A Rainy Day Edition of Fangirl Friday

Across much of the Mid-Atlantic region where a chunk of the Real Bitches reside, it's dreary, cold, and rainy. What better to do than curl up with the following cuties for another edition of Fangirl Friday (the mindless day when we pretend to not know what a cover 2 defense or full court press is).

First up, a left out participant from last week, Laser Rocket Arm:

He is not the greatest quarterback, although he's better than a lot of people give him credit for being. You don't need a ... um ... laser rocket arm to be a good quarterback; ask Joe Montana about that. He's been remarkably unlucky in terms of injuries. But James Chadwick Pennington, known affectionately as the Chad, perseveres through brains and sheer guts. He came back from not one, but TWO major shoulder surgeries. He had his salary embarrassingly slashed to just about nothing, but earned it back in incentives. Last season he was benched because it's always the quarterback that takes the hit when the team is sucking. Come training camp in July he will have to prove himself yet again, and somehow I think he will. He has class and grace, very rare traits among pro athletes.



Oh--and he's also smoking hot and has a Tennessee accent to die for, so he's got that going for him too.

Secondly, another non-traditional submission, courtesy of Lisa's teenage soul:

This pick on this particular FANGIRL FRIDAY is especially significant because this Friday? Today? Fangirl Friday? IS THE DAY THE NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK PERFORM FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 15 YEARS ZOOOOOOOOOMG THE HOTNESS MY GOD THE HOTNESS:



The New Kids fucking RULE. I don't care what you say, and I don't care if you make fun of me. Make fun of THEM, and I will kick your fucking ass! DON'T TEST ME! I mean, LOOK AT THIS! IT SETS MY GIRL PARTS ALL A-TWITTER!!!



Oh, 1990. I miss you. And your hairstyles.

And finally, me me me:

So my pick for this week is a surprise to myself. I was doing something inane and useless late Sunday night (99% chance it involved internet stalking Lil' Mike), when I stumbled upon this YouTube video of Rashad McCants, former nutty, slightly inconsistent, and ACC-pwning North Carolina Tarheel guard (and current Minnesota Timberwolves guard, but that whole 2005 CHAMPIONSHIP TEAM died in my mind when they went to the NBA, since I think they're played a combined 6 total games in 3 years).



I was amazed to find out that in the 3 years I abandoned him, Rashad became incredibly sexy. Facial hair and huge arms and tats can do that for a brother, I guess...because seriously, this was NOT happening during the Carolina days. Maybe him smiling a little helps too, considering he looked like a manic depressive during those days too (though I never bought into the criticism that he was some evil, bipolar dude...he was just misunderstood).

Anyways, aside from the physical, Rashad McCants ups his sexy factor by being one of the most intelligent, deep people I've ever heard speak/seen write. In turn with what Laser Rocket Arm mentioned about the Chad, these are rare qualities in ANYONE, but particularly athletes. Peep this madness he wrote about fear:

A man with a thought is a man with a vision. A man with an opinion is a man with a plan. A man with a vision is a man of the people.

People need guidance to the place they have never been. To walk in the dark is to be blind in the steps toward our future.

The voice of a man with a vision is the light to all shadows. How can we be blind to find that we know everything but can't see anything. You knew it was coming but you just couldn't see it.

I hear women talk all the time about being scared of relationships. Being afraid of being hurt like they were before. And they put their whole life on hold because of fear.

Fear of nothing that will actually kill you. Love doesn't kill you. You can only kill love. Fear cannot kill you. You are the one that kills fear. Feeding fear only makes your fear stronger.

Bravery has no importance in today's society. We have lost our sense of courage. Maybe because there isn't a reward for it. If a man or woman got rewarded for standing up for one's self, then there would be less fear.

But the reward for being fearless is honor. A fearless man is a man with a vision. Capable of sharing his courage with others. One man's courage is another man's fear.

