I'm not great at shopping for others, so I don't know what would be an appropriate price for Jon Gruden to pay when buying Aaron Rodgers a present as a show of appreciation for defying the odds and keeping his seat relatively cool for at least one more night. A gift basket doesn't seem like enough, but maybe shipping Oakland's most trustworthy pass protector off to Green Bay in exchange for a Gruden's Grinder monogrammed hand towel that it's namesake can use to wipe the sweat from his brow whenever Khalil Mack does Khalil Mack things might do the trick? After all, the only reason that we're not halfheartedly wondering whether or not the Raiders should be in the market for a new head coach before the current one serves even one game of his decade long, 100 million dollar deal is the brilliance of the man who hobbled back from what looked to be a devastating injury to throw the Packers on his back and the Bears into submission. Last night's instant-classic comeback played out as if Khalil Mack and Jon Gruden had taken their disagreement about the true value of a premier pass rusher to an NFL field instead of a court room. By somehow padding his stats from the defensive line, the former Raider spent the first half presenting the type of irrefutable case that sends Law & Order to it's first commercial break leaving the viewing audience wondering how they'll even fill the next 45 minutes...
Chucky was getting rag-dolled on the inter-webs, and rightfully so, as Khalil Mack caused a 10-14 point swing all by his damn self. Not exactly the type of thing you want to see out of the player you refused to pay due to some perceived lack of an impact...
We are talking as open-and-shut a case as you could possibly come across...until Aaron Rodgers returned from the tunnel with one fully-functioning leg and a reverent rebuttal on behalf of elite quarterbacks everywhere...
Personally, I think that two players that are arguably the best in the NFL on their respective sides of the ball proved the absolute entirety of their worth last night. That said, the player that did so in a wild and crazy winning effort from under center really muddied the waters of the narrative for a third party whose franchise-altering mistake already proved clear as day before he even returned to he sideline. The least Jon Gruden could do is what the Packers have failed to do in getting the most talented passer ever someone that can block for him, as that passer limped his way back to the huddle and somehow blocked him from having to answer to the immediate impact of the most intimidating Monster of the Midway. Unfortunately, something tells me that Aaron Rodgers shouldn't be waiting with bated breath, as apparently Jon Gruden couldn't even be bothered to buy himself some sunscreen during what could prove to be a short vacation from the booth...
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In my personal opinion, the time and place for a heated discussion about double standards in a particular professional sport is not on the field of play during the late stages of said sport's nationally televised championship match. Call me crazy, but hashing out the intricacies of a rulebook, that's apparently filled with nothing more than strong suggestions when it's enforced during men's matches, is probably best done behind closed doors, as opposed to in front of a crowd of tens of thousands of customers who - by and large - paid to see the aggrieved party. Unfortunately, therein lies the problem, for tennis is the only highly tense and competitive sport played head-to-head between athletes that have dedicated their entire lives to it that could manage to set a scene in which it makes even a sliver of sense for the biggest of stars to turn brightest of stages into a public forum for feminism. To the casual viewer, it's not about Serena Williams arguably going overboard in receiving coaching...from her coach(?), or smashing her racquet, or demanding an (unnecessary) apology before calling the chair umpire a liar and a thief. It's about said chair umpire proceeding to prove he's exactly that by stealing a full game from Serena Williams, stealing the moment from the young woman - Naomi Osaka - who went on to make history as the first Japanese player to win a Grand Slam, and stealing the intrigue from a viewing audience that wanted to see the most high stakes of match decided in its totality by...::audible gasp::...those actually participating in it. I know that professional tennis, as an entity, doesn't think that its shit stinks, but the crappiest thing that happens in sports is when officials have a highly circumstantial impact on the outcome of a game, never mind literally having a statistical impact on the outcome of the game. We're ready to replace baseball umpires with robots because we're fed up with their strike zones, and tennis umpires are out here doing the equivalent of retracting turns at-bat during Game 7 of the World Series due to bad behavior. If that's not a sign that your holier than thou code of conduct needs the stick removed from its tight (predominantly) white ass then I don't know what does. Assuming that all coaches do...wait for it...coach, and that the worst thing that a man has said to a chair umpire without punishment of (less important , given the length of the match) points is probably a bit more abusive than words that didn't even require censoring on cable, I'd imagine that a pretty clear double standard does exist. That, however, isn't my biggest problem with what took place during the US Open Final, as Serena Williams wasn't exactly as innocent as the soapbox from which she spoke would indicate...
