While I think most can agree that it's probably in Aaron Taylor's best interest to steer clear of using the type of terminology most commonly seen in the tags on porn videos during nationally broadcasted sporting events, I think I can kind of appreciate his creativity. To be clearer than a prematurely disposed of condom, the official term for straight up tackling an oncoming pass rusher is most definitely not "raw dog". However, I would imagine there was a time, not all that many moons ago, that "raw dog" wasn't the official term for casually irresponsible and unprotected sex at its most un-romanticized, so who's to say that one half of CBS Sports' C-Team isn't just well just before his time in burrowing from the urban dictionary? Generally speaking, the term "raw dog" isn't the type of chatter for mixed company, but isn't it kind of society's fault that a majority of said company has such mixed feelings on its use? If so many people weren't out there riding bareback then "raw dogged" would just be a clever new way for a broadcaster to talk about a player failing to provide proper protection while rag-dolling a member of the opposition. Therefore, you can't really get on Aaron Taylor for his R-rated commentary when it's basically just a by-product of an X-rated shift in overall promiscuity...or a freudian slip from an average announcer who was made a little too hot under the collar by either the start of college football season.
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“You can’t be mad at 27 [Kazee],” Ramsey said after the game. “You have to be mad at the NFL; not mad at them but that is how the rule is. People are scared to tackle normal because I guess they don’t want to do helmet-to-helmet and get flagged. That was not even flagged and [you could] potentially get thrown out of the game. Game-changing stuff could happen. You don’t really want to blame anyone, but you feel bad for him. I don’t know, man, that’s just tough to see it happen to one of my teammates, period. But you can’t really blame 27.” - Jalen Ramsey -------- If you asked me to choose between 'two-seven' and the NFL in determining who was most responsible for the type of bang-bang play that is felt in the churning stomach of everyone who so much as watches it in slow motion then I suppose I'd begrudgingly choose the NFL. Blaming the league for the Marqise's Lee injury when it was the result of Damontae Kazee throwing the type of lunging, helmet-first hit they have made it a point to penalize doesn't make much sense. However, with the league disingenuously anointing themselves the safety police only after paying out hundreds of millions of dollars in lawsuits, blaming them for literally every unsightly collision that happens on their watch certainly does. So, while I award Jalen Ramsey zero points for a rambling answer about a rule complaint that's exactly as fair as it irrelevant to the play in question, I at least have to give him credit for taking aim at everyone's favorite target. If there were ever a time to just baselessly blame the NFL then this is it, as they promote safety while un-ironically employing a position called "safety" in which the job description is anything but. That tackle was far more of the last line of defense making a "by-any-means-necessary" attempt at stopping the ball carrier than it was a split-second adjustment to a revised rulebook. That said, if the NFL thinks they are really going to make a sport in which the biggest, strongest, and fastest people on the planet bang bodies for every single inch anywhere remotely close to safe then why not hold them responsible for every instance in which professional football is proven not to be? After all, they are the ones that willingly took on an impossible task out of financial fear, whereas Damontae Kazee's impossible task was forced on him by a league that's doing everything possible to make his job impossible.
This is just a unmistakable reminder that everyone has their price. Typically, when becoming a willing combatant in a professionally sanctioned boxing match, that price is decided upon once the ink dries on the contract. However, how does one know how much an ass whooping from an African American adonis is worth to them until being blinded by the light reflecting off pecks that were chiseled out of stone? Don't get me wrong, Curtis Harper is worthy of just about as much sympathy as he is "respect", with both clocking in at something close to zero, but what's he supposed to say? That being face-to-face with an opponent who looks like a post-op centaur turned human made him feel like half a man and a horse's ass? That, after halfheartedly trying to pump himself up for 3-5 seconds, he decided the structural integrity of his jawline was worth more to him than his personal and professional pride? There's no good answer for up and leaving the ring prior to the televised fight you voluntarily choose to participate in, so it shouldn't really be a surprise that Curtis Harper's explanation for his abrupt departure absolutely sucks. That said, after taking a quick look at both him and his competition, I can't say I don't understand why he got a bit greedy when it came time for the completion of the agreed upon sale of his general well-being. If success in boxing was based entirely on physique then it would be far too easy to gamble on, and thus would have completely died out as a sport years ago. Still, if intimidation counts for anything inside a boxing ring then it counts for a first round knockout of Curtis Harper's reputation, as he got bullied out of his original billing without one blow being delivered. Oh well, that embarrassing scene was a shocker, but what it wasn't was the first topless walk of shame that Efe Ajagba's looks have been heavily responsible for.
