After waking up to watch my broken Gooners at a godforsaken hour, I've managed to accomplish exactly nothing today save sitting on my ass with my feet in my husband's lap while we both watch soccer.
We've made it through Arsenal's win (far, far closer than I would have liked, so if my team could be something other than injured soon, that would be awesome) and Blackburn's completely crazy topping of Everton. (Nothing says Prem League heart attack like a 94th minute goal to win the match. By which I mean 'HOLY SHIT I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT EVEN HAPPENED.)
Really, though, I'm taking one major thing away from today.
Thank fuck Fernando Torres cut his hair.
People, we went from this monstrosity:
to this:
It's not perfect, but it's better. Of course, the fact that he looks like he's about eight in that picture makes me feel kind of gross, but whatever. He cut his hair, he scored the winning goal. It's Fernando Torres' world, y'all. We're just living in it.
For the record, in the 12 minutes it has taken me to find a properly terrible picture of 'Nando's old hair and write out this post, West Ham has managed to hang two on Wigan. That's just sad.
We have Olympics Fever here at Bitchball. After an Opening Ceremony that would cause even a casual Luddite to go running for the hills (seriously, can we talk about the gigantic tablet PC, more or less, that was the floor of that stadium last night? Or the fact that Lisa and I, more than once, sent each other messages over AIM that simply read 'WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOLY GOD THIS IS AMAZING' since, obviously, one does not need punctiation or lower case letters when one is having ones mind blown by a bunch of Communists and trying to avoid thinking about China's shittastic human rights record. Bonus points for not flinging things at the TV every time Bush or, even worse [today] Putin showed up on screen. Who starts a god damn war the day the Olympics start? Who?), the games are in full swing, and I am already fully prepared to choke a bitch.
You see, NBC did the US a favor and created a whole channel dedicated to men's and women's soccer (WHEE), and men's and women's basketball (bleh) because, well, there are a lot of games, and some people (*coughcoughme*) want to see all of them. It's a smart move, and it really frees them up to air some of the events that otherwise wouldn't see the light of day. As I am a huge Olympics whore, I wholeheartedly approve of the fact that I actually got to see the women's fencing medal event (WHAT UP, US SWEEP) because NBC could put the US/Japan women's match on the soccer channel.
There's just one problem. Not everyone gets the soccer channel or the basketball channel. In fact, not even all customers of a given cable provider get the channels. I? Do not get these channels, as a subscriber of Comcast of Philadelphia. Comcast of New Jersey? Gets the channels. Comcast of Delaware? Gets them. Comcast Philadelphia, the HOME GODDAMN MARKET of Comcast Cable, site of the massive Comcast Building, CAN'T GET THE GOD DAMN SOCCER CHANNEL?! So...basically, I'm going to get exactly no soccer the entire Games? Great.
Here's the thing: I know I'm going to get to see some games, and I know that I'll get to see all or most of the US men's and women's games. (I have not so much faith in the men's team, but whatever, we'll see.) That's fine. But I want to see more. I want to see the Brazil matches, because I want to see how Ronaldinho's leg holds up. I want to know if the Dutch team is as good as they look on paper. Shit, I want to see how the Ivory Coast holds up in their first Olympic Games. (For men's soccer, anyway.) But no. Because Comcast Philadelphia isn't carrying the channels. Instead, I get Fox Reality Channel airing shit like 'The World's Trashiest Weddings.'
A pox on you, Comcast Philadelphia. Give me my damn soccer. Whatever. I'm going to go watch Michael Phelps beat the shit out of the rest of the world. Homina. (For the record, I'm thirteen years old and swimming delights me solely because the announcers keep talking about the quality of various strokes.)
But hey: the Prem starts in a week. Sing it with me, people: FUCK. CHELSEA.
Take a look at the US Men's Team, would you? They're all about fourteen years old. The Olympics make me feel like a pervy old lady.
I just posted a whole big rant about the Sox/Yanks series starting tonight, but Blogger ate it. It's a fucking shame, too, because that was some prolific and edifying motherfucking prose, and now it's gone.
Let me boil it down for you:
1) We know this rivalry is overhyped and annoying. Trust us. We're at the center of the storm, and the next time we hear 'storied,' 'historic,' 'heated' or 'rivalry' used in any combination, we're going to punch someone.
2) I am not particularly happy with this particular version of the Red Sox, since Manny Ramirez has gone douchebag, Papi's still broken, Jason Varitek couldn't hit Kate Smith in the ass with a banjo, Mike Timlin shouldn't be allowed near a bag of resin (much less a pitching mound) and Julio Lugo is trying to kill me. Factor in that Jon Lester (pitching tonight) is coming off his worst start of the season (thanks, fucker- you booted me out of first in my fantasy league) and I want to hide behind my couch while fantasizing about making out with Josh Beckett and his fastball. What?
