While I don't think there's much of an argument to be made against the idea that even the attempt at using a blunt object to bust into a building is a crime, I can't help but think we are giving this dude far too much credit by treating him like a criminal. I honestly can't tell what was more broken, the law or his spirit, and - for that reason - he'd be my first and only cut if I were putting together a beer league breaking-and-entering team. I don't even think it's an exaggeration to say that cut couldn't even produce enough airflow to knock a ball from a tee, never mind force it's way through through literally any type of blockade, so considering him as a fugitive is kind of like considering a group of mothers jogging around the neighborhood a team of athletes. His actions fit the mold, but his effort? Well, let's just say that Ozzie Osbourne is exponentially more inclined to draw first blood with a bat in his hand. I can't imagine a scenario in which I would offer someone who faded so meagerly under the bright red light of a surveillance camera a pinch hit out of pity if I were trying to gain entry into a place I didn't belong. Therefore, it better come at the very bottom of the dispatch order if his at-bat is going to count as a crime, and - whatever you do - please don't let the Mets call it in.
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The Raptors Have Fired Dwane Casey, And LeBron James Officially Got The 'Coach Of The Year' Canned5/11/2018
First of all, I think we should all put aside the critiques of this almost unprecedented (shoutout George Karl) and dumbfounding decision and take a second to appreciate how much drama this adds to the NBA Awards. The Association has undoubtedly become a bit of a soap opera, and this storyline serves as the perfect season finale. Watching a man take the stage to receive an award for unmatched excellence in the job he was recently dismissed from is such a ridiculous concept that, if not for watching what LeBron did to the Toronto Raptors, you would assume the only way it was unscripted would be if it were improv'd into the plot of a Seinfeld episode. I would say that Dwane Casey having another job by the time late June rolls around could subtract from the absurdity of the moment, but him accepting an award that was voted on by the person he could potentially be replacing adds a whole different laughable angle. No matter what happens between now and June 25th, we are getting treated to a real life Larry David moment and, with all due respect to a the Coach Of The Year, I can't possible curb my enthusiasm. Now, did Dwane Casey deserve to be fired? Almost definitely not. He took what wasn't working for a perennial playoff team and altered it in a way that allowed them to finish atop their conference. Whether it was the prioritization of ball movement or increasing the involvement of his bench, the Raptors' coach did a hell of a job preparing them to make this postseason different than those of the past. Unfortunately, the same old LeBron James came along and, with a cast of characters that are such a handicap that they might as well just be names penned over hard plastic, showed no absolutely mercy in serving as the roadblock that ultimately caused the most drastic of organizational detours. The truth is that it's far from the first time he's done so, but - considering the circumstances - it's for sure the funniest. It's yet to be seen if the Coach Of The Year is even a coach for the second half of the calendar year, and it's all because the most dominant basketball player of all time (don't @ me) tortured his (now former) team like one might mess with a bug found in a sink. Unless the Toronto Raptors are negotiations with a basketball mind who is also a licensed practitioner of both psychiatry and exorcism, I can't see anyone replacing Dwane Casey that does a better job getting the most out of Kyle Lowry and DeMar DeRozan when they are faced with the demon that has defined both their professional careers. Therefore, I cant help but think LeBron made an NBA franchise look so stupid that they felt it necessary to act accordingly. If that alone doesn't tell you the level of greatness we are witnessing - in its source's 15th f'n season, no less - than no amount of intentionally difficult fall away jumpers and off-balance buzzer-beaters will.
Wha...wha...what the hell was that last night? I've been watching hockey a long, long time and can't remember seeing anything like it, so I decided to do a little research and, as it turns out, it's uncommonly referred to as unwavering support. While I'm glad to put a label to such an intriguing phenomenon, I'm still unclear as to what it's place was in the home arena of a team that saw a season that was expected to end with the raising of a Stanley Cup brought to an end with an extremely underwhelming defeat. As a matter of fact, I feel like I have been led astray. All I have heard since last April was that Nashville was the newest 'hockey town'. A place that, despite it's location on the map, both knew the ramifications of playoff puck, as well as lived and died with its results. Yet, as I watched the clock tick down to midnight on that which they "supposedly" most desire, there was not one exaggerated sigh of cynicism to be heard. On the other hand, it almost seemed as though Predators fans were...appreciative or something. I want to say that what they were displaying was gratitude, but that would fly directly in the face of the idea that they are manically invested in the success of their team. Look, despite what Vegas might have you believing, Nashville is a rare feel good story of a lucrative relocation to a non-traditional market. Unfortunately, if Canada, ironically considering their country's Cup drought, has taught me anything then it's that hockey towns are characterized but their obsessive appetite for championships and championships alone. To be regionally respected in this sport you must ignore perspective in lieu of irrational expectations, and when those irrational expectations aren't met you must take that disappointment out on the players, regardless of who is responsible for assembling them. I'm sorry, the hoards of fans leaving early was a decent start, but I can't yet stray from decades of standards, disguised as culture, if Nashville is going to continue to be loud and proud of unrealized potential. They can be a city that loves the Predators unconditionally, but unless they are going to loathe them in defeat by way of an overreactive treatment of every flaw as if it might be the one that causes the falling of the sky, a hockey town they are not.
