An American Soccer Player Mocked The Shortness Of A Player On The Mexican National Team, And Got Exactly The Type Of Response He Was Looking For
Racial generalizations aside, I can't help but think that Diego Lainez and the rest of his fellow ankle-biters owe the sub-6-foot community an apology for succumbing to every stereotype that haunts the vertically challenged.
After all, if there is one venue that proves Randy Newman wrong in providing short people that all-too-elusive reason to live, it's professional soccer stadiums all over the world...
Some of the most professionally and sexually accomplished futbol'ers on the planet couldn't even kick it with their friends while on line for the big boy rollercoaster. Therefore, while they say that the one-eyed man is king in the land of the blind, I say that the 6'4 yankee is the freak on the pitch of the petite.
Unfortunately, that proclamation rings pretty hollow when one height joke has a legion of Napoleon's cocking their complexes and ready to sick their insecurities on those that intentionally play way, way down to them.
As demeaning as that measuring stick mockery was, you have to act like you've been there before if you're Diego Lainez, and by "there" I mean 3-4 inches below the average male's line of sight. So either fake a jumper in his face, as Matt Miazga clearly sucked as a shooting guard growing up, or go the "sticks and stones may break my bones, but cricking my neck to look you in the eyes will never hurt me" route. If not because shortness is a stature that serves you well in soccer then because getting defensive and jumping up and down in desperation is sure to make you look far worse when getting dunked on.
A Motorcycle Racer Reached Over And Pulled The Brakes On An Opponent's Bike While Traveling At Over 125 MPH
Maybe my lack of familiarity with the amount of loose screws required to compete in motorcycle racing had me thinking they misspelled 'detainment' when I read that Romano Fenati received a disqualification for a move that seems like it's one step short of cutting someone's breaks. Like, ignorance must have been bliss, because I was fairly happy living in a world in which high speed attempts at vehicular homicide were more likely to be punishable by a prison sentence than a short two-race ban.
To be fair, I think most sports benefit from branding a "bad boy", but maybe not the sport that entails whipping around a race track on a two-wheeled death trap at upwards of 135 MPH, as petty gamesmanship is decidedly less entertaining when it's potentially fatal.
I don't know, I'm probably the wrong person to make this call, but slapping Romano Fenati with a restraining order to remain at least 100 yards away from all forms of transportation seems like the move here. At the very least it's a better option than giving him some alone time to work out his own psychosis, since he clearly can't keep his hands to himself in a sport in which your life should probably only end up in your own hands.
UPDATE: This is more like it. Credit to him for at least halfhearted admitting he was wrong before making excuses as to why...
Serena Williams Was Fined $17,000 For Her Actions During The U.S. Open Final, As Tennis Doubled Down On Its Own Stupidity
In my personal opinion, the time and place for a heated discussion about double standards in a particular professional sport is not on the field of play during the late stages of said sport's nationally televised championship match. Call me crazy, but hashing out the intricacies of a rulebook, that's apparently filled with nothing more than strong suggestions when it's enforced during men's matches, is probably best done behind closed doors, as opposed to in front of a crowd of tens of thousands of customers who - by and large - paid to see the aggrieved party.
Unfortunately, therein lies the problem, for tennis is the only highly tense and competitive sport played head-to-head between athletes that have dedicated their entire lives to it that could manage to set a scene in which it makes even a sliver of sense for the biggest of stars to turn brightest of stages into a public forum for feminism.
To the casual viewer, it's not about Serena Williams arguably going overboard in receiving coaching...from her coach(?), or smashing her racquet, or demanding an (unnecessary) apology before calling the chair umpire a liar and a thief. It's about said chair umpire proceeding to prove he's exactly that by stealing a full game from Serena Williams, stealing the moment from the young woman - Naomi Osaka - who went on to make history as the first Japanese player to win a Grand Slam, and stealing the intrigue from a viewing audience that wanted to see the most high stakes of match decided in its totality by...::audible gasp::...those actually participating in it.
I know that professional tennis, as an entity, doesn't think that its shit stinks, but the crappiest thing that happens in sports is when officials have a highly circumstantial impact on the outcome of a game, never mind literally having a statistical impact on the outcome of the game. We're ready to replace baseball umpires with robots because we're fed up with their strike zones, and tennis umpires are out here doing the equivalent of retracting turns at-bat during Game 7 of the World Series due to bad behavior. If that's not a sign that your holier than thou code of conduct needs the stick removed from its tight (predominantly) white ass then I don't know what does.
