Contrary to the belief of far too much of the fanbase, that headline was a little harsh considering its subject's job responsibility would have been optimistic at the start of his career, never mind its twilight. Therefore, I want to focus on the positives of what Ben Lovejoy brought to the Devils. Some will undoubtedly think this paragraph should end right...about...here, but the truth is that he was well-respected veteran leader off the ice and a great penalty killer on the ice while unquestionably easing Will Butcher's transition into the NHL.
His struggles were exactly the type you'd expect a limited, defensive defenseman in his mid-30's to have while playing too many minutes out of necessity, which is to say they were more visible than his successes. Still, it would be foolish to ignore those successes, since the Devils would be a brand of dogshit so moist and messy that it would make Artemi Panarin's soiled pants feel better about themselves if not for maintaining a cohesive locker room and a penalty kill that's oft more exciting than their power play. To put it simply, Dallas traded for Ben Lovejoy for reasons other than complete desperation, so save the slander for the next whipping boy that's put in a position to fail on a defense that doesn't currently have the foundational pieces necessary to compete...
All that being said, another round of applause is owed to Ray Shero. Intangibles aside, he has now recouped both the 2nd and 3rd round pick he dealt at last year's trade deadline by moving a veteran 4th liner and an aging bottom pairing defenseman. Presumably due to alliteration, the name Connor Carrick stuck out to me as more memorable than his young career has been to date, as he's fallen out of favor with multiple franchises. However, even if he's a $5 scratch-off of a prospect, I would have been more than happy with Ben Lovejoy netting a 3rd round pick with nothing more than an actual $5 scratch-off as a sweetener.
As someone who views this disaster of a year as nothing more than a stumble, I find it intriguing that the Devils have turned it into five picks in the first three rounds of the draft with far and away their best asset still awaiting his fate on the trading block. So yeah, I love the move and it brought me more joy than it should have during an otherwise depressing season, but don't just think that New Jersey's top-notch PK tanked for draft position when its efficiency inevitably dips. Ben Lovejoy's return is proof of how well he can fill a role, even if that return was surprisingly good for a team on which his role was troublingly big.
Somewhat Begrudgingly, All The Credit And Congratulations Go To Kurtis Gabriel For Netting His First NHL Goal
Full disclosure, from the first fight he unsuccessfully tried to pick in the preseason to the last unwilling combatant he bare-knuckle bopped in the face during the regular season, I haven't been all that fond of Kurtis Gabriel. That's partially by design, since his outdated game is predicated on leaving shame in the locker room and doing just about anything to coax opposing players out of their gloves. Still, I much prefer the Blake Coleman/Miles Wood-style of relentless pestering. I just find face punching for the sake of face punching to be a bit cringeworthy at this stage of the sport, so there may have been a time or ten in which I claimed that Kurtis Gabriel's presence in the lineup was a black eye on the entire organization.
That stance had softened significantly as his hits had hardened and he started making more of an impact as an intimidating forechecker than as a complete sideshow, but his teary-eyed response to scoring his first NHL goal as a member of the New Jersey Devils has left it damn near mushy. I'm still not anything close to what you would consider a fan of him as a player, but I'll be damned if I can't respect Kurtis Gabriel the person for the resilience he's shown in chasing his dream and finally putting up stats more significant than wildly unnecessary instigator penalties.
Therefore, differences aside, all the credit and congratulations are in order for a guy who has persevered through a bruising and humbling career path that looks like a stroll through the damn park in comparison to his rough childhood. Pretty cool to see how much he appreciates being a part of the Devils' organization, so - though I'd prefer it were at a lower level - I appreciate him being a part of it too. Though I'm not even sure he considers it as prized a possession as the real estate he owns in Zach Bogosian's brain, it's awesome that he now has the seeing eyes of a meaningful milestone puck to show for it.