Look, I am still holding out hope. The eternal optimist in me somehow still has a heartbeat, and he wants nothing more than to believe that the NFL is sacrificing what little watchability their preseason had in the first place as a desperate ploy to penalize players into magically changing the way they've been taught to play the sport since they first put on a helmet. The decision makers have given me very little reason to believe they know what the fuck they are doing, so this positivity might be wildly misplaced, but I'm just going to assume they are being sticklers for an objectively stupid rule now in a fruitless attempt to save both fans and players some literal and figurative headaches in the future.
That being said, it's with each passing day that I'm forced to question my glorified belief that the NFL is actually going to listen to its players and lighten up on this tone deaf attempt at trying to undue all the irreversible head injuries that they actively ignored for decades, and today is no different. Unless it was just the result of someone in the NFL offices getting an itchy trigger finger, which would make sense as their absolute favorite thing to do is take money out of their players' pockets, I simply can't stand for that tackle drawing a fine in professional football. Common bleepin' sense says that penalty itself was already 15 yards too costly, so putting a price tag on it is like charging someone backlogged rent as they get out of prison. There's really nothing Antwione Williams can do but laugh at how ridiculous this all is, but there will be no smiles if this level of stupidity continues into September.
TheBigLead- John Peterson retired from golf, for a little while. Apparently he realized that it would be kind of ridiculous for him to “retire” at the age of 29 if he is good enough to compete on the PGA Tour no matter how difficult the grind.
However, because he didn’t have enough points to automatically qualify for his Tour card for next season, he is currently playing in the Web.com Tour finals where the top 25 finishers earn their Tour cards for the next season. Things aren’t going so well for Peterson this week in the Nationwide Children’s Hospital Championship. He’s currently four-over and the leader, Henrik Norlander, is seven-under. On Thursday, Peterson lost it while on the 15th green and snapped his putter... To be clear, I have absolutely no familiarity with John Peterson outside of watching him knock down a putt prior to...umm...re-purposing his putter. Therefore, to put it lightly, my outside opinion of him is wholly uneducated. With that said, is it possible that he didn't give that whole retirement thing an honest enough go by stepping away from the game for one measly month? I typically don't like to see top-notch talent go to waste and any 29 year old who was on the PGA Tour should theoretically still have plenty of potential to realize before calling it quits. However, if your first instinct is to shatter the one club whose absence is impossible to play around after a made putt in the middle of a round then you might need a little more time away from the tee box. I get that he was having a tough go of things at the time, but if there's one lie I am actually familiar with on the links then it's the lie you tell yourself when promising that the next 18 holes are going to be different. On a much, much grander scale then I'll ever begin to understand, that was the truth revealing itself, and the truth is that John Peterson really f'n hates the sport golf right about now. It certainly makes him more relatable to someone like me, who starts talking about golf the same way a massively hungover person talks about drinking ("never again") by the time I shank the approach shot on the 13th hole. Still, he might want to take this poor performance as a sign and submit to a true sabbatical before he ends up recycling the entirety of his bag out of frustration (with flawless form, for the record). Come At The Queen And You Best Not Miss, Because You Won't Like Diana Taurasi When She's Angry8/24/2018
This may come as a huge shocker, but I haven't exactly been keeping up the state of the WNBA as of late. Therefore, it speaks even more to Diana Taurasi's level of dominance that even I know that you put yourself at the absolute highest risk of getting pecked to death if you ruffle her feathers. Some athletes just play better when they are pissed off, and it's not all that much of a coincidence that it typically happens to be those that are pretty damn good without a vendetta to fulfill. I think the 3-time champ and 4-time Olympic gold medalist whose undefeated in single elimination games 14 seasons into her professional career fits the bill as the type of bear you're better off not poking on a basketball court. If I had Courtney Williams contact information for some strange reason, I might suggest to her to look into how "successful" Lance Stephenson has been at trying to get under the skin of LeBron James, for I'm pretty sure the WNBA's all-time leading scorer is pretty close to the female equivalent. Diana Taurasi is (::rubs eyes in order to believe what's being seen and Googles for clarification::) 36 years of age, and therefore she's too damn old to responding to petty, millennial bullshit with anything other than her play. Somehow, her play is damn near as good as it's ever been, so the person whose clap is most likely to turn out the lights on your season probably wouldn't be the fight I'd pick if I planned on winning it.