Assuming that all coaches do...wait for it...coach, and that the worst thing that a man has said to a chair umpire without punishment of (less important , given the length of the match) points is probably a bit more abusive than words that didn't even require censoring on cable, I'd imagine that a pretty clear double standard does exist. That, however, isn't my biggest problem with what took place during the US Open Final, as Serena Williams wasn't exactly as innocent as the soapbox from which she spoke would indicate...
My biggest problem is that clouds were voluntary introduced unto an event in which a well-deserved star was being born. You want to fine the person that's currently keeping one half of the damn sport afloat for being complicit in turning it into a bit of sideshow then fine...I guess, but at least let the match play out on its own volition first. To varying degrees, we all lost on Saturday, and it was due to the thin-skinned authority of someone who had nothing to win but some attention, and the sport that ultimately sided with the most replaceable person involved in it.
Masters' Winner Patrick Reed Had Quite Possibly The Whitest Company Complaint In The History Of The Internet
A pro golfer? At a pro baseball game? On the company dime? Taking to twitter with a complaint that his free tickets in a highly sought after section that he self-named to sound dangerous because "third baseline" doesn't have the same bite to it as "line drive section"? While having more than enough money to casually piss away $650 to move up a couple dozen rows tops to be with his peers in the best seats in the house?
Honestly, if there's a @RichWhitePeopleProblems bot automatically curating the most caucasian of company complaints from around the internet then Patrick Reed just made it overheat and start billowing smoke with a tweet that makes "Hey @Starbucks, Becky only has one 'E' #ugh" look deserving of its own Sarah McLaughlin soundtrack. Seriously, someone get that grievance some SPF 90 and an umbrella, because that baby is a burning faster than the skin on the person who decided it was fit for public consumption.
You probably have to spend a hell of a lot of time in and around country clubs to develop the type of talent that's necessary to win the Masters, but is it possible that Patrick Reed has never actually been anywhere that doesn't require you to wear a collar? Like, perhaps he was delivered by way of a water birth in the type fountain that spits at the idea of being tarnished with change, and has just been getting shipped around from private course to private course ever since. This being his first venture beyond the safety of a security gate is really the only thing that could possibly explain being this out of touch.
Also, I thought the access into the world where the most privileged of circumstance is worthy of sympathy is dependent upon staying offline in these situations so as to not let people in on the extent of its exclusivity. Was Alfred not around to correct this injustice against full-blown entitlement? How is it possible that he was left with nowhere else to turn but to social media at its most sadistic when it came to righting a near impossibly unrelatable wrong?
While I am impressed with how much pretentiousness was crammed into less than 280 characters, I do think we need to send the collection plate around to gather some thoughts and prayers for Patrick Reed. After all, not only did he spend an inning at risk of having a foul ball hit to him, but he betrayed his fellow high society members in making public their ludicrous level of snobbery. For a guy who was already pretty hated in the golf community, I can't imagine that'll play well in the clubhouse.
Sidenote: Apparently Patrick Reed has completely cut off communication with his parents to appease his wife, and - if I were to be shallow for a moment - WOOF! That might actually be a more problematic choice than choosing to let the world take a glance at the thickness of the bubble he lives in.
A Boxer Just Straight Up Left The Building Upon The Start Of A Televised Fight Due To A "Contract Dispute", Or Something Like It
This is just a unmistakable reminder that everyone has their price. Typically, when becoming a willing combatant in a professionally sanctioned boxing match, that price is decided upon once the ink dries on the contract. However, how does one know how much an ass whooping from an African American adonis is worth to them until being blinded by the light reflecting off pecks that were chiseled out of stone?
Don't get me wrong, Curtis Harper is worthy of just about as much sympathy as he is "respect", with both clocking in at something close to zero, but what's he supposed to say? That being face-to-face with an opponent who looks like a post-op centaur turned human made him feel like half a man and a horse's ass? That, after halfheartedly trying to pump himself up for 3-5 seconds, he decided the structural integrity of his jawline was worth more to him than his personal and professional pride? There's no good answer for up and leaving the ring prior to the televised fight you voluntarily choose to participate in, so it shouldn't really be a surprise that Curtis Harper's explanation for his abrupt departure absolutely sucks. That said, after taking a quick look at both him and his competition, I can't say I don't understand why he got a bit greedy when it came time for the completion of the agreed upon sale of his general well-being.