In theory, Pekka Rinne is exactly the type of goaltender you want to commit to come playoff time. An accomplished, award-winning player who is capable of stealing you a game and can not only bounce back from a let-down performance, but has repeatedly shown that it's to be expected of him...
Put that ceiling behind a complete team with a great defense and a deep offensive attack and it's the perfect relationship...until the floor drops out from under it. You see, in execution, riding Pekka Rinne in the postseason is like dating a crazy chick. When it's good...it's euphoric, and when it's bad...it might damn near take a torch to all that you've built together as a couple. The extreme highs will undoubtedly outnumber the extreme lows, but it damn sure won't feel like that's the case when you're left downright fearful of whether or not you're going to make it through the night. I'm typically a goaltender apologist, but let's be honest here. One of those inexcusably enabled goals is enough to sink you in a Game 7 against a formidable opponent, but two? In rapid succession? That's as detrimental to your chances of going the distance as the collateral damage of a no-insults-barred screaming match at a well-attended family function. It's not that there are a hell of a lot of more attractive options than peak Pekka floating around the NHL. After all, he might very well be a month away from taking home the Vezina Trophy, and deservingly so. Unfortunately, that month is going to feel longer and more unforgiving than the dead of winter with how ugly he became in costing a championship level team their Stanley Cup hopes for the second straight season. Some people are more comfortable settling for the predictability of a partner that might not occasionally enhance their life as much as they do support it when it matters most. I can't help but wonder if an organization who is otherwise one of the most stable in hockey can't sympathize with those people, seeing as consistent mediocrity might be more likely to result in a ring that reigns eternal than a net-minder whose mean has been dragged down to above-average with incompetent efforts at the worst possible times. There are some things that, despite their best efforts, even the most captivating of relationships can't recover from. I don't know that the self-destructiveness of Pekka Rinne's playoff woes are one of those things, but the worst case scenario for the Predators is to come to that realization after it's already too late.
To his credit, Pekka Rinne made not a single excuse in owning up to his mistakes, but with how glaring those mistakes were, he really had no other choice.
Skechers Is Suing Adidas For Using Illegal Means To Maintain The Upper Hand Amongst Athletes5/10/2018 CJ- The shoe company Skechers is suing Adidas, claiming it was at an unfair disadvantage as a result of the alleged schemes involving the University of Louisville and other colleges that have been revealed during the FBI's investigation into college basketball.