Just When The Patriots Had Gotten Too Desperate For Inspirational Angles, Owner Robert Kraft Was Busted For "Soliciting A Prostitute" At A Rub-And-Tug
Great. Grand. Wonderful. You won't believe this, but I actually woke up this morning thinking to myself that the one thing the sports' world needed was for another prominent member of the Patriots to find himself wrapped up in a wildly overblown scandal that could be used to further intensify the entire organization's persecution complex.
That was intended to be sarcastic, but - after giving it a second of thought - listening to a franchise that had been to three straight Super Bowls rant and rave about a lack of respect from intentionally contrarian gasbags en route to their fourth straight Super Bowl was a wee bit pathetic. For that reason, rallying around their beloved owner being labeled as some sort of sexual deviant for efficiently getting both heads cleared at once would be a change more welcomed than the clientele at a massage parlor that has more stars on Yelp! than fresh towels. Especially if asinine takes, like that of Bart Scott, are really going to continue to be a thing...
Just think about it. The Patriots, with the help of the idiotic NFL, turned a suspension over two pumps of air from a football into two-three years worth of fuel on their war path. They might...ahem...milk a slanderous "solicitation" allegation over two puffs of smoke from an old man's penis until Tom Brady's kid is old enough to start making out with people other than his father.
Honestly though, if the alternative storyline is a dynastic organization bellyaching about no one believing in them then I'll gladly debate the morality and the legality of the rub-and-tug, as well as its extremely loose affiliation with prostitution, so exhaustively that it'll make DeflateGate seem as speedy and harmless as a professional hand job. Literally anything that puts to eternal rest New England's ridiculous claims of widespread doubt, that's my happy ending.
As Only He Can, Kevin Harlan Called The Spilling Of A Beer On The Sidelines Like It Was A Game 7 Buzzer-Beater
I got to be honest, it feels like a huge miss to only find out after it's far too late that Kevin Harlan can even make a party foul sound provocative. I'd imagine the cost per cup to pay for his appearance fee as the guest of honor at an off-campus kegger would have been pretty exorbitant, but to make 'one shining moment' of the collateral damage from literally any half-coordinated drinking game is damn near priceless. If only everyone's artless acts of intoxication were accompanied by excitable audio then their audience might think of them as more of a buzzer-beater than a buzz-killer. I mean, probably not, but at least it would drown out the exhaustive groans of the judgmental.
"BEER IS EVERY PLACE!" is basically the description of every morning after nightmare, so - for once - it would be nice for it to be analyzed in a way that made it seem as though it's what dreams are made of during the night of.
Don Nelson Is Now An Avid Weed Smoker, As He And That Historic Warriors' Team Are The Epitome Of Squad Goals
I don't want to sound overly dramatic here, but this video was about a Baron Davis shy of bringing a tear to my eye. That's partially because I find it heartwarming whenever an elderly man devotes his new found lack of fucks to almost anything other than blatantly racist rhetoric. However, it's mostly because it's so rare to find a relationship that was apparently as mutually beneficial as that of Nelly and a delightfully devilish Warriors' team that, beautiful basketball be damned, might have somehow been worth more in entertainment value than the current one.
In professional sports, it's more often said than done that a head coach and his players will actively learn from one other, as the former tends to be more stubborn in practice than in theory. However, judging by (and I can't believe I am about to type this) Don Nelson's drip, the students very much became the teachers. Obviously the lesson plans were a bit different, as a rough-around-the-edges group of cocksure players had to be rounded into form as a cohesive team capable of making NBA history as the first #8 seed to knock off a #1 seed and the man who did the proverbial sanding had to be shown the light..er as an impassioned believer in the herbal arts. Still, Don Nelson could not possibly look or sound more like someone who spent the twilight of his career keeping both an open door and an open mind while working conjointly in the same hot-boxed building as Stephen Jackson, Baron Davis, Al Harrington, and Matt Barnes.
