I'd say that in most cases we'd expect head coaches to plaster professionalism across their face when dealt disappointment during something as subjectively selected as Award Show winners. As the strategist behind the young team with the best record in basketball, it's tough to be too surprised by Mike Budenholzer winning 'Coach of the Year' anyway, so you'd think the disgust would be a little less undeniable in the expression of someone who definitely served as worthy competition. That, however, simply isn't who Doc Rivers is a person, so if absolutely nothing else, I appreciate how on-brand a reaction that was from someone who has never suppressed his emotions or agreed with a single judgment call that didn't go his way. Had the presenter at the time happened to be wearing a whistle around his neck, we might well have been the Pavlovian Rottweiler in Doc Rivers come out during an award show freakout capable of making Taylor Swift drop the mic and Kanye West feel second-hand embarrassment. For that reason, I'm pretty proud of the guy for merely being caught looking like he smelled some shit on his lip for two seconds by a camera guy that knew damn well what he doing. After all he did in making a gift out of the present in getting to Game 6 against a full-strength Golden State with a roster that was undercut by a management team that had their sights set on the future, I understand his outward objection. Even though I ironically wouldn't be as willing to give a pass to an NBA coach that hasn't broken me down and made me immune to his barking throughout years of shameless bitching.
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Newsday- “Mickey came out of his office, dressed, and I thought he was leaving for the day, so I said, ‘See you tomorrow, Mickey,’ ” Healey said. “And then he said, ‘Don’t be a smart-ass.”
Healey said he was told by other reporters that Callaway continued to curse at him. Healey said he did not hear that because he was “10 feet away at that point.” Healey said Callaway then went into another room, and when the manager returned after a few minutes, he picked up where he left off. “I couldn’t confidently tell you exactly what he said, but he said, ‘You know we’re going to be in a bad mood after a loss,’ or something like that. And I tried to tell him, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just saying I’ll see you tomorrow. And then he said, ‘Get this guy out of here,’ and that got the attention of Jason Vargas.” According to Healey, Vargas was getting dressed at his locker, which was about 15 feet away in the cramped visitors’ clubhouse, and Healey noticed the pitcher had been staring at him for what seemed like roughly 45 seconds. Healey said he was just standing there, “wondering why Mickey was blowing up,” when he saw Vargas. He recalled asking him if everything was OK or if there was something he wanted to say. That’s when Vargas threatened him. “He said, ‘I’ll knock you out right here’ and then took a couple of steps toward me,” Healey said. “Some people said charged — charged is super-strong.” Mets media relations manager Ethan Wilson got between Healey and Vargas while other players, Noah Syndergaard and Carlos Gomez among them, moved in to make sure the pitcher remained at a distance. Healey said he walked away at that stage. “I was shocked, and at the same time trying to tell Vargas or Callaway or Ethan, ‘Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it,’ which might have been interpreted as aggression on my part. I was in no way trying to be aggressive or antagonistic or anything. At that point in the day, I want to talk to Diaz and then leave, you know? “What’s the point in me trying to pick a fight?” ----------- Working under the unsafe assumption that Mickey Callaway isn't intentionally sabotaging his job security in hopes of being granted the sweet release of a paid-in-full termination from an organization whose ownership makes employment in pro sports feel pretty close to imprisonment...
...I think it's safe to assume that he probably isn't long for his current workplace if someone can't say something as benign as "see you tomorrow" without him interpreting it as a condescending dig at his chances of seeing even one more day on the job. I wouldn't know Tim Healey if he walked up to me and said "nice to meet you!" in a difficult to distinguish tone, so I haven't the slightest idea how cantankerous his relationship might be with the New York Mets. Hell, even if I did know it to be relatively peaceful, I'm not sure how reliably objective Newsday can be in reporting on their own reporter's unfortunate incident. That said, I think we can all agree that the team said reporter happens to cover is entirely capable of starting a death-match with the media over minor miscommunication. Like, the idea of an MLB clubhouse turning into a clusterfuck over a misheard pleasantry would be entirely out of realm of possibility...if not for it being the one MLB clubhouse that makes the movie Major League seem like it might be based on a true story. I'm not going to point fingers because are there three sides to every story, but the side that makes the most sense might just be the one in which a Manager lost his shit over a "see you later", as if the meanest thing you could offer Mickey Callaway is a reminder that the Wilpon's are too cheap to can his ass. I think that right there tells you everything you need to know about the flammable top-down culture of a franchise that makes the "this is fine" dog seem fire retardant by comparison... 
