You didn't forget, did you? I know it may have slipped Ronda Rousey's mind as it was getting beat into a semi-conscious state by her nosebone, but those of us that aren't too concussed to own up to our words should easily recall her criticism of Conor McGregor and Floyd Mayweather's monetary motivation. After all, it came no more than 3 weeks prior to one of the biggest hypocrites in the sports' world putting her foot in her mouth as it was left slack-jawed by about a dozen right crosses. Anyway, here's a little refresher for those feeling any sympathy whatsoever for the shell of a superstar that just padded her bank account while failing to protect her face in spectacular fashion...
​
“If money is the motivation, then f— that. All these Money people… Money [Floyd] Mayweather, Money [Conor] McGregor. I see they’re trying to do an angle or whatever. People buy it. The worship of money in our society is so deep. But just because that’s the easiest way to keep people’s attention or entertain them doesn’t mean that’s the right way.” - Ronda Rousey

I hesitate to call whatever happened last night a "fight" because a fight requires two willing participants. That said, I'm still not at liberty to declare that the person who looked like her controller ran out of batteries while playing 'Fight Night' treated UFC 207 as nothing more than a payday. I will say that it definitely seemed that way. If six zeroes weren't her inspiration to get back into the octagon than I really would love to know what was, because she looked like she couldn't have had less interest in winning anything other than a quick trip to a neurologist's office. Obviously she appeared to be in great shape, but she also appeared to have lost the tapes of the first time her lack of an ability to throw hands had her floating like a butterfly that previously landed in some tequila and looking like she was stung by about two dozen bees. Just no way you can tell me that finances had nothing to do with her return, because she didn't stand to gain anything else by being as prepared for no-holds-barred combat as a nameless extra in a Jackie Chan movie.

With Ronda Rousey more than likely reaching the end of her MMA career, we can undoubtedly call it a success. Not only did she manage to take the sport - as well as the UFC brand - mainstream, but she did so a woman performing for a predominantly male audience. The difficulty of accomplishing that can't be overstated. However, let's not pretend that the way the last 13 months have gone doesn't act as a black mark on her resume that makes those currently forming around her eyes look inconspicuous.

Things get a little 'Rocky' when I start analzying real life through the scope of contrived movie quotes, but a famous fictional fighter once said "it ain't about how hard you hit...it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward". The Ronda Rousey train was fueled by a level of cockiness and bravado that we have never before seen from a female athlete. That's what made it so special, and that's why it was so disheartening to see Holly Holm put that train out of service with one swift kick to the side of the head. A single loss and all the sudden an unbeatable, bone-breaking machine is a self loathing, suicidal punching bag that can't make it out of the first round? If she truly wasn't motivated by money then maybe she should have been, because her "competitiveness" and "determination" weren't enough to help her avoid complete embarrassment, never mind overcome a disasterous defeat.

LBS- The New York Jets would stand to save a lot of money if they released Darrelle Revis this offseason. Many believe the team will do just that, especially with how ineffective Revis has been in 2016.

“Would I love to be here? Yes. Will I be back? That’s a great question,” Revis told Mark Cannizzaro of the New York Post on Thursday. “My thing would be this: Do the New York Jets want to treat my situation with class or no class? With me being one of the best players in the history of this franchise, do they want me to retire here or not retire here? That’s the biggest question. It’s black and white. It’s not very complicated.”

“I’ve been one of the best cornerbacks to ever play this game,” he told Cannizzaro. “I’ve done a lot of things in this league that a lot of guys currently playing are chasing now. I’ve impacted the game in a way where it was like, ‘Hey, he doesn’t give up any catches to the No. 1 [receiver].’ I set a precedent.”

Despite all that, Revis said it is “insulting” to insinuate that his legacy as a shutdown corner has been tarnished.

“No. That’s absurd and very insulting to even say that,” he said. “I can still play this game at a high level. I’m going to be there until I’m told I’m not going to be here. Whatever the situation is in the offseason, it’ll get handled the way it’s supposed to. It depends on how they want to handle it.”



Gold Jerry, GOLD! Darrelle Revis - of all people - trying to make a case why a franchise should ignore their best interests in the pursuit of "class". The guy who turned annual holdouts into a essential part of every offseason. The guy who won a Super Bowl with a heated rival before coming right back to the team that drafted him demanding top dollar on a long term contract that he didn't even come close to living up to thinks that team should be loyal to him when he's never been loyal to anything but his bank account. At this point, we are talking about a man that makes a far better hypocrite than he does an NFL cornerback and he wants the Jets to retain him at a 15 million dollar salary cap hit in the spirit of an allegiance that he's never shown them?

Now don't get me wrong, I won't criticize Darrelle Revis for being a cutthroat business man when his career trajectory is living proof of how fleeting success in his profession can be. You can say a lot about him as a person, but don't say he didn't play a system that was set up to work against him for all it was worth. I suppose this little pity party is just his attempt at continuing to do the same because there's no way he gives a fuck about retiring as a member of the New York Jets, but he's long lost the ability to get paid for anything other than his talent. It's not very often that NFL executives make decisions with their heart, and it's not like the person who was compensated to run a private island and turned it into a 'Club Med' for opposing wide receivers would tug on those strings anyway. Hell, if I were Mike Maccagnan I would cut his ass out now just to show people that I don't take kindly to having my intelligence insulted. Darrelle Revis is a mercenary in every sense of the word, and the one thing a mercenary can't do is turn to an organization he's been treating as nothing more than an ATM for sympathy. Especially when that sympathy comes with an 8 figure price tag. ​As far as I am corcerned, this "woe is me" act only makes it exponentially more likely that he'll get axed though the last thing I want to do is give the Jets the benefit of the doubt.