Not once in my life have I considered that wrangling wild drunks that have gone astray from the stands was something that a security guard might have to practice, as there doesn't seem to be all that many techniques to touch up on when chasing someone whose path has no particular rhyme or reason. Now that I have taken in one of these so-called practices, however, I think it might be time for some two-a-days. Never mind Hard Knocks, the Browns' security team should be featured in a spin-off called Fast Clocks, because the time got in nearly as much running as the practice squad punk the three of them struggled to corral. Seeing as leading with the head to make the type of fundamentally sound tackle that's been both taught and celebrated for decades is only a penalty during the game they are supervising, that one dummy needs to start tackling some of his own in his off-time after that embarrassing effort at the 25 yard line. You've got to practice what's being preached if you want to see results when it matters, and I'm quite certain the head of security wasn't preaching going high with a half-assed arm tackle mid-breach. Keep showing a Marcus Peters-esque commitment to killing the carrier (of a BAC that's higher than his GPA) and some young, hungry rent-a-blue blood will be metaphorically ushering him to the cheap seats to check tickets in no time...
In all seriousness, if there was a preseason game before which you'd want to practice your policing then it would be between the Philadelphia Eagles coming off their first Super Bowl victory and the Cleveland Browns riding way too high on the inherent optimism that comes with the production value of Hard Knocks. Every fan in that building was about 4x the legal limit in being drunk off positivity, and - considering their histories - none of their tolerances are all that high. The 'Factory Of Sadness' has never been a more delightful place, which makes the fact that no one failed in focusing all that energy into watching a meaningless game only to interrupt it all the more surprising...and disappointing for a security team that needs reps, badly.
I don't want to read too much into that answer, as it should mostly be treated as exactly what it is, which is a hilarious example of how paranoid and self-important football coaches can be while considering themselves "detail oriented". I mean, to be so sure that scouts have traveled from far and wide to the outskirts of Pittsburgh to secretly spy on Steelers' practices using remote control aircrafts that you erect some ridiculous tarp that's about as good a preventive measure as a "Beware Of Dog" sign in front of an unfenced yard is beyond preposterous. That, however, kind of fits with most completely unnecessary, non-football related things that NFL coaches concern themselves with out of some nonsensical hope that it'll help them win even one more game. That being said, it being this particular football coach who apparently has a tin foil cap towards technology tucked neatly under his hat makes me want to scream. As if "drones, and so forth" (would love to know what "so forth" is in reference to, by the way) are what's going to sabotage the season of a team that annually implodes from within due to a lead of leadership. I'm no Bill Cowher, but if you wanted to get the absolute most out a highly skilled group that perennially underachieves when it matters wouldn't you start by...oh, I don't know...holding them accountable for once? Mike Tomlin seems about as familiar with enforcing responsibility as he does with the potential flight patterns of drones, as the construction of that obstruction would lead you believe that he thinks they are merely brainless, low-flying mechanical birds that might shit out batteries onto his players. He should probably study up on both so as to not look or sound stupid, but I think I'd start with the former. Not only because prioritizing professionalism falls under his job description, but also because the only person liable to fly a drone over Steelers' camp would be Antonio Brown while broadcasting live via his SnapChat and the only person liable to blame it for his mistakes would be Ben Roethlisberger.