Realistically, when you consider Ray Shero's unspoken affinity for American-born players and John Hynes' history in coaching them, it's pretty easy to envision the Devils' scouting staff keeping a keen eye on Patrick Moynihan regardless of his former teammate's understandably biased thoughts on how he projects as a pro. That said, with New Jersey welcoming both Jack Hughes and PK Subban in a window so small that it barely offered Devils' fans an opportunity to breath, the world we live in is now surreal. Therefore, I'm all for taking some liberties with the truth and letting myself believe that the most electric prospect in franchise history was doing amateur scouting on behalf of the organization before he had even become a part of it. Hell, at the very least, he was cocksure enough in his own draft standing to use his first question to the team with which he saw himself spending his foreseeable future as a chance to talk up another prospect. I can only speak for myself, I suppose, but there are certainly on-ice opinions I'd value less than the one belonging to a player I had my sights set on selecting first overall. Especially when he drags his balls all over the ground he eventually left the room on in going entirely out of his way to correct me in making such a convincing case for someone other than himself. The truth is that Patrick Moynihan was probably pretty close to the next man up on the Devils' draft board at Pick #158 with or without the prior input from Pick #1, but how can you not let yourself believe in the lore of a white lie when the last 72 hours feel like a fairy tale of a fantasy anyway? 
Just given the...shall we call it...tumultuous history of the player in question, there will likely be no shortage of people scoffing at Cam Newton trying to throw money at a rich person problem in trying to pay his way into a more comfortable spot in coach. I'd venture to guess the one thing that all those people have in common is a somewhat normal-sized human body that can be crammed uncomfortably into a uniformly-sized seat without a single concern regarding the profitability of their professional career. Point being, even though I am the furthest thing from a Cam Newton apologist, I can sympathize with his plight of being a 6'5 professional athlete who was willing to give a more than gracious gift to not have to jam his long legs, that are made even more precious by an arm of questionable accuracy, into the back of stranger's seat for ten hours on end. Even if it was a product of his own careless booking. That being said, I am even more empathetic to a much more relatable plight, which is that of the passenger that told a high-end NFL quarterback straight to his face that his pride plus his traveling convenience couldn't be bought. I won't take umbrage with Cam Newton for his offer, but I will say that he re-learned a valuable lesson that he may have forgotten over the course of his career. That lesson, of course, being that going about the painstaking process of commercial travel, never mind a flight spanning multiple countries, without being unnecessarily bothered is priceless. As far as I am concerned, negotiations on both sides were more than fair. I'd say going into said negotiations wearing sunglasses and a particularly pretentious hat made for an asshole-ish look that was easy to say "no" to out of principle, especially considering the shortness of one's patience when preparing to spend damn near a full day trapped in a steel tube thousands of feet in the air. Still, in my opinion it was an entirely understandable question and, to anyone that understands the inherent irritability of travel, an even more appreciable answer. This is 'How to Give Your Franchise a Facelift in 24 Hours' and I Am Your Host, Ray Shero...6/20/2019 
I shouldn't be as shocked as I am. Perhaps that's a feeling that comes naturally with an unprecedented and expedited influx of skill, creativity, personality, swag, and charisma (never mind high jersey numbers) into a lineup that might well have left Lou Lamoriello in need of a Xanax and a 1995 Stanley Cup Championship VHS. However, the moves, as impactful as they'll presumably be to the present and the future of the organization that almost immediately went from one appearance on national television last season to being one of the most intriguing teams in the entire league next season, aren't anything we shouldn't have seen coming. I was skeptical that the most dispiriting price tag on a formidable first-pairing defenseman wouldn't be the one that was preceded by a dollar sign, but leave it to Ray Shero to pull off a heist in doing exactly what he said he was going to do all along. That, of course, being the use of a little luck, a lot of patience, and some maniacal cap management to push the Devils into contention at the perfect time. With Taylor Hall stopping just one step short of begging for a real reason to make New Jersey the place where he can attempt to do some all-too-elusive winning, that perfect time wasn't any one of countless times fickle fans bitched for Ray Shero to majorly overpay