Most envy those who have the guts to do what they would never attempt. The man that would swallow his pride to step aside in line for an elderly lady. A patient man is a man with unlimited pride and honor. A real man…

Listen to my vision. I am here to speak as a man with a plan for the people. A fearless courage with endless honor. Listen to my testimony and my confession as a man of sin. Listen to my cry...

He also writes decent poetry, is a bidnezz man at 23 years young, is finally starting to play like UNC Rashad after 2 years of injuries, pretty much defines the nerdy yet rugged athlete that is my dream man, and, well, yeah...muscles covered in tats.

Fangirl Friday (The Late Night Edition)

So Friday is over across most of the planet Earth, but real life occasionally gets in the way of our weekly salivating sessions (and our blogging here in general). It was a rough week for many around here at Real Bitches, and the following fine men and I send particular love out to Maggie, Laser Rocket Arm, and Lisa.

This is a video heavy edition, so please to click on provided links!

From familiarcraving:

I think the video of the Austrian rugby team getting naked in Lithuania should be posted on principle.

(Obviously NSFW. Edited version here.)

I LOVE THEM ALL.

From Lisa:



Scott van Peezy

He has everything on my very lengthy checklist:

1. Obnoxiously tall: check
2. Funny: check
3. Does awesome Stephen A. Smith impression: check
4. Self-deprecating: check
5. Hotness: check
6. Leaves long-winded voicemails about club footed women with Bell's Palsy: CHECK
7. Gives good commencement speech: CHECK
8. Loves a Five Guys burger: check
9. Extremely aero-dynamic dome looks slightly like Predator when viewing his profile: check
10. Kind of sappy whilst talking about terminally ill children: check
11. Hometown boy: check
12. Participates in mimed double dutch: check

Oh, van Peezy. Steer that chrome dome in my general direction.

From moi:

You know, originally, I was going to talk about how I stumbled upon numerous pics from the Tribeca premiere of Gunnin' For That #1 Spot (which is supposed to be a most excellent basketball documentary and I am pretty much counting down the days until I see it), and how the ones of Michael Beasley in a suit pretty much made me cry because I can't bear to see my baby grow up...so instead of crying (even though he looked DAMN FINE), we'll watch a video from a poorly done cover shoot for Dime Magazine, which only matters for the 30 or so seconds beginning at the 0:46 mark while Lil' Mike shirtlessly describes his tats and how he is God's son. Well, unless you're crazy like me and get giddy over every moment involving him, even the ones that showcase how bad his skin is. IT'S OKAY MIKE, YOU WERE ONLY 18 AND ARE STILL PROBABLY GOING THROUGH PUBERTY TODAY AND I LOVE YOU ANYWAYS PLEASE DON'T GROW UP JUST YET!

sigh...moving onwards...the next stuff is special made for these two individuals, whom we all love deeply.

For Maggie, who just wanted some Sid the Kid lovin' (and she's basically betraying her husband and the city of Philadelphia, but it's okay, she has the ties to the 'Burgh as well):





And for sleepysluggo, celebrating a most excellent burpday, and with love from an 18-year-old Monta Ellis:



The regular semi-intelligent ranting and raving will resume shortly, as soon as we all regain our sanity and order. Until then...just mock the Cavs with me, why don't you?

Fangirl Friday Deuce

So I've been in transit for the last 2 weeks, making the ridiculous move from the Burgh to Bmore, which has been nothing short of mostly awful (hence my lack of posting about the pretty wonderful NBA playoffs and the NBA Draft early entry deadline). But it's all irrelevant when placed next to a story like this one.

