So maybe, just maybe, it's okay for the degenerate demographic of a Jesuit university to have a little fun at the expense of the convent they call Brigham Young. Lord knows, it's better than internalizing that resentment for decades until that undeserved feeling of superiority results in Christian-on-Christian casualties! Warning: If a handful of offensive costumes put her stomach in knots and are concerning enough for their own PSA then someone might want to keep Colleen distracted on Halloween so she's not forced to conjure up a thorough literary shaming of college kids that would make the Bible look relatable by comparison. |
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