Uhhhh, I guess that's one way to respond to getting a bone snapped in two by someone twice your size and having your MVP caliber campaign - that had a very real chance of concluding with a Super Bowl appearance - brought to an all-too-abrupt end. I probably would have gone the "pound the ground like a toddler while screaming in pain before going off on a tangent about how life isn't fair" route, but to each his own I suppose. Maybe the inability to matter of factly speak about a broken limb that essentially symbolizes the shattered dreams of a young player, his entire franchise, and it's entire fanbase is what truly separates the average human being from one that's capable of competing against those with superhuman size, strength, and speed. Seriously though. It's definitely not by much, but after seeing that video I have no choice but to believe that I'm closer to Derek Carr in arm strength and accuracy than I am in mental and physical toughness. We have all caught ourselves complaining about how quarterbacks are treated with kid gloves at one point or another. I suppose it's time we open ourselves up to the possibility that they might actually be hardened professional athletes with jocks so full of testicular fortitude that their voice doesn't even go up an octave when talking about their fractured fibula like it's a cracked cell phone screen. Who would have thought that a guy whose job security is based on making quick decisions as he's being chased around the pocket by 300+ pound musclebound monsters that run like gazelles would make us all look like pussies while being completely incapable of walking on his own?

NHL- If you watched Devils All-Access on Facebook Live yesterday, you know what awesome tidbit our guest Randy Wood told us about his son, Miles. In case you missed it, ten years ago Miles sent Alex Ovechkin a hockey card with a SASE and asked him to sign it. In his request, he also told Ovechkin that if he didn't send it back, he'd check him the first chance he got when he made it to the NHL. Miles never got the card back and today is the first time he will face him. We'll see if Miles lives up to his promise tonight on NBCSN at 7 p.m. 


There are only two types of 11 year olds that try to bully their idols into sending them signed memorabilia. The first are bratty assholes that feel entitled to receiving timeless tokens of fanhood but don't know how to ask nicely for them. Lucky for him, Miles Wood falls into the second, which is apparently overconfident little bastards that know - as much as any pre-teen can know - that they are going to develop into the fastest goddamn man on the planet and end up throwing their wrecking ball of a body around NHL ice with zero regard for human life. I bet if Alexander Ovechkin knew that Miles Wood was the latter instead of the former then he would have taken a break from autographing sticks for the terminally sick and returned a ridiculously presumptuous future peer's mail back a little more valuable.

It didn't have to be this way Ovy. If only you had played the cards you were dealt (by a 5th grader that thought he was way more intimidating than he actually was) better than you wouldn't have to keep your head on swivel waiting from the boom to get dropped on a decade old promise that you perceived as an empty threat. Instead you called it a bluff and now the bluff has no choice but to dial back and leave your ears ringing by pounding you into the end-boards on behalf of a child scorned. At least let's hope that's how this plays out. With Taylor Hall out Devils fans may very well be reduced to rooting for nothing more than a solid finish to a forecheck so it might as well be levied to the one of the best players in the sport from a rookie who somehow always knew he'd get the chance to deliver it. 

Look, I was over the goddamn moon when Taylor Hall casually danced through the defense and assisted P.A. Parenteau in the easiest goal he's ever scored in his career. The only way you could have peeled the smile off my face as I watched multiple replays of Hallsy toe-dragging what was left of Chad Ruhwedel's pride along the ice by the string he had the puck on was by giving me another celebratory beer, and even then I probably would have spilled all over myself through the grin in my teeth. Unfornately, that's also what made my impending realization that much more depressing. You see, there wasn't even a slight possibility that game was going to get any more enjoyable than it was when Taylor Hall left a jock in his wake merely 78 seconds into the contest. The Devils stood next to no chance of beating the Pittsburgh Penguins last night. If I was acting in the best interest of my mood then I would have left the building prior to the following center ice faceoff, because that was the beginning of the end of any and all optimism. 

We are talking about a team that wasted almost no time in taking the lead, and they still managed to precede that by giving their opposition (and the best player in the entire NHL) two glorious chances right in front of their own net. I'll go to my grave defending a struggling Cory Schneider, but with him having recently misplaced his ability to do backflips while carrying the entire team on his back, the Devils are in severe trouble against damn near all of their divisional opponents.

Andy Greene was already counted on to do too much before he aged a year and lost a step. Severson was already in over his head before his confidence leaked helplessly down his leg and he morphed back into the player that was a healthy scratch at times last season. As for a the rest of the "defense"? Well, they hardly even deserve that title. Ben Lovejoy went to 'The Colin White School of Puck Possession'. John Merrill's absence from the AHL team he belongs on for the rest of his career is really of detriment to his current NHL team. John Moore has a set of wheels on him but he spends most of the time using them to skate away from any and all of his defensive responsiblities as quickly as possible. Kyle Quincey might actually have what it takes to contribute to a 3rd pairing, but  I don't think he has the upper body strength to dig his way out of the mud he's been stuck in since the season started. I know it seems like I am giving a mediocre offense a pass, but that's just my belated Christmas gift to a unit that won't even hit each other on the tape with an accurate one during a 4 minute powerplay that was only 'Fool's Gold' for those that haven't been watching them go impotent with a man advantage all season. 