That video legitimately reminds me of the following scene from 'How High' with the only difference being that Nelly wears the slicked back hair, the beard, the murdered-out suit, the necklace, the Hawaiian residence, and the label of marijuana enthusiast so damn well that he could non-ironically go by 'The Don'. That is no small feat for a white dude in his late 70's, just like it was no small feat for a clean-cut white dude in his late 60's to relate to that reckless ass Warriors' roster in a way that fostered a lifelong relationship.
With His First Shutout In 15 Months, Cory Schneider Is Starting To Answer Some Difficult Questions For The Devils
Cory Schneider is a grown ass man. A professional's professional. A proud guy who understands the obvious, which is that it's going to take more than a solid 2.5 game (really 3.5, if you include the Islanders' shootout loss in which the Devils' offense was offensive) stretch to silence the uncertainty regarding the potential resurrection of a career that's become riddled by injuries and crushed by a lack of confidence.
For those reasons, I'm not going to patronize him by overpraising his initial efforts in helping to clean up what was a complete mess in the Devils' crease like he's a child that sloppily threw the sports' section over the full gallon of milk that he spilled. He deserves no shortage of credit for taking an absolute beating in stride and coming out the other side of the gauntlet of gut punches that was a sickly twisted losing streak capable of breaking the will of even a slightly lesser man. However, considering a shutout over a Senators' team that was hosting a live auction for 80% of its talent while the game was going on to be proof that he's "back" could only lead to a lot of disappointment moving forward. I hate to be the one to measure the approach here, but this cautiously optimistic feeling probably just seems a lot more promising than it is due to the hapless hopelessness from which it rose like a phoenix.
That being said, if the bad news is that Cory Schneider's recent success has continued his awkward trend of winning when his team would be better served not to then the good news is that his fluidity, positioning, and athleticism while doing so follow a much more promising trend of goaltenders slowly returning to form after hip surgery. The truth is that we've probably already seen the best of #35, but we've certainly already seen the worst of #35. If he's managed to find the higher end of that middle ground, and the audition out of desperation that was Mackenzie Blackwood's shockingly successful stint in New Jersey is a sign of what he'll eventual bring to the show, then the Devils have at least found some answers at the tail end of an otherwise lost season.
Cory Schneider's days as the most formidable of franchise goaltender are more than likely over, but if he can relied upon for nights like last then the...::gulp::...three years and 18 million dollars left on his contract are somewhat easier to swallow. Not sure I've gone from thinking inevitable buy-out to fully buying in quite yet, but - at risk of being swayed by a couple impressive starts and a big shiny goose egg - I can pretty easily be sold on him taking the occasional page out of his past in splitting time with someone who looked a hell of a lot like the future. Even as a longtime Cory Schneider apologist, that's a hell of a lot better than any outcome I would have felt comfortable putting my money on a couple weeks ago.
A Memphis Fan Tried To Milk His Successful Halfcourt Heave For All It Was Worth By Running Into The Tigers' Huddle To Celebrate
You can count the instances in which a grown adult man can excitedly and unexpectedly run up on both an NBA champion and NBA legend and have his presence welcomed with a smile on approximately one finger. For that reason, I respect the hell out of this Memphis fan for wasting no time in trying to slap some celebratory skin with Mike Miller and Penny Hardaway. Stadium security did what stadium security is paid to do, but the presence of mind to make the absolute most out of an unforgettable memory is uncharacteristic of someone that just knocked down a half-court heave.
I would have more than likely been stuck frantically searching in circles for the nearest person to hug like Jim Valvano (RIP Jimmy V.) when NC State beat the buzzer to win the National Championship, so credit to that guy for keeping enough composure to know exactly who he wanted to share his enthusiasm with. The saying holds up, fortune does favor the bold...even when the bold ever-so-slightly overstay their 15 seconds of fame...
I have a hard time believing that the Saints went out of their way to beat every other team to what became a historically slow safety market by a country mile in order to pay a premium for the veteran presence of a backup defensive back. Therefore, you'd have to consider Kurt Coleman's prematurely terminated tenure in New Orleans to be a pretty big failure. It was a signing that was suspiciously bland the second it was made, and - to put it lightly - with the season came not a complimentary seasoning.