To lead off this edition of Fangirl Friday (where the knowledge gets displaced in favor of salivating like the Bitches we still are despite our smarts for a full 24 hours!), nobody deserves it more than Tennessee Vols senior guard Chris Lofton. He was the building block for the current Vols team, a team that, without a doubt, truly embodied the idea of playing with heart even before this story was released. If you ever get a chance, YouTube or catch the Memphis/Tennessee game on ESPN Classic, undoubtedly the best college game in all of 07-08. That game glorified what makes college basketball (and all college sports) so wonderful - all 10 men on the court playing like every second mattered (which it should in every athletic event, but that's a rant we won't discuss). Despite the Vols streaky shooting and inability to defend the 3 throughout the season, this was a team that was able to be a national championship contender simply because they seemed to care about winning every game, even when overmatched. When Bruce Pearl is your coach, you don't expect much else.

And then you find out weeks later that Chris Lofton played the entire season basically about 6-10 months removed from being diagnosed with cancer. I am guilty, like many others, of accusing Lofton of playing half-assed after winning the SEC POY award in 06-07, and not looking ANYTHING like his old 3pt dagger shooting self. And of course, now it's clear. His stubborn pride to never reveal his health issues are admirable, and the battle he overcame, from the cancer to the criticism, is something few could ever have the strength to do. We here at Real Bitches, particularly myself and Ms Lauren (We're both leaders of the Bruce Pearl fan club), hope nothing more than for Lofton to get a shot at the NBA. A 3 point shooter is one of the most valuable things a team can have!





And now, onto the others...

From Lisa:

This is Joey JoJo John Joseph Harrington:



You may be most accustomed to seeing him like this:



He is perfection. Well, unless you're talking about quarterbacking, because he pretty much sucks at that.

From Laser Rocket Arm:

Personality has almost always trumped looks in the Whom I Find Hot contest, which is why I adore Nick Swisher. Even though there's times I want to yell DEAR GOD WHERE IS YOUR OFF SWITCH he's obviously having so much fun it's contagious. He runs face-first into outfield walls after catching fly balls, takes childlike delight in playing himself in a video game, seems to believe that facial hair can be an artistic expression and can bring out the best in even the biggest clubhouse asshole. Come on, he got Milton Bradley to DANCE with him. That's no small feat. But as seen by this picture, don't bug him when he's playing Guitar Hero. As a wise woman once said, bitches love Swish.



From Maggie, who is also having a craptacular week and deserves the love of this:

Fangirl Fridays are for generalized fangirling, right? Well, the thing you really need to know about me is that deep down, I'm a 12 year old boy at heart, and nothing gets my inner fangirl all twitterpated than a good, blockbuster adaptation of a comic book. This should explain in no small part why I rushed home, grabbed my husband, and flew out of the house in order to sit on my ass in a freezing cold movie theatre for two hours watching an action movie about a guy who drinks too much flying around in a shiny suit.

In my defense, that action movie was Iron Man, and this fangirl loves her some Tony Stark. Okay, yeah, sure, in the comics now, Tony's kind of a fascist prick, but in general? He's awesomely snarky and sarcastic and holy God, kind of awesome.

And so was the movie. Explosions! Pretty cars! Fights! CGI! Robert Downey, Jr. becoming inexplicably sexy when covered with sweat and sneering and pouring molten metal! You should all go see it. And you should stay until the end of the credits.

Whatever, here's the trailer. The movie's awesome. Go see it.



Aaaaaand thus concludes another fun-filled edition of Fangirl Friday, where athletes that suck can be appreciated for something, at least. We will resume all normal bitching and bantering shortly, including an exciting post by moi mocking everyone who is an asshole for declaring for the NBA Draft, and also the Suns for ever thinking trading for Shaq was a brilliant idea. Stay tuned!

Fangirl Friday

So the whole point of this blog was to talk about how smart bitches know sports and can talk stats with the best of them, right?

Well, mostly. The other point of this blog was to tell the truth about chicks who dig sports, and one of those cold truths? We ogle. Oh, we can rattle off batting averages and ERA and WHIP and yards rushed and goals attempted and shit like that until the cows come home, but when it comes down to it, sometimes a girl just has to check out some soccer calves, if you know what I mean and I think you do.