in making a minor move for the sake of making a move. Rather, it was the 24 hour window in which the franchise was given the type of facelift that leaves you in complete disbelief of what your suddenly seeing in the mirror. Regardless of what happened at the World Championships, Jack Hughes was basically an inevitable addition. The Devils now have the type of one-two punch down the middle that's knocked out no shortage of playoff opponents throughout recent Cup runs. Perhaps just as importantly, that second punch is one that is liable to completely take your breathe away as quite easily the most dynamic offensive prospect the franchise has ever gotten their hands on at a time when dynamism is at an absolute premium throughout the NHL. It might not be from Day 1, as the kid could definitely benefit from sprouting a few more ass hairs, so to speak, but Jack Hughes was born to be a game-changer. In that sense, it makes total sense as to why his selection is what ultimately changed the way Ray Shero was playing the high-risk game of rebuilding. Make no mistake, trading for PK Subban is a risk, as he is now past his prime and performing below his pay grade. However, it's a risk that's almost entirely mitigated by giving up a package centered around a former 7th round pick, albeit one that has developed into much more, for a player at a position of desperate need whose prime literally had him atop the conversation for best defenseman in the league. As far as I know, 90 out of 100 is still an 'A', and there are hardly any blue-liners on the Devils that could have dreamed of grading out with Scott Stevens-level scores over the last few seasons. This is a massive upgrade that makes the depth throughout the right side of the Devils' defense flat out dangerous. It might be one that's objectively overpriced, but it's one whose expiration date so conveniently coincides with those of entry level steals like Jack Hughes and Ty Smith that you'd think this was all planned out years in advance if that were even remotely possible. Despite his seat getting hotter, mostly just amongst a petty and premature public opinion, Ray Shero repeatedly maintained that everyone should just chill before filling the two biggest holes on his roster in less than 24 hours. Admittedly, this all feels like a franchise-altering blur, but this is a picture that was outlined ad nauseam by the man that just painted a large portion of his masterpiece. It may have become harder and harder to hear him out, but if you did then you shouldn't be quite as dumbfounded by debatably the fiercest fleecer of cap-strapped teams continuing to do what he's done best in picking first overall and making a lop-sided trade for the type of talent that you usually need far more than money to buy. I don't know about you, but I'm starting to think he may have been onto something more than serendipity in not sacrificing a long-term vision that's blindingly brighter than it has ever been for a short-term payoff of a couple more points in the standings. It was a great "day" to be New Jersey Devils' fan, which means it was also a great day to be their MVP...
I'd ask "what in the devil?", but I'm pretty sure that word is frowned upon amongst the tens upon tens of true blue Rays' diehards out there. Honestly, I've tried repeatedly to read that tweet without spending the next few minutes staring at my screen in complete confusion as if i had just come face-to-face with the most malicious of Magic Eye poster, and I just can't do it. The thought of a professional team theoretically having to go through customs in traveling from one "home" game to the next is so beyond the realm of any sort of reality that I can't even begin to logically process the logistics of international dual residency in sports. That being said, I have no choice but to applaud the creativity. It's certainly a bit shameless to desperately pander to the forgotten fans in Montreal in Expos'ing and exploiting a vulnerable market for an long-overdue uptick in attendance. However, it's a hell of a lot more innovative an idea than trying to tempt people to buy tickets by offering them lukewarm "hot" dogs for a dollar a piece. Now, I haven't the slightest clue if it's even remotely feasible, but it's Expo-nentially more interesting than anything the Rays have done throughout a recent history that even 80% of Tampa Bay residents would consider a myth if not for the results being recorded. Seeing as there ain't no such as halfway crooks, I don't know why you wouldn't just drop 'The Trop' and steal an organization in it's entirety from a city that's largely liable to leave it's front door unlocked and allow you to do so. Still, I'd be lying if I said moving the team to Montreal full-time was anywhere near as intriguing as making them the first regional polygamists in pro sports. If only because this idea seems laughably doomed for failure in pissing off pro athletes that feel as though having two homes is essentially the same as having none, I absolutely love it for how preposterously crazy it is in its cutting-edge counter-productivity. 