That being said, he was a well-respected member of the most cohesive and fun secondary/locker room in Saints' history, so - as deep as I have to dig to find them - I will put some shine on the positives of his presence. None the least of which is the fire he presumably stoked under the ass of Vonn Bell, who took massive steps in going from vulnerable to versatile in his third season. The forced 4th quarter fumble against the Steelers was also a noteworthy bright spot, but playing the role of electrician in getting the light to turn on for an inconsistent and underwhelming second round pick will probably go down as his most impactful work in black & gold.
You won't find too many people that didn't consider Kurt Coleman expendable heading into the offseason, but his shortcomings in trying to live up to what was a surprisingly sizable contract before the ink even dried on it are only part of the reason he's now looking for employment. The slow but steady development of a young player who finally forced his way onto the field in refusing to be denied playing time simply sealed his fate, though it will be interesting to see if the Saints look go for depth or wealth at the position in the coming months. As the early signing of Kurt Coleman proved, you never really know with Sean Payton.
Shoutout To This UPS Driver For Doing His Civic Duty By Getting Some Jumpers Up After Delivering A Package To A House With A Hoop
Never mind what Brown can do for you, which is presumably get you your packages in a timely manner. I think it's nearly as important to know what Brown can't do for you, which is apparently provide any sort of complimentary scoring touch off the bench in a 35-and-over league.
All jokes aside, this might be the most relatable video I've seen in awhile. From being unable to walk by an idle basketball without getting up some rusty reps on something as eternally enticing as an unused basket to treating said ball like it bounced into a snake pit as soon as it rolled haplessly in the opposite direction. That UPS driver is basically every amateur athlete turned washed up adult. The ball being deflated certainly didn't help matters, but the quickness with which he went from excited to indifferent is hysterically familiar.
Shooters keep shooting, but for the rest of us? Everything we need to know is in the first 3-5 jumpers. I'd imagine that's especially the case when your "shot clock" is being monitored by an employer that prioritizes promptness and likely doesn't understand that checking it up with reality and laying a couple bricks is a pretty fair convenience charge for making a punctual delivery to a house with hoop.
An Avalanche Fan Basically Bodychecked His Girlfriend Just To Get To A Puck That He Then Gave To Another Woman
I got to be honest. I think getting treated like trash and having it caught on camera might've been a blessing in disguise for this poor girl. She may not have thought so as her head was throbbing after having been elbowed aside for a puck that her boyfriend preceded to give to another woman. However, Joe Dirtbag might as well have "rebellious phase" shaved into his grungy, unkempt beard, and nothing helps you realize the reality of your current relationship quicker than being given an outside look in on it.
Now, most people don't have their lowest moment as a significant other played in slo-motion for the masses and carefully analyzed by old men on a television broadcast, but if they were so lucky then they'd probably save themselves a hell of a lot of time wondering exactly how doomed their situation was. Sitting there stewing must have sucked, but she'd have to have cut the cord on cable and gone social media silent not to find out exactly where she stands. Which, from the looks of things, is currently arm-in-arm with a poorly groomed idiot for as long as it takes for this video to go viral enough to leave their relationship terminally ill.
Losses Don't Get More Infuriating Than Those That May Or May Not Have Come As A Result Of A Fan-Issued Technical Foul
First and foremost, let me just say there is no way a game should even have the potential to be decided by a stuffed animal falling damn near a day late and a half-dozen feet short of impacting the outcome of a free throw that had already begun rimming out. Fans throwing crap on the court is quite obviously inexcusable, but issuing a technical in the instance of an inanimate cuddle buddy tumbling harmlessly to the hardwood with under a second left in a tie game is both figuratively and literally too soft for my liking. Fuck the rulebook. Student-athletes have enough of an exhausting workload without being held responsible for the shit-faced shenanigans of their peers, especially when said shenanigans end up being entirely inconsequential to the hard fought athletic competition they targeted.