This team is downright dreadly and there's no quick fix that is going to make them any better than slightly less dreadful. I still think nearly every one of Ray Shero's moves will benefit this franchise long term and firing John Hynes would do nothing but make a bunch of uneducated Devils fans happy for the amount of time it takes them to realize that his replacement would still be coaching the same shitty players. That said, it's not fun knowing that watching a singular spectacular highlight is going to provide the highest high that you'll feel all night. Such is the rebuilding process, I suppose.

You know, a highly decorated former athlete turning his back on a well respected member of the franchise that made all his success possible should be a big story. So - in theory - we should be surprised that Terry Bradshaw basically said that Mike Tomlin has won a Super Bowl and maintained a 65% winning percentage in a league that is riff with parity by doing nothing more than waving pom-poms and spelling out sports buzzwords with his hands. Unfortunately, we have all seen this formula before and it's not all that shocking that it came from the very same studio....

Trust me, I want to take Terry Bradshaw at his word here. If it truly "takes one to know one" then there is no better authority on cheerleaders than the resident airhead on a panel of NFL analysts who is entrusted with speaking loudly but actually saying very little. The problem is that when you put said airhead on a television show whose premise is purposefully presenting over-the-top opinions in the undying pursuit of the ratings that they aren't getting then his message can't be classified as genuine.  

What Terry Bradshaw probably would have said - if he weren't seated next to a fat asshole in an undersized fedora on a largely irrelevant sports network - is that the Steelers current head coach is mildly overrated. Now that, I could get on board with. I think Mike Tomlin is very much like Sean Payton. I think he has had his reputation buoyed by a Super Bowl. I think he is held in a higher regard because he does things a bit differently and the instances in which his aggressiveness has paid off are more notable than the instances in which it has completely backfired. He is unquestionably a very good head coach in a league full of oft-dimwitted peers, but if the word we are focusing on in this fabricated debate between a bunch of idiots on a bad television show is "great" then I would agree in saying he has a bit more to prove.

However, trying to make that point by comparing one of the better coaches in professional football to a pretty girl in a short skirt whose ability to hold a smile for 3.5 hours and kick her leg above her shoulder has earned her an undercompensated position on an NFL sideline? That's undoubtedly going to leave you vulnerable to being made to look foolish by a 37 year old joke about your inability to fill in the blank on 3-letter words...

Goddamn it, does this mean I have to cut Odell Beckham Jr. some slack? I mean, clearly it's not all his fault that he can't let his incredible displays of athleticism speak for themselves and has to go above and beyond in search of attention. If Terron Beckham proved anything with this ludicrously unnecessary, superhuman routine in a $20/month public gym it's that insecurity runs rampant in the Beckham bloodlines. The ability to make me roll my eyes after watching a feat that only a handful of men on Earth are capable of is apparently a characteristic that swings wildly from branch to branch of the Beckham family tree while screaming "Hey! Look at me!". If it's not one handed catches that are followed by matrimonial encounters with inanimate objects then it's shockingly heavy squats and deadlifts that are followed by non-sensical backflips and Serena Williams-esque grunts. The Beckham's just know how to make others wish they were as physically gifted as them while also being incredibly glad that they don't have the inherited genes that make them insufferable try-hards. It's a pretty incredible combination when you really think about it.

Listen, if eating ice cream is gay then you can replace the yellow, phallic fruit in my banana split with my next (and first) dick, because I'll think twice about playing the other side of the field if I am passing a 'Mister Softee' truck on the way over. Seriously, dip those balls in some syrup and put a little whipped cream hat on the head and let's see what this whole intergender sex thing is about, because - depending on my mood - pussy might be 1(b) behind a solid palate cleanser. I have never felt aroused by the presence of a man, but it's 2016 so giving homosexuality the old college try to keep my dessert options open makes more sense than swearing off foods in the interest of an antiquated form of penetration. 

I honestly wasn't even going to look up who Richard Hammond is because someone with an opinion this stupid doesn't deserve a job nevermind having it recognized publicly, but I am so glad I did because he provided a hell of a lot of clarity to the situation. Of course the NASCAR (over)analyst correlates a bunch of non-sexualized things with a group of people he harbors an insecure resentment for. He probably hasn't eaten a hot dog since gay marriage became legal out of fear that his peers might think that it's not the only meat he likes to tickle his tonsils with from time to time. I didn't know I felt this way until now, but there's only one place in which this viewpoint wouldn't shock me and it's at a racing roundtable. 

You know, Richard Hammond might be a moronic bigot with questionable taste buds, a sick dedication to doing non-gay activities that aren't remotely gay, and an irrational fear of people that don't think or fuck like he does, but he just did the LGBT community a public service. I have honestly never felt more gay than I did after hearing someone say that a delicious treat that I happen to enjoy is homoerotic. The enemy of my enemy is my friend so let's take a step back throwing stones and hold hands in the communal hatred of one idiot whose summer nights must suck, because - if only for one course - we can all get our licks in and be gay together. 