My biggest problem is that clouds were voluntary introduced unto an event in which a well-deserved star was being born. You want to fine the person that's currently keeping one half of the damn sport afloat for being complicit in turning it into a bit of sideshow then fine...I guess, but at least let the match play out on its own volition first. To varying degrees, we all lost on Saturday, and it was due to the thin-skinned authority of someone who had nothing to win but some attention, and the sport that ultimately sided with the most replaceable person involved in it.
And it was at that point, as DeSean Jackson completed his all-too-casual jog into the end zone, that I knew I had seen that same movie oh-so-many times before. The clock read 9:41 of the 1st quarter and the score was an extra point away from being tied at just seven, but the damage had already been done to the psyche of those that know all well what it looks like when the same ole' Saints are in for a looong afternoon. That might seem a bit dramatic, but all it took was one bunch formation leading to an opposing receiver running his route against air, and air only, for the Who Dat Nation to let out a collective "here we go again..." in response to yet another inexcusably unprepared start to a season. Hours of complete defensive incompetence later, when the journeyman extraordinaire, who was made to look like a homeless man's Aaron Rodgers, broke the pocket for the umpteenth time only to slide across the Super Dome turf and into the win column following a 12 yard scramble on 3rd-and-11, it felt only as shocking as it did both fitting and familiar. Drew Brees having his Hall Of Fame credentials borderline abused by having to drag a lifeless corpse of a roster to a relatively respectable result that was effectively anything but must be the stuff that his recurring nightmares are made of at this point.From a fan's perspective, I can tell you it's a game script that feels equally as gory and only as different as each subsequent iteration of The Purge. Ten minutes in and you can already be pretty certain of what you're going to get, so the rolling of the credits feels more like an overdue end to the misery than anything else. As bad of an omen as it was for the Saints to get brought on their own stage and toyed around with by FitzMagic, which is typically the type of wizardry you expect to see at a mall kiosk, it was still just one game. That being said, it was one game that gave plenty of reason to question everything that Sean Payton has preached all offseason, for they looked to be fat off all the cheese in proving all the experts wrong. It was one game that gave plenty of reason to question whether the trend of one-off quality defensive deviations from the norm of ineptitude will continue to buoy his tenure. It was one game, on a 16-game schedule of increasing toughness, that appeared more winnable than most. It was one game in which a roster that has been hailed as his most talented looked utterly complacent in carrying the Minneapolis Miracle right over into the New Orleans Nightmare. Now, the bulk of that roster has proven capable of putting an ungodly ass-whooping or two in their rearview last year. Still, it would be ignorant to act as if the start to the brightest of seasons wasn't quickly clouded with depressing shades of the 7-9 record that followed a promising 2013 all the way through to the beginning of 2017. That's simply unconscionable considering the amount of top-end carryover that resides in a locker room that doesn't even have inter-team turmoil to point to an excuse for starting off short of expectations. Another performance like that against Cleveland next week and I'm going to be forced into thinking that culture of camaraderie is really just built on a bunch of dudes fluffing each other's egos, if only because there's no other alternative answer to what we saw yesterday. Marshon Lattimore, who might be sharing a block of ice with Ken Crawley in defensive backs meetings after the two of them got wooden spooned by Mike Evans and DeSean Jackson all afternoon, said the Saints needed a good slap back to reality...
For the life of me, I can't possibly figure out why that is, as the last game they played prior to yesterday ended with one of the most unforgettable kicks in the groin in NFL history. Maybe the Saints should have been tuned into the same broadcast their fans were subjected to, because damn near each and every commercial break provided a turn of the knife in an otherwise brutal stabbing. Stefon Diggs must have ran straight across the screen and into the NFC Championship game no less than two dozen times yesterday and somehow the Tampa Bay Buccaneers still matched his yardage. I'd hope that would serve as a pretty big wakeup call to a young team that has about as much reason to be cocky as it's coach does to be stubborn. To the Buccaneers credit, Ryan Fitzpatrick was awesome and their formidable group of receivers made a ton of plays, as it appears they didn't take kindly to being forgotten by a league that prematurely stomped them as a doormat. That, however, doesn't excuse the effort of those that allowed them to do so, as the Saints' defense was so putrid that they don't even deserve the benefit of doubting questionable officiating. If not for the heroics of Drew Brees, Alvin Kamara, and - for a vast majority of the game - Michael Thomas, we're talking about a pounding of epic proportions. It's obviously too early to signal that the sky is falling, but the Week 1 struggles have become nothing short of pathetic while giving very little hope for Week 2. Simply put, there's a lot to clean up if they want to avoid sending Hue Jackson home to a hero's welcome, never mind making the playoffs of which they apparently thought they had already clinched a spot.