The lawsuit, filed Wednesday in U.S. District Court in California, argued that "illicit payments denied competitors like Skechers who play by the rules a fair opportunity to compete for the cachet of having trend-setting high-school and college athletes seen in their products." Skechers claimed it "has been harmed due to increased advertising and marketing costs and lost sales, market share and goodwill" as a result of Adidas' actions. "Skechers and other competitors' basketball businesses cannot effectively compete for players' footwear choices while they are amateurs — or for their endorsements when they turn professional — because Adidas has sought to 'lock up' players by paying secret, illegal bribes to them and/or their families," the lawsuit said. -------- I'm going to temporarily look past the fact that this lawsuit is so far beyond frivolous that, if possible, the word 'frivolous' would sue me for mildly associating it with this story. I know everyone's initial reaction to reading that Skechers "thinks" that a couple illicit payments are all that stands between them and popularity amongst young, (predominantly) black men is one that likely resembles the face their customers might make when you use the words 'rap' and 'music' in the same sentence. However, what's far funnier than a company known for their glorified orthopedic shoes presumably keeping a straight face while putting their perfectly supported foot down against the monetization of "amateur" athletics is the idea that a company that's more white and aged-out than racist rhetoric is trying to sue their way into the culture. The mental image of a bunch of swagless, middle-aged white men sitting down and brainstorming ways in which to also profit off the largely urban community and settling on the legal system is so appropriately fitting that it might as well be used in the advertisement for their 2019 line. Skechers thought the best way to expand their reach to a more diverse demographic wasn't to pay out the ass for a member of said demographic to publicly represent their product as their competition has done, but rather to prosecute their competition for already having said reach. For what that lacks in sense, it easily makes up for in reinforcing a stereotype more strongly than the popularity of pumpkin as a flavor. Jalen Rose Thinks Ben Simmons Is Shooting With The Wrong Hand, And I Don't Know That I Can Disagree5/10/2018
I'd have to pretend I've spent hours dissecting both his game and his stroke to tell you that Ben Simmons is shooting with the wrong hand, even then I'd have to know a hell of a lot more about fundamentals and basketball bodies to do so definitively. While noted NBA alum Jalen Rose has done the work necessary to have that knowledge, I can't say that I have, so I'll merely offer the following observation. Ben Simmons definitely isn't shooting with the right hand, and that's when the supremely skilled athletic specimen has the confidence to even shoot at all. Now, normally I would give the benefit of the doubt to the professional organization that hasn't found it necessary, or beneficial, to change the dominant hand with which their #1 overall pick shoots. Sadly, said organization is the same one that needed three quarters of a season to get their other #1 overall pick on the floor because he was shot-putting mid-range jumpers like the basketball was inflated with the weight of the world. I don't want to be too critical because the Sixers have taken a lot of steps forward this season, but to see more progress in 'The Process' they might want to grease its wheels with some sort of shooting expert. That feels like a fairly logical thing to have on staff. Not only because Jalen Rose makes an excellent, albeit seemingly obvious, point about him finishing with his right hand around the rim, but also there's no reason not to dramatically doctor your shot when you're making scoring outside of 5 feet look as difficult as brain surgery.
I hesitate to say that the sun has completely set on the honeymoon period between Joel Embiid and NBA fans, seeing as he's still one of the more lovable players in a league full of eccentric personalities. However, given how quickly we, as sports fans, tend to grow tired of those that are circumstantially outspoken, it's this type of shit that might force his previously impeccable reputation's regression to the mean. That's not to say that I think avoiding the handshaking and ass-patting of an opponent that just advanced at your expense is some unforgivable crime against sportsmanship because I truly couldn't care less. That said, when you've basically branded yourself as the cock of the walk, it's a little disingenuous to silently limp back to the locker room when that bravado gets left impotent. Let's put it the following way. If this potential game-tying 1-on-1 against a defender who has been put on more posters than Heidi Klum had resulted in an embarrassing, Olajuwon-esque up-and-under en route to a Sixers victory then we'd currently be laughing at a Joel Embiid Instagram post that had a witty caption and was geo-tagged in Aron Baynes' "kitchen"...
Therefore, while understanding that he was frustrated as a competitor, the least he could do is stick around for a second or two and show an ounce of respect to an opponent that stonewalled his freakishly talented ass with the series on the line. I think humility in victory is both overrated and outdated so the fact that Joel Embiid is unfamiliar with the concept doesn't bother me. Still, if you're going to talk the absolute most shit when things are going well then you should probably give some credit where credit's due when it gets smushed right back in your face in the form of gentleman's sweep. It's not a big deal whatsoever, but sometimes when you've been humbled it's best to act like it.
While I love hockey in even it's most moderately attended of forms, it really takes a lot for me to divert my attention to the AHL playoffs when I should practicing my breathing exercises for perhaps the most anticipated game of the NHL playoffs. Luckily, 94 saves on 95 shots, by just about any standard from PeeWee to Pro, is a hell of a lot. I'm liable to give Alex Lyon credit for standing on two feet during the 8th period of a game in which his team was damn near getting doubled up in terms of opportunities, so setting the Phantoms' record for stops...and then adding a full game's worth of flawless work on top of that is deserving of a hell of a lot more than a hat tip. I don't even think their parent organization got 94 saves combined in the six games it took the Penguins to eliminate them from the playoffs. As a matter of fact, I think tallying up every clutch save made a Flyers' goaltender since the early 90's might leave you counting in the early 70's, and - if I had to place a percentile on how much that was intended to be a shameless dig at the most star-crossed position in Philly sports' history - it's probably merely in the early 80's. The rest, of course, was to offer perspective to an accomplishment that's should have Alex Lyon sleeping well before he wakes up wounded. Luckily the scheduling worked out so that he has 2 days off prior to his next start, for it's he, and he alone, that was responsible for making the most exhausting of finishes a triumphant one.