Ya know, I can't help but wonder if Anthony Davis is a fan of irony. I know he's a fan of the idea of playing alongside another transcendent talent in LeBron James during a convenient time in which the league has been busted wide open by the dethroning of a damaged dynasty, but is he a fan of irony? Make no mistake, the conclusion to his messy, drawn out divorce proving symbolic of the Pelicans' finally figuring it out in the front office in moving him to a franchise whose The Office-esque parody of a front office makes the one that largely wasted his limitless talent for seven years look competent by comparison is a prime example of it. I don't want to speak on behalf of the self-awareness of a 7-foot freak of nature that let himself be paraded around as nothing more than the most precious of pawn by Klutch Sports. However, Anthony Davis has to see the self-deprecating humor in Rob Pelinka and the Los Angeles Lakers salary crapping their pants in failing to realize that they had yet to open up enough space for another max contract in acquiring him, right? He's definitely in a better position to win now and win big in front of much fuller crowds, but he's also in a position to become quite the punchline in wanting nothing more than to be tasked with throwing buckets of water on the Lakers' dumpster fire of dysfunction. LeBron, AD, and - to a lesser extent - Kyle Kuzma make for an unconscionably formidable front court, but whatever help they might be getting isn't coming from the men and women running a complete circus of a shitshow. As far as I could tell, mismanagement was one of the main reasons for Rich Pau...I mean, Anthony Davis' trade demand in the first place. Therefore, he better hope he doesn't finish in second place or worse if he doesn't want to be mocked for defiantly deviating from the now ridiculously reinforced 'Road to Zion' just to run directly into the same type of dead-end that he did his damnedest to avoid. Simply put, if organizational stability was high on his list of priorities then, in waving off David Griffin to go from Dell Demps to Rob Pelinka, his list of priorities is still laughably unfulfilled and in a fairly familiar way. 
To be as clear as the day is long, let me first say that the only person I'm less likely to take at their word than Doug Gottlieb is...well...Doug Gottlieb when he's making a guest appearance on the Colin Cowherd show. To put it lightly, I'm suspicious of this story's validity. That said, it speaks volumes to the quirkiness of subject that my suspicion is based entirely on the source, as opposed to the flat out foolishness of a tale that would seem tall if not for featuring the NBA player who is most likely to come off as dumb in an exaggerated effort to sound smarter than he is. As someone that fears Kyrie Irving might come to Brooklyn and be late to the Nets' home opener because he let the universe guide his path to Barclays Center after turning off his location to go MIA to the all-knowing eye, I can't entirely dismiss this as fake news. Whether or not it's true is actually kind of irrelevant, because it being even mildly believable in a "sounds about right" sort of way is a problem in and of itself. I don't know for sure that he was walking around the Celtics' facilities asking people for their personal meaning of 'government' like he was conducting a verbal admissions test to Tinfoil Cap University, but Kyrie Irving is way out there and it's not because he accidentally stepped off the edge of the Earth. Rather, it's because, much like someone opening their eyes as wide as possible to fight off exhaustion, he tries so incredibly hard to be woke that he's ironically one step away from being asleep at the wheel. Just his Instagram captions alone are proof of someone who makes for an odd mix in being a type of pretentious that you can't help but pity. Obviously he's still an insanely talented basketball player, despite what his percentages from this postseason might show, but he'sone that is just a little too close to giving up his hoop dreams to pursue the type of "truths" outlined in rarely viewed but oddly convincing YouTube videos. 
There you have it. Your irrefutable evidence that what a professional sport whose leagues (multiple) operate under some idiotically non-uniform rule regarding something as fundamental as batting orders doesn't need is more, never mind any, pitchers "trying" to hit. Granted, the visual of Max Scherzer flashing the form of a 5-year-old in fouling the MLB equivalent of a floater pitch off his face during the practice of something he has little need to make perfect was sadistically hilarious. However, I think we can agree that if the only reward to be gained from a 3x Cy Young-winning stud stepping to the plate is a blooper fit for 'America's Funniest Home Videos' then it doesn't quite match up with the risk of him sacrificing nothing more than a straight schnoz and an intact septum with a bunt. I assume the same could be said about having almost all of baseball's best arms focus primarily on throwing. Maybe having everyone play a game, whose plunge in popularity was pretty much predestined due to its refusal to adapt to an era in which excitement is at an all-time premium in professional sports, by the same rules could be a good idea. That is, if maximizing entertainment value by protecting pitchers from themselves, highlighting the game's greatest hitters, and showcasing the most lethal offenses available were anywhere near as traditionally gratifying as (near) automatic outs are in the National League. 