Welp, that'll certainly teach Kerry Coombs not to play chicken with finely tuned professional athletes armed with daggers on the bottom of their feet. I hate to say this, as someone who has stubbed no shortage of toes and is thus no stranger to accompanying that exact same dance with a similar chorus of expletives, but he kind of asked to get stuck with that shooting pain. Not for nothing, but if you want your players to cut on a dime then don't put your foot on top of it like the scavenger suspiciously standing to the side of the line at the high school cafeteria. As evidenced by the "nice job!" coming from the man that was so impressed by what he saw that he didn't even realize he had been cleated until Logan Ryan was well out of his break, that was a pretty admirable change of direction. Just goes to show that bad things are bound to happen if you make someone slam on the brakes at the last second. Some might say that's a more important life lesson than watching where you're walking so your leg doesn't end up as goddamn'd stanky as that of Kerry Coombs.
Let me tell you a little something about Butch Hobson. If absolutely nothing else, he's putting the "independent" in Independent League, because he's damn near singlehandedly responsible for all their online exposure right now. He's been aided by a couple questionable calls from underpaid umpires that couldn't care less about being there, of course, but the Manager of the Chicago Dogs has taken it upon himself to get the league that employs him their first official affiliation, which is quite obviously with hilarious ejections that are bound to go viral. A grown adult man capping off his temper tantrum by smacking an imaginary (and the Independent League's most memorable) walk-off dinger and slowly strutting around the bases with Wieners screen-printed across his chest should easily be enough for him to win your clicks. On the off chance that Butch Hobson has yet to win your heart, however, here's a reminder that he's the same grown adult man that is a mere two weeks removed from literally stealing third base and giving it to one lucky fan...
That should be all the evidence you need that the pennies on the dollar that they are paying him to rally his team during relatively meaningless baseball games in front of dozens of fans should at least be increased to nickels. Butch Hobson certainly isn't a dime-a-dozen, so the next time he's getting a contract drawn up on the nearest napkin he better demand the inclusion of an entertainment value incentive. After all, if only for a must-watch middle school-esque minute at a time, he's putting both the Chicago Dogs and the Independent League on the map (aka internet).
To be quite frank, I'm insulted. Surprised wouldn't be the right word, as college football is as corrupt and morally bankrupt an institution as you'll come across in society. Disappointed isn't even the right word, as that would give the illusion that I was naive enough to hold out any sort of hope that Ohio State and their investigative team were doing anything other than trying desperately to dig out a loop hole for Urban Meyer to crawl into for a couple games. But insulted? That's a fair way to describe how I felt when one of most proficient liars in a sport that's packed to the gills with them couldn't come conjure up something better than claiming he, more or less, makes 7.6 million dollars a year managing a team of over 100 players at the highest level of "amateur" athletics while having early onset Alzheimer's...
Maybe I'm just jealous, as I've never had the balls to unapologetically treat my selective memory as a mental handicap in excuse making. That, however, doesn't change the fact that it's the coward's way out for someone who could likely recall the entire play-by-play from the Buckeyes' last game against Michigan, but is conveniently a little foggy on that whole long-tenured staffer that kept his high-paying job despite being a known wife-beater and an all-around deviant...
I don't want to say I expected better from a situation in which football being prioritized over literally everything else became more of a foregone conclusion with each passing day. What I did expect was a more viable justification for Zach Smith remaining gainfully employed than his boss blaming the medication like an elderly man who pooped his adult diaper. Especially since that medication oh-so-ironically didn't make him forget that his text history needed a thorough bleaching...
I honestly didn't need to see Urban Meyer actively avoid eye contact or hear him actively avoid saying the victim's name, much less offering Courtney Smith any sort of direct apology, to know that he was a bad person that lacks remorse. I just thought he could at least be counted on as a half-decent liar with a shred of self-awareness when the stakes were at their highest. I was very, very wrong, as his light punishment runs oxymoronic to the heavy load of dirty laundry whose smell he basically wafted in by standing on stage and playing the victim of his own negligence.
If you told me I absolutely had to manufacture one complaint about Taylor Hall from during his award winning season it would be that the monstrous balls he was dragging throughout his 26 game point streak presumably got in the way of the toe of his stick when he had the unmitigated gall to attempt that exact same "now you see it, now you don't"-type move at full speed with a defender on his back while in the middle of a playoff race against the then back-to-back Stanley Cup Champions...