Now, with that out of the way, it's time to address how terribly miscalculated and inaccurate they teddy bear toss was. Honestly, that was such a pathetic crack at distracting an opposing player that penalizing it almost seems like giving it too much credit. That kid doesn't even deserve the 15 seconds of infamy that come along with potentially costing his school an in-conference game. Wasting his ammo on the first two free throws? Short-arming it with the precision on a kinked garden hose? Displaying the type of timing fitting of an 100 pound freshman stumbling to the plate during the 9th inning of dizzy bat? Like a woman silently walking away from a nauseatingly corny pick-up line, that attempt at interruption/intimidation was so embarrassing that it shouldn't even have been granted the time of day, much less what was conceivably a game-deciding technical.
It's bullshit that we'll never know whether Quinndary Weatherspoon would have punctuated his career night by knocking down the game-winning free throw he was already due if not for the sense of security provided by the plushy gift of a third free throw that he went on to miss. However, it's an absolute injustice that some drunk dumbass more than likely got escorted from the building thinking his weak ass arm was powerful enough to impact the outcome, be it positively or negatively, of a college basketball game.
Color Me Shocked That A Sneaker, Of Any Brand, Couldn't Contain The Athletic Anomaly That Is Zion Williamson
The main takeaway from a sneaker, of all things, putting a damper on a high-profile rivalry matchup featuring multiple diaper dandies should be that the reward of transcendent talents playing college sports matches the risk about as well as polka dots match a walking boot. Simply put, examples of the NCAA monetizing the efforts of kids who are amateur in reimbursement only don't get more glaring and grotesque than thousands upon thousands of people paying thousands upon thousands of dollars and watching one kid meet his basketball mortality while playing pro bono. For Zion Williamson's knee sprain to resonate as anything other than proof that a future #1 overall pick in the NBA Draft doesn't need to be doing this shit for free is disingenuous at best and ignorant at worst.
So let's focus on that organizational exploitation by a billion dollar business as opposed to another billion dollar business not yet understanding how to properly reinforce the footwear of someone who makes the Incredible Hulk seem like ordinary clientele by comparison...
I understand that their product directly causing an injury by damn near detonating off such a profitable foot after only 36 seconds on such a massive stage is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad look for Nike. Still, seems a bit convenient to only now shame Zion Williamson's surroundings for being structurally inferior as opposed to marveling at him proving too big, too fast, and too strong for them. As I recall, no one was questioning the durability of Spalding basketballs when the player in question almost poked one out to pasture...
When he inevitably rips off a rim in shattering a backboard are we going to wait to see if he gets any glass in his eye before we decide whether it's a credit to the unprecedented power of a 285 pound kid who put on 100 pounds of pure muscle in two years without sacrificing any agility or an indictment of the hoop manufacturer?
We're talking about someone who is, quite literally, a freak of nature. He does things that are entirely unfitting of his size. As a result, sneakers made to endure the athleticism of someone his size might be unfitting of the previously impossible things he is able to do in them. Hopefully Nike will learn from their mistake in the future. However, with that mistake being a failure in foresight to fortify the feet of someone whose power and propulsion is the closest a (super)human could possibly come to a space shuttle launch, it should be somewhat understandable. I've never seen the following happen to a shoe just like I've never seen anyone like the person who did it to said shoe. I refuse to believe that's a coincidence.
Therefore, if absolutely nothing else, we should certainly be more sympathetic to Nike's plight of appropriately outfitting a genetic anomaly than we are to the NCAA's plight of not being able to further milk their biggest cash cow.
Now You're In New York: The Uncertain Status Of Landon Collins' Locker Has Somehow Become The NFL News Of The Day
I love this. As someone whose interest in the Giants begins and ends with how much of a mockery they can make out out of their long-standing reputation as one of the best run organizations in football, how could I not? It's a meaty example of the toxic newsworthiness of New York sports seasoned with a generous pinch of familiar disfunction from a franchise that's got to be approaching the mid-40's in finding 50 ways not to blame Eli Manning.