Watching this vine made me feel like I was hosting* a social gathering where friends from multiple walks of life were coming together and meeting each other for the first time. It gave me this overwhelming sense of happiness as if I were witnessing my two best friends - who were previously strangers - develop an undeniable rapport with each other via the mass consumption of cheap booze. You ever watched a friendship blossom right before your eyes and felt like it further legitimized the friendship that you already had with both conversationalists? Well, that's how I felt watching my two favorite players in the NBA develop a bromance by coming just a couple love taps short of making it weird during the course of a professional basketball game. It's almost as if I seeing the entire process has allowed me to completely trust my instincts. Granted, my relationships with DeMarcus Cousins and Joel Embiid are largely one-sided, but the mutual respect they clearly have for each other emboldened my appreciation for their play on the court and their antics off the court. Just two guys who never fail to provide instant entertainment - in very different ways - giving each other some ass slaps of adoration for their efforts. I think we are just one incidental run-in on the streets away from becoming the next "so three guys walk into a bar..." joke. I'll keep crossing my fingers because Boogie and 'The Process' provide more than enough unpredictability and humor to form a hell of a trifecta, and - more importantly - they already have pretty sweet nicknames.


*Hypothetically speaking, parties require planning and that's not my role in ANY of my friend groups. Pretty sure the people that have confirmed their attendance are absolutely terrified that I am going to botch the bachelor party I am booking for this summer, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

TSN- The New Jersey Devils “wrongfully withheld” medical records from a former player who alleges brain injuries he suffered playing in the NHL have left him permanently disabled, a workers’ compensation appeals board in California has ruled.

Fourteen years after he played his final NHL game, one-time Devils enforcer Mike Peluso filed a workers’ compensation claim in San Francisco in 2012. Three of the teams he played for during his career — the Devils, St. Louis Blues and Calgary Flames — and their insurance companies are listed as defendants in the proceedings.

But in a Nov. 15 decision obtained by TSN, California Workers’ Compensation Appeals Board commissioner Marguerite Sweeney ruled that the Devils “wrongfully withheld” two documents that Peluso’s legal team says are crucial to his case.

One document is a Dec. 18, 1993, medical report confirming Peluso suffered a concussion after hitting his head on the ice during a fight. The second document is Feb. 21, 1994, report from a neurologist warning the Devils that Peluso could have further seizures if he suffered more head trauma.

​Those reports surfaced in May 2016 and have been referenced by medical experts who testify Peluso is permanently disabled. The Devils said those reports should not be allowed into evidence because they weren’t filed within the appropriate period.

“These documents were responsive to valid discovery requests… but were inexplicably not produced by defendant New Jersey Devils,” Sweeney wrote in her decision. “Due to defendant New Jersey Devils’ dereliction of its discovery obligations, these documents clearly ‘were not available’ to applicant prior to the close of discovery.”

“The defendants knew that the probable consequences of requiring that [Peluso] go back out on the ice and perform his job as an enforcer would involve serious injury to its employee,” Stuckey wrote in a court filing. “The neurologist sent his report to the NJ Devils, its general manager Lou Lamoriello, team doctor Barry Fisher, team orthopaedic surgeon Leonard Jaffe, and warned them explicitly that the only way [Peluso] could avoid long term neurological damage, and a chronic seizure disorder was if he did NOT sustain any more hits to the head."



I don't want to cast doubt on a serious allegation when I have all of zero knowledge what happened behind closed doors, but this kind of sounds like a witchhunt to me. I know that's something a life long fan of an organization that is being accused of costing a former player his future well being with negligence that borders on flat out disregard would say, but consider this. How can I criticize the Devils franchise for being careless with their concussion records from the 90's when everyone that pays attention to the NFL and NHL knows that concussions didn't exist until approximately 2010? I have reason to believe that the "lost records" were really just accidentally tossed into the trash can two decades ago when the higher-ups who received them were still treating written accounts of head injuries like you or I treat any heaping load of horseshit that's handed out by a Jehovah's Witness. 

In all seriousness, it's absolutely inexcusable for the Devils - or anyone else for that matter - to  have engaged in foul play when the mental and physical health of a man that put his body on the line for their organizational benefit was at stake. I hope that Mike Peluso gets all the help that he needs and it sucks that the team under which he became a fan favorite could have been even mildly responsible for denying him of it.

That said, I do not appreciate the implication that Lou Lamoriello and the Devils staff valued winning hockey games over keeping their 4th line grinder conscious and coherent. There's simply no way you can convince me that Mike Peluso - a guy who lasted nearly a decade in the NHL without scoring a single memorable goal - was coerced into playing when it was unsafe for him to do so. We are talking about someone that was the "muscle" on a historically violent trio called 'The Crash Line'. His entire job description was to rattle skulls, so I have a tough time thinking he would have taken it in stride if told his skull could no longer take the rattling. Mike Peluso would probably respond to being told he had brain damage by trying to fix it through impact correction reminiscent of a man trying to come to gripes with the batteries in the TV remote dying. He was a fighter in every sense of the word, and you need not look further for proof of that than him lasting nearly 500 games in the NHL as nothing more than a battering ram on skates.

