With tonight’s win-or-go-home playoff for the AL Central title, baseball’s regular season will finally come to a merciful end. And the White Sox are pulling out all the stops to make it an unfriendly environment for the visiting Twins: they’re calling for a BLACKOUT!
“We will have 40,000 black rally towels, and hopefully, 40,000 fans using them in support of the team,” said White Sox vice president and chief marketing officer Brooks Boyer of the unique support system. “Hopefully, it will be pretty darn intimidating, and the Twins can see how it’s done Chicago style.”
You know, when I think “Chicago style,” I usually think of the awesome violence in The Untouchables. Or a badass hot dog with 800 other toppings. I generally don’t think of people waving a hankie. “Oh White Sox, I do declare! Save us from those Minnesota brutes!”
Now, beating Joe Mauer to death with a baseball bat during pre-game stretches? That’s “pretty darn intimidating.” That’s Chicago style. **sigh** How come no one ever takes my advice? You people will miss me when I’m gone.
Recent revelations in the life of Wizards guard Gilbert Arenas are that he would undergo his third knee surgery in a year and half (costing him the first half of the coming season) and that he got engaged to his on-again, off-again girlfriend of six years.
Well, Agent Zero finally wrote about the engagement on his blog, and not surprisingly, it involves an elaborate scheme to throw a surprise party for his fiancee and tricking her into proposing to him. D.C. Sports Bog sums it up as such:
Now, the full engagement story comes out, and as you might have guessed, it involves a convoluted surprise party, white lie upon white lie, plane trips to and from Miami, a proposed meeting with Barack Obama, a visit from Mos Def, ice sculptures, a moon bounce, the touching revelation that Gilbert’s “done kicked her out of my house almost every weekend, yet she’s still here and she still believes in me,” several flavored ring pops, and a high school-style note which his bride-to-be had to read out loud.
It would have been a better story, but the juggling midgets canceled at the last minute, then the pyrotechnics went off early and set the petting zoo on fire, and of course the fire department didn’t come for an hour because they’re so used to getting pranked by Gilbert, so he had to put the sheep and goats in the garage, forcing him to move his Maserati outside, because the last time he let farm animals in that thing… Well, let’s just say live chickens and leather interior don’t mix.
A Florida man upset about points in a fantasy football league was arrested after he allegedly branded a knife and threatened to kill his roommate. What a shame. Fantasy football is only supposed to make you want to kill NFL players. (Seriously, T.J. Houshmandzadeh: put some points up this week or get stabbed.)
According to a report from the Charlotte County Sheriff’s Office, Chester Marcial “Chet” Ward, of the 4500 block of Duncan Road in Punta Gorda, allegedly sliced pages in the book his roommate was reading before holding a knife to his roommate’s neck and threatening to kill him…
The report stated Ward resisted arrest and even struck an officer’s hands before running across Duncan Road to escape arrest. As he ran away from the residence, Ward was Tasered by another deputy, and was then handcuffed.
I think we need to know the whole story here. Like, for example, did he lose because he benched Brett Favre? Because that would probably make it justified. People need to understand that fantasy football enthusiasts are dangerous. They’re like wounded wild animals. They’re in a lot of pain, and unless you’ve got extra tranq darts, the safest thing to do is get far, far away.
This photo of former Saints defensive tackle (and user of horse steroids) Hollis Thomas has existed since February, and it makes me sad that there were seven months of my life that I could have spent enjoying this photo that I wasted looking at LOLcats and reading bloggers’ shitty top ten lists.
Spicing up this dull wardrobe decision is an anonymous (read: almost certainly false, but whatever) email to Baller Alert (via Deuce of Davenport):
This man is obsessed with Spongebob. He sleeps on Spongebob sheets, rocks a Spongebob medallion on his necklace, and watches Spongebob during sex. His room is chalked full [sic] of everything Spongebob, he references Spongebob during his conversations!!! [...]. You can catch him coloring Spongebob pictures with felt markers or playing a Spongebob game on one of his many gaming consoles. He wears Spongebob underwear like they are the latest pair of Calvin Klein’s.
That has to be the only Spongebob outfit like that in the world. Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of faith in the textile industry. But I just can’t imagine there was any more Krabby fabric left.
Shocking news out of Oakland today, where Lane Kiffin has been fired as coach of the Raiders. Sure, owner Al Davis demanded Kiffin’s resignation during the offseason. And yes, it’s been widely reported for more than two weeks that his termination was impending. And, okay, it was reported last night that Al Davis was interviewing replacements. And granted, the Raiders have blown second-half leads each of the last two weeks. And perhaps calling for a 76-yard field goal was a sign that Kiffin wanted out.
But still, I can’t help but feel a little blindsided by this news. The constant reports that the Sword of Damocles was about to fall felt kinda like Chris Mortenson was just crying wolf, y’know? And it’s not like the next guy is gonna do any better. Al Davis could use the dark arts to bring Vince Lombardi back to life and this team still wouldn’t go anywhere. God could play quarterback for this Raiders team and they still wouldn’t make it to .500.
Joey Porter and market analysis go together like dead puppies and ice cream, so when the NFL linebacker dispensed some financial advice yesterday, we were compelled to take notice:
“I’m about to go dig a hole in my back yard and put it in my back yard where I can see it,” Porter said Monday. “I don’t like this stock stuff. I don’t like not being able [to rely on] this bond and that bond. Everything’s funny. I don’t trust nothing.”
Porter is in the second year of a five-year, $32 million contract that includes $20 million guaranteed.
The 31-year-old from Bakersfield, Calif., has been glued to the financial reports, trying to get an idea of how much he’ll have left in his portfolio. “I can’t do nothing but watch,” Porter said. [...]
“I try not to worry about it. That’s my financial advisor’s job to take care of that, but … We’re in a crisis right now. I’m just trying to hold on. At the end of the day, hopefully, he’ll tell me I’m not broke.”
Because if his financial advisor told him that, he would be the one buried in Porter’s backyard.
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