ESPN- "The biggest thing for me is taking a pretty hard look in the mirror and realize that some of the things I'm doing have much bigger consequences," he said on Wednesday. "The last thing I ever want to do is bring embarrassment to my teammates and the organization like I did."
Marchand, who turns 30 on Friday, said it'll be an offseason of self-evaluation for him as a player who competes on the edge of legality. "There's a difference between having an edge and being stupid," he said. "That's where I get into trouble. That split-second reaction. I'm at that point now where, if you look at the last few years, if I have to cut off that edge and maybe drop 15 or 20 points, maybe that's worth it. I don't have the answers right now. "It may not happen in six months. It may happen in a year or year and a half. But I if I can turn it around for the second half of my contract, maybe it's worth it." "That's something I've wanted to work on for the last few years, to move more into that role," he said. "I gotta figure some s--- out before that's really going to happen. To get to that next level. I gotta get rid of that stuff." "When you play a certain way with no consequences for 25 years, it's hard to flip a switch and have it all be gone. Maybe I haven't paid enough attention to it, because I thought I could get away with it because I was being a good player," he said. "If I wasn't having the years that I was having, would I be in the league? I don't know. Would the Bruins put up with it? Probably not." "I've gotten my game to a pretty decent point," Marchand said, "but I have some character things, and things that I've done, that need some fixing." ------ And somehow, the respect I had more Brad Marchand as a player who will do absolutely anything to get in the head of his opponent has taken one of his infamous shots to the testicles. Granted, he wasn't exactly high in my reputation rankings after trying to decapitate Marcus Johansson and forcibly running his tongue along the mouth of Ryan Callahan like a middle schooler that watched porn to prepare for his first french kiss, but still. The only thing that's less admirable than assuming the role of unapologetic scumbag is actually apologizing for it. If that was a hint of shame I detected in the voice of the Boston Bruins' resident rodent then the continued shamelessness of his actions is about 1,000x less excusable. I know, some might say more than anyone, that shit-talking, gamesmanship, and generally jackassery are engrained in certain players, but I draw the line at talking about being a dickhead like it's some sort of disease. Brad Marchand just gave himself a long-term goal of keeping his saliva to himself, as if 18 months of treatment are required to halt the spreading of his douchebaggery so that able he's to put a stop to the symptom of acting like an excitable dog. Look, I get it. Some of the obnoxious elements of Brad Marchand's game are what helped an undersized kid scratch and claw his way up the ranks, but he's not going to noticeably regress as a player by progressing past cup checks, tongue lashings, and skull crushers. Even if you do believe that to be true, it's certainly not accurate to the extent that he tried to make you believe with that woe-is-the-weasel routine. One of the most talented hockey players on the planet just spoke sternly about significantly hindering his own offensive production, but not in the name of defensive responsibility, but rather in the name of basic competitive courtesy. If that alone doesn't tell you that we've gone a bit far in treating the antics of an asshole as if they are some unavoidable side effect of his aggressiveness then there is literally nothing else left to tell you. Brad Marchand developed from a third round pick into near-40 goal scorer, but whether he's physically capable of developing from a dangerously dirty player to merely a relatively dirty player is still up for debate? Give me a fucking break. That's why I'd almost rather the rat responded to that line of questioning with a sly smile and sarcastic answer, because responding with some remorseful reflection on an unrelenting act that's eight full seasons and about a dozen suspensions in the making was so over-the-top that it actually sounded satirical anyway. Since he's long bought into the idea that his bullshit is extremely beneficial, he might as well own it.
You know, as embarrassing as it must have been for that fan to get tipped like a cow during a walk so shameful that it's only fitting it was taken by someone whose hair was in desperate need of styling, I can't imagine what it would have taken for me to actually feel bad for him. After celebrating back-to-back championships, I think Alexander Ovechkin would have had to leave the ice, drag that guy up to the nosebleeds, and give him a swift kick down the stairs for me to me to think "gee, that poor man didn't deserve to get done that dirty". Simply put, Penguins fans have had too good of a run of things lately for me to sympathize with a fan who, prior to finally getting knocked flat by his team's failure, probably took in the majority of successful and consecutive Stanley Cup runs from those very same front row seats. If anything, he should feel lucky. Not just because the fruits of shameless tanking have provided him a lifetime of memories, but because a devastating hit that was delivered along the glass in the process of Tom Wilson's advancement in the playoffs wasn't accompanied by brain trauma. There's your bright side to being bodychecked while in a dark place. (h/t BarDown) TheAthletic- One morning in spring training, 2017, he was in the coaches’ room looking at his cell phone text messages. Ichiro told the coaches about one message he had just received from a number he didn’t recognize. The guy said he’d gotten Ichiro’s number from Alex Rodriguez, and that he wanted to come meet him and study his stretching system.