That doesn't let the Devils off the hook for attempting to cover up the mistakes of their past with some selective disclosure, but it also doesn't mean that knew the ramifications of those mistakes when they made them. Acting like the Devils knowingly took years off the life of Mike Peluso is a level of revisionist history that would make the idiots that claim Scott Stevens was a dirty player after judging his highlights by 2016's standards look like chronological experts. I know it sounds absolutely asinine with what we know now, but brain bruises were only viewed as slightly more serious than any other type of contussion in the early 90's. An organization should be criticized for failing to admit that they used to think that way 15+ years prior when conceding such could fiscally assist a guy that never failed to fist-cally assist his teammates. They shouldn't, however, be criticized for being just as stupid - in retrospect - as literally every other executive in their line of work was. I am not nearly biased enough to claim that the Devils are completely innocent here, but this story is more of a sign of much-less-educated times than an indictment on a proud franchise. 


P.S. Here's a detailed breakdown of what those records held. Beforewarned: It's scary, scathing, and was undeniably all-too-common...


On Dec. 18, 1993, Peluso, then 28, fought Quebec Nordiques player Tony Twist during a game at Le Colisee in Quebec City. Peluso hit his head on the ice and was knocked unconscious. A doctor’s report from that night concluded he had a concussion.

Days after his injury, Peluso returned to the Devils’ rink for the team’s Dec. 23, 1993, game against the Toronto Maple Leafs. The Devils’ head coach allegedly told Peluso the Leafs had six “linebackers” and Peluso was needed to protect skilled players.

“During that game, [Peluso] was hit in the head by opposing player Ken Baumgartner and sustained further head injury,” Peluso’s lawyer argued in a July 13, 2016, court filing.

Two months later, on Feb. 14, 1994, Peluso collapsed while working out on a treadmill at a Florida hotel.

Four days later, on Feb. 18, Devils general manager Lou Lamoriello told The New York Times that Peluso’s seizure “was primarily due to dehydration and lack of nutrition.” The Times also reported the Devils were concerned Peluso’s seizure could be related to his Dec. 18 concussion.

Peluso was sent to see neurologist Marvin Ruderman. In his Feb. 21 report sent to Lamoriello, the team’s trainer and doctor, Ruderman wrote: “[Peluso] likely experienced a major motor seizure on 2/14/94, which I believe is most likely related to a post-traumatic seizure as a consequence of the cerebral concussion in December 1993. I do not believe this was related to dehydration…I do not believe that the participation in playing hockey in itself poses an excessive risk for the development of further seizures unless he were to sustain head injuries.”

​On May 12, 2016, a lawyer representing former NHL players who are suing the league over its approach to concussions, provided Peluso’s lawyers with the medical report from Dec. 18, 1993, and the neurologist report from Feb. 21, 1994.

The only explanation the Devils have offered is that the Dec. 18 medical report must have been stuck to one of the records and their lawyer must have missed it as a result, said Shawn Stuckey, Peluso’s lawyer. He said the Devils have provided no explanation for the undisclosed Feb. 21 neurological report.

In a court filing, Stuckey also wrote that the Devils team trainer gave Peluso the anti-seizure medication Tegretol after his Feb. 14 seizure. No documents regarding the handout of that medicine were produced by the Devils, Stuckey wrote.

TheComeback- The Cavaliers also managed to win the pre-game trolling battle, setting up the visiting locker room with a view of LeBron’s famous block from behind in the final moments of last year’s Game Seven, one where he already has a championship ring photoshopped onto his hand.


Some will say that they have grown tired of the Cleveland Cavaliers milking their championship for all it's worth. Hell, I could even understand feeling that way. After all, it's a new season and the internet did what the internet does by spending the entire offseason beating the deadest of horses by making 3-1 jokes that reached a Crying Jordan-esque level of repetitive. That said, the people that feel oversaturated by a championship team continuing to poke and prod the team whose collapse made it all possible need to realize something. It doesn't matter what they think, and if they ever experienced the thrill of an accomplishment that required the physical, mental, and emotional fortitude that it takes to overcome a 3-1 deficit in the NBA finals against the winningest basketball team of all time then they wouldn't be concerned with the opinions of others either.

As far as I am concerned, winning a title should be a year long celebration that should be taken advantage of until the next champion is crowned. Fuck humility. There is something to be said about being a "good winner", and that something is that it's far less fulfilling than giving your opponent a dose of their own medicine by incessantly mocking them. Obviously you need to put past accomplishments in the rearview in the interest of prolonged success, but I'll be damned if I wouldn't get a little bit of satisfaction out of an all-too-conveniently placed, door-sized sticker that rubs salt directly in a rivals' open wound if I were a member of the Cleveland Cavaliers. What good is winning a ring if you can't photoshop it onto an obnoxiously large picture of an unforgettable play and place it directly in the sight lines of those who it came at the expense of?