Therefore, I guess you could say he's spent his offseason doing what all great players do in working out a particular kink in their game. Apparently those kinks get pretty, pretty small when you're voted the MVP of the entire league, as Taylor Hall appears to have honed his offseason efforts into making goaltenders look more and more shameful with a higher rate of success. I can't say I had any concerns about him working to get better, but I'll never not be made more comfortable by watching him make goalies look even worse with hands that certainly haven't cooled off since lifting the Hart Trophy. LBS- Toronto Blue Jays pitcher Aaron Sanchez hasn’t pitched for two months with a bruised right index finger, and he’s admitting the real cause of the injury for the very first time.
Sanchez said his finger got stuck in a falling suitcase, but he didn’t want to admit it publicly out of embarrassment. “It got stuck in my suitcase and it started falling,” Sanchez said, via ESPN. “It all happened in a span of about 30 seconds. I said ‘Ow,’ and my knuckle got super fat. I pitched that day, probably didn’t help, but it was the first time I was going to pitch in front of my family as a professional and I wanted to see what I could do. “I didn’t want to say it then because I saw Salvador Perez go down with the same injury and I didn’t want to get laughed at.” ------ What are the odds?! So many incredibly stupid ways for a professional athlete to hurt themselves and Aaron Sanchez falls victim to one with recent precedence? He had to sit on the sidelines for two full months while replaying a single, solitary moment of clumsiness, and only now does he feel comfortable getting the truth off his chest because his idiotic injury wasn't even original? That's a tough break, and I'm not talking about whatever is going on inside his index finger. I mean, misery typically loves company, but if you're going to be the guy that manages to compromise his availability in professional sports for a extended period of time by misplaying something that's built to be carried with convenience then you're going to want to be the first one to do it. At least then the shortsighted sports' world can laugh with you, as opposed to not-so-secretly resenting for forcing them to make the same jokes twice in the same season. To be honest, now I kind of pity Aaron Sanchez for being so overly concerned with what the general public might think that he lived a lie for two full months, as I think the inability to laugh at yourself is a much worse look for a professional athlete than being laughed at on the internet for a day or two.
I know it sounds ridiculous, as the only criteria that the Canucks fit as a team that Erik Karlsson might want to spend the rest of his career with is that they aren't named the Senators, but I really think we need to keep an eye on Vancouver here. I mean, I don't see the logic in one of the most exciting defenseman in the entire league going from spending the first half of his career in a poorly run and largely irrelevant franchise that brings shame to the homeland of hockey to choosing to spend the latter half of his career with a franchise that might as well be its drinking partner. However, watching from a far as Vancouver's inebriated ass stumbles up to the bar to try their hand at flirting with the most flawless beauty in there is sure to produce some gut-busting laughs. At some point someone will have to step in and call them an Uber home when they start slurring their words while talking about some fictitious future together with an uninterested party who is clearly out of their league. That said, the only thing funnier than them thinking they have a shot is the visual of them shooting it 60 feet wide. Erik Karlsson and the Vancouver Canucks are about as good of a mix long-term as oil and water if the oil was of the upmost premium quality and the water was spit out by Travis Green when he saw the contract that Jim Benning gave Jay Beagle. There's just not a single thing that the latter has to offer the former that he hasn't already suffered through, which might mean the comedic gold of that sales pitch could knock this one down to silver... Quickly grab your groin, ladies and gents, for I don't even think you need a ball bag to feel second-hand pain in the deepest part of your genitals as you both read and see the following...