“What’s the guy’s name?” asked one of the coaches. Ichiro strolled to the end of the text. “Some guy named Tom Brady. Who the f— is Tom Brady?” In his baseball-genius world, Ichiro Suzuki wouldn’t know Tom Brady from Al Rando. -------- Some might say it's un-American for a Japanese baseball player to have made an incredibly long and successive career playing professional sports in the United States without so much as learning something as vital to the culture as the name of the winningest quarterback in the history of football. I, on the other hand, think it might just be the most American thing that Ichiro Suzuki has ever done, and that includes pulling a hat onto his head and jogging on to the field of an MLB ballpark. "Who the fuck is Tom Brady?" might not be a question that's been genuinely uttered within this country's borders since the year 2001, but it is a question that's paralleled in active ignorance every time its citizens travel abroad. Honestly, the prioritization of one's own interests, regardless of their surroundings, is so inherent to our regional patriotism that it makes apple pie look communist by comparison. Think about how many times Ichiro Suzuki must have heard the name 'Tom Brady' and didn't put one second of thought and/or research into giving it the (ever-changing) face of one of the most recognizable athletes in the world. We are talking about someone that made headline news for a year and a half when he might have orchestrated the slight deflation of a football. A guy that has been the primary focus of an annual sporting event so prestigious in the country that it might as well be a holiday about, by conservative estimate, two dozen times. To spend your daily life in a clubhouse throughout an extensive career that mirrors that of NFL royalty and not even know it by name? Even overly sensitive Massholes should respect the undeniable indifference required for one legendary athlete to view a text from another legendary athlete as the work of a creepy stalker, for it's that same type of unrelenting passion for a self-interest that fuels their superiority complex.
You know what, against my better judgement, I think I might be liable to put some stock in this. Now, admittedly, a small part of the reason I'm willing to do so is because I'm a Saints' fan and thus inclined to give a veteran Saints' player with with no history of wrongdoing the benefit of the doubt. However, the much more influential aspect of this rebuttal is that it claimed a lack of clarity on the part of the NFL. A flat out denial of test results would have only been more cliche than it would be difficult to believe, but a deference of blame to the multibillion dollar operation that's as cautious and structured in their handing of discipline as an alcoholic father with whiskey on his breath? That, I may be able to get on board with. To be clear, I'd have to be extremely biased to say I didn't still think it was very possible that Mark Ingram took something illegal in hopes of gaining a competitive advantage. If you take out of the equation the likability of the person, the current circumstances of the player's career could easily fit the bill as a motive. That said, as someone who suffered through the bullshit of BountyGate, who am I to rule out the idea of Roger Goodell and the gang handing out penalties for the use of a substance that they, themselves, have both deemed harmless and circumstantially thrown under the libelous label of 'PED'? Taking excessively self-important measures to protect the shield is very much on-brand for the NFL, and what's more excessively self important than temporarily taking away someone's livelihood for failing to ask if they could use something that you would have allowed them to use anyway? Having wildly different definitions for 'banned' and 'illegal' makes about as much sense as an insanely violent sport's stance against marijuana usage. Therefore, only the league with an opiate dependency that governs itself about as well as North Korea could ultimately come to the conclusion that what essentially boils down to a lack of manners is punishable by a 4-game suspension. After all, the NFL would rather its players take the field with needles sticking out of their ass than sacrifice a sliver of pride by indirectly admitting their system is flawed at the expense of said players.
LBS- Cleveland Cavaliers guard Rodney Hood made a selfish decision to refuse to check into his team’s Game 4 blowout win over the Toronto Raptors on Monday, but it does not sound like the immature act is going to cost him anything.