Kirk Cousins Is In The Process Of Trademarking "You Vike That!", Which Is Anything But A Surprise9/7/2018
LBS- Kirk Cousins unintentionally coined a catch phrase two seasons ago when he called out a reporter after putting up one of his better performances, and he’s still looking to capitalize on its popularity.
A filing with the United States Patent and Trademark Office shows that Cousins is looking to trademark the phrase “You Vike That!” for use on hats, t-shirts and other items. The phrase is a Minnesota Vikings-style play on words stemming from the time Cousins shouted “you like that?!” after he threw for 375 yards and three touchdowns in a win over the Green Bay Packers in 2016. --------- And there you have it, irrefutable proof that Kirk Cousins and the Minnesota Vikings are the perfect match made in Middle America. I don't mean that in a football sense, though I do think that Case Keenum 2.0 would make for a highly accurate nickname for their new quarterback. Hell, I don't even mean in an ironic sense, though it is rather coincidental that said quarterback's catchphrase just so happens to rhyme with a conjugation of his new team's mascot. Instead, what I mean is that "You Vike That!" is worth more eye rolls than dollars in most cities. The Jets were the other team in heavy pursuit of Kirk Cousins, and could you imagine him trying to push such a corny product on inherently disagreeable fans of a long suffering franchise in the Tri-State Area? Obviously that slogan would make absolutely no sense in New York, but neither does the preposterous idea of happily calling up a service agent to have a friendly, personal chat about career-altering news...
Point being, Kirk Cousins is just humble, quirky cornball that appreciates a good pun. I haven't exactly checked out Minnesota's comedy scene, but something tells me a city that's happy-go-lucky in its hospitality and good-natured in its naivety is hokey in its humor too.
I want to say that if you applied a negative connotation to the usage of 'Philly' above then it says more about you then it does my opinion of those that inhabit it. The truth, however, is that it actually says more about a city that that's earned and embraced the reputation it's developed throughout decades of shameless sports' degeneracy. I'm not even going to pretend that booing your team off the field halfway through their first meaningful game since the franchise's most meaningful game is something that a likable or respectable fan does. Mostly because, as they've reminded us countless times through uncensored song, being likable or respectable isn't anything close to the primary concern of Eagles fans...
Therefore, there's no need to pretend that those premature boos were some sort of ass-backwards show of solidarity for a team that's preached non-complacency all offseason. Hell, half the people engaging in them don't understand half the words I just used. The truth is, it was just a bunch of brutish bastards staying on brand. Considering how often the personalities of the long-suffering change when they finally experience sports success, I actually appreciate that a significant enough portion of Philly fans are still complete dicks. Not that they'd care either way, but I don't really want to get to a place where I don't not like them, so it was nice to see they wasted no time in proving that, championship or not, they are only down to earth in the sense that they are still the scum of it. Of note: Full disclosure, I also wanted to boo everything about a penalty-ridden half of football that was the most painful of reminders that September is commonly an extension of the preseason, albeit with better players.
Cue the graduation instrumental! If Steve Sarkisian's red-zone play calling that damn near guaranteed his team wouldn't land a punch on the reigning Super Bowl champs as they spent an entire half leaning against the ropes proved anything, it's that he's still the most successful graduate to ever stumble proudly from the hallowed halls of the Alabama School Of Image Rehabilitation! I don't know that I would consider what he's gone on to do since to be "better". After all, he's proven to be the world's worst wingman when it comes to aiding a dominant 6'3 , 220 pound receiver with freakish athleticism in actually scoring. However, considering he still had the booze that got him bottled and canned from one of the most high-profile coaching gigs in college football on his breath during the application process, being handed his diploma and stepping onto an NFL sideline after completing one season standing alongside Nick Saban definitely helped him move onto bigger things. Now, that shouldn't stop us from shaming Steve Sarkisian for playing the mean old step-dad to Kyle Shanahan's offense in never letting it run free in the fun area of the field, but it's tough to be too critical of his continued failures when all they've gotten him is promotions in the past. The nicest thing you could say about the Falcons' red-zone play calling is that, much like a failed plunge at a clogged toilet, Matt Ryan's inaccuracy made it look grosser than it actually was...