Is that not funny enough for ya? Okay then, close your eyes and form an undoubtedly exaggerated mental image of Paul Schwartz feverishly texting his sources, hearing that a glimpse of some dirty sweat rags and a couple old team-licensed t-shirts was caught under the name plate of Landon Collins, and immediately using that "investigative journalism" to emphatically refute a report that was apparently partially figurative...
Objectively speaking, the idea of conflicting "news" being broken about a prominent player based almost exclusively on the amount and the assumed significance of the laundry in his locker on February 20th is absolutely hilarious to anyone that has the ability to sense humor and laugh at the New York Giants.
Of course, with both the franchise tag and free agency being options, only Dave Gettleman knows whether or not the former Defensive Player of the Year is merely posturing or if his premature spring cleaning was simply the result of reading the writing on the wall in regards to his potentially fluid future. Whatever the case may be, professional journalists disagreeing on the meaning and placement of discarded belongings and hopelessly dirty underwear is a laughably shameless grab for headlines that are essentially as empty as Landon Collins' stall. So much so, that they presumably had Odell Beckham's monopoly on entirely vague and unnecessary attention feeling threatened...
The Students Who Suggested The Nashville Predators Change Their Name To The Sabercats Due To "Social Stigma" Need To Be Monitored By Neighborhood Watch
Take a long look at each one of those students of "higher learning". Do your damnedest to commit their faces to memory. For as dangerous as sexual predators are, young adults that are unable to differentiate criminally creepy old men from a pro hockey team named after carnivorous jungle cats that preceded their deranged existence on this planet by hundreds of years are almost as much of a threat to society's youth.
Now, I'm not saying that any of those presenters that are in desperate need of a core class in common sense have an unexpected date with Chris Hansen in their future. I am, however, saying that I'd like them to be tracked as threats to the intelligence of their communities by red dots on a website so that I don't unknowingly raise a family within a hundred mile radius of such alarming levels of idiocy.
The last thing any neighbor needs is to worry about living within the proximity of a sick freak that is insatiably attracted to children. However, the second to last thing a neighbor needs is to have their downtime spent watching a hockey game interrupted by their kid asking a never-ending series of questions about molestation after being scared shitless by the spawn of stupid equating a P.K. Subban shirtsey to a promotion for pedophilia and a logo of a fanged feline compared to a scarlet letter of sexual assault.
So, as far as I'm concerned, these connotation rent-a-cops need to be slapped with ankle monitors as clear and present dangers to a society that doesn't need anyone actively attempting to make this fucked up thing we call life any weirder than it already is. After all, the people who can't watch a Filip Forsberg highlight without their minds instinctually wandering to the whereabouts of the Jerry Sandusky's of the world should be more worried about their train of thought flying off the fucking rails than trying to find irrelevant ways to make kiddie touching a topic of conversation. Either that, or they should be made as extinct as Sabercats.
Sidenote: Not a doubt in my mind this idea was the brainchild of the kid in the Red Wings' jersey who is both a Predators' hater and the complete slacker of the group.
Well, I'll be. Was that...humor, albeit hasty, of the bathroom variety...from an emotionally repressed coach whose personality is otherwise best described as comically constipated? Did John Tortorella, of all people, manage to sneak something that could be understood as a poop joke into another one of his media-unfriendly tirades? The only alternative is that Artemi Panarin's coach just outed him as having bush league bowel control. Therefore, as I live and breathe, I'm pretty sure I just heard one of most surly pricks in sports induce a laugh by keeping his tongue in cheek while being a little more understated in using it to lash reporters for doing their job.
Who knows, maybe relieving the trade deadline of some tension by facetiously talking feces and flushing the notion of a playoff team shopping a superstar at the deadline ends up being a small step along John Tortorella's long, winding path to becoming a somewhat sociable communicator. Then again, as is too often the case, it could be argued that one step forward was immediately followed by two stomps back...