3) I find this A-Rod/Madonna/Cynthia Rodriguez/Lenny Kravitz saga ridiculous, if only because it would make more sense if Slappy was hooking up with Lenny. But then, A-Rod is big into the stripper-looking trannies, and Madge isn't looking so hot these days, four minutes to save the world notwithstanding.
4) Really, I'm just hoping for a fight. Like this one. Come on, y'all, my birthday's coming.
You know how Americans (and I am totally generalizing here, but after enduring that piece of shit soccer match, I'm allowed to generalize) hate soccer because no one ever scores and it's boring?
Here's what happened in the Germany/Spain final: Nobody scored. It was boring. Outside of a fluky goal by Spain's Fernando Torres and his tragic, tragic hair during which every single person in my basement screamed, in unison, 'WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, LEHMANN?' (I also got a pair of text messages and an instant message demanding the exact same valuable piece of information.) Lehmann was overmatched, out of place, and it was a whole big stupid mess and Lahm (the pocket defender) has a lot of explaining to do as to why Torres could get past him like that.
But that was it. That was the only goal. Torres had a shot later, and missed. The most hilarious whiff of the tourney, however, goes to Spain's Marcos Senna who had a perfect shot lined up and instead, tripped over his own feet and went sliding to the ground...backwards, while the ball sailed off helplessly.
Germany never showed up. There were questions as to whether or not German midfielder Michael Ballack would even start and, well, I'll be honest. Outside of suddenly becoming mindblowingly hot when he came away from a collision with blood streaming down his face, he....didn't really do much of anything. At all. Well, except get himself a yellowcard and unloading on the ref, which was also, um, hot. Bastian Schweinsteiger tried, but when no one else (Podolski, where the hell were you?) on his team showed up to help him out, there was only so much he could do.
When it boils down to it, both teams played some pretty atrocious football, but Germany just couldn't break through Spain's first line of defense, and so the final remains Spain 1-0 Germany. Blech.
Great, Spain. Go lift your racist-ass coach over your head some more. I really, really hope that you drop him, and that he takes out a chunk of Sergio Ramos' hair on the way down. (Yeah, I don't so much like Spain. Or Aragones.)
I don't even know what a Blood Elf is. You'd have to ask my husband, since our marriage has room for but one WarCraft geek. That's not my point.
My point is this: after publicly fighting the Red Sox and the team's doctors about the necessity of shoulder surgery at the beginning of the season (They thought he'd be fine with rehab. He and his doctors disagreed. We have all wasted a whole lot of time and money on this silly little rehab project.), Curt from the Car announced today that he'll be undergoing 'season ending' surgery next week.
Absolutely no one should be surprised that the...opinionated and vocal, shall we say, Schilling announced his surgery plans on his blog, 38 pitches.
Now, this particular Bitch is a Red Sox fan, through and through. I'm feeling pretty okay with this news. I mean, yes, Schill was part of the two most recent World Series Champion teams (nope. That never gets old.) but...okay, I'm going to be frank. He's also sucked. A lot. Like, since 2005, he's done a whole boatload of sucking.
Now, that's not all his fault. He was injured, for one thing, and, well, let's just say it: he's old. He hasn't had a solid fastball in more than three years, and he's had to use his famous studying patterns just to help him fool hitters with a sackful of junk pitches. It hasn't always worked, either. I went from being solidly confident in every Schilling start to mildly concerned to emulating his treatment of Mitch Williams- putting a towel over my head so I didn't have to watch the inevitable horror. Sure, he's thrown some gems in the intervening years, but not that many, and they were few and far between.
But some of it was his fault. The Red Sox were so concerned about his physique that they padded his extension with incentives for showing up to Spring Training at playing weight. He made the decision to hold this surgery off- had he had it back when it was firt suggested, he might be pitching after the All Star break this season.
Now? I'm hard pressed to see any way that this isn't career-ending surgery, rather than simply season-ending. He's a 41 year old pitcher having surgery on his shoulder. That's not something that you just bounce back from, and Curt's had a history of slow returns from injury. Hell, I was surprised that he decided to come back to pitch this season. (Not that he's actually thrown a single pitch for the Sox, but whatever.) It might be unfair, but it wouldn't be untrue to say that he's old, he's fat, and he can't pitch any more, so it's probably time to hang it up.