Unfortunately, that's more likely to happen when a quarterback is given a discourteous dose of shit to deal with. Simply put, a handful of inexplicably uncatchable heaves when the game was on the line certainly doesn't explain away the absence of the guy who might break the single season receiving record before he scores another touchdown (and his preposterous long arms) when a commanding lead was up for grabs. Last night's game had no business ending in an eerily familiar fatality for the Falcons. I'm glad it did, because it made for a mildly entertaining wakeup call from an otherwise unwatchable snooze-fest, but Atlanta could have released all the boo birds by the end of the first quarter if they weren't treating the football like a shock collar and the goal line like an electric fence. As much as that was on Matt Ryan for being well below average, it was also on the man that made all of zero worthwhile adjustments during the 7.5 months he had to concoct a game plan capable of beating the same defense that ended his season in damn near the same spot.
I really, deeply, and truly hate to say this, but I think I feel bad for David Booth. Never mind the fact that, like many people at either extreme of the political spectrum, his general point of view on just about everything has been poisoned by the President and thus resulted in him looking dangerously moronic in a public forum. For I am much more concerned with how miserable an existence it must be to actively put yourself in the Nike's of the type of jive Jihadist that watches Jordan commercials to inspire himself to just Jumpman when hanging out the door of a plane with a bomb strapped to his chest. I mean, we're talking about a guy that used to play the highest level of puck for a living, and now he spends more time thinking like a terrorist than actual terrorists. Sheesh, I hope he knows Red Bull doesn't actually give people wings, or we might see him on the 5 o'clock news tackling brown people whose biggest crime was being energy depleted. I would suggest therapy as a solution, but ISIS only knows how a psychologist's motivational motto might get misinterpreted when David Booth puts on his thinking Turban and takes it laughably literally. Now, I do find it suspicious that he never seemed to have taken umbrage with the insanely large logical fallacy of 'Just Do It' before it was superimposed on the face of Colin Kaepernick. That's definitely a bit weird, but still somehow less worrisome than him being more cynical than a suicide bomber when referencing slogans aimed at selling sneakers (that don't actually help you to fly) in the most irrelevant context possible. Oh well, I think we just need to play this safe and keep him away from all forms of mindless propaganda, as clearly there is nothing that gets him more rattled than vague rallying cries that could be used as the impetus for unnecessary violence when digested by the dumbest of the dumb...
TheAthletic- When Mickey York and Craig Monroe threw to the booth during Wednesday night’s broadcast of Fox Sports Detroit’s “Tigers Live” pregame show, an unexpected duo appeared on screen — that of Matt Shepard and Kirk Gibson.
Conspicuously absent from the show was the regular tandem of play-by-play announcer Mario Impemba and analyst Rod Allen. Multiple sources told The Athletic that neither Impemba nor Allen were part of Wednesday’s broadcast due to a physical altercation between the two television personalities following Tuesday’s game in Chicago against the White Sox. It is not immediately clear what prompted the incident. According to the accounts of those sources, there has been simmering tension between both Impemba and Allen and the clash of personalities ultimately boiled over on Tuesday night. Both Shepard and Gibson had to be brought in to Chicago at last-minute’s notice, according to at least one source. Another source said that Impemba’s and Allen’s travel arrangements back to Detroit were booked separately to avoid further issues. --------- Not for nothing, but as much as this a hilarious story that paints quite the preposterous picture, isn't it also an indication that playing nice-nice while sharing otherwise dead airwaves with the same person, for hours on end, almost every damn day for six months out of the year can be inherently frustrating at times? Like, which of the following is more surprising... That, after 15 years of working together, the daily grind of another dreary season in Detroit had Mario Impemba and Rod Allen ready to rip each other's voice boxes out over qualities that soon became quibbles and quirks? Or that this is the first we're hearing of two people who work in the closest of quarters and need to censor their true feelings while on job finally going ahead and pummeling each other off of it? I'm inclined to say it's the latter. After all, broadcasting duos aren't made up of lifelong friends with pre-existing chemistry, and - even if they were - that would probably only increase the likelihood of heated interactions and altercations that came to pass due to spending too much time with someone you know far too well. I think I just convinced myself that every pair of announcers should use All-Star weekend to step in the ring and beat the (inconsistent pause) brakes off one another for the continued sanity of the team...and the peace of mind of the team that employs the team. I tend to think that enough feigned pleasantries will always lead to thrown punches, but that's just the opinion of someone that was never cut out for the business of family friend bullshitting.