— Bryce Mitchell (@ThugnastyMMA) August 21, 2018 What I do like about this gut-wrenching story, and I use the word "like" insanely loosely, is that it highlights exactly how psychotic you have to be to choose mano a mano attempted murder as your career path while knowing that the unfriendly confines of a cage will be your workplace. I say the following with the upmost respect to Bryce Mitchell, as I would never in a million years have the balls to do what he does. However, the fact that he damn near lost them to the live drill he voluntarily chose to pack next to his penis while doing manual labor is a pretty good sign that his grasp on an opponent's neck is typically a lot tighter than his grasp on the reality of what is or isn't inherently dangerous. I know I have always wondered what personality type is required to watch two people beat the consciousness out of one another and say to themselves "that's what I need to do when I grow up". Now I know it's the same personality type required to tuck a power tool in your waistband like it's an untimely erection, live to tell the tale of uncoiling your nut sac like it's a poorly manufactured slinky, and matter-of-factly act as if that's merely an unfortunate occurrence that could happen to anybody. Most people know not to put themselves in a position where a muscle twitch could result in a Saw-esque scrotum injury, but most people can't get in an octagon across from a trained killer with nothing to fear but fear itself. I deeply and truly hope he can learn that first lesson sometime soon, but - in retrospect - I'm not so sure we should have been totally surprised that a UFC fighter treated his manhood like it was immortal. For a little context, Kyle Cox played football at Texas Christian Academy before graduating in 2011 (note the year), and went on to serve as a Graduate Assistant at TCU for four years until accepting a job with Texas Wesleyan. Anyway, his strategy to deny opportunities from young, dumb, and inherently unfiltered teenagers while working in a profession that typically prides itself on the ability to mold boys into men seems bold, but let's see how it works out for him...
Some might say predictably, considering the recent trend of athletes, and the like, having their problematic internet history brought to the forefront for far less than implying that they'll deny you a decent education due to having a problematic internet presence. However, who would have guessed that a coach who played at a parochial school before rising through the ranks at one would be instilled with holier-than-thou values that made for some self-righteousness in strictly enforcing a hypocritical set of beliefs? Certainly not anyone that pays attention to the Catholic church's press clippings! In fairness to Kyle Cox, if only because Twitter wasn't all that popular when he was in high school, he actually did practice what he just preached in withholding his wildly inappropriate thoughts during his own recruitment process. In fact, he did such a good job muting himself as a teenager that his casual racism, half-hearted homophobia, and statutory-sounding social life only saw the light of day two years after he had theoretically graduated to know better. How ironic that he was already entrusted in a position to monitor who else should and shouldn't get that same chance to at the time! Not sure what we should think about a man who spent his free time hauling around FUBAR'd freshman girls for fun during his mid-20's, but when did high-brow humor and intellect become too much to demand out of high school kids playing around on social media? It's like they don't even understand what it takes to be considered a good follow by an authority figure who still found the concept of a gay duck too hilarious not to share when he was six years their senior! Now, we could all probably use a refresher course on what type of online content qualifies someone to be either enrolled or employed at Texas Wesleyan, as I'm starting to sense some inconsistencies from the person that's talking about "making it as a Ram" as if it's as painstaking as joining the priesthood. Though, if the priesthood is the model then it makes all the sense in the world that the person enforcing the rules didn't feel it necessary to follow them himself...
The Devils Have Unveiled Their Third Jerseys, And They Are The Perfect Blast From The Past8/21/2018
They did it. They actually did it. With each passing year that Lou Lamoriello has been away from the franchise with whom he'll forever be most closely associated, the traditions by which he stood steadfast in creating a successful culture have slowly but surely started to fade. For an example of just how much things have changed since Ray Shero took over, look no further than an exceptionally talented rookie immediately stepping into a huge role as a first line center with the once outlawed #13 stitched into the back of a jersey that had just undergone it's first redesign since 1992. An update in organizational philosophy was long overdue, for if an official third jersey even came to existence on Lou's watch (which is unlikely in itself) then he'd probably send his goons to Adidas HQ to make sure news of it traveled by snail mail as opposed to social media, but it was still a bit weird to see the franchise ever so slightly distance itself from the beliefs and history that made it unique. Even if said beliefs and history were a bit rooted in one old man's stubbornness. For that reason, when I say that they did it, I mean they did both nothing and everything in bringing back the inaugural home whites with Christmas colors that are simultaneously a blast from the past and a breath of fresh air. You'll undoubtedly find some Devils fans that were hoping for something with black as the base color. However, I personally think tipping a proverbial cap to the formative years of the franchise by way of a classically clean look that still pops off the (web) page while recognizing simpler times is the perfect mix of old and new. John McMullen is somewhere up there smilin' while the team he brought to New Jersey is down here stuntin', so as far as I'm concerned they couldn't have been more fashion forward in throwing it back to the 80's in a way that might even force Lou Lamoriello to actively suppress his happiness. You Have To Respect Baker Mayfield's Confidence, Even If It Manifests Itself In Ridiculous Ways8/21/2018