Or you could just look at Cesc Fabregas, now that he's gotten rid of his horrifying mullet. I'm a soccer fangirl. Don't you judge me.



So we're instituting Fangirl Fridays. These are the days when all our principles go out the window and we just ogle the pretty. Sometimes, we'll have a point. (An All-Star Fangirl Friday before the All-Star game, A Frozen Four Fangirl Friday, maybe an NCAA Fangirl Friday that I'll just stare at as it goes by, wondering who in the hell the other ladies are talking about.) Most of the time? It's a free for all. Feel free to suggest your own Fangirl Friday hotties in the comments. We'll try to find you something pretty.

Before we get to the pretty this week, we'd be remiss if we didn't wise the divine Queen E congratulations today. Today, our little baby girl graduates from the finest school in the land (not that I'm biased), the University of Pittsburgh. As a fellow alum, I can tell you that Queen E and I insist that the next time you're in Pittsburgh, you simply must chow down on some Fuel and Fuddle Nachos. (Truly, she's about to learn that those nachos are the first thing you miss when you move out of Souf Oaklin.) Congratulations, Queen E. We're all so very proud of you.

Without further ado, I bring you this week's Friday Fangirl.

First up, we have Queen E's selections.


Michael Beasley sad makes me go "Awwwww," and just wanna rub his broad shoulders and kiss his red head and tell him it'll be okayyy...okay so maybe not that innocent but uhhhh...he's only 19.



I still want to bash Gerald Henderson Junior in the face, but it's a pretty, pretty face. And him getting dunked on is HOTT.




And finally, Terrence Williams has a sleeve. 'Nuff said. Nobody has made me happier the last 2 years when I've seen him in person. He told a drunk girl in the Pitt crowd last year to shush, and then hit a fallaway three pointer. I want his children.





Laser Rocket Arm says:

Here is some Joshua Patrick. Please to be posting him.



Maggie here. Here's a story about Josh Beckett, whom you will find I affectionately call Hot Pockets. Why, you may ask, would I call him Hot Pockets? Well, you see, I was watching the 2007 ALCS with some good friends. (HA. What I mean is that I was sitting on the couch with my laptop on my lap and chatting with some lovely ladies all across this vibrant land. Hi, Ladies of the Cinco Ocho Nacho Mojo.) Anyway, Beckett was dealing, as he does in the postseason, and threw a particularly sexy fastball right across the plate to close out an inning and stalked off the mound while some genius (and I am not being sarcastic in the least- this may have been the best bumper music decision OF ALL TIME) cued up The Pixies' 'Here Comes Your Man.' (Seriously, it may have been the single hottest thing I have ever seen in my entire adult life.) After we managed to stop ourselves from trying to make out with the television, we were listing things he'd have to give us in order to make out with him. 'I'd let him make out with me for a free taco from Taco Bell,' 'I'd let him make out with me for some fries and a cookie' and, finally, 'I'd let him make out with me for a coupon for some Hot Pockets.' Look, it may not seem all that hilarious now, but when you're three glasses of wine down and playoffs-tired, it's fucking hilarious. Thus, I'd make out with Josh Beckett for a coupon for Hot Pockets.

Uh, as you were. Don't judge me.

And, since I already explained to you the inherent hotness of a good baseball fight, I'll let Lisa weigh in with our final Fangirl Friday selection.

You see, Lisa joins me in having a whole lot of seriously sicksadwrong crushes on some diseased thugs simply because we find things out that certain diseased thugs once stiffarm tackled a guy into a coma in high school. (Seriously, that's hot. How is that not hot?)

And then when she finds pictures like the below of certain sicksadwrong crushes (Hi, Shockey. Please get traded so I don't have to feel bad about wanting to make out with you, provided you get a full physical and an okay from three doctors, kthnx.) the logical thing to do is provide all and sundry with a map of her perviness. Y'all, this kind of shit is why we love Lisa.