PFT- Jets running back Le'Veon Bell apparently has plenty of jewelry. For now, he has more than $500,000 less of it.
Via the Associated Press, two women allegedly robbed Bell of a more than a half million in jewelry last month. Per the report, two female acquaintances — described in the police report as girlfriends of Bell — absconded with the jewelry. Bell claims that he returned from the gym on May 25 to find the women gone, along with the jewelry. The New York Post reports that Bell claims to have lost via the theft two gold chains with diamonds, a black panther pendant with black and white diamonds and a Rolex. The total value amounts to $520,000. The theft happened in Hollywood, Florida. Bell has joined the Jets this week for the first time, to participate in the team’s mandatory offseason minicamp. --------- Unlike most Steelers' fans, I presume, I do feel bad for Le'Veon Bell here. Surely he'll be able to restock the old jewelry closet with those incredibly elusive fat ass checks he'll finally be collecting from the New York Jets, but - no matter your means - it always stings more when stung by people you even temporarily trust. That said, seeing as those people were simultaneous "girlfriends", or something close enough to be both described as such in a police report and offered unsupervised access to his place, I do feel as though it's fair to question his street smarts. I don't have one significant other, but even I know that if you have two concurrently that it's only a matter of time before they become closer to one another than they are to you. Somewhere in the fine print of 'Girl Code' is a stipulation binding all sexual partners of common man to bond over the shared experiences. When said experiences are shared with a professional athlete who clearly isn't the world's most loyal lover, it's only a matter of time before he becomes the target of the gossip when gone. Now, I think it goes without saying that such situations don't always end in a half a million dollar jewelry heist. However, that's risk you run as a rich man when you accept the reward of "dating" two chicks from Florida who are crazy enough to be cool with it. Especially when you don't have the foresight to lock them the hell out whenever it is that you leave. When in doubt, which Le'Veon Bell absolutely should have been, it must always be remembered that these hoes ain't loyal, which is true to the tenth power when offered absolutely no reason to be. TL:DR version: Typical Jets.
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Free of context, I don't hate those answers from the first-time head coach and the second-year quarterback of a team that should be prioritizing cohesiveness, discipline, dedication, and loyalty throughout an organization that has suffered from a lack there of throughout multiple decades of doomed dysfunction. I just think they'd make a hell of a lot more sense if they weren't in reference to a previously productive, longer-tenured player who, up until this point, hasn't said boo despite being treated like a complete afterthought throughout last regular season and this offseason. As a versatile back who is in his prime as a reliable runner and the perfect complimentary playmaker in the age of pass-happy offenses, Duke Johnson Jr. somehow had all of one single game with double-digit touches last year. That year, mind you, was one in which Baker Mayfield (mostly) served as his quarterback and Freddie Kitchens served as his position coach turned offensive coordinator. Enter Kareem Hunt alongside Nick Chubb, and there is next to no reason for someone whose position doesn't allow him many lost seasons to believe that he'll be a oft-utilized beneficiary of the ball distribution in a backfield that has just as many mouthes to feed. If the Browns didn't make it crystal clear how they felt about Duke Johnson Jr. when they offered him 2-3 pity carries a week then they sure as shit did when they floated his name on the trading block as of March. Therefore, it feels rather hypocritical of their leadership committee to start talking tough and playing hardball as if they aren't well aware of who slapped the 'For Sale' sign on him in the first place. Especially since one of the members of that leadership committee had to transfer schools to get an optimal opportunity and motivated himself to become a quality pro by taking far less legitimate slights personal since. Contract be damned, since NFL teams have insured themselves a pretty penny by treating those as though they're as binding as a pinky promise with a used-car salesman. Put Baker Mayfield in Duke Johnson Jr.'s shoes and he'd have already been stomping them in hopes of ending up in a situation that better suited what was, objectively speaking, a woefully wasted skill-set. And honestly, it would take someone speaking selfishly in carefully walking the company line to blame him if he did.
Nope, you ain't going to fool me. While I know baseball loves their no-hitters far too much for a team to take it lying down when one is spoiled by a desperate, yet entirely legal attempt to get on a base, I'm not letting the wool get pulled over my eyes on this one. Never mind whether or not it's right to maliciously ruin a potentially momentous accomplishment with a boring ass bunt, because THREE pitchers combining for 9 hitless innings of Minor League baseball is not a potentially momentous accomplishment. As far as I'm concerned, it's much more likely the benches cleared because they were filled with disgruntled athletes playing the game at an unglamorous level who were looking for just about any excuse to ring out their frustrations on the necks of the opponent before boarding another bus. I'm going to grant them that benefit of the doubt, for it's a much better excuse than being butt hurt that a spotless start and some solid relief appearances didn't go down in a largely unread record book with a huge asterisk next to them. Right or wrong, dropping a bullshit bunt for no other reason than to rain on the parade of the team that's walking all over you is liable to get your chin checked, but the type of no-hitters you fight to the death in defense of are for one pitcher and one pitcher only. As can be seen in how easily that "fight" was broken up.