At this point, I have to say that I think he's done, unless he signs a short-term, Lieberthal-esque deal so he can retire as a Phillie, and I don't even think that's particularly likely- more on Curt's end than on the part of the Phillies. (The Phils are so desperate for solid pitching that I heard they tried to sign Charlie Sheen, provided he remembered to wear his glasses.)
It's the end of an era, sure, but it's just that. The end. Thanks for the rings, Curt. They're kinda pretty.
After a weekend of staid and expected results (*yawn* Germany beat Poland, Austria embarrassed themselves, the Swiss demonstrated why they really should stay neutral in all international events and Portugal...won. The bitches.) Euro 2008 has managed to go all kinds of crazy over the last two days.
First an upstart Romanian team playing completely out of their heads managed to tie France, one of the favorites. Fine, fine, France didn't lose, exactly, but they couldn't manage to hang a point on Romania- the assumed weakest team in Group C, the Group of Death. But hey. It's Euro 2008. We wouldn't get out of the first round without some wacky-ass tie.
Or, you know. A wacky-ass loss. Because that's what happened when the Oranje (the Netherlands) hung up three goals to Nil on Italy, the defending World Cup Champions. Now. One of those goals, the first from Ruud van Nistelrooy, was, to put it mildly, controversial. (This particular bitch, having spent the entirety of the 2006 World Cup shrieking at the Azzuri for being a bunch of flopping bitches, takes particular delight in recognizing that Italy went down by a goal because Christian Panucci was too busy flopping off the pitch to pay attention to what was happening in the game. Suck it, Azzuri.) In the end, it didn't matter, as Holland scored twice more as the Italians couldn't put a game together. They were sluggish, they were slow, they were old (every member of the team over 30) and it. Was. Beautiful.
In fact, it might have been the craziest thing to happen since this weekend, until this afternoon's first match- Spain v. Russia. Russia lost, of course, because European teams only falter in Russia in the winter, but that's not the news. The news is David Villa's hat trick of goals, the first hat trick in Euro play in eight years. Spain wound up spanking the Russians 4-1 thanks to a head in from My Arsenal Boyfriend Cesc Fabregas.
For his ridiculous performance against the Russians, David Villa gets the honor of today's picture post. Look, people, there are some shallow reasons I watch soccer, too.
So Los Bitches are having an email summit on the fact that we, uh, have kind of sucked at posting lately. Like, we have sucked at posting like Tony Romo sucks in the playoffs, or like Julio Lugo sucks in the infield. (That means we suck a lot.) That's going to change, rest assured.
Anyway, my point is this: As we're all talking, I'm watching the Portugal/Turkey Euro 2008 match that I taped earlier today and further injuring my already-on-fire-due-to-the-zombie-death-flu throat screaming at Portugal that I hope certain anatomically impossible things happen to them or to their grandmothers.
Most of my ire, though, has been aimed squarely at His Bitchiness Cristiano Ronaldo. Here's something you need to understand before we really get into the tournament: I. Motherfucking. Loathe. Cristiano Ronaldo. I hate him. I hate his stupid face. I hate his stupid half-mullet fauxhawk hairdo (Jackass in the Front, Douuuuuchebag in the back). I hate that he puts enough gel in his stupid hair to equip most of the Bleacher Creature contingent in Yankee Stadium for a week solid. I hatehatehate his stupid fucking stutterstep. (Although I loved it when he tried to pull one on a PK in the Champions League final, fooling exactly no one least of all Cesc in goal, and leading to missing the shot, which damn near killed his team's shot at repeating. It would have, too, had John Terry not slipped on the wet grass and missed HIS kick, a fact that made this Arsenal supporter's heart grow three sizes that day.)
I can't even watch him. I can't. Really. I know that he's going to pull off at least one ridiculous maneuver during every game that will leave everyone staring slackjawed at their screen trying to figure out HOW IN THE HELL HE DID THAT, and I'll still be punching a couch pillow in fury hoping that he dies painfully in a fire or develops some horrible genetic mutation, the result of which inivolves both kneecaps spontaneously shooting off his body mid-game and blinding him. Hate.
In short: Welcome to Euro 2008. Fuck Ronaldo, and fuck Portugal. Know those two things, abide by them, and we'll get along just fine this month.
So we've been a little remiss about updating. Apologies. This bitch was on vacation in Texas.
That said, today, I blew off some steam after work by going out after work for some drinks. Unfortunately, that means that I missed a basebrawl.
I missed a basebrawl involving my own team. I should have known better- I've been angling for a Sox/Rays fight since the beginning of the season. For some inexplicable reason, these teams get into it at least once a season, and it's usually a benches-clearing, crazy-suspensions debacle.