If success in boxing was based entirely on physique then it would be far too easy to gamble on, and thus would have completely died out as a sport years ago. Still, if intimidation counts for anything inside a boxing ring then it counts for a first round knockout of Curtis Harper's reputation, as he got bullied out of his original billing without one blow being delivered. Oh well, that embarrassing scene was a shocker, but what it wasn't was the first topless walk of shame that Efe Ajagba's looks have been heavily responsible for.
Recently Unretired Golfer John Peterson Snapped His Putter Over His Knee After Making A Mid-Round Putt On The Web.com Tour
TheBigLead- John Peterson retired from golf, for a little while. Apparently he realized that it would be kind of ridiculous for him to “retire” at the age of 29 if he is good enough to compete on the PGA Tour no matter how difficult the grind.
However, because he didn’t have enough points to automatically qualify for his Tour card for next season, he is currently playing in the Web.com Tour finals where the top 25 finishers earn their Tour cards for the next season.
Things aren’t going so well for Peterson this week in the Nationwide Children’s Hospital Championship. He’s currently four-over and the leader, Henrik Norlander, is seven-under.
On Thursday, Peterson lost it while on the 15th green and snapped his putter...
To be clear, I have absolutely no familiarity with John Peterson outside of watching him knock down a putt prior to...umm...re-purposing his putter. Therefore, to put it lightly, my outside opinion of him is wholly uneducated. With that said, is it possible that he didn't give that whole retirement thing an honest enough go by stepping away from the game for one measly month?
I typically don't like to see top-notch talent go to waste and any 29 year old who was on the PGA Tour should theoretically still have plenty of potential to realize before calling it quits. However, if your first instinct is to shatter the one club whose absence is impossible to play around after a made putt in the middle of a round then you might need a little more time away from the tee box.
I get that he was having a tough go of things at the time, but if there's one lie I am actually familiar with on the links then it's the lie you tell yourself when promising that the next 18 holes are going to be different. On a much, much grander scale then I'll ever begin to understand, that was the truth revealing itself, and the truth is that John Peterson really f'n hates the sport golf right about now.
It certainly makes him more relatable to someone like me, who starts talking about golf the same way a massively hungover person talks about drinking ("never again") by the time I shank the approach shot on the 13th hole. Still, he might want to take this poor performance as a sign and submit to a true sabbatical before he ends up recycling the entirety of his bag out of frustration (with flawless form, for the record).
Bryce Mitchell Somehow Tore His Scrotum With A Power Drill, Thus Reminding Us That MMA Fighters Are Legit Crazy People
Quickly grab your groin, ladies and gents, for I don't even think you need a ball bag to feel second-hand pain in the deepest part of your genitals as you both read and see the following...
What I do like about this gut-wrenching story, and I use the word "like" insanely loosely, is that it highlights exactly how psychotic you have to be to choose mano a mano attempted murder as your career path while knowing that the unfriendly confines of a cage will be your workplace.
I say the following with the upmost respect to Bryce Mitchell, as I would never in a million years have the balls to do what he does. However, the fact that he damn near lost them to the live drill he voluntarily chose to pack next to his penis while doing manual labor is a pretty good sign that his grasp on an opponent's neck is typically a lot tighter than his grasp on the reality of what is or isn't inherently dangerous.
I know I have always wondered what personality type is required to watch two people beat the consciousness out of one another and say to themselves "that's what I need to do when I grow up". Now I know it's the same personality type required to tuck a power tool in your waistband like it's an untimely erection, live to tell the tale of uncoiling your nut sac like it's a poorly manufactured slinky, and matter-of-factly act as if that's merely an unfortunate occurrence that could happen to anybody.
Most people know not to put themselves in a position where a muscle twitch could result in a Saw-esque scrotum injury, but most people can't get in an octagon across from a trained killer with nothing to fear but fear itself. I deeply and truly hope he can learn that first lesson sometime soon, but - in retrospect - I'm not so sure we should have been totally surprised that a UFC fighter treated his manhood like it was immortal.
Jordan Spieth Launched His Ball Into The Water After Hitting It Out Of Bounds, And I'm Now Officially A Jordan Spieth Fan
Look, I know that now is a very convenient time to jump on the bandwagon. It's not every day you come across a professional golfer who is shooting to put himself in historical company as a Grand Slam winner. Therefore, I will totally accept being labeled a frontrunner for finally backing an illustrious career during the tournament in which claiming you're a Jordan Spieth fan could potentially be at its most beneficial.