We may be 60-some-odd games into the season already, but now? Now, baseball is officially in full swing. After all, nothing signals that were back in midseason form quite like an old white guy with his feet firmly entrenched in a repressive sport comfortably spitting outright insults over the boring ass beat of baseball's institutionally racist drum. To be clear, you don't have to understand the newfound fascination with athletes rocking at least slightly restrictive jewelry while playing professional sports. As an avid supporter of players showing personality, that's one of the few things that even I can't wrap my head fully around, as not even the power of prayer could completely stop a Jesus piece from getting in the way as it swings aimlessly from one's neck during the course of a highly competitive game. What you do have to understand, however, is exactly what you're doing when you stumble over (See: "...and stuff") a pointed critique of a young talent while making it seem as though his charisma had him cruising for a bruising before calling him a "prick" for merely looking back at the pitcher who plunked him. Lazy qualifiers aside, this isn't the first time Steve Blass couldn't even find the right words while going pretty far out of his way to lash out at those who, love them or hate them, make for the closest thing to appointment television for a league that's otherwise unfamiliar with the concept....
While I can't imagine either unsubtle mini-rant is the most intolerant thing ever heard on an MLB broadcast, both are just painfully typical of the type of unadaptable attitude that keeps alive the caucasity of a counterproductive culture that actively deters viewership. The best thing about baseball is that it's as diverse as it's ever been. With that comes varying sensibilities that aren't always going to fit in the same rusty old cookie-cutter that dates back to the days in which "colored" was a compliment. The truth is, while the word "prick" seemed wildly inappropriate, I don't even necessarily place the most blame on 77-year-old Steve Blass here. He's very clearly aged out of a sport that still shamelessly panders to those likeminded by allowing him to drivel on about the "good old days" during which predominantly white dudes conformed to playing a kids' game with a stick lodged entirely up their ass. Simply put? Be better, baseball. ESPN- (Draymond Green) also dropped more than 25 pounds after a midseason intervention from Golden State general manager Bob Myers.
"Bob said, 'If we're going to win a championship, you have to get in shape,'" Green says. "I was like, 'Oh, I know. I'm fat as hell right now. Give me two weeks. It will probably take 10 days, but give me two weeks for sure and I'll be good. "'My birthday is March 4, so I want to enjoy my birthday, but right after, on March 10, my diet starts.'" Green cut out all his vices. Chips, red wine, fast food. All gone. He ate exactly what his chef told him to. He lived in the training room, lifting weights and doing extra cardio. And then when he got the weight off, he decided to stick with the diet. "When I went on this diet, it's like a sense of control, and it's confidence because you feel like you're conquering something," Green says. "You're defeating something every day." "Having that control, it carries over to other areas in your life. We all love to eat. We all enjoy the things that we enjoy. If I can conquer that and not do that, why can't I conquer my emotions, too? Well, maybe I can f---ing conquer my emotions! Maybe I can conquer anything else! And so I think honestly that has really helped put me in a different state." ------ I don't want to completely dismiss the mini, late-season makeover that Draymond Green was discipline enough to undergo in getting himself back into the type of shape required for him to showcase his full skill-set. Twenty-five pounds is twenty-five pounds, and in dropping them so suddenly the lynchpin to what Warriors are able to do on both the offensive and defensive end made himself back into the type of versatile, impact player that has enabled his team to endure a postseason injury to a back-to-back Finals MVP. That being said, I do wonder exactly how much credit I should be giving to a player who has made it well-known that he eventually intends to sign a max contract, yet had to be told to his face by his boss to mix in a salad and act like a pro 5 months into the season. The picture that's being painted is of someone who, quite literally, let himself get so saturated off 'Ships and chips that the pounds quickly melted off once he put an ounce of commitment back into his craft. That's probably a bit of an exaggeration, but I don't know that I should be bowing at the feet of a professional athlete for being "fat as hell" (his words, not mine) a little over a month prior to the playoffs and STILL allowing himself another cheat week because he's a basic bitch when it comes to celebrating his birthday. Draymond Green went on a goddamn wedding diet and did the hard work necessary to make an undeniable difference when it has mattered most, so credit to him for that. That said, the biggest takeaway from this story isn't him cramming in his conditioning prior to the big test, but rather that he spent well over a semester treating his body like that of a college kid because the regular season is that much of a complete and utter joke to the Golden State Warriors.