Joe Vardon of Cleveland.com reports that the Cavs are not planning to fine or suspend Hood and never considered doing so. Hood reportedly met with general manager Koby Altman and others members of Cleveland’s front office on Tuesday and “expressed remorse” over the incident. “This is not him as a person at all, he’s a team player and wants what’s best for the team,” one source familiar with the discussion told Vardon. “He truly feels sorry for this even being an issue.” Hood has not played well in the playoffs, and Cavs coach Tyronn Lue said before Game 4 that the 25-year-old guard “could be better” and knows it. He has averaged just 4.6 points and shot less than 40 percent from the field, missing his last 10 3-point attempts. He was the only Cleveland player to log zero minutes in Game 4. ------- When I say that Rodney Hood might have picked the worst possible time to put his foot down, I really mean that there is a teenager sitting in the driver's seat of the brand new car he just embedded in his parents' garage door after trying to gun it out of the driveway while it was in the wrong gear that would have to think long and hard about trading places with him. As far as personal stands are concerned, the decision to strike when asked to partake in the professional sport for which he could be unemployed as soon as this summer was like taking a pitch out of principle when the count against you is 0-2, a ratio that Rodney Hood seems to be all-too-familiar with...
I think we'd all agree that sometimes it's a worse sign if your parents turn away from you in disgust as opposed to disciplining you for doing something stupid, and Rodney Hood just solidified his role as the lost cause of the Cleveland Cavaliers' family. You know why they didn't punish him for refusing to take the floor during garbage time of a series in which he was otherwise dreadful? Because the player who is now riding the part of LeBron's coattails that gets accidentally stepped on from time to time wasn't even worth it. Honestly, what's the point of punishing someone that essentially protested against their own damn cause? If he's not going to play any meaningful minutes against the LeBronto Chew Toys then he certainly isn't going to be playing any meaningful minutes against Boston or Philly. Considering he apparently has a bug up his ass about playing meaningless minutes, why take those off the table by suspending him as a form of punishment when you can just leave him benched due to merit? Suffering consequences isn't anywhere near as a harsh a fate as accepting your shortcomings, especially when your shortcomings are so obvious that they have as you as the last guy off the bench for a bench that was the impetus for the following sketch...
Okay, so one of two things happened here. Either Mark Ingram was careless with what he put into his body...orrrr he took a look at his birth certificate, his contract, the budding star sitting in the stall next to him, and decided to take a calculated risk. Unfortunately, considering his status as a veteran, I think the second hypothetical is far more likely than the first. That's not to call into question the integrity of a player who has been integral to the Saints' culture change as a vocal leader in the locker room and a selfless player on the sidelines. It is, however, to point out that a 28-year old running back who is likely coming up on the last sizable payday of his career had the motivation to act out of character with a transcendentally talented player in line to take his "starting" job at/by the end of the year. I don't want to sound like a parent here, but - if he did try to pull one over on the league - I'm not so much mad as I am disappointed. Not only because it was an inevitable suspension waiting to happen, but because the Ingram/Kamara brotherhood, both on and off the field, was one of the most fun aspects of the Saints' resurgence. I was legitimately living vicariously through their bromance, so - while the first quarter of the Saints' schedule isn't too treacherous, and there's no reason to be too skeptical of Alvin Kamara's ability to shoulder the majority of the workload for a month - I'll be rather perturbed if that relationship is at all fractured. I think we're quite a few improvements in advanced analytics away from having a stat for how much chemistry can positively affect a team, but the Saints, led by their running backs, benefited from it in spades during an unexpected season of surpassed expectations. The following, however, does not sound beneficial...
As for Mark Ingram the player, as opposed to the personality, his absence - to put it simply - is going to suck. Not only did he and Kamara make each other's lives exponentially easier en route to having to a historic impact as a duo, but he's gotten more versatile and efficient as his career has rolled on. Four games is more than likely manageable, but if we see anything that remotely resembles the curious case of Willie Snead (circa '17) then a Saints' offense that was finally balanced would take a huge and unnecessary hit during a season that was shaping up to be special. I guess we'll be getting a look at Boston Scott a little sooner than we thought...
Kurt Warner Was Interested In The Idea Of Kurt Warner Playing In The NFL This Upcoming Season5/8/2018
Look, we can sit here and bust on a 46 year old man for talking himself into an NFL comeback after being out of the league for damn near a decade, but if there's going to be a team that believes in you then it might as well be your family, right? I can't believe we couldn't finagle Mrs. Warner into a front office so that her stamp of approval actually meant something. She would need not apply for the team coached by the man that immediately dismissed her husband's attempt at reviving his athletic career in his mid-40's as the joke that it is, but that still leaves 31 other franchises who could have potentially been interested in employing his services under center! It would have more likely been a call center or daycare center than the center of an actual offensive line, but when the only thing stopping you from signing an NFL contract contract is not being offered an NFL contract, you almost have to talk about how close you were to returning live on television!