And I missed it. THERE WAS A FUCKING FIGHT AND I MISSED IT.
So my hometown Philadelphia Phillies may be eating their Wheaties, but they are apparently still hungry, as they are absolutely FEASTING on their opponent's pitching this week. In the last 23 innings, they have scored, as of this writing, FORTY TWO RUNS. 15 against Houston on Sunday, 20 against God's Team, Your National League Champion Colorado Rockies last night, and now seven in five innings against those same Rockies.
The 20-run game is especially sweet, as we had to suffer through the Phils being swept out of the playoffs at the hands of the Rockies due to some particularly lifeless bats and inconsistent pitching on the part of Los Philadelphia Phillies of Philadelphia. Sure, we could have used some of these runs back in October, but revenge is a dish best served cold, I suppose.
The Philadelphia-based bitches could not let last night pass without pointing out that Chase Utley, he of the dreamy eyes and dreamier dimples, had six RBI all on his lonesome last night. This fact sent this bitch dancing around her basement last night, despite the fact that he's not on my fantasy team, because anytime the Good Lord gives your favorite position player a six RBI night, it's cause for celebration.
Phear the Phightin's, y'all. They're coming after you. (Florida? You should probably look out. I wouldn't want to get in the way of this juggernaut.)
Bah. Whatever. Congratulations, you bunch of douchebags. Now go cry on the field a little more, Cristiano.
PS: As an Arsenal fan, it gives me no small measure of glee to note that Didier Drogba and his red-carded ass was a complete nonentity in the second half. SUCK ON THAT.
For all my practiced bitterness and devil-may-care attitude, that was a fucking RIDICULOUS game. Seriously, two extra fifteens, and it still went to penalty kicks to decide the entire league, and this is after Drogba was sent off with a red card for slapping(!)Vidic aross the face in the middle of a last minute almost-brawl. (It should be noted that Tevez, the jackass who started the whole fucking fracas, got a yellow card.) Oh, and did I mention that the guy who missed the crucial kick that would have given his side the championship was one John Terry? Who just happens to be the captain of the fucking team?
I'm no Chelsea fan, but if I was, I might consider catatonia a blessing right about now. That must have been painful.
God, fuck the Champions League. Is it Euro time yet?
I refuse to put up a picture of Man U celebrating. Instead, have a picture of Drogba getting his incredibly well-timed red card while backed up by that traitorous bastard Ashley Cole.
Okay, so it is ridiculously late at night, but this East Coast Bitch just had to suffer through some ridiculous fucking Phillies baseball (seriously, why does Adam Eaton/Tom Gordon/the fact that Rod Barajas can suddenly put the wood on the ball hate me?) and then I got stuck in traffic trying to get home from the city because the Schuylkill is fucking ricockulous, no matter what, and I may be rambling.
Anyway, Nobody Cares But Maggie, but Portsmouth won the FA Cup earlier today. Over Cardiff. I figured I should mention it.
I'm paralyzed by not caring, as the match itself was horrifically boring, by all accounts, and Cardiff is the fifth second tier team to face Portsmouth this season's FA Cup schedule, which is akin to letting the Mets get away with playing the Nationals and the Orioles to get to the World Series, only to beat the Tigers in four. Basically? Lame.
Really, the match was only notable because Aaron Ramsay became the youngest player to EVER play in an FA Cup match at SEVENTEEN, which makes me feel both out of shape and old, simultaneously.
The sad thing is that Comcast Cable actually tried to charge me $25 to watch the game on Pay-Per-View. Y'all, that is why it sucks to be a stateside soccer fan- we get shit scheduling from Fox Soccer Channel and then we have to pay to watch the semi-important matches.
They are, however, broadcasting the Chelsea/Manchester United European Cup Final match on Wednesday, which means I'm going to have to do some creative juggling with my schedule.
Look, people, Euro 2008 is coming. That means exactly two things. 1) That means ALL KINDS OF SOCCER UPDATES from yours truly, and 2) EUROVISION.
People, if I can teach you nothing, it is that Eurovision is the most COMPLETELY FUCKNG CRACKED OUT THING YOU WILL EVER SEE IN YOUR ENTIRE EXISTENCE ON THIS EARTH, and you will ADORE IT FOREVER, if you give it a shot. Seriously, it makes the only fun part of American Idol (the part where all the terrible singers embarrass themselves trainwreck-style) look tame.
Oh, it's okay. My husband knows about it. In fact, he's done nothing but encourage this whole sordid affair. It's kind of endearing.