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Much Like The Devils Have This Season, David Puddy Came, He Saw, And He Co...rashed Flat On His Face
And there it is, just about every one of the 2018-2019 New Jersey Devils' 60 games to date summed up in one classic Seinfeld character's team-spirited sprint into a full-on face plant. Came out the gates hot looking inspired with the best of intentions and then - much like awful goaltending, discouraging defense, and a rash of impactful injuries - that damn step came out of nowhere to make its painful presence felt.
Props to Patrick Warburton for playing the role of David Puddy to perfection in quickly peeling himself off the ground in shamelessly undeterred support of the team. Especially since that fall was only like 50% his fault. Let the (entirely understandable) demotion of Mackenzie Blackwood serve as proof that this iteration of the Devils simply can't have nice things, including flawless guest appearances from famous fans. Cory Schneider probably offered more compassionate words than "been there, man", but he was probably thinking just that as he watched effort quickly turn to embarrassment with what's become far too familiar a plot twist in the Prudential Center this year.
That perfectly painted face and that bare barrel chest will always be a welcomed sight regardless of how much the Devils suck, but them ending up embedded in the floor of the bench is fitting of how unwelcoming that entrance to the ice has been to the boys this season.
Firm but fair, baby. Firm but fair. For the multitude of ways in which some Devils' fans have chosen to start picking apart a head coach who hasn't exactly had the greatest run of things on a lame hamstring of a lineup since signing his contract extension, it's important to remember why his players appreciate him so much. For better or worse, he's a guy who pulls no punches in calling it like he sees it. Considering Keith Kinkaid's extremely forgiving self-evaluation, I can't think of someone who was more in need of being dialed back from their own self-deception, and you can't hit the 'fuck you' button on the firmness of a one word answer combined with the fairness of a more objective opinion.
That's not to put last night's loss entirely on a goaltender who has taken what little trade value he might have had at the turn of the calendar and cleared it blindly to the tape of opposing players in and around his own departed crease. After all, the Devils damn near skated their defensive zone dry in chasing around the Penguins during a second period that proved to be the difference. It is, however, to scoff at the idea of "bad bounces" belaboring another below average performance. In a game that ended in a one goal defeat, one goal against was brutal and another was stoppable. That doesn't mean the game was lost by Keith Kinkaid, of course, but his contribution certainly wasn't of the positive variety...
Personally, I find it refreshing that, even in a lost season, John Hynes is hunting the most harmless ducking of responsibilities. In my uneducated opinion, accountability is what has kept close a locker room that's endured far too much losing for anyone, none the least of which an underperforming goaltender, to be blaming it on bad bounces. Therefore, as harsh as it may read, that blunt disagreement was nothing more than a head coach doing some cultural maintenance for a team whose future doesn't stand to be made any brighter by any player adopting the "well, I could have been worse" perspective. Especially one who shares a crease with a guy who has held himself completely culpable despite having to bear the brunt of much less fortuitous circumstances this season.
As Patently Ridiculous As It Is To Call Yourself 'Mr. Big Chest', I'm All In On Antonio Brown's New Self-Proclaimed Nickname
If we've learned anything about Antonio Brown over the last few months, it's that neither accountability nor consequence is a thing that he quite grasps the concept of. Whether it be criminally or verbally, the dude has just been doing and saying whatever he damn well pleases without having much regard for what's to come of it for quite a while now.
Well, not any longer. I don't particularly care that Mike Tomlin created a monster, Ben Roethlisberger routinely pissed it off, and both are now dealing with the damages of it stomping its immature feet all over a once proud and professional organization. I do, however, care about teaching the whiniest of wide receivers the lesson that words have repercussions.