As everyone curiously waits to see what the hell the Chicago Bears have in the arm that's been entrusted to maximize their shift to an offensive philosophy that's not anywhere near as offensive to the eye, I think we need to tip our caps to John Fox. Twelve games. Three quarters of a professional football season in which Mitch Trubisky started under center, and not once did the man who served as his half-witted head coach tip his hand to what kind of player he might end up being going forward. Considering how pass-happy the NFL has become, it was literally nothing if not impressive how boring the Bears' offense was under the dumbed down directive of their first year franchise quarterback. The Green Bay Packers, a divisional rival, had all offseason and they couldn't find a single moral of the story in the tale of the tape. If that doesn't encourage Matt Nagy order a gift basket to the doorstep of his predecessor then I don't know what will. In calling the dangerous game of playing not to lose, John Fox managed to played it so safe with Mitch Trubisky that he temporarily afforded him with the one quality that every good, young quarterback needs, which is unpredictability.
That's it. That's the piece of news that finally made me add an expletive to the "what the..." I have gotten caught repeating to myself out of habit as the Saints have trimmed a lot more than fat in cutting their roster down to size. Boston Scott did everything that could have possibly been asked of a 6th round pick in the rushing, receiving, and return game to keep his spot as a Sean Payton prototype on a 53 man roster that now has all of one running back that's up to speed with a pretty damn intricate system. The recent pickup of a proven veteran like Mike Gillislie should help to complement the superstardom of Alvin Kamara while Mark Ingram impatiently awaits unloading every one of his frustrations on prospective tacklers come Week 5. Still, two running backs (three, assuming Jonathan Williams is activated from the PS) ain't all many available bodies, and - pending Scott clearing both waivers (fingers crossed) and a spot on the practice squad - the Saints as an organization are still as thin in the return game as they were prior to the summer their head coach spent emphasizing it. It just seems like a weird risk to take when you consider the priorities of the person taking it. In fact, you could argue that a late round pick being cut from a position with which they achieved historical success last season is the most questionable move the Saints have made. If only because it's so specific to the one aspect of special teams that's keeping the Saints from being a truly complete team, risking the loss of a 5'6 running back is the most surprising call Sean Payton has rung in. Sure, Devaroe Lawrence being traded to the Browns after having lived in the pocket all preseason was disappointing, but also an undeniable sign of unforeseen depth on the defensive line. Natrell Jameson being cut was a shock to the system of fans that are woefully unfamiliar with having to say goodbye to young defensive backs that flashed even a lick of potential, but also a credit to how unbelievably far the secondary has come. Nate Stupar getting chopped with the second swing of the axe was disheartening, as he looked like Lawrence Taylor with cocaine literally on the brain during his last audition, but it's a good thing that the ability to bully the backups of backups no longer guarantees you a spot on the Saints' roster. What's not a good thing is that Tommylee Lewis, who has had ball security issues in the past, is the only player currently left on the roster that was consistently asked to catch kicks throughout training camp. Hopefully the potential return of Boston Scott, who was likely strategically waived at a point in which most teams are as set for Sunday as they could possibly be, resolves that. Not because he's a great developmental player (though he is), but rather because a team that's as detailed-oriented and thorough in its construction as it has ever been under Sean Payton lacks only a reinforcement in the return game. Like a true championship contender, the Saints have given themselves no room for moral victories or hedged bets, as they kept only those that can best help them right now and made future considerations a thing of the past. Hell, look no further than Taysom Hill's special teams contributions for proof that you need to be able to help this team win today to remain on it. The biggest issue in New Orleans was/is that they had too many quality and proven young players to hold on to those that might have needed some seasoning during a season that's far too promising to be spent salting away spots that are laughably more difficult to fill now than they were a few years ago. It doesn't take too deep of a stare into the rearview to remember that there are far, far worse problems to have than not enough options awaiting kicks. Though, with the amount of chips that the Saints have already pushed into a pot that they fully expect to collect come February, I presume that one will still be addressed too.