So, to clarify, the bottom hand of their most skilled forward, the back of their most physically imposing forward, and the hip of a player whose job is entirely reliant on lateral movement. I didn't know that I could find myself more impressed by the late-season run the Devils went on to will themselves into the playoffs, but this news does a pretty good job of highlighting all that they overcame.
I don't really know that there is all that much left to say in praising Taylor Hall, but turning a great first half of the season into a dominant second half of the season while nursing an injury that he was able to keep completely unnoticeable transcends all sorts of logic. Not only was he the Devils' best player on a nightly basis (as evidenced by the point streaks), but - considering they made the playoffs by a single point - he absolutely had to be. How he was able to take his his game to such an unforeseen level with literally anything laboring him, never mind his shooting hand, is so incomprehensible that you just have to tip your hat to both his talent and his tenacity and recognize that your average, everyday asshole will never truly understand either of them.
I can't say I knew how badly Cory Schneider was banged up throughout a losing streak that overshadowed his excellent start and came to define his season, but I'm certainly not shocked that his hip required a fairly significant surgery. It was pretty obvious something was off, so if there's anything surprising about this injury it's that he was able to fight through it and give the Devils more than enough chances to win any of the last three games of their series against Tampa Bay. Five months is quite the recovery time, but it basically ensures that Keith Kinkaid will be sticking around while also delegitimizing any judgements that might have been made about his play since the start of 2018. His health is a bit of concern going forward, but apparently his head isn't and that's what a lot of people figured was ailing him down the stretch. There's now even more reason to believe that the Cory Schneider we saw in the playoffs returns in October, and this time with a fluid and full range of motion.
I don't know that Pat Maroon will be back with the Devils, though the mutual interest appears to be very real. If the money and term end up being reasonable, it's pretty easy to envision a scenario where he's even better at taking the abuse necessary to position himself in front and winning/protecting pucks in the corners. After all, the only way that job could be made more thankless is by quietly doing it through the type of back pain that typically keeps people glued to their bed 20 minutes longer than they'd like. In case you were unaware of just how absent his skill set was in the Devils' lineup, consider that the insertion of it was obvious to the naked eye all while the person who possessed it was left painfully sticking a protruding disc in the face of opposing goaltenders.
I say the following as someone who was somewhat maniacally rooting for the Penguins just to see what Tom Wilson-centric excuses would be molded by the fragile minds and broken psyches of Capitals' fans. It would truly take either a spoiled Pittsburgh native or a hater of all things hockey to find flaw in the greatest pure scorer of all time earning the opportunity to showcase his transcendent skills on the stage he's been denied, via a wide range of disastrous fashions, so many times before. That stage might be but a stepping stool to the one that a player of his prestige should be performing on, but the look on his face after he finally slayed Sidney Crosby spoke volumes about the relief he felt having finally gotten out of the second round. I don't know that a decade of unjust criticism is what has aged his looks by a full generation, but a couple terms in Washington turned President Obama gray and he was only scapegoated for approximately half as many Capital shortcomings as Alexander Ovechkin. The truth is, there have been reasons to be critical of Ovi in postseason's past, but with age has come defensive responsibility. Having the legacy of a loser wouldn't have seemed fair to someone that's contributed so much to winning throughout the last few seasons. I suppose that label hasn't been completely scrubbed clean with a single Conference Finals appearance, but it's a hell of a lot easier to mention his name amongst the greats, where it obviously belongs, now that he'll be within sniffing distance of a Stanley Cup. There's still a long way to go and Tampa Bay is certainly no pushover, but - having exorcised the arctic birds - Alexander Ovechkin is no longer Cap'd-out as a playoff performer. Considering how often his historic accomplishments were followed by a "yeah, but...", I don't know how you feel anything other than happy for a guy that's annually electrified the league since his arrival in it. It's about time someone else just fucking scored when his team needed it the most.