HoustonChronicle- Mike Atkinson, one of the state’s longest-tenured high school football referees, has been suspended for the 2019 season by the Texas Association of Sports Officials after making racist comments.
Atkinson, who owns Atkinson Farms in Spring and has been a high school football official for 45 years, admits to using the N-word several times in conversations, audio clips of which were provided to the Houston Chronicle by the person who made the recordings. “I thought these were private conversations between friends,” Atkinson said. “I promise you with my life, using the N-word by me is true, but I will promise you with my life, my wife's life, my kids’ life and everything I do, (the person who taped him) also used that word. “We were back and forth. I understand what it sounds like, but I was baited into it.” In one of the clips, Atkinson addresses a “Chapter and Crew Mixer” hosted by the Houston Football Chapter of TASO, held at Kirby Ice House on Feb. 10. “I just went to the mixer the other day … a bunch of f------ n-----s wanting a free meal,” Atkinson said. The context isn’t clear in the other clips, but they include the following statements: “He would find a way to n----- it up.” “There probably was some of them … (a black official) thought he had, ’cause he wanted to be the big n-----.” Atkinson told the Chronicle he had no issues with having a black person on his crew if he could find a good one. Brian Raines, who is black, was on his 2018 crew. “They’re putting all this out there that I’m a big-time racist and all this,” Atkinson said. “For the people that know me, they know that’s not true.” Atkinson said he does not regularly use the N-word. “I know what it sounds like when you hear those clips,” he said. “But I’m talking to (the person who made the recordings) in a private conversation, and he’s using the word, and I said it a couple times. “I’m a jokester. I like to listen to things. I watch Black Entertainment Television all the time because I think it’s hilarious. I may have picked up something … I don’t know. I don’t know.” -------- Aside from the obvious, which was the casual and repetitive use of a slur that's meant to undermine the entire existence of black people as equals, I sneaky think one of the biggest clues that Mike Atkinson is a racist who thinks of his whistle as a weapon of white power is that he referred to BET as "Black Entertainment Television". Finding an objectively funnier race to be humorous wouldn't help his argument anyway, as he was apparently dropping n-bombs like they were set to explode on the tip of his tongue, but I can't help but find myself wondering what old, TV Guide-subscribing Texan fed him that elongated acronym as a defense. As far as dead giveaways that someone doesn't watch BET are concerned, they don't get more fatal than pronouncing the channel's every single syllable as though you're surprised such a thing even exists. Now, I suppose that's hardly the only aspect of this story that has his hands looking as red as his neck. Proudly pointing to the ONE black guy he worked alongside over the course of a 45 year career in officiating football, as if he pardons damn near half a century of perceived prejudice, doesn't exactly paint a multi-colored picture of progressiveness. Mike Atkinson running the ringer in blaming everyone from the person he was on the phone with to his allegedly African American-influenced choice in television for serving as inspirations for "jokes" that read a hell of a lot like dehumanizing insults probably tells you more about what type of person he is than what he calls BET. That said, speaking as someone who grew up watching BET, what he calls BET is more likely have been heard while binging Fox News than uttered by someone who has watched even 5 minutes of BET.
I'll tell ya what. If your favorite team absolutely has to move on from an absolute infant of an All-World wide receiver due to him demanding a trade and immediately tanking his value in said trade by acting like an outlandish asshole, it's at least nice to have a replacement that serves as his amicable antithesis already on the roster. In terms of production, I don't know how well JuJu Smith-Schuster will fill the large and incessantly stomped shoes of his predecessor as the Pittsburgh Steelers' go-to pass catcher, but I do know that - if for absolutely no other reason - their fans will always appreciate him for not being Antonio Brown. Whether that be in attitude, personality, or both, the only way that JuJu could possibly be seen as more selfless amongst a fanbase with which he's proven generous with his time was to be compared to one of the biggest sociopaths currently in sports. AB will undoubtedly try to spin this into a continuation of their beef, as if anyone can quiet hyped-up high school kids, and treat it as some slight against the character of his former teammate, as he is one to nonsensically do. However, the truth is that all JuJu had to do was dance like no one was watching to remind those attending a Pittsburgh prom of how much they hate the social media whore who stopped at no amount of lunacy in crazying his way out of town. With Ben Roethlisberger still being the world's biggest brat and Mike Tomlin still having about as much control over his room as a substitute teacher, JuJu Smith-Schuster is a fittingly fan-friendly figure for the Steelers' faithful to rally around. Especially as they try to get over a player-turned-pariah who was the polar opposite whenever he didn't have the football in his hands.