That said, it's also not everyday you come across a professional golfer that's plucking balls out of the roughest of rough and rocketing them into the water with no regard for the camera that's clearly on him. Therefore, I will not accept being labeled a fraud, as I have always held dear the golfers that most remind me of myself on the links. Whether it be at the PGA Championship or some podunk pitch-and-putt, any player that takes out their frustrations on inanimate objects without shame is a man (or woman) after my own heart. So here's to hoping that Jordan Spieth either wins the whole damn thing, or goes down swinging...at literally any surrounding that could unreasonably be deemed responsible for a shanked shot.
Tommy Fleetwood Won Over $150K At 'The British Open', Which Was Then Direct Deposited Into The Bank Account Of A Much Different Tommy Fleetwood
Golf.com- Thomas Fleetwood, 58, of Clermont, Fla., spotted an odd notification on his Wells Fargo bank account Friday night.
As a PGA teaching pro and a caddie at Streamsong Resort, he’s not exactly in the business of wiring funds. On Saturday morning, that notification had six figures attached to it. Thomas’s checking account was $154,480 richer.
That’s a stunning sum for most Tom Fleetwoods out there (there are more than you’d think), but it’s no big deal for the 11th-ranked player in the world, better known as Tommy, who tied for 12th at the British Open just 17 days ago.
The mix-up occurred because of a “clerical” error by the European tour , according to Tommy’s wife and manager, Clare. Via e-mail she explained that the tour had apologized and that “apparently the payments were made manually, not on automated system and there are two TF’s somehow?”
Some of the accounting confusion stemmed from the fact that Thomas was also a pretty decent stick in his day, if not of the world-class variety. “Back in ’89 I played a tournament, I can’t remember if it was the European or Challenge tour,” Thomas said. “It was the Lyon Open in France, but [the European tour] have my information from trying to get on their senior tour.”
Though Thomas was unable to carve out a place with the Staysure Tour, his bank information did, which is why it isn’t all too surprising that, when manually entered, a mistake between two Tom Fleetwoods could be made. An honest mistake, to be sure, but a six-figure mistake nonetheless, and a mistake that was Thomas’s to correct. It’s just that banks aren’t open on Saturday…or Sunday.
Fully intent on rectifying the mistake he labeled “humorous,” Thomas told some friends about it. It got his mother all excited. Over the weekend it was funny for him just to think about, or to glance at his Wells Fargo mobile app. He’d take care of redirecting the funds during the week.
As is the life of a teaching pro and caddie, Thomas was too busy to make a bank trip Monday. Tuesday was his day off and he simply forgot to visit the bank, adding a bit of context to his “meh” comment. Only on Wednesday morning did he receive a reminder via an ominous email from the tour.
“It just said, ‘Wrong deposit, please send it back. Here’s the information to send it back,’” Thomas said. “I emailed them back and I said, ‘Well, I plan on sending it back, but you’ve got to excuse me that I’m not going to send it to this thing you’re sending me randomly in email. But it will be sent back.”
Thomas went to work Wednesday, drove over to his local Wells Fargo on the way home, and asked for the funds to be redirected. Just like that his bank account was back to normal.
“I’m poor again,” he said laughing. His duty was simple, and as of 5 p.m., it was done. It just wasn’t completely settled.
Soon enough, he saw his name on golf websites, and he saw that Tommy had no idea his money went elsewhere. Not until early evening was he finally able to contact Tommy’s team.
It's easy to find this story humorous, as it's objectively funny that an operation as big as The British Open made the type of mistake you'd expect from a sloppy college kid haphazardly using Venmo but instead with approximately 11,000 drunk pizzas worth of money at stake. It appears both Tommy Fleetwood's took this screw-up in stride, so the fact that it was made in the first place is laughable, as all is well that ends well.
That being said, the wrong Tommy Fleetwood is a better man than I, for I would be absolutely irate if this happened to me. Never mind how many years would have been taken off my life by the rollercoaster my heart would looped through upon open seeing a six-figure notification pop up on my phone, because that pales in comparison to the amount of years taken off my life by having to make a goddamn trip to the bank to account for someone else's stupidity.
You're telling me that not only did the wrong Tommy Fleetwood have to give back over $154,000, but he had to inconvenience himself in the process? I'll tell ya, if I don't read about some type of sizable reward coming his way soon than I'll be left with even less hope for humanity than the wrong Tommy Fleetwood has currently been left compensation for his time and effort. We've got one wealthy entity frivolously tossing around a stupid sum of money and another wealthy entity being too well-off to have any idea it went missing in the first place, and the 58 year old man of humble means is the one that has to run around breaking his back to make things right?