Incredible. Just simply incredible. It can't imagine it gets anymore satisfying than watching the consummate troll wander aimlessly into the internet's unforgiving forest of fiction only to get the wool pulled over his eyes by a much more creative troll. A patently ridiculous "report" that reads as though the reigning NBA MVP has basically been a tumultuous teammate's mood swing away from receiving an atomic wedgie at any time throughout the last two seasons? Talk about having your britches beat off you in your own game. I honestly don't know what I appreciate more, that the current age of social media allows us to trick contrived public personas into sounding even more incredibly stupid, or that the current age of the NBA (that would be best labeled as "rebellious teen") is just dramatic enough for something so egregiously satirical to be taken at all seriously. Either way, the combination of the two just got the most shameless of sports' personalities to utter "man boobs" on-air with 100% sincerity. For that I will eternally grateful, as it shows exactly how much we...ahem...milk narratives, such as that of Chris Paul being an insufferably big-mouthed bully...or that of James Harden being a soft and lazy lactater...or that of the both of them sharing the same backcourt would create an inevitable fight fit for 5th grade recess. If only Skip Bayless had finished reading the entirety of the thread, preferably in that same dumbfounded/stern/disappointed tone...
In Regards to Offer Sheets, Ray Shero Quite Literally Says Fuck Your Gentleman's Agreement6/19/2019 
To be clear, it really shouldn't be all that comforting that the General Manager of a young NHL team on the rise isn't worried about sparing the feelings of his competition in the cutthroat quest to acquire more talent. It really should be common sense that Ray Shero, or anyone else in his position, would take full advantage of every opportunity contractually afforded to him in making his team better. Unfortunately, lazy narrative or not, history speaks to that not being the case, as some sort of unspoken gentleman's agreement makes for a better explanation than anything else that might explain the continued absence of offer sheets throughout the NHL over the years. So, while I don't know that I'd want Ray Shero to go down such an asset-expensive path in improving his roster, it is good to know that he's not the type to shy away from taking a long look down it like some of the executives that frame their cowardice as consideration. "Fuck that shit" couldn't possibly do a better job mirroring my feelings on the matter of playing nice with other negotiators, so I'm glad it came out of the filterless mouth of the man tasked with taking the New Jersey Devils to the next level by any stupidly stigmatized means necessary. If robbing cap-strapped teams of their restricted free agents is wrong then Ray Shero clearly isn't overly worried about being right. That's exactly the type of mindset you want your primary decision maker to have when you're in the business of risk-taking, never mind one that hopefully has over-anxious Devils' fans putting a pin in their pissing and moaning, at least until we're anywhere remotely near the eye of the offseason storm. 
Money. If you've been paying any attention whatsoever to Michael Thomas' social media presence, two themes were mistakable. The first being an unrelenting adoration of all things New Orleans, and the second was...you guessed it...money. After both statistically and aggressively proving every team that passed on him wrong, multiple times over, a higher grade of fuel was needed to keep accelerating his eternally dissatisfied drive to remain dominant, and what motivator throws more gas on a competitive fire than money? Unfortunately, being on an insatiable search to secure the bag meant that the adversary most likely to become the target of Michael Thomas' immutable irritability was the franchise for which he has become an emotional leader. For that reason, this surprise that Mickey Loomis and New Orleans Saints are, for the first time in a long time, more than willing to break the bank on a skill position is a pleasant one that serves as precautionary damage control to what could have pretty easily become a distraction. The wide receiver that proved, time and time again, that you can't guard him has earned a payday unprecedented at his position, and giving Michael Thomas the ability to flex on every last one of his peers by offering him what he earned is the best way to keep his eyes laser-focused on a much more elusive prize. The thing that made him so great, with that being hyper-competitiveness, is also one of the only things that could have caused a rift in an otherwise cohesive culture if he, rightfully or wrongfully, felt disrespected within his own organization. Said organization appears ready to reinforce what's been an insanely productive relationship in approximately 100 million different ways, and the negotiating table was exponentially more likely to be the place where it went awry than the football field or the locker room. Now, I do have a slight hesitancy towards setting the market for a pass catcher when they haven't proven to be a time-honored piece to the championship puzzle, but Michael Thomas is the type of irreplaceable playmaker that can help ease an inevitable transition from an elite quarterback. He's a prominent member of a young, talented core, and if the Saints are going to keep open their window after they, Lord willing, send Drew Brees off into the sunset with a second Super Bowl then they are going to need to both retain and lean heavily on said core. To put it another way, I can promise you that this implication that a deal is all but done sits well Teddy Bridgewater, so it stands to reason that it should also set well with the fans who expect to see him starting under center sooner rather than later. Michael Thomas has proven too money not to be paid handsomely, and doing so now should keep happy a guy who, as opposing corners can attest, you certainly don't want to see mad. 
