NFL owners approved a plan that would allow up to two regular season games on foreign soil starting next year.

The plan, first announced last month, was approved Tuesday at the recommendation of new commissioner Roger Goodell, who said the benefits of reaching an international audience outweighed the loss of some teams' home games.

"We are talking about a limited number of games that we think will have a tremendous impact," Goodell said. "It's in response to the growing fan interest in our game overseas. There are more and more fans on a global basis."

Look, I dig that some people elsewhere are getting into the NFL — probably in the same way that many American sports fans have begun following the English Premier League. If there's room in American hearts for soccer, there's room in foreign hearts for football. Because football kicks way more ass. But Chelsea and Manchester United aren't playing regular-season games in Columbus, because that's the kind of cockamamie horseshit that will piss fans off and screw over the team that loses the home game and both teams with the long flight.

So if your NFL team loses a home game in 2007, I think every season ticket holder is entitled by the unwritten Laws of Righteous Comeuppance to throw one Molotov cocktail at Roger Goodell's house. And by "house" I mean "head." Fair is fair. 

Taken individually, I understand how the Cardinals have won games in this World Series. The law of averages makes it sensible enough that they could steal one out of two in Detroit, and in Game 3 they had Chris Carpenter on the mound. He's going to go out and throw three-hit ball over eight innings every now and again. No, it's the aggregate of "Cardinals lead World Series 2-1" that I'm unable to comprehend. This is a team that sucks. Sucks, I tell you!

Don't accept this, America. Did you see the crowd shots in St. Louis? The women have FUPAs and short, puffy hairdos that make them look ten years older than they really are, and the men are paunchy and goateed. I've lived there; that stereotype is not an illusion. Do we really need this crowd drinking too much Budweiser and celebrating by copulating? Can any of us handle five breathless posts about the Cardinals every day over on Deadspin? Don't you hate Scott Spiezio's dipshit facial hair?

This may be one of the first times in my life that I'm cheering against an overhwhelming underdog, but when the underdogs are douchebags (see: red soul patches, sunglasses at night) and the fans' sorrow gives me joy, then my normal guidelines are out.

On the plus side, that was a freakin' awesome episode of "Friday Night Lights" last night. Weird how a fictional high school football team on a bye week is more interesting than an actual baseball game.

Via the D.C. Sports Bog, I bring you a marathoner not paying attention. Be sure to watch the full video for the ultra-slo-mo at the end.

If the comments on the YouTube page where this lives are to be believed, the runner — "michaelscowden" — cracked two ribs but still finished the last 17 miles of the marathon.

As if running long distances didn't already hurt enough, now marathoners have to do things to increase the pain. Fucking masochists. Although this does explain why all the runners on my high school's cross-country team were cutters who listened to emo.

Sports officials have banned moving thoroughbreds out of New Jersey after a suspected outbreak of equine herpes at Monmouth Park.

Suspicions arose when five horses in the same barn contracted a fever over the weekend, according to Dennis Dowd, senior vice president of racing for the New Jersey Sports and Exposition Authority, which owns and operates the Meadowlands and Monmouth Park. The barn was quarantined as a precaution.

And now for cheap jokes: In the meantime, Paris Hilton has been taken in for questioning.

Barbaro was unavailable for comment, but he did have a nasty-looking cold sore.

From my celebrity-obsessed brother blog What Would Tyler Durden Do?, I bring you John Cena kicking the King of Douchebaggery's ass. Some people say that pro wrestling shouldn't be a sport because it's fake, but you watch K-Fed getting his ass slammed into the ground and writhing around in pain, and then tell me that your brain doesn't convince you that this is very real.

This is so awesome that I don't care that the announcers call John Cena a Marine. Last I checked, you had to actually go through boot camp and serve your country to earn the title "Marine," but apparently all you have to do now is star in an action movie and wear a special ops t-shirt. Oh well, at least I did it the old-fashioned way.

Although if I could swing it, I'd probably trade my Eagle, Globe, & Anchor to Cena for the opportunity to body slam K-Fed. Well, as long as I got to boot-stomp his babymaker afterwards. I owe my country that much.