I'm not even a LeBron fan and I can appreciate every passive aggressive (or aggressively passive), gesture of pettiness he has either directly or indirectly been involved in since flipping the script on a team that was feeling themselves more than Divinyls. Not only because he earned the opportunity to do so with a superhuman performance, but because maybe - just maybe - it waters the seed of doubt in the heads of the guys he's likely to face in the finals again. Seems unlikely, but what other explanation do you have for the Warriors letting the NBA equivalent of a senior citizen immortalize  their embarrassment on the bedroom wall of every 13 year old boy in Ohio before blowing another lead and succombing to another Kyrie Irving dagger...

They say you never truly appreciate a holiday tradition until you become a part of it. I would assume the person that trademarked that concept only did so to rationalize the organized stupidity that is a vast majority of annual rituals that are done between close knit groups that need something to grasp onto, but it still makes me feel better about celebrating a completely meaningless Saints victory in late December. Yup, that's where we are at with this team. The wins have been so few and fleeting over the course of the last few years that even the ones that occur around Christmas and have no bearing on anything but draft position are to be cherished. Sure, it's another wasted season of a 'Hall Of Fame' career for Drew Brees, but - other than warm whiskey and shameless gluttony - there's no better way to suppress that depressing realization than by dragging others down with you in playing spoiler to a division rival. This franchise might be stuck in nuetral and mired in mediocrity, but they really know how to embrace the spirit of the season by giving their fans something that would probably be far more useful for a fanbase that isn't already blindly and optimistically looking forward to next season. Oh well, it's the thought that counts. Plus, I have gotten worse gifts than receiving something that was instrumental in keeping me from being a completely inebriated scrooge for the entirety of Christmas Eve.

Oh, and for those of you counting at home, Sean Payton's Saints are now 2-0 with 79 points scored since the asinine rumor that he was getting traded to Southern California for a sack of coal so maybe we shouldn't be so quick to ho-ho-hold the phone if any desperate teams come a calling looking for holiday handout. Granted, finishing out disappointing seasons with victories that are largely moral has become a staple of his tenure as of late. However, there's more reason to believe that this all-too-worthless win streak to end the season is sign of things to come in 2017 than there is that some random coach off the street could come in and surpass the success he's had with a quarterback who (hypothetically, since he has weeks where he looks like he's in his mid-20's) is nearing the end of his career. 

​
​Also, I think it's about that time we discuss Jairus Byrd. He's actually been pretty damn good for a stretch of games now, but I was hesitant to starting patting a safety on the ass for making open field tackles. Not only because there was a high chance it was fool's gold, but because I would have been setting a ridiculously low bar for someone who undoubtedly still has 'Brinks' trucks showing up to his house with how much he got paid to turn the defensive backfield into his own personal playground. That said, if Saturday's two interception performance is any indication then he very much has a place on the team going forward. That's partly because the Saints have run out of room in their contract graveyard for anymore dead money, but it's also because he's gone from the posterboy for free agency follies to making significant contributions in a secondary that doesn't get nearly enough credit for overcoming the injuries they did this season. Jairus Byrd's resurgence could be providing just as much false hope as the Saints do when they reach .500 at midseason, but it could also be a key to making 2017 the year in which the Saints officially put their personnel mistakes in the past and try their hand in the postseason. Let's hope it's the latter so we can get many more awesome moments like this between him and superfan namesake...

Lastly, Mark Ingram deserves some credit, and it's mostly because he hardly ever gets any. I, for one, am rooting for him to top 1,000 yards next week. Regardless of never reaching that statistical milestone due to usage, the guy has proven he can be a reliable workhorse back for some time now, and he always makes that painfully obvious to his detractors when they are at the height of their detracting. He could have found a better way of getting his point across than by throwing a sideline fit after not getting a goal line carry last week. but he couldn't have found a better way to respond to it than by putting up 90 yards and two touchdowns on 18 carries. The guy just wants to contribute and more often than not he does just that when given the opportunity. Pretty fitting he put a bow on the biggest box of crow for his haters on the night before Christmas. 

So, so appropriate. I suppose there are more asthetically pleasing ways for Jaromir Jagr to achieve a ridiculously momentous milestone, butt there certainly isn't a more symbolic way. We are talking about a guy that was likely Kim Kardashian's inspiration to use her backside as the "foundation" for her career. A man that never failed in using his tailfeather to shake himself out of tough working conditions. An ageless athlete whose apple bottom genes - and about 80,000 weighted squats per week - made peers that were twice as fast and half as old look like a scrawny white boy grinding on a thick black girl that's 4x his circumference. That record setting (let's be honest, Gretzky is in a class of his own) ass-ist wasn't the most awe inspiring set-up we've ever seen from Jags, but it made perfect use of a dumper that's as timeless as J-Lo's.

So the puck hit nothing but ass, whatever. You know what else hit nothing but ass? Literally every over-confident defender that has dared to go into the corner thinking they were going to strip a 40+ year old with a bootylicious center of gravity and a string that somehow never leaves the puck. It's about time his rear end got the shine it deserves, because it's made the latter half of his career just as impressive (though not as productive) as the first half of his career. Even the most breastified of tit men have to be left slack jawed by the way Jaromir Jagr has used his badonkadunk to mend generations and twerk back the clock to zoom-a-zoom-zoom-and-a-boom-boom all the way to the top of NHL record books. There's legit not enough words to accurately describe his work ethic and what he's been able to achieve with it, but when it comes to his rump it's quite simply...