Oddly enough, I actually respect this. By "this", of course, I don't mean that preposterous look that is more likely to belong to someone that hot-wired a Rolls Royce as opposed to purchasing one, or the nauseatingly repetitive comparisons to Johnny Manziel that it will turn up the volume on until they are proven false on the football field. Instead, by "this", I mean the confidence that Baker Mayfield absolutely had to have in both himself and his future to agree to pose for this objectively absurd picture knowing damn well that it will haunt him for the rest of his life if he doesn't have a career fitting of a first overall pick. The truth is, being featured in any underwear ad that properly showcases the product is bound to put any NFL quarterback, never mind a rookie, directly in the crosshairs. Therefore, by going above and beyond in making himself an even easier target, Baker Mayfield showed exactly how wholeheartedly he believes in his ability to outperform the punchlines he prompted by posing shirtless in a headband next to a damn jungle cat. When you have been selected as the savior for a long suffering organization that's ruined everything short of a wet dream, the risk associated with becoming a timeless meme isn't anywhere near the reward of giving a relatively unknown sponsor as much promo as possible. Unless you think he's stupid, Baker Mayfield knowingly took on that risk anyway, which leads me to believe that the walk-on-turned-Heisman winner truly is fearless to failure. Whether or not he should be metaphorically lathering himself in lighter fluid when there's always a chance his career could go up in flames is up for debate. Whether people remember Joe Namath as much for modeling pantyhose as they do for following through on his guarantee to help win the Jets a Super Bowl is not...
I never thought I would be put in a position in which I was hopeful that a Little League umpire was gambling on the most high-staked youth games he was officiating, if only for it would be the one justification for his abject incompetence. Alas, here I am with my fingers crossed that blue earned himself a little extra green by looking like he turned his boxers brown with the game on the line. I mean, that act of interference seemed so egregiously unnecessary that I just hope there was some reason, monetary or not, that the person who committed it ruined what could have been an all-time play at the plate during the bottom of the 9th inning. Unfortunately, there's not all that many ways to explain away the type of situational awareness you'd expect from someone walking across an active highway while texting with headphones in. Either way he should be sent back to the tee-ball fields from which he came, but I hope he returns with his wallet feeling a little fatter. For becoming Tim Donaghy's protege would be more understandable than popping a squat right in front of a pre-teen as he tried to put a stop to a walk-off in showing he's not the one to run on.
I'm not yet ready to make any declarative statements about how well an All-NBA talent like DeMarcus Cousins is recovering a from a devastating knee injury that has prematurely undercut promising careers of players whose size didn't make them anywhere near as difficult to stabilize. After all, while the consistently with which he did so is impressive, all he really did was knock down a bunch of uncontested threes from a balanced position that he likely wouldn't be privy to during an actual game. That's not quite enough for me to definitively say he's well on his way back to being one of the most dominant and versatile big men in all of basketball. That said, it is more than enough for me to direct an inquisitive glare back at those that tried desperately to downplay the back-to-back champs adding a 5th superstar by questioning both his health and his fit. Again, I'm not saying this video should change anyone's stance on a free agent signing that is a long way from being proven impactful. However, if those that were skeptical plan on changing their tune then now would be the time, as DeMarcus Cousins clearly hasn't lost the type of touch that the Warriors best know how to weaponize. If absolutely nothing else, watching a near 7-footer who was assumed to still be about 5 months away from NBA action rip twine twenty times in a row is a reason to reexamine the idea that his addition to a team that's only increased their lead on the rest of the field this offseason isn't that big of a deal. So speak now or forever hold both your peace and your piece, as - at the very least - Boogie appears to have taken a couple steps towards dancing on graves and delivering detractors a blow to their gut feeling that would make Draymond Green blush. |
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