I wish The European Tour would step to me asking to redirect the funds they flung around all willy nilly, just so I could tell them to redirect their goddamn attitude. They are lucky they messed with the right wrong Tommy Fleetwood, for a less understanding Tommy Fleetwood (with a loose understanding of both paper trails and the law) might have gone off the grid and become fleet of foot in trying to make them earn back every penny of their idiotic mistake.
Greg Hardy Emphatically Won His Second Professional MMA Match, As The UFC Intentionally Left Us Impatiently Awaiting His Downfall
Sigh. It's times like this one where you really just have to force yourself to look on the bright side, as it's too easy to be led into darkness by the ruthlessness of the business practices that have an unapologetic beater of women and a disgraced former football player once again profiting off violence. In combat sports where at least one person is almost guaranteed to get their ass kicked, a despicable piece of human trash is as good of a draw as a beloved brute. The concept of a heel is not new, but that doesn't make it any easier to stomach a victory for someone who might use his as a weapon against a defenseless victim that didn't cook his eggs to his liking.
So, try to ignore that Dana White is being as hypocritical as any other "good" business man in feeding a monster a couple minnows while watching the coins that come as a result of universal contempt pile up...
I know it's difficult to do so, but the harder Greg Hardy hits, the more impossible it becomes to forget that he used those same hands to throw someone half his size onto a stack of semi-automatic weapons. To anyone that possesses a long term memory, his temporary success make his past that much harder to escape. Not occupationally, apparently, but in the eyes of viewers he's as much of a psychotic piece of shit as he's ever been. Of course we are all eager to see his comeuppance. However, the fact that the fighter in question can't be viewed separate of his sins will have to hold us over until the UFC has fully milked it's new cash cow and finally sends it out for slaughter against an opponent that doesn't step into the octagon looking like he also just saw the ghosts of Greg Hardy's past.
Just another added bonus of being 'The Great One', I suppose. Even in the most copacetic of relationships, I'd say that wearing the last name of your soon-to-be father-in-law on your back in the public eye gives him the upper-hand in the unspoken power struggle that typically exists between a daughter's dad and her fiancee/husband. In this case, however, said daughter is the product of such exceptional sperm that even one of the most gifted golfers in the world has thrown in the towel on trying to be the most universally important person in her life.
I don't blame Dustin Johnson, as the father to his soon-to-be supermodel bride is basically synonymous with the entire sport of hockey to those that don't even know the rules of it. Wayne Gretzky is essentially the Canadian Tiger Woods had Tiger Woods not gotten the dominance beaten out of him with his own club after screwing the entire wait staff at every pedestrian chain restaurant within walking distance. Therefore, DJ really had no choice but to except that his celebrity will always come in second, if not third (as Paulina still goes by 'Gretzky'), during holidays.
That said, he deserves credit to embracing his eternally silver medal. A lesser man might continue to fight that uphill battle out of foolish and stubborn pride, but - if his decision to rock the illustrious number 99 on the links is any indication - then Dustin Johnson is keepin' it a 100 in regards to how retired his place will be in the family power rankings. The fact that he's living a better life than 99.9% of the population sure makes it easier to do so, but there are far too many people of his notoriety that would rather come off as a self-important prick than lean into being lesser in status than even .1% of their peers. Especially if they had to pass one of those peers the mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving,
Bradley Wright-Phillips Of The Red Bulls Was Fully Prepared To Become The Fastest 100 Goal Scorer in MLS History
Objectively speaking, that's exactly how it's done. That wasn't just a celebratory self-promotional spectacle, it was the thee celebratory self-promotional spectacle by which all others should be measured going forward. There's a bunch of antiquated sports fans out there who are falsely made to feel more comfortable with the placement of the stick up there ass every time an NFL player hands the ball back an official following a touchdown. Yet, even they would have to tip their ill-fitting golf cap to how much sweat and swag was spilled by Bradley Wright-Phillips in the making of history.
Take the foresight that went into having an authentic jersey bearing the #100 printed up. Throw in a dash of the self-assuredness necessary to throw it on under his actual uniform while playing a game as exasperating as soccer in the humid hellscape of Washington D.C. during the dead of summer. Mix it all up with the superior skill required to outrace a defender to the ball, stop on a dime, and almost too casually whip it it through his wickets into the back of the net. Apparently that is the recipe for an immaculate amount of moxie, because it would be impossible to argue that Bradley Wright-Phillips didn't "keep it 100" in earning the opportunity to feel himself.