While I think that "aggressive arguing" is a pretty lame basis for a suspension, I can't really get myself too riled about a player being sentenced to a one (of 162) game timeout. Especially since it was for challenging the eternally fragile masculinity of umpires that are well-known for accepting any and all forms of screaming, yelling, and finger-pointing, so long as it's part of their own, and only their own, over-reactionary displays of emotion. Simply put, Manny Machado basically asked for supplementary discipline with a how he acted in throwing around his helmet, his bat, about five dozen words that require censorship, and the most pugnacious of pointer fingers, so I'm not all that upset that he got it. Where I draw the line, however, is with the Umpires Association's weaponizing the internet against him by having their 65-year-old intern hike his khakis up to his nipples and looking up what a hashtag is before centering his spectacles and slowly-but-surely typing out a bunch of inflammatory phrases, letter-by-letter, to show widespread disapproval of player disagreement all throughout the Twitter machine...
Tagging the MLB, the San Diego Padres, and...::audible gasp::...Buster Olney in their attempt to libelously label Manny Machado an unappreciated purveyor of nonsense throughout any and all internet groups that are religiously checking up on the recent additions to #Disappointed and/or #TemperTantrum? Well, in my opinion, that's taking vigilante justice too damn far....never mind setting the intended use of technology as far back in society's rearview as baseball's repressed sensibilities. 
Leave it to nauseatingly insufferable New York sports' fans to ruin a great thing with their entirely unjustified entitlement. First it was a laundry list of overpaid yet under-appreciated superstars that didn't quite account for the rampant toxicity of the fly-by-night human fleas that the limelight attracts. Now it's the pleasure the rest of us were deriving from watching the Giants do backflips in trying to secure Eli Manning's starting job until his AARP card arrived in the mail. Honestly, watching Daniel Jones take the stage on draft day, and - more importantly - listening to the bitching and moaning of a fickle fanbase that had not one reason to expect a more rational pick before he did was absolutely delightful. Ever since, unfortunately, I can't help but feel bad for a rookie who isn't even being given a real chance by a city that is trying to self-fulfill his prophecy with failure before their first round pick even steps on an NFL field in any sort of meaningful way. To feel better about pointing and laughing at Giants' fans for their feces-flinging front office, I'm going to need them to start believing in the shit their team has thrown against the wall. I just don't feel right being a part of the world that is clearly against a young, talented player who certainly didn't idiotically draft himself at 6th overall when that world is also inhabited by a bunch of (up-their-own) assholes dressed in Eli jerseys and cloaked in nonsensical superiority complexes. I genuinely hope David Gettleman made the mistake of all mistakes when he trusted misinformation and highly-opinionated anecdotal evidence to make a selection that no one else in their right (or wrong, for that matter) mind would have. However, I'm going to need the Giants' fans of the greater New York area to get on board with that potential mistake so that I can take comfort in knowing that Daniel Jones will have some support on the ship while I mock its General Mismanager as he inevitably navigates it directly into a goddamn iceberg. 
TheAthletic- The Rockets have had conversations around Capela — and had preliminary conversations about All-Star Chris Paul, including discussing Paul deals with teams that have the necessary cap space to absorb his three years and $125 million after the free-agency moratorium in July, league sources said. Rockets GM Daryl Morey said publicly that the team does not plan to trade Paul.
------ I'm not going to hate too hard on this report. When you've got an asset as distressed as a 34-year-old, perpetual pain in the ass who is somehow only going to become more oft-injured with age, you really have no other form of recourse than to do and/or say anything to exaggerate its value. For that reason, I understand Daryl Morey floating his name on the trade block like that trade block won't be abandoned in an entire ocean of its own as Chris Paul collects the NBA equivalent of $125 million in social security while incessantly bitching at James Harden like he's the son he's eternally disappointed in...