As far as a reminder of how losing early and often might manifest itself throughout a long, painstaking season that is completely devoid of hope, they certainly don't come any more inexplicable and embarrassing than that. I'd honestly accept "I guess I ran away from home in hopes that my absence would help remind people that I still exist as the catcher for a woefully irrelevant Mariners' team" as an excuse. After all, it might legitimately be the most logical reason for Omar Narvaez to have no hesitation in going to back up first with a man on third. I've always said that 162 games is an egregiously long season for a sport whose postseason is disproportionally short. Nothing supports that argument quite like the Mariners already self-fulfilling a prophecy of suck with 99 games left to go before they are granted the sweet, merciful release of time away from a team whose chemistry looks to be that of someone who earned themselves a suspension by taking liberties with a lab project. I'm not even sure they could play the field more stupidly than they did during that particularly laughable instance, but I also don't feel comfortable counting out the idiocy that might arise during the actual dog days of a lost summer. Be it due to a lack of talent or an abundance of abject apathy, bad teams tend to make bonehead plays. However, those plays appearing to be made by those without a brain inside their thick skull this early in the season is not the greatest of signs of things to come during games that are far more likely to grow increasingly meaningless than not. Even if I due appreciate the comic relief of an umpire casually stepping aside to avoid being beaned by a perfect throw to an abandoned plate.
Obviously this is more about principle than it is some emotional attachment to a logo. I get that. I just think that if I were Kawhi Leonard and had an ungodly amount of money coming my way in free agency, I might just cut my low-level losses and thank Nike for stealing off my hands the copyright to something that makes those hand turkeys you made for your parents' fridge in elementary school look worthy of their own wing in a museum by comparison... Perhaps I just have a better eye for artistry and a lower threshold for embarrassment than the most pragmatic superstar in all of sports. Thats got to be it, because - as someone whose never drawn anything whose purpose wasn't better served as a "basketball" to a trash can - I can't fathom taking legal action that would remind the world that my handiwork was responsible for a stencil that depreciates the value of literally whatever it is stitched into. There are plenty of more egregious reasons to believe that the judicial system is broken, but the idea that two extremely well-off parties would theoretically go to court over something that looks like one's face after spending a full drunken night sleeping on their hand is undeniable proof of how shamelessly it is abused on a day-to-day basis. If Judge Judy knew that we'd fall so far down the rabbit hole that Klaws would be bared over the ownership of initialed eyesores she might have only picked up a gavel to knock herself unconscious. After all, a legitimate lawsuit over a logo that looks as broken as I feel the morning after trekking down a trail of tequila has tarnished a once proud process. I honestly think I'd rather claim minority ownership of my right hand than have to raise it in proving myself more uncreative than the kid cutting art class, but to each their own...unless Nike copyrights it first. Even Though it Was Inevitable, The Taylor Hall Rumor Mill Has Started Spinning Egregiously Early6/3/2019
May 31st:
TheAthletic- This is a big summer for Taylor Hall, who has one year left on his contract with the New Jersey Devils.
There’s been healthy communication between his camp led by agent Darren Ferris and Devils GM Ray Shero, although I’m told that things have not yet progressed to the actual beginning of negotiations. So, no numbers yet. Really where things stand as of now is that Hall is contemplating his future and at some point will re-convene with Ferris to decide how they want to proceed. But I also don’t think this is a “Sign on July 1 or you’re traded” scenario. I don’t think Shero wants to get boxed in by artificial deadlines. As long as there’s a chance Hall might eventually be willing to sign an extension, I think Shero would want to keep that window open. In other words, if it means waiting until November or January to get it done, so be it. Obviously, it’s a different thing if Hall decides outright that he wants to go to the UFA market in July 2020 and lets the Devils know this summer. That probably changes things for Shero depending on the kind of trade offers he would receive. But at this hour, there’s no reason to believe Hall isn’t interested in entering negotiations. There certainly hasn’t been any indication otherwise. --------- June 3rd:
TFP- As the Devils try to convince the 2018 NHL MVP Taylor Hall to sign a long-term extension with the organization, multiple well-placed sources have told TFP the 27-year-old, as of now, is not interested in signing a new deal with the club.