— Ramon Foster (@RamonFoster) September 5, 2018
Let me preface this by saying that I completely understand the frustration here. You have a bunch of offensive lineman who have been who have spent the warmest of summer months busting their ass to improve with the understanding that their job would be made easier by the return of their All-Pro running back when it mattered, only to be left in the lurch by said running back just days before the season. Whether Le'Veon Bell's plans were changed by the Todd Gurley extension or the Khalil Mack trade is irrelevant, because feeling as though you've been lied to by a teammate is always going to invoke a certain level of spite. What I also completely understand is that ever since they stop being backed by 'The Bus', the Pittsburgh Steelers have made a damn strategy out of throwing each other under it. In no other NFL locker room would a player who was doing what literally nobody else in the organization ever would by looking out for his damn self be subject to this much public vitriol, but even in prioritizing "the team" the Steelers are showing they are the furthest thing from a cohesive one under Mike Tomlin. Far be it for me to speak on behalf of Le'Veon Bell, but I'd imagine he is remaining silently shady and suddenly non-committal because nothing short of both missing games and having his absence felt to its fullest extent during them has proven successful in getting him the amount of financial security that his physical and statistical impact shows he deserves. Now, the organization rightfully has some hesitancy in giving a player who has a ton of miles on his tires at the most replaceable of position a ton of guaranteed money. Still, the fact that his teammates, who should know full well that it's just business, have taken to siding with the boss when said boss has forced their most versatile offensive player into this form of recourse is so typical Steelers, as pointing their finger at the easiest of targets has become something of a post-loss tradition in Pittsburgh. Honestly, that railroading is just the type of thing that occurs when you create a culture in which accountability is lacking. At the very least, Mike Tomlin should have been stern in demanding his players not make matters worse in the media. Unfortunately, that would require him to take some responsibility himself, which is only about as likely as Ben Roethlisberger admitting any fault whatsoever in defeat. A situation in which one of the most talented players in the league implied, through his agent, a willingness to stand idly by for over half the season somehow got more messy once news of it got to the players that know better than anyone the value of their bell-cow. That could only happen in a building where the standards for professionalism are as underwhelming as the cost of Le'Veon Bell's rookie contract to the team that is eventually going to have to awkwardly welcome him back. Maybe if they had a no-nonsense-type like this running things then some of the things she said might actually be closer to the truth...
WashingtonPost- It was June 9, 2018, just two days after Washington won a franchise-first championship. It was also the day of another first, when a tradition of using the 126-year-old trophy for keg stands — or Cup stands — was born.
“[Keg stands] haven’t really been that popular in the hockey world, I guess,” said Philip Pritchard, who has been taking care of the Stanley Cup for the past 30 years. Pritchard repeatedly praised how the Capitals have reverently handled the Cup, but he said he has been “advising” them to quit the Cup stands for fear of damage. Still, there were at least two instances as recently as forward Chandler Stephenson’s day with it Aug. 24 and former assistant coach Lane Lambert’s on Aug. 26. “We ask them politely not to do it,” Pritchard said. “We’re trying to preserve the history of the Stanley Cup. We don’t want any unnecessary damage to it or a person, in case they drop the person or he presses too hard or something.” --------- You know, as disappointed as I am by the shooting-star-in-the-glossy-and-dilated-pupil-of-Alexander-Ovechkin-esque lifespan of Stanley Cup keg stands, I think I am okay with it being something that OD'd with the sobriety of the team that officially fathered it. Though the practice itself might be responsible for a few, there's no paternity test necessary to know for certain that the Washington Capitals brought the upside-down chugging out of championship trophies into this world, so it's only right they be the ones that lay it to rest for good. After all, we aren't just talking about the greatest trophy in all of sports. We are also talking about the trophy that has undoubtedly seem the most shit in sports. To be able to give it a new experience after all these summers alongside the most drunken of degenerates at their most delightfully debaucherous is damn near impossible. I don't know how it took until now for pro hockey players to go heels-over-head in guzzling out of something with a wide base that basically begs to be used for support in a frat-boyish-style of binge drinking, but the battered, beaten, and eternally bound boys who eventually did definitely earned their due. Now, I don't exactly think that polite suggestions are going to be the death of Cup stands, but if Philip Pritchard gets a little stricter in keeping Lord Stanley's chalice safe from the body weight of boozehounds then they will have lived a short, but full life while keeping the most deserving of company. If nothing else, the unforgettable celebration of the Capitals first title makes quite the fitting finale.