Owning a big ego isn't particularly impressive, but keeping it fed off calories that are anything but empty is basically an art form. It's one that the Red Bulls' striker is especially skilled in, and since it's one that's become become a lot more quantity than quality as of late, I hope he goes into teaching when his playing days come to an end. Professor, Stunt 101-401.
I want everyone to keep in mind that I'm judging based off the rarely referenced and extremely unforgiving scale of instances in which a dropkick has been executed to perfection on the pitch, but didn't that particular cleat(s)-on-sternum contact seem relatively unavoidable? I wouldn't go as far as saying that our boy Melisse even tried to avoid it, as he seemingly lifted his second leg for no apparent reason, but when there's a set of washboard abs at your disposal you're not going to not use them to break your fall. That's just human instinct taking over, as far as I'm concerned.
Getting hit with a move that's typically delivered by those wearing sequenced speedos and face paint in a WWE ring probably shouldn't be considered an occupational hazard of playing professional soccer. However, with how long his feet hung in the air, I think there's an excellent "he ran into me!"-type case to be made that the victim was at least mildly complicit in the collision. Of course the slow motion replay helps that case exorbitantly, but the fact remains that, of the handful of gut-punching dropkicks I've seen, that one seemed the most like the incidental result of applicable athleticism and happenstance meeting in the middle of an opponent's ribcage. Then again, that's not saying all that much when this is what it's being compared to...
It Took 20 Goals Against, But The Opposing Goalie In Everton's Friendly Finally Threw In The Towel In a 22-0 Defeat
I think the obvious question here is a rhetorical one. Other than boosting their own confidence by way of not-so-borderline bullying, there's no reasonable answer for why a Premier League team would find it a productive use of their preparation time to beat the absolute piss out out of some beer leaguers. I mean, if that was just a "friendly" then so was the time that Tim Riggins plowed his recently paralyzed quarterback's girlfriend on Friday Night Lights. Therefore, I'm not even going to ask why this massacre even took place, and instead focus on one of the most impressive achievements I have ever seen on the pitch.
Yeah, I guess the twenty-two unanswered goals in a 90 minute game that typically features under 10% of that much scoring was all well and good, but not nearly as commendable as the opposing goalkeeper nearly making it to stoppage time before quitting on his team. In the moment, it might have seemed infantile for him to turn his back on the ball as a form of protest. However, after his own teammate increased the lead to 19 by inexplicably booming one over his head for no apparent reason, anything more peaceful than breaking pint bottles over the head of each one of his peers became a stellar display of both sportsmanship and professionalism...
Honestly, any man of even slightly lesser character would have been impatiently waiting on the team bus with a pillowcase full of quarters by the time the lead was increased to a dozen, so credit to him for making it 84 minutes into that drubbing before relinquishing all responsibilities. Never mind throwing in the towel, he had plenty of reason to use it to chloroform his entire roster and leave them naked and hogtied at midfield. Hopefully he didn't pay for a single drink that night, and that includes those he would have been every bit justified in dumping on the heads of the bums that hung him out to dry all afternoon.
An MLS Coach Went On A Half-Assed Rant About The Officials, Showing How Far Soccer Has To Go In This Country
This doesn't happen all too often, but I'm offended. Not by a professional coach's use of an expletive in his attempt to emphasize how little he cares about being penalized for his opinion, but rather his abuse of the word "shit" in trying to make an otherwise mild outburst seem worthy of a fine in the first place.
Honestly, I just feel as thought I was lied to. I don't like being led astray, and labeling that overly thought out, long-winded, and completely coherent complaint a "rant" is as disingenuous as considering the even-keeled man who delivered it to be a martyr. I thought I was going to get a glimpse at a World Cup-worthy freakout from an MLS manager who got tossed from a game in which his team ended up losing by a single goal. Instead I witnessed a reminder that the ambiguous rules of beer pong are the cause for far more uncontrollable anger in the United States than crappy officiating at the highest level of domestically organized soccer.
Hell, if I were the Commissioner I wouldn't even give the manager of Real Salt Lake the satisfaction of a fine, for the only thing profane about that cuss word was how shamelessly it was inserted to get that interview rated PG-13. That might pass for a "rant" in Utah, but anywhere within spitting distance of the Tristate area and that's considered run-of-the-mill irritability. I know inconsolable animosity in sports when I see it, and native New Yorker Mike Petke sounding off in a way that made it seem more likely that his steak was slightly overcooked than his team was robbed of a victorious result in a professional sporting event ain't it.