That being said, the usage of "preliminary talks", as if said preliminary talks aren't similar to those that you might have with a stranger at a bar before she takes the drink you bought her and disappears forever, is absolutely hilarious. Making it sound as though only the details need to be hammered out when the devil is more alive and well than ever before in those details is just laughably misleading. Something tells me that if Daryl Morey manages to keep you on the line, by hook or by crook, long enough for the FBI to figure out your whereabouts, he considers you officially complicit in preliminary talks regarding the acquisition of his most expensive and annoying anchor. So long as the phone call doesn't end extremely quick with an abrupt click, you're in the market for a middle-aged malcontent. So much so, that I wouldn't be half-surprised if those that made the mistake of picking up haven't had to go through a 6-step process to unsubscribe from daily e-mails reminding them that Chris Paul is on the clearance rack. I don't know that the Rockets had much of a choice when it came to extending CP3 in hopes that he'd help them win a championship before contaminating the team, but they might have even less of a choice when it comes to keeping him on a catastrophic contract that's gotten worse every single second since it was signed. 
Mini-camp. Fucking mini-camp. I thought I was a little too skeptical of Aaron Rodgers' ability to maintain a professional relationship and compromise with a new Head Coach by having productive back-and-forth conversations about the playbook behind closed doors. Yet, even I had my first "told ya so" tentatively scheduled towards the end of training camp. That's not to say that the most irritable arm in the NFL doesn't make a fair point about winning games by way of winging it, as he's done just that an entirely inconceivable amount of times over the course of a career that wasn't exactly maximized with Mike McCarthy having the adaptability of AOL. It is, however, to say that getting passive aggressive about play calls before even running them in pads is a precursor to a pretty familiar type of petulance. Matt LaFleur is is still getting used to gimping around on a torn Achilles and he's already got his superstar starting quarterback undercutting him out of nowhere in handicapping his hold on the philosophy that got him hired in the first place. I don't want to give too much benefit of the doubt to someone whose last gig had him teasing what ended up being an endlessly impotent Titans' offense, but it stands to reason that more than a quick summer fling with Matt LaFleur's style would breed a little freedom within it. Kind of feels like Aaron Rodgers hit 'Install' on a new operating system, saw the loading bar have a quick hiccup around 12%, slapped the entire fucking computer off the table, and immediately went back to drawing up plays in the dirt. Spent all offseason discrediting any and all reports of an entire era of undeniable agitation atop the Packers' organization only to start massaging his own ego, at the expense of his new progressive play-caller's peace of mind, the first time he had an audible abolished. In fairness, he has earned the right to be more of an arrogant asshole than most. That, however, doesn't make him any less of an arrogant asshole for going out of his way to create a little tension in the locker room before going out of his way to put a name to every new face in it.  PFT- Payton said that the team and Thomas “probably have already begun discussions” about an extension. Saints General Manager Mickey Loomis confirmed that was the case during an appearance on Mad Dog Sports Radio without saying much else about where things stand.
“Yeah, listen, we’ve had some conversations, and I like keeping that close to the vest until there’s something to report,” Loomis said. “Look, we love what Mike’s done for us. He’s a fantastic player, one of the best at his position in the league, and hopefully we can keep him as a Saint for a longtime as well.” Thomas, who is in the final year of his rookie deal, said last month that he’s “pretty certain that everything will get taken care of” in time to ensure he stays in New Orleans. ------- Realistically, the only thing to take away from this relatively meaningless morsel of information is that both the New Orleans Saints and Michael Thomas are interested in prolonging what only the incredibly cocksure Ohio State product could have predicted to be as mutually beneficial a relationship as it has been. Seeing as it's not all that surprising that a player who has embraced all things New Orleans and a team that is currently at its most promising due in large part to his productivity are interested in lasting the long haul, I can't put too much stock in the fact that contract talks have commenced. I suppose it's a good sign that said contract talks haven't sent Michael Thomas into one of his infamous Twitter tirades, but I'd imagine that things are still quite far from a done deal. Simply put, when it comes down to brass tacks, there's not one single reason to believe that an athlete who has made no bones about being in search of a secure bag will waive any sort of tax on behalf of anyone. In order to get Michael Thomas to legitimately listen, the money is going to have to talk. That same money has been hesitant to speak to other prominent playmakers that have, to varying extents, been a product of Sean Payton's offensively-friendly system. I don't doubt that it will actually raise its voice this time around, as Michael Thomas has both the tools and early resume to be far and away the best wide receiver in Saints' history. I do, however, wonder whether it'll boast loudly enough to out-annunciate the entirety of a market that Michael Thomas might very well envision himself setting, despite it being one that hasn't historically returned too many titles from the top down. Someone who has backed up his moniker in proving pretty damn unguardable has already made as great a case to break the bank on the field as he has on social media, so time will tell if two, at times, temperamental sides can come to terms. However, barring a sizable concession one way or the other, I can't exactly see that time being upon us. 
Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. We're in an age of the NBA in which fans are at their most investigative in finding any little easter egg that might hint at a player's mindset and/or potential movement. Yet, any easter egg to be uncovered might as well have been hidden by a career crook as the only reaction that Kawhi Leonard was willing to offer up as reading material to millions of people in attendance to honor him as much as the franchise he carried to new heights was the most hollow of hardcovers. Seemingly the whole damn country of Canada, never mind the city of Toronto, begging for his acceptance, and the only NBA superstar capable of doing so remained entirely undeterred in expression. Hell, even his Uncle Dennis got wrapped in the emotion of the moment and threw up five fingers, that might eventually be seen as a wave goodbye if his client does end up leaving for sunnier skies, but the client in question? Hardly an acknowledgement of the countless people pleading for even a pea-sized indication of impending commitment from someone whose smile and posture were having none of anything that could even be remotely interpreted as a reply. Other than that dethroning his second dynasty has helped him rediscover that thing most people call happiness, I haven't the slightest clue what Kawhi Leonard was thinking in that moment. That makes it all the more amazing that he has yet to have driven his actual wife to the nuthouse in dating outside his marriage to basketball, as his intentions are impossible to unearth from under an impenetrable poker face. P.S. The machine. It...it...it's...SELF AWARE!!!
I don't want to act as though I don't get the premise of pulverizing a pity prize for participation, because I do. Society as a whole has become increasingly concerned with making children feel like winners, as if legitimate winners are even possible without a hell of a lot more losers. There are definitely lessons to be learned from the disappointment of going home empty-handed, and those lessons aren't being taught as often amongst sports. Unfortunately, I have a hard time believing that breaking the smiley-face of a baseball off an award that was given for showing up to play a sport in which success is quite literally placed on a tee for all children to repeatedly swing wildly at, without limit, is the best way to teach those lessons. After all, we are talking about kids who still need to be helplessly directed around the base paths with an urgency that would put my father's oft-ignored GPS to shame. Therefore, whether Albert Breer's 5(ish?)-year-old son is eventually MLB material or not, I have serious doubts that he fully understands the "lasting" impact of his dad destroying his otherwise attic-bound piece of crap for the greater good of attention on Instagram. I genuinely hope this is an example of an NFL reporter showing a sense of humor in mocking the type of former NFL player that it goes ill-advised to mock, in James Harrison, but it being posted with complete sincerity ​is neither anywhere near out of the question nor at all rational. 
Let me first say that there is absolutely nothing wrong with professional athletes letting loose, in almost any way they see fit, after putting in an extraordinary amount of effort and sacrifice prior to suffering a painstaking end to their season. Any fan that disagrees and think that players should be holed up in dark bedrooms wrapped in a thick cloak of humiliation and spending all summer sweating out their shame is an insufferable asshole. That's especially true when those players came within a couple unfortunate bounces of securing the most physically demanding trophy in all of sports. That being said, with the lone exception being any or all Stanley Cup Champions, these things can also be pretty uniformly said... A 31-year-old man dancing on top of a bar is a bad look. A 31-year-old man with a soul patch dancing on top of a bar is a worse look. A 31-year-old man with a soul patch dancing on top of a bar topless is an even worser look. A 31-year-old man with a soul patch dancing on top of a bar topless while wearing ski goggles is the worst of looks. Yet, none of things instances, in and of themselves, quite compare to a 31-year-old man with a soul patch dancing on top of a bar topless while wearing ski goggles in case of errant champagne during a celebration of second place in representation of a city that is entirely up its own ass in accepting nothing less than first. The only thing that compares to that, in terms of being objectively embarrassing, is a laughably untimely line change that played a prominent role in a team being left to tearfully watch history made on their home ice...
Again, to be very clear, Brad Marchand has every right to singlehandedly compromise the stick-up-the-ass superiority complex on Boston sports' by giving the entire internet second-hand douche chills. I just want to clarify that that is exactly what he did with a painfully cringeworthy display, fitting of a frat brother who forgot he graduated, that proved he's just as unabashedly unlikable off the ice as he is on it. Someone should call pest control because I can't be the only one whose skin legitimately crawled while watching a grown ass man so obnoxiously revel in being a runner-up. |
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