I got to be honest here, I didn't feel good heading into last night. Obviously it's pretty hard to be optimistic riding a 7 game losing streak in which the team has looked like garbage so hot that a raccoon would probably treat it as his sauna instead of a source of food. However, the circumstances heading into the arena certainly didn't help matters either. First, they ran out of Andy Greene bobbleheads when I was third in line to get in. It should be noted that I really have no use for an Andy Greene bobblehead, but Christmas is about being given things that are probably more of an inconvenience than anything else so seeing that empty box lying in front of me really dampened the old holiday spirit. Then I went to get on the first escalator and it was at a dead stop as if Jesus took time out of his precious birthday week to give me one last opportunity to heed his warning that I was heading towards impending disappointment. Shit, by the time I saw that the first beer line was 18 people long I had already resigned myself to a continuation of the seasonal affective disorder that this team has given me over the last month.

Man, am I happy I was wrong. Not only was a win as satisfying as waking up to some Irish coffee on a white Christmas, but watching the Devils show some goddamn fight for the first time since their season hit the skids into the shitter actually makes me think they are just as tired of lifeless, demoralizing performances as I am. Now granted, a lot of that has to do with the Flyers being scumbags and embracing some 30 year old mentality that was effective when guys were still carving their sticks out of fallen trees in the forest, but it still warmed my heart to see them attempt to punch back for once...or twice...or 677 times....before the first period was even over...

Do I expect this 4-0 lambasting of a rival - that couldn't even muster 20 shots against a defense that gives away chances like a firehouse Santa gives away candy canes - to lead to bigger and better things? No, not particularly. This team is fundamentally flawed and is currently playing a style that - while necessary going forward - currently exploits those flaws. That said, they finally gave their All-World goaltender an opportunity to get back into groove with a goose egg that only required one "how did he even stop?" save instead of the seventeen (per period) that it usually requires. They potentially gained some confidence by putting forth an effort in their own zone that didn't resemble a bunch of soccer moms doing 'Black Friday' shopping. They got goals from the players they need to get goals from, and some of them even came when they had one whole extra man on the ice! There were still moments that made me want to dive from the upper deck faster than the Devils dove in the standings (See: taking a 'Too Many Men' penalty while breaking out of their own zone on THEIR powerplay), but this game was a sign that maybe the Devils aren't as bad as they have been the last few weeks and - in keeping my Christmas list reasonable  - that's all I could really ask for.

I'm already clenching my cheeks thinking about tonight's game against a player who could lead the division in goals if you only counted the ones he's batted out of mid-air, but - if only for one night - the Devils weren't too bad. They may not be anywhere close to being "back", but let's hope they are done being...

I can't do it. Trust me, I genuinely want to do it. I don't have much else to get energized by with the Saints desperately looking at the playoff picture like a sad doggy sitting in a pet store window, so it would be nice to get impassioned by a fan vote that "shockingly" produced questionable results. Unfortunately, there would be nothing genuine about me ranting about an unforgivable exclusion from a game that no one with an ounce of self respect actually watches. I know Drew Brees is criminally underrated, but - as far as I am concerned - it's a societal wrongdoing that's on par with embezzlement and racketeering. It's just something I accept as an unfortunate illegality because it's so deep seated that it will never be accurately legislated.

How can you expect me to become enraged by the absence of the man that leads the NFL in passing yards and touchdowns on a roster that features a quarterback that is a week removed from a nationwide discussion about his job security as a starter? No offense to Dak Prescott because he's had a hell of a rookie season, but he doesn't deserve to be mentioned ahead of Drew Brees unless the question is "which NFL QB plays with best 52 man unit?".

You know what, let me stop. If I gave a shit about the goddamn Pro Bowl then I would ask how the  league leader in passing yards, touchdowns, and - debatably - importance to his team isn't one of the three best quarterbacks in his own conference. Fact is, I really can't say that I do. Plus, I am going to need to save my fury for when Matt Ryan wins MVP. Two inconsistent quarterbacks that can't string together more than a single good season claiming ownership of a prestigious award that someone they share a division with has had robbed from him multiple times over the course of his decade of continued excellence? Now that would definitely get the hatred flowing through my fingertips. 

If you can't appreciate a bunch of former teammates swarming a guy that they went through the trenches with en route to thee most unbelievable comeback in NBA Finals history then it's safe to say you have purchased a Steph Curry jersey within the last 18 months. Simply put, that was an awesome moment between a group of men that will forever share the special, everlasting bond that results from winning a championship together. That was a such a cool scene that even Draymond Green's donkey lips would struggle to scowl at it, and I'm sure it meant a lot to the guy that moved on to much greener pastures (money, I'm talking about money) in the offseason.  

Plus, the fact that Matthew Dellavedova is playing meaningful minutes for the Milwaukee Bucks is really a credit to all the guys that jumped him at center court. Championship teams almost never return intact and I think most players encourage their teammates to do what's best for their career after winning a title, but the fact of the matter is that it's easier to appreciate a player's departure when you had a hand in making it possible. A backup point guard whose known for stepping a little outside of the rulebook to make up for a lack of athleticism and played sparingly when it mattered most is making $10 million dollars a season. As if mounting a historical rally to beat the winningest team in the history of basketball wasn't enough of an accomplishment, LeBron and the gang managed to get an aggressive little Aussie - with a floater that would make Scuffy McGee roll over in his grave - a contract that even his wildest dreams refused to offer him. The only thing that should make the Cavaliers feel better than bringing the city of Cleveland a much needed championship is indirectly bringing Matthew Dellavedova and Timofey Mozgov a lifetime of financial security in the process of doing so. 