The MLS needs a little more "they are who we thought they were!" (R.I.P. Dennis Green) if those fully invested in it want us to believe that it isn't what we think it is. Which is, of course, an extremely underwhelming attempt at trying to popularize soccer in a country whose upmost quality can't even qualify for tournament in which blood would literally be shed over a bad enough call.
FIFA Appears Intent On Addressing Its Most Problematic Issue, Which Is (::scratches head::) Female Fan Shots?
LBS- A FIFA executive says the organization has talked with broadcasters about reducing the amount of shots of hot women at the World Cup.
An anti-discrimination group called Fare Network has raised a point about sexism at the World Cup, which includes the harassment of female reporters while on TV, as well as multiple shots of female fans in the crowd.
According to FIFA diversity boss Federico Addiechi, they have discussed the matter with broadcasters.
“We’ve done it with individual broadcasters. We’ve done it with our host broadcast services,” Addiechi said, via the BBC.
He said the organization will look into reducing cutaways to female fans.
“This is one of the activities we definitely will have in future – it’s a normal evolution.”
I'll tell you what, the best thing that could possibly happen to FIFA is that broadcast crews don't heed their warning and continue to give attractive women from all over the globe their five seconds of international fame. I get that female-dominated fan shots are technically objectifying and the idea of some guy scanning the crowd for busty cougars and panting as he pounds on the zoom button is definitely a little creepy. That said, if their cutaways stop being so easy on the eyes then the most corrupt institution in all of sports might actually have to address their laundry list of real problems.
I mean, FOX could send cameramen into bathrooms unannounced to peek over stalls and broadcast drunken, mid-match money shots during breaks in the action and it still wouldn't be the most problematic practice with which FIFA affiliates itself. We're talking about an organization that has blood on both their hands and the multi-millions that are lining their pockets, and their biggest concern is wiping clean the drool from their viewing demographic of excitable dudes? The World Cup is a tournament that attracts psychotic sports fans that take patriotism to a nationalistic level, and the prejudice that's being prioritized as an issue is the disproportional amount of times in which the fairer sex quickly graces the screen with its beauty amidst homophobic chants and death threats?
To call this call for more maniacal men on camera a diversionary tactic would be an insult to diversion and tactics, because putting candid shots of pretty women in the stands in the same vein of sexism as the inexcusable physical harassment of female reporters makes my eyes roll so over-emphatically that they'd put Neymar to shame. If FIFA is intent on ridding itself of all -ism's then perhaps it should start by not setting its most illustrious stage in a home country that views homosexuality as more offensive than hate crimes. Maybe it's just me, but the racism that tends to result from pitting less than progressive nations against each other in competition that's made more heated on the field and in the stands by the stakes might be worthy of more attention than the objectification of some Brazilian bombshell that's probably going to filter her World Cup cameo into a highly hearted Instagram post.
If it is truly sexism then it's sexism in its most mild form, and there's nothing mild about the problems that arise when the entire f'n world has to agree on a specific set of social norms during a month in which every country is rooting for one another's misery.
England Fans In London Celebrating A Goal With A City-Wide Beer Shower Is As Good As The World Cup Gets
If for some reason you still needed a glimpse into just how much the World Cup means to those wholeheartedly invested in its outcome then this video is the perfect portrayal. In order of importance, where their next beer was coming from was second only to a triumph for their home country, and yet the entirety of the English faithful couldn't help but throw a couple dozen kegs worth of Newcastle to the wind once their boys found the back of the net. Seriously, other than the actual sport itself, that clip of savory suds spraying over an entire congregation of loud, proud, and rowdy residents as if they all broke the seal off the backsplash of the world's largest urinal in unison is as good as international soccer gets.
Unfortunately for England, that clip was literally as good as it got. I already praised them for their awe-inspiring encapsulation of the thrill of victory, but - boy, oh boy - the agony of defeat must have stunk something serious. Just thousands of sticky, sweat-stained drunks slowly dragging ass back to their humble abodes smelling like the basement floor of a fraternity after having warm beer baked into their skin for the last hour and a half. I'm glad their highest of highs was what was caught on tape, because Croatia's comeback probably had them looking like death run over twice by the replenished beer truck they emptied all over each other once they came crashing down to the lowest of lows. Not to ruin what was an awesome moment by referencing it's polar opposite, but both are intrinsic to being a crazed fan of a sport that takes center stage once every four years. Live by the "GOAAAAL!", die by the "GOAAAAL!", and I'm taking about their buzz just as much as I'm talking about the people that had theirs blown.