I don't want to say that Todd Frazier's ability to think on his feet while off his feet was a more impressive act than had he actually made a lunging catch just prior to tumbling into the stands, as I'm sure he'd much rather have added a web gem to his resume as opposed to the ever-so-rare found ball trick. Unfortunately, if only because nothing of the like has ever been seen before, I kind of feel as though I have to. After all, having the wherewithal to immediately sell a glorified chew toy as a regulation baseball to a professional official after scrambling around on dirty cement steps for all of two seconds is easily the best acting job we've seen from a team that has spent all seen trying (and failing) to masquerade as a Major League ball club. It's very fitting that one of the most re-watchable highlights of their season was actually just a dropped pop-up, but - on the bright side - they usually aren't anywhere near as good at covering up their mistakes. It was definitely enabled by some suspect awareness from the umpire, but Todd Frazier displayed coolness under pressure that you usually only see wafting from the Metropolitans' bats when they have runners in scoring position. That's got to count for something, even if it's just a second inning out in another lost season.
SeattleTimes- Sources indicated the incident was between Gordon and shortstop Jean Segura and stemmed from Gordon’s misplay on a ball in center field during Monday’s win over the Orioles.
When asked about it, multiple players refused to comment and offered up some version of “what happens in the clubhouse stays in the clubhouse.” -------- I'd go out on a limb and say that any amount of punches thrown between members of a very, very fringe playoff hopeful doesn't speak glowingly about their chemistry headed down the stretch. I know that personalities can clash over the course of a season that's far too long. However, in a relatively non-contact sport in which success is mostly undetermined by individual efforts, inter-team turmoil is a bigger indictment of a locker room than it would be in a workplace where job performances are more co-dependent than they are on a baseball diamond. Of course, I hardly know the inner workings of the Seattle Mariners' clubhouse, but teammates brawling over one misplayed ball wouldn't be a positive sign of their collective headspace if it happened following a hard-fought loss. Never mind it happening before an embarrassing loss to a 41-win Orioles team a full day after the win in which the mistake that ultimately caused the melee took place. I'm not trying to play psychotherapist to a Major League ball club here, but if you want to sell the general public on a fight being a necessary release of frustrations then you can't immediately follow it up by bowing out to basement-dwelling Baltimore. I really don't think that's too much to ask of a team that already had all the motivation in the world to avoid the negative news cycle. Not every physical altercation between prideful professional athletes is symptomatic of a larger problem, but it's also not a non-story when it precedes the dropping of the biggest and fattest of stinkers during the last leg of a highly hopeless postseason race. What I do like is the juxtaposition of Dee Gordon calmly escorting the media to safer grounds before returning with his eyes filled with the fire of a 1,000 suns, as it has a very "parents asking their children to go to their room nicely before screaming at each other like the whole house is soundproof" vibe to it. What I don't like is what it says about the fragile state of a team whose season had torpedoed nearly as fast as their demeanor when the cameras aren't present, since it's basically what you'd expect from teenagers when there is no teacher around.
Okay, so maybe that title isn't entirely true. Braylon Edwards wasn't suspended because his opinion needed censoring as much as he was suspended because his actual word choice needed censoring. Whether you played for them at one point or not, I think it's pretty common knowledge that if you're going to publicly lambaste a team from a conference whose network employs you, then the commentary needs to be cleaned up to look like something less than...well...exactly what it was, the drunken ramblings of a distraught and disheveled diehard...