Devils GM Ray Shero has had an open dialogue with Hall’s agent, Darren Ferris, but it appears that for the time being, an extension is not in the cards. Ferris declined to comment about negotiations when contacted by TFP. “Ray and I communicate regularly and to respect the process I am unable to provide you with any details,” Ferris said via text message. -------- As inevitable as it was that the uncertain future of the still reigning NHL MVP would get gratuitously beaten to death as a source of clicks leading up to the last year of his contract, I was really hoping that ruthless rumor mill would lay dormant until July 1st. Ya know, considering that's the first day Taylor Hall is actually allowed to sign any sort of extension anyway. I guess I'm not surprised that there are already two separate articles, published days apart, putting wildly different spins on a piece of news that is only newsworthy in that it's not actually news at all. I'm just a little disappointed that what's guaranteed to be a shameless search for internet attention throughout the summer and beyond has already gotten off to the type of hot start that will leave New Jersey Devils' fans in a constant state of the cold sweats. With Pierre LeBrun being an exponentially more reputable source than David Pagnotta, I'm more liable to believe his report that all is currently well between Taylor Hall and Devils' management. After all, someone who was confirmed to be wrong multiple times last summer saying that a superstar who literally can't yet sign is not yet interested in signing is only helpful if what he's trying to accomplish is grabbing the eyeballs of 30 additional fan bases. Since the following isn't exactly the look of two sides that had forgone marriage counseling and are already headed to a messy divorce, I think I'm comfortable buying into the idea that they are probably still on speaking terms a month before those talks can even turn into a contract extension...
The truth of the matter is that Taylor Hall was always going to want to see what the Devils had in store for an insanely important offseason for which they are stocked with no shortage of assets before he committed himself to the organization for the foreseeable future. The only thing that's been given the chance to happen throughout said offseason is that they lucked into an insanely talented player who has the potential to eventually take the pressure off him as another dynamic puck carrier and play driver. That doesn't guarantee a damn thing in regards to a potential long-term future in New Jersey, but I hardly think the inevitable addition of Jack Hughes hurts a recruiting pitch that is still very much in its infancy. It's obviously very possible that it's only a matter of time before Taylor Hall is traded, but the clock isn't even ticking yet. Ray Shero is just as well-aware of the need for more talent as his most impactful forward is. Both have said as much publicly while seeming nothing but understanding of one another, so can we please wait until the process of player movement begins before we start ferociously biting at the hook of every asshole fishing for online traffic with repurposed and recycled bait? Taylor Hall has been very complimentary of New Jersey and the Devils' organization. One guy with an ulterior motive shouldn't erase all that, especially when his timing couldn't make less sense.
SI- Haney was suspended from his SiriusXM radio show on Thursday after making disparaging remarks regarding Korean golfers in the LPGA.
"I'm gonna predict a Korean," Haney said when asked to pick a winner for the upcoming US Women's Open. "That's gonna be my prediction. I couldn't name you, like, six players on the LPGA Tour," Haney continued. "Nah, maybe I could. Well, I'd go with Lee. If I didn't have to name a first name, I'd get a bunch of them right. I don't know...Lexi Thompson...Michelle Wie's hurt. I don't know that many." --------- In fairness to Hank Haney, I'm not sure what type of answer we should have expected out of 63-year-old white dude who was being asked about women's athletics after spending his entire life immersed in a sport that's not exactly known for its inclusiveness. I don't want to completely excuse him, because he certainly didn't have to wade that close to the unforgiving waters of social insensitivity, but - as far as questionable commentary goes - that's about as mild as it can possibly come out of an unfiltered mouth born of a less progressive generation. I personally wouldn't have gone the "ha, look at all the Koreans with the same last name!" route in un-artfully analyzing the best female golfers on the planet. However, I can think of far more objectionable observations to be made by a guy who is inclined by his age and ethnicity to say the type of things that make conversations uncomfortable during Thanksgiving dinner. Now, arguing that his "prediction" was made on the basis of mathematics is as much of a stretch as arguing that a Women's Open win by one of six Jeongeun Lee's participating completely exonerates him of any wrong spewing....
That said, I'd assume that most have ignored much more offensive jokes made by much more socially inappropriate elders, as the vast majority of race and/or gender-based humor doesn't highlight the successes of the minority on the ass end of it. The direction that Hank Haney went with his answer was definitely stupid, as golf enthusiasts/experts should never draw attention to the game's melanin deficiency. However, at the risk of defending a 'Hank', I'm not going to claim that it was some sort of egregious example of the racist and sexist undertones that exist throughout sports as much as it was an old dude wandering his way through word vomit and ending up in a no-win situation only to stub his toe on a sign of the times. Despite being right, he wasn't in the right. Still, I don't think it's crazy to that they are levels to being in the wrong, and he was far from the reaching the highest one.