And this, right here, is the type of thing you can only feel comfortable participating in during an event as unique as the World Cup. In almost every other form of competition this would be considered a bad omen, as the elimination round hasn't even kicked off yet. However, in a sport fueled by such fierce, international rivalries that only get to truly come to a head once every four years, not a single wound should go free of salt.
Humility? Ain't nobody got time for that! Modesty? Maybe next month, but not even the irony of an impending matchup with a Mexican team whose advancement was the new life that was born of the shocking death of the reigning champs that Brazilians mocked through the streets is enough to silence the hooligans during the much anticipated period in which their peak patriotism is encouraged. That funeral procession screams "be careful what you wish for...", but nobody could possibly care anywhere near enough to sober up and listen. As well they shouldn't, for when four years of the most loyal of fandom get packed into a 4.5 week span, every second you spend still alive is to be shamelessly celebrated...even if that entails dancing on the dead with props that symbolize the 6 feet they'll remain under until 2022.
TheBigLead- On Saturday, during the third round of the Travelers Championship, Bryson took his analysis of the game just a little too far and caught the eye of the PGA Tour when he was caught by cameras using a compass to, in his own words, “figure out true pin locations.”
“The pin locations are just a little bit off every once in a while, and so I’m making sure they’re in the exact right spot. And that’s it.”
They said, ‘Hey, we just want to let you know that we’re investigating the device and seeing if it’s allowable,'” DeChambeau said. “I understand. It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened.”
“It’s a compass. It’s been used for a long, long time. Sailors use it,” DeChambeau said. “It’s just funny that people take notice when I start putting and playing well.”
Whew, and I was beginning to think that the PGA Tour, and the sport of golf in general, encouraged the use of meticulous means while in the pursuit of an illustrious end. Considering the way in which everyone reacted to Phil Mickelson's felonious breach of etiquette, I would have thought the polarity of Bryson DeChambeau's decision to dissect the ball's every direction before hitting it would be celebrated. Good to know that there's a very small middle ground between being too casual and too formal in which professional golfers are forced to reside.
Now, I have no idea how using the type of compass that the perfectionist who made you look bad in third grade by turning in geometry homework that looked to be computer generated before yours appeared to be added to the pile out of the ass of your dog is at all beneficial in putting a ball in a hole. I do know, however, that it's use is only about a half a step up from the type of methodical course management that is usually gets glorified on the greens.
Bryson DeChambeau might be a bit of try hard, as it's highly preposterous for him to claim that he needed to find the "true pin location" when there's a 6-foot fucking flag sticking out of it. That said, golf has built it's bombastic brand off treating itself like a science. Might as well embrace the existence of the nit-picking nuisance who somewhat inevitably showed up with a tool that guarantees the accuracy of the data when you're the same sport that analyzes everything down to the blade of grass.
Phil Mickelson Texted Reporters Apologizing For His Actions At The U.S. Open...Four Days After His Actions At The U.S. Open
I say the following without exaggeration. Of all the empty apologies that have been tossed around in hopes of speeding up 2018's news cycle and directing the ire of the easily offended to the next unforgivable act that becomes easily forgotten, this one might just be the most senseless.
Personally, I found the most relatable display of frustration ever to take place on a prestigious golf course to be hilariously endearing. However, even if I were to step foot in the straight-laced shoes of golf purists here, I can't imagine that a "sorry" this late in the pretentious game is what's going to cure their endless constipation.
The think pieces have been written. The opinions have been formed. The sides of the fence have been firmly taken. What good does bringing this up again do? I think the poor children would have eventually pulled through their devastating disappointment had Phil Mickelson not offered his amends to distraught reporters. As fragile as its participants can be at times, I can't help but think that both the spirit and the sport of golf would have persevered without Lefty's belated plea to make things right. At the risk of giving the most sanctimonious of sports enthusiasts too much credit, I think we have all moved on from talking about a stupid 2-stroke penalty taken by someone who was playing out the remainder of an awful performance as nothing more than an obligation.
It's Wednesday. More so than anyone, those that are so emotionally entrenched in a sport that predominantly takes place on weekends should prescribe to the concept of hump day, and therefore an inability to get the hell over it is their own damn problem at this point.
For that reason, I think I'm now offended. Not by a professional golfer channeling his inner pissed off putt-putter or the insanely over-the-top reaction to it, but rather by the timing of an apology that was either too-little-too-late or too-much-too-soon depending on whether or not you watch golf with a 9-iron lodged up your ass.