While this does leave me worried for the mental health of the sector of fans that are, for some reason or another, made more comfortable by always have a goaltender to shun, I can't help but enjoy every second of Keith Kinkaid proving that the stretch run of his season wasn't solely the product of having some undiagnosed horseshoe up his ass. Of course, with each passing overseas save and/or shutout, his trade value will go disproportionally up in the eyes of those that are approximately one month removed from treating Cory Schneider as the antichrist, but I couldn't possibly feel any better about the Devils rostering two goaltenders that look to be heading into their respective offseasons at the top of their games. Other than his accolade-worthy performance against Canada, he hasn't exactly been facing world beaters while beating the world, but it's tough to argue with perfection between the pipes. I don't know whether an offer that is impossible to refuse ultimately lures Keith Kinkaid out of New Jersey or not, though I have my doubts given the league-wide devaluing of netminders. I do, however, know that the type of player who makes the most of his opportunities is one that serves as quite the insurance policy in net. As this tournament has rolled on, the co-pay on that insurance policy has looked like just as much of a bargain as it did when it was being heavily leaned on en route to the playoffs, and that should only reinforce the belief that there's no clock that's getting ready to strike midnight on Keith Kinkaid's capabilities. UPDATE: Take your trade proposals and shove 'em...
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Two weeks ago, the only reason to remain cautiously optimistic about Will Butcher's ability to noticeably improve in the offseason was that, as a 23-year old rookie, he was already further along in his development than most first year prospects. Two weeks later, and I'm already testing the direction of the wind with a little bit of caution. I haven't even watched every minute of Team USA, but throughout the little that I have watched? The shot that he prioritized improving hasn't only been on full display, but appears as though it's undergone some seasoning with how much of a kick it's had. The kid simply has "it", and "it" is only becoming more well rounded by being given a top-4 role and time on the penalty kill. Getting a little international acclaim should do wonders for his confidence, and there is more room for confidence on the Devils' blue line than I'd like to admit.
Let's make one thing clear, in no way do I think it's newsworthy that Donovan Mitchell found himself pissed off by James Harden's undeniable ability to make absolute nothing plays look like amateur MMA. I don't even care if he went to the line nearly as often as the Rockets' guard who lives there did last night. If you're so much as rooting against 'The Beard' in a series you will always fear that he'll flop, skip, and jump his way into being given the benefit of the doubt after initiating completely unnecessary contact. I'd imagine that frustration is only heightened by being routinely tasked with stopping one of the most unstoppable offensive players of all time when he usually just stops himself in an effort to have his calculated prayer answered with a mercifully blown whistle. For that reason, I'd actually find it much weirder if the Jazz' rookie sensation wasn't f-bombing someone who gets away with this type of nonsense on a game-by-game basis while coming off the court following a loss that put his team's championship aspirations in immediate jeopardy...
I guess I just have one question and that is, what is Donovan Mitchell's fascination with individual awards? First the elementary beef with Ben Simmons over the qualifications for Rookie Of The Year, and now - in a moment of weakness - he's questioning the inevitable MVP's embellishment in a game that wouldn't even factor into the voting? Is he an aspiring basketball writer or something? I thought those were the only people that got that impassioned about regular season awards before they were even announced. Does he want editorial authority on a column explaining why he, and only he, should walk away with a clean sweep at the 2018 NBA Awards? Surely there's an outlet or twenty out there that would grant him the privilege of airing those petty grievances, but he should probably make his primary concern the playoffs before James Harden fouls him right the hell on out of them. Scoffing at stats and pooh-poohing performances is very much a regular season-centric practice, hopefully that realization comes with age for a young superstar in the making. And there you have it, the perfect microcosm of what the instantaneous success of the Vegas Golden Knights is to all 25 organizations-and-counting that are sitting idly by as a team that was at least partially constructed of their mistakes continues a much more fruitful pursuit of the long-time object of their affection. Just a nice little deflection off the dick of those already dealing with disappointment. Not enough to cause anything more than a temporary increase in pain or suffering from the normal amount a franchise might feel after getting bounced from Stanley Cup contention, but just enough of a tap to the testicles to leave them keeled over contemplating the continuation of their existence for a minute or so. To call it a full-on gut punch would be disingenuous, since the regret caused by a goddamn expansion team's relatively easy run to the Conference Finals is distributed amongst no shortage of their peers. Still, the Golden Knights' historically immediate path to prominence has definitely glanced off the groins of quite a few opposing GM's in a way that's left opposing coaches, players, and fans feeling sympathetically squeamish. A lot of what's made Vegas so successful is unpredictable happenstance, but that fact alone won't serve as the Pepto-Bismol for the rising stomach pain felt by those who are sick at the idea of an organization experiencing unrelenting excitement without first experiencing the complete contrary. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, and - after closing the door on his 4th shutout in 10 postseason games - the antithesis of what Marc-Andre Fleury's carefree, happy-go-lucky ass is feeling right about now has to be pretty damn close to getting unexpectedly jabbed in the giblets as a Golden opportunity squeaks through your legs.
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