As far as college baseball is concerned, this is the perfect storm. The volatile front that is put on by umpires with fragile egos who have no qualms with abusing their power in making split second decisions that can alter the outcome of games, meets the cold front of a moronically strict institution whose rigid rulebook proudly over-punishes the "amateur" athletes they are actively exploiting while offering them no form of recourse. An ejection during the most pressure-packed moment of an NCAA tournament game, plus as automatic 4-game suspension during the postseason, all for harmlessly referring to a borderline and potential game-clinching call as "horrible" in an entirely non-threatening way. Such a shit-storm of injustice raining on the head of closer Michael McAvene and the rest of the Louisville baseball program could only be the result of a ruling made under Murphy's Law...if Murphy was a sanctimonious prick with an authority complex whose law was designed to be without amendment as if it were written in blood. Who knows, maybe the NCAA eventually changes their mind and acts in the interest of common fucking sense, for the first time ever, by overruling such a diabolically dumb act of discipline. That said, the fact that they didn't immediately do so speaks volumes about the objectively bad business of an organization that brings in billions on the backs of under-appreciated ball players. Their support of their own insanely sensitive and self-interested official, who could not possibly have been more in the wrong, in sticking to a nuance-free script that favors absolutely everyone else above the featured talent is hardly surprising. What it is, however, is disappointing, and that's saying a lot as the expectations of even a baseline level of intelligence out of the NCAA were already non-existent. It can't possibly be put to words, because "horrible" doesn't even come remotely close to describing the stupidity of such an undeserved suspension.
Admittedly, I do find quite funny the visual of Kawhi Leonard, of all people, leading some Whose Line Is It Anyway?-style comic relief in the locker room of franchise making their first appearance in the NBA Finals. Unfortunately, I think I'm going to go ahead and assume that the Raptors didn't spend halftime of a 5-point game sleeping on/laughing at an opponent whose championship runs have largely been fueled by the fire of NBA Jam-esque hot streaks during the quarter in which they've proved most fatal. In fact, I might even go as far as assuming that the person who suggested they did wouldn't have a job analyzing professional basketball if not for him playing it at a high-level for damn near two decades. At this point of a postseason during which he has proved anti-prophetic in predictions, I think it's fair to say that Paul Pierce has become more insufferable than Skip Bayless. I mean, at least the latter only exists on a platform in which shamelessly spreading your cheeks and talking directly out of your ass is encouraged. Meanwhile, 'The Truth' is both figuratively and literally (as whiffed below) farting out blatantly fictional fabrications all over otherwise credible outlets, as if his knowledge of the game he dedicated his life to compares favorably to someone who needs traveling explained to them.
It's not that I don't think that unadulterated stupidity has a place in NBA Finals' analysis, but I would like a sign that Paul Pierce is self-aware of his role as NBA Countdown's court jester. If anything, he's always struck me as the type to have an inflated view of himself, so it's not that he said the Toronto Raptors performed sarcastically in the second half, but rather that I think he might actually believe it. I genuinely don't think it's in his DNA to proudly parade around as the punchline, which would mean that all his preposterous hot takes are delivered in stone cold sincerity. Being able to take them at face value is what I find about 1,000x more worrisome than the objectively idiotic opinions themselves, so I'd greatly appreciate it if he started taking his seat on the panel wearing a dunce cap. Ya know, just so I could stop taking seriously someone who appeared to take himself very seriously when he said that a first-time NBA Finalist didn't take the most important game in franchise history seriously.
There I was, idiotically thinking that I couldn't possibly love Taylor Hall anymore than I already did. So, you can imagine my surprise when he spoke straight to my athletically appreciative soul by jabbing a knife in the side of every hockey fan that thinks diminishing the efforts of all other athletes should be a requirement of enjoying the NHL and twisting...hard. There honestly isn't one single thing that ignites the insecurities of hockey's most overly obsessive observers quite like bringing up basketball, and the (technically still) reigning NHL MVP did just that and more by unintentionally reminding the entire internet of what's been his own league's most pressing issue for multiple decades running. For that reason, I think it would be nice if Taylor Hall offered to pay the next therapy bill for the faction of close-minded fans whose world promptly collapsed upon reading a good ole' Canadian boy's gratuitous praise of professional basketball after his experience enjoying it in a non-traditional market. Now, said issue exists, in large part, because hockey inherently isn't anywhere near as superstar-driven or individualistically encouraging as basketball. You hardly need fully functional eyesight to see the amount of extreme differences that can be easily and immediately identified between two sports that, due to a multitude of factors (some avoidable, some not), clash culturally. That's why, as can be read in the actual words that Taylor Hall oh-so-carefully chose, this wasn't some sort of attempt at an apples-to-apples comparison. Unfortunately, if you don't think it will be defensively interpreted as such then you've somehow been fortunate enough not to encounter the type of hockey fan who will stop at no amount of illogical analogizing in a nauseatingly endless effort to get you to like their sport and only their sport. What Taylor Hall essentially implied is that, though the games themselves are a matter of preference, the NBA produces a much more intriguing show with better character development than the NHL (and all other pro leagues, for that matter). That might be a difficult thing to admit during a postseason that is unequivocally the most gripping in all of sports. However, how can you argue against something so blatantly obvious that a superstar who has dedicated his entire life and livelihood to winning the Stanley Cup felt comfortable saying so on a public platform that collectively bears its claws at contrarianism? The NBA has plenty of its own flaws, but among them are not a lack of adaptability, a lack of marketability, a lack of publicized personalities, or a lack of entertainment value. I say the following as a loyal consumer of hockey above all else: If you perceive that undeniable fact to be a subtle dig at the NHL then me thinks that you, as an overly sensitive hockey fan with an inferiority complex, doth protest far too much.