Therefore, as of his own ill-advised suggestion, I would hope that everyone would follow my lead in referring to Antonio Brown as 'Mr. Big Chest' so repetitively that he ends up regretting changing his own nickname in the sweaty heat of the moment. He might not be the most self-aware of superstars, but if having such an asinine epithet shouted at him, as opposed to something as clean and concise as 'AB', doesn't have him re-examining his penchant for spewing narcissist nonsense then absolutely nothing will. In the form and fashion of someone lying about their identity by catching a brand name in their periphery, Antonio Brown brought the idiocy of 'Big Chest Brown' on himself. It's not like criticism and discipline have gotten him to reflect on his behavior, so - while I have my doubts that someone as self-involved as Antonio Brown will recognize it as such - it's about time we give mockery a shot.
Here Are Trevor Bauer's Three Rules To "Dating", In Case You Needed A Couple More Reasons To Find Him Insufferable
NYPost- The controversial and honest-to-a-fault Indians pitcher described why he’s still single in a feature by Sports Illustrated published Tuesday. When he meets a potential partner, he lays out his guidelines.
“I have three rules,” he said. “One: no feelings. As soon as I sense you’re developing feelings, I’m going to cut it off, because I’m not interested in a relationship and I’m emotionally unavailable. Two: no social media posts about me while we’re together, because private life stays private. Three: I sleep with other people. I’m going to continue to sleep with other people. If you’re not OK with that, we won’t sleep together, and that’s perfectly fine. We can just be perfectly polite platonic friends.”
Full disclosure, I think every last one of these rules is entirely acceptable for a 28 year old professional athlete to have, even if I find said professional athlete to be a loathsome prick. I don't know that I'd call them "dating rules" when they are really just typically unspoken justifications for him living the carefree, no-strings-attached life afforded to him by baseball in inserting himself into as much strange as humanly possible. However, at least the Indians' oft-problematic pitcher has the self awareness to know that his priorities match his emotional infancy. That's undoubtedly more than can be said for a lot of his peers who risk wrecking their home whenever the vices of life on the road come a calling.
That being said, I'm not too sure that listing off the entirely undesirable ways in which you govern your private life to the readership of a well-known media outlet is the best way to convey that your "private life stays private". In fact, I might even say that publicly announcing that he's more self-satisfied by his conquests than the cinematic portrayal of the loose-lipped ladies' man in every high school locker room is even douchier than taking the all fuck, no feelings approach to "relationships" in the first place. I'm all for professional athletes sowing their wild oats and embracing the single life during the point in their careers in which it logistically makes the most sense to do so, but - holy shit - Trevor Bauer tried so hard to sound cool and unattainable that one might come to the conclusion that, on the contrary, he's not actually all that cool or unattainable. Who would have thought that to be the case given the otherwise charming reputation he's built for himself as a juvenile jackass?
Week One Of The AAF Went Pretty Smoothly, So Long As You Ignore That The League Wasn't Able To Pay Its Players
Look, if successfully starting a developmental football league with the potential to become a feeder system to the NFL were easy then it would have been done a hell of a long time ago. Therefore, I don't want to be too harsh on the AAF, because putting out even a mildly competent product with some relatively redeemable qualities on their debut weekend was a huge win.
That being said, having their finances in enough order to fund the modest salaries of those that certainly weren't taking hits like these solely for the glory probably should have been a top priority...
As definitively as I can say so without an MBA hanging up on my wall, crossing their fingers and hoping someone basically showed up with a blank check seems like a pretty good case of bad business. If my reading comprehension is serving me well then, until they got bailed out, it certainly seems as though the AAF was being run with the foresight, efficiency, and precision of the following offense...
Now, people gambling more than they can afford on the alluring unknown of a start-up of a secondary sports' league is probably what's going to keep the AAF's proverbial lights on, but perhaps it shouldn't be such a direct correlation. Like, maybe save the irresponsible betting on borderline-to-bad football for the desperate degenerates scouring at rock bottom for something to scratch an itch that's gotten progressively worse since the Super Bowl ended, as opposed to those wagers being placed by the executives at the top. I'm glad Tom Dundon came to the rescue, but it's no wonder the NFL operates as though their ass is untouchable when the next best football league can't even inaugurate without ending up in debt.