I'm not going to lie to you, there's a lot to digest here. Mainly how Grayson Allen could trip someone as blatantly as anyone has every tripped anyone and then proceed to throw a hissy fit in the most confusing attempt to play the victim that the sports world has likely ever seen. Maybe he's just dedicated to being an entitled Dukie, or maybe being a cocksucker is so engrained in every fiber of his being that he literally can't even process the fact that he did - indeed - stick his foot out with  a very evil intentions until someone shows him the game tape. I think those are the only two legitimate possibilities, because throwing this type of temper tantrum in response to your own transgression makes no sense otherwise...

And listen, my gut feeling when hearing that Grayson Allen has been suspended for an indefinite amount of time was that it seemed like a bit of an overreaction. I think we can all agree that intentionally tripping people so many times that it becomes your M.O. is a behavior that needs to be corrected, and the best way to do so is to take away the culprit's playing time. Still, I was stunned with how many knowledgable analysts - many who went to Duke - were ready to enforce the '3rd Strike Rule' on that bratty little douchebag. Obviously he needs to learn to keep his feet to himself, but engaging in questionable tactics has long been a staple of Duke basketball. Christian Laettner stomped on an opponent's chest cavity en route a National Championship appearance. Gerald Henderson tried to bash Tyler Hansbrough's brain in with his nose bone with a flying elbow that was poorly veiled as a block attempt. I think we have all accepted that Coach K's players are prone to "gamesmanship" that borders on blatant deceit. 

That's why I have no choice but to believe that the only reason that everyone is making such a big deal out of Grayson Allen's duplicitous use of his legs is because he is the least subtle scumbag of all time. I think we have all accepted that Duke will stop at no flop to win basketball games. It's almost like we have a built up a tolerance to the Blue Devils' bullshit. Apparently we just don't appreciate when the slack we give them is taken for granted, and that is what Grayson Allen did by not even trying to hide his fuckery. I can't say for sure, but I think we would be much more likely to overlook his shenanigans if they didn't leave bodies laying helplessly at his feet. His antics are so damn obvious that they are impossible to ignore. That's why I encourage him to take this time off to work on being a little more discrete. There's no way a week or two without basketball is going to make him a remotely sufferable human being that plays the game the right way so he might as well figure out how to better get away with playing the game the wrong way. Safe to say that pulling the rug out from under people and proclaiming his innocence by acting like a kid whose mom wouldn't buy them fruit roll-ups isn't cutting it. 

BustedCoverage- Austin police say Pontrey Jones murdered his stepmom after she gloated about the Cowboys victory over the Buccaneers. The murder allegedly took place at about 10:40, just 12 minutes after Maggie Ruiz posted “WAY TO GO DALLAS” on Facebook.

That’s when this happened, according to the arrest affidavit:

Jones told officers he had initially decided to break his little sister’s neck, but after changing his mind he had “developed a plan against” the victim, stashing a black-handled knife in the living room couch.

Police say Jones’ father and the victim watch the Cowboys game on the couch and, when the game was done and Jones had returned from getting fresh air, he noticed the victim was “disrespecting his father and gloating about how the Cowboys won the game.”

According to police, that’s Jones retrieved the knife, walked behind the couch, lunged over Ruiz and stabbed her multiple times. Her husband intervened to stop the attack and Jones then fled the apartment.



And just when you thought you had begun to let disappointing outcomes on Sundays effect your mood a little too much, some "savior" (loosest posssible definition) comes out from behind the living room couch wielding a deadly weapon and gives us all an undeniable rationalization of our sports-induced depression. I gotta tell you, I feel much better about being an irritable asshole that takes his frustrations out on those around him after Iearning that there some people out there stashing shanks in couch cushions on the off chance they need a vehicle for their anger if the game doesn't go how they wanted. Let's be honest, aren't we all just looking for someone that we can point to and say "look, at least I'm not that bad!"? Sure, walking around feeling like an emotionless shell of a human being in response to a bunch of athletes you don't know coming up short in competition seems childish. That is...until you compare it to murdering your stepmother on behalf of your father's love for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Almost makes me feel inclined to spike the remote on the ground and punch a hole in the wall the next time the Saints turn an inevitable victory into a soul crushing loss. It would almost be disrespectful not to use the leeway that Pontrey Jones granted me to be a petulant child when my team lets me down.

You know what's crazy, the fact that this was over sports probably made it more likely to end up fatal. I'm sure the husband was relatively quick to act when his son pounced on his wife, but something tells me he would have been just a tad bit quicker if he hadn't spent the last twelve minutes having the proverbial knife twisted by a shit talking significant other. For at least one second he thought "good, at least that will shut her ass up" until he saw the light reflect off the blade of a dagger, had to find all the empathy that left his body when the clock hit zero, and tried to restrain his psychopathic offspring just a little too late.