Tough break for Green Bay. I mean, to go from a head coach that wouldn't stand up to Aaron Rodgers to one that quite literally cannot? If there were a team in desperate need of someone who could demand respect from the entirety of the locker room then it was the Packers, and tearing your achilles during a glorified foul shooting competition, no matter how testy the rebound chasing got, doesn't quite make for an intimidating first impression. Speaking mostly in jest, no one loves a good power struggle more than Aaron Rodgers, and it's tough to go toe-to-toe in a tug-of-war with the most irritable arm in the NFL when you don't even have full use of half your toes. Hopefully whatever Matt LaFleur has drawn up in that playbook of his is more impressive than what he put on tape with the Titans last season, for if the plan of attack comes limping out the gate as badly as the person who designed it then it won't be long before Aaron Rodgers is back to undermining it by teaching in-huddle improv classes. As someone who was complicit in figuratively crippling his last head coach, the last thing #12 needed was his next head coach literally crippling himself. Never mind doing so in a way that calls into question just how young and energetic he is as a physically feeble branch on the Sean McVay coaching tree. Simply put, I think I'm a little less than half serious in saying that those play-calls better jump off the projector and command the attention of the starting quarterback. Otherwise, the man using his crutches to point out the nuances in them might have a hard time proving himself persuasive to someone who fancies himself the smartest and most powerful guy in every room.
I understand that everyone's first instinct is to mock DK Metcalf for needing to look as though the overwhelming urgency to urinate had taken over the lower half of his body in order to do something as simple as stop. After all, it is quite humorous that he basically re-defined inefficiency by taking a baker's dozen steps en route to...well...next to nowhere. That being said, there is something all-too-relatable about being so incredibly good at one thing at the expense of looking downright disastrous at another that I can't help but appreciate. Like, as fun as it is to join in on a nice long laugh at the fatal flaws of otherwise freakish athletes, literally the only thing that makes DK Metcalf a mildly comprehendible specimen is that his (in)ability to stop is less aesthetically pleasing than that of Luis Mendoza... Don't get me wrong, I'm all for beating that same punchline to death over the course of his career, but it's worth noting that maybe there's a reason that he's the first NFL wide receiver that looks like a Greek god who could dominate a 'World's Strongest Man' competition on his off day...
Perhaps the laws of physics require that those with the build of a centaur that are able to gallop like the most thorough-of-bred have the same lack of lateral quickness that is responsible for racetracks being rounded off. That inherent inability to move anywhere other than forward with any speed whatsoever makes a lot more sense when you think of it that way. I mean, I get it. The risk of being rewarded with the disproportional praise of those salivating over 40 times is that they'll turn on you far quicker than the Seahawks' newest deep threat can turn on the ball once they sense a weakness. Therefore, this twitter taunting wasn't entirely unexpected. What it was, however, was as unfair as it was hilarious, since DK Metcalf is nowhere near human enough to be judged as such when he does more tip-toeing than a teenager who missed curfew every time he changes direction with the elegance of an alligator.
Whew, what a relief. Goodness gracious, I don't even know what we would be left to talk about if Drake, noted supporter of all great teams but holding the totally not made up title of "global ambassador" for merely one, didn't swoop in and beat the broadcast buzzer to insert himself into the storyline of a championship series. Can you imagine the straws we would be grasping at if the Head Raptor in Charge (of courtside affairs) didn't step in to call "trash" the team whose two best players are quite literally inked on his arm eternally?