I'm in love with contract year Pat Burrell. Oh, sure, I make jokes about his funny syphilis and his deeply questionable fashion sense, but the man is hitting like his ass is on fire. (Normally, I would say that his ass was on fire because of the clap, but this is a kinder, gentler Maggie talking.)
He's ranked second in the NL in home runs. (Behind only My Boyfriend Chase Utley, mind you.) He's ranked second in the NL in RBI, third in slugging percentage (an eye-popping .670), and fourth in both OBP and OPS. It's not just the hitting, either. He's working counts like it's his job- 24 BBs so far, and we're barely into May.
The hitting? Has been clutch, too. In other years, seeing him stroll up to the plate with two outs on the board in a tie game would have been met with the gnashing of teeth and the rending of various garments, as he would have inevitably struck out and launched us into extra innings. Not Contract Year Pat Burrell. Contract Year Pat Burrell worked the count full, and then turned and launched one into the stratosphere. Game over, Phils win, everybody goes home happy.
The whole season has been full of moments like that- big hits just when the team needed them, diving catches to get the team out of innings. Hell, the fact that he's actually hustling for the ball once in a while is a major improvement.
Which only makes me sad when I think about it too much. He's having an amazing year (and put together a solid season last year, mind you, putting the team on his back when Utley was out with a broken wrist and soldiering through) and is set to make a lot of money when his contract with the Phils expeires at the end of the season. And, let's face it, he's not making that money with the Phillies.
My husband keeps musing aloud that he wonders if the Yankees would sign Burrell. I've taken to just glaring at him and muttering darkly under my breath every time he does.
Pat's said that he wants to stay in Philadelphia when he's done. This has to be a total lie, as the poor man has taken absolute rafts of shit from the Boo Birds in the outfield.(Occasionally, I've booed him from my seat in center, but that's usually because he's been too busy staring at the ball girl to, you know, field.) I'd love to keep him around, if only because his manwhorishness makes me laugh. I'm not, however, holding my breath. He's going to make the single female population of another city very, very happy next year.
Ladies: Take care of him, and take care of his fine, fine ass. (What? I can't ogle? Bullshit. He does it all the time.)
Our vision for this Web site is to shows the nation how beautiful and sexy the ladies of Red Sox Nation are. We offer the following analogy: Sexy Sox Girls are to Red Sox Nation as Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issues are to Sports.
The best part - it's democratic. Viewers rate candidates based on a scale of five red socks, with five socks being the creme de la creme. The site also requires applicants to disclose their favorite players, beaches, and bars they patronize. That’s key, as now those viewing the photos will know where to go. And you know they’ve got a chance. There’s always a chance.
Look, far be it from me to criticize what gets other people's rocks off. Hell, I'm the one that tried to explain to you people how a good basebrawl can act as an aphrodesiac. (And it can, my friends. Ohhh, it can.) but this? Makes me six different kinds of angry, and all those kinds are violent.
It's a site. Where women post pictures. Of themselves. Scantily clad. In Red Sox gear. And then they're rated. According to their hotness.
I want to set this site on fire. it's not bad enough that it's a website set up so that insecure women needing to show off their goodies to get the approval of others can post poorly lit images of themselves in allegedly provocative poses. Oh, no. They had to go and bring the Red Sox into it.
Because of course it's not bad enough that if I try to buy a jersey that fits my (ample, thank you) tits and doesn't hang on me like a dress, I'm stuck with some kind of hot pink or powder blue monstrosity. Of course it's not bad enough that I constantly have to defend my knowledge of the game simply as a result of possessing said tits. No, no. Now, chicks in baseball gear is some kind of messed up excuse for ogling, and I am pissed right the hell off.
Look, I get it. Wanting to be pretty doesn't make you less of a fan. That's fine. I think you're probably kind of nuts for putting on full makeup and straightening your hair to go sit up in the 400 level, but whatever. I don't get it, but I'm not judging.
This? This I'm judging. Look, you want to show your tits off on the internet? Go ahead. Have a party. They're your goodies, do with them as you please. But the second something like this, a 'rate the chick in the Sox jersey' site starts up? The rest of are being dragged in, unwittingly, and some of us want no part in that.
In conclusion: I hate you. And because I'm too mad about this whole stupid site to post a picture generally reflective of the content of this post, you're getting Jonathan Papelbon in a kilt, to make me feel better.
So yes. Ronaldo (AC Milan, not Man U, sadly) drops his girlfriend off, goes and picks up three hookers, does some drugs, if you believe the hookers, and then flips shit when he discovered that his hookers came with a bonus feature. And I am left laughing my ass off, because...really? Three tranny hookers? I mean, one was