Still, I think it bears mentioning that while his tweet was wrong in tone, it was kinda, sorta accurate in spirit. "Trash" is wee bit much for the aftermath of a one score loss in a raucous road environment to a higher ranked opponent during Week 1, but I certainly would go describing Michigan's offensive line as strong, or their egregiously overhyped quarterback's performance as fearless. The packaging of the criticisms was a tad flawed, as is often the case when the person delivering them is in a bad mood that's also altered by substances, but Braylon Edwards at least stumbled aimlessly around the fair point he was trying to make. Michigan has fallen far short of extremely high expectations ever since Jim Harbaugh has taken the reins. That's why the former Wolverines' second biggest mistake (after drinking and tweeting) was putting it on the young players who struggled, as opposed to the person who's consistently failed in preparing them throughout his tenure in Ann Arbor. He's definitely still indefinitely suspended for the first mistake, but at least he fixed the second one by taking the critical coach's advice and coming at him with nothing but facts...
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I don't know how I would feel if I were a Bears' player who saw the practice playlist altered (albeit, for the better) on behalf of a player who had yet to take one rep as a member of the team after having patiently waited my turn for the AUX cord all preseason. I do, however, feel like I have a pretty good grasp on what it might feel like for Raiders' fans to see Khalil Mack receive a warm embrace from an organization that not only paid the steepest of prices for his transcendent talent, but appears happy as all hell to have done so. They aren't particularly numerous in this circumstance, but there will always be people that side with their favorite team in the wake of even the most inexcusable of decisions. That said, even the few, the proud, and the blindly loyal have to be questioning those with which their allegiance eternally lies after seeing the collective pep in the step of a Bears' team that, by rough estimation, D-G-A-SINGLE-F about future first round picks or guaranteed dollars. If I was forced to make an insanely premature judgement on a trade of a historic magnitude, the initial look-in on the unconditional love-fest that is currently taking place in the Windy City would have me swaying heavily to the side of the Chicago Bears. Like, you can damn near see the optimism in the air. I certainly wouldn't consider that a good sign for the Oakland Raiders and/or every poor bastard that's hopelessly trying to defend a franchise that will more than likely end up paying Jon Gruden to go back to the booth to count the dollars that should have been reserved for a preeminent player at a position as premium as pass rusher. The reality that an NFL team that is soon relocating to Las Vegas, of all places, was too damn broke to keep their best player was already a pretty hilarious one. If the 'Return Of The Mack' results in him bending the edge with anywhere near the frequency he did in Oakland then it has the potential to bust every belly that doesn't sit a top the belt of someone with either a financial or emotional investment in the success of the Raiders. If the mood music in Chicago is any indication, they seem to see that as a virtual certainty.
Whoa baby! Dust off the firehose, because this hot take didn't even the decency to be accompanied by a proper burn notice! The Pittsburgh Steelers, who have no interest in paying their All-Pro running back like an All-Pro running back for even a second longer than he'd likely remain an All-Pro running back, are...make sure you're sitting down for this...disappointed in Le'Veon Bell for remaining absent from team activities just a handful of days prior to their season opener. Can you believe it?! The man who refuses to pay a player market value for services rendered beyond this year is actually not ecstatic that said player isn't willing to do more work than necessary without that job security, who would have thunk it?!? Talk about a scathing statement that's sure to remind an integral cog in their offense of all the damage he's doing in looking out for his financial future when no one else will. I bet the Steelers' workhorse back already laced up the cleats, slapped on his helmet, and started dipping and dodging all forms of public transportation while rushing to their facilities to catch up to speed before Sunday. I mean, how could he not after his boss's reality check read like nothing more than a check-up on his team's reality? In all seriousness, I don't know if Le'Veon Bell has the stones to carry his holdout into the season this time around, but everyone already knew everything that was explained about his status in the most useless public statement ever transcribed on Twitter.
And just like most things, calling ownership over a classic (albeit debatably racially insensitive) gesture that can be easily and intimidatingly replicated by tens of thousands of fans in deafening synchronization both giveth and taketh away. Some might take umbrage with players mocking fans during a game that wasn't nearly as over in theory as it was in execution, but if there was a group that earned the opportunity to cut Seminoles' fans with the blade of their own axe then it was the Virginia Tech defense that was anything but hokey in dominating the 19th-ranked team in the nation. Sucks to suck, I guess, as I'd imagine there aren't many things that are more fun to be apart of when Florida State isn't struggling to score more than three points on their home turf than the collective, loud, and aggressive shaming of their opponent. Unfortunately, one of those things is definitely using it against a vulnerable crowd that's been both disarmed and stunned silent by their team's offensive ineptitude. |
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