Toronto, and Canada as a whole, rallying around a franchise that went all-in with only one title shot guaranteed and is making the absolute most of it, to the extent that you need to wait on line to claim your spot outside the arena? Yawn. The Raptors as perhaps the best and most versatile defensive team that one of best offensive teams in NBA history has ever had placed in the way? Ugh, no thanks. Pascal Siakam putting on a show fitting of the front-runner for the NBA's Most Improved Player in giving a dominant defender like Draymond Green absolute fits? Meh. The Warriors' dynasty being pushed back onto its heels and looking desperate for the services of KD, despite their opposition having never been to the Finals before and its best player having a rather quiet night during his Jordan-esque playoff run? Eh, noteworthy I suppose. However, as far as a appreciable narratives are concerned, can anything really hold a candle to the un-rostered rapper who is going out of his way to steal the spotlight by running his mouth as if he is the one that is going to have to back up his overly cocky words against an already intimidating opponent with damn near unlimited experience? Sure, the Raptors' taking one step closer to NBA immortality makes for a hell of a story, but every story needs a headline and I can't think of one that better suits their profound performance on the court than 'Shamelessly Thirsty Celebrity Messes With the Most Irritable of Bull Knowing He's Not The One at Risk of Getting its Horns'. (Sidenote: In all seriousness, I do love the pettiness of the signed Dell Curry jersey. That said, Drake needing to rock athletic accessories, that make him look even more delusional in regards to his actual impact, to cover up his fraudulence as a "super fan" tells you everything you need to know about his priorities. Not for nothing, but if his role allows him more leeway than any other fan ever then only a Flagrant 1 should follow if he happens to end up on the ass end of one of Draymond's "accidental" dick kicks.)
Shameful. Despicable, really. The last fanbase I expected to leave overpriced suds to suffer a fate of flatness was the FUBAR'd Boston faithful, and here they are abandoning yet-to-be-sipped stragglers as if their success in sports has made them forget that there are sober assholes in Africa, or however that saying goes. Whatever happened to "win or lose, we still booze"? That used to be a motto that the entire over-served city of speech impediments could stumble behind, but now some of its most loyal inhabitants have become so spoiled that they refuse to finish beers that aren't filtered through the thrill of victory? Is that what it has come to? Samuel Adams would roll over in his goddamn grave if he witnessed such willful wastefulness and entitled alcoholism. And to think, our forefathers fought for Boston's right to drown their Irish guilt in abused substances just for said substances to be left unabused when the outcome was undesired? Ugh, makes me sicker than a Masshole who fell publicly ill in a puddle of his own Jameson-induced vomit. Now, I know it was just one single row, but if Bruins' fans as a collective can't be entrusted to leave only empties after overtime then maybe they deserve the sobering reality of Stanley Cup sorrow as they are apparently still too drunk off the Patriots' dynasty. One thing is for certain, the same can't be said of St. Louis...
Honestly, fair is fair. You'd have to have banged your head on that self-important shield one too many times to still be under the illusion that the NFL only drug tests randomly and, as far as non-random drug tests are concerned, Thomas Morstead has earned more than his fair share as an All-Pro fitness freak with a diabolical amount of dad strength. Personally, I was already half surprised they didn't make him piss in a cup before leaving the field after every absurdly powerful pinpoint punt...
So, if anything, he's really been running up the score on the league's eternally suspicious urine collectors by publicizing extreme feats of athleticism, that are entirely unfitting of his position, on the internet. Even as a Saints' fan that should be used to them by now, I still have a hard time comprehending just how lethal and finely tuned Thomas Morstead's weapons are as a workout warrior. Therefore, I'm not exactly at liberty to question the NFL for being in disbelief that his 33-year-old body is only the product of a collaboration with a more socially acceptable brand of juicers. The guy is simply in pristine shape as both a punter and a person, and with the ability to casually crush high-level calisthenics like they are a basic crunch comes the requests to prove your ass hasn't been needled more than that of a stay-at-home father.
Welp, give that socially unorthodox anecdote its own damn chapter in the bathroom reading of both St. Louis Blues' and Stanley Cup lore. Carl Gunnarsson, who just as easily could have been watching from a luxury suite had Vince Dunn happened to have returned to the lineup last night, remaining entirely un-phased after hitting the post so hard you'd think it slapped his mother only to figuratively show his balls to Craig Berube while their dicks were literally in hand. It's not the most aesthetically endearing visual, I suppose, but what followed was the self-fulfilling of a mid-piss prophecy that perfectly encapsulates the predictable unpredictability of a postseason during which the unexpected is to be expected. A defensive-minded role player not only scoring his first ever playoff goal to give a long-suffering franchise its first ever finals victory, but also openly envisioning himself as the overtime hero at the urinal beforehand? That's so ridiculously surreal that it's actually the most real representation of a sport whose most significant moments so often make the least amount of sense. Call it wishful thinking. Call it irrational confidence. Call it the overly hopeful desire to completely erase from his memory the painful ping of the most unforgiving of iron...
Call it whatever the hell you want. Just remember that Carl Gunnarsson called it first when he talked over simultaneous streams in speaking his odds-defying OT goal into existence as someone that refused to be denied his own scene in any potential championship DVD. He didn't just prove, once and for all, that the most brilliant ideas are born in the bathroom. He also proved that persistence is key to Stanley Cup success by...ahem...relieving himself of a pee-bound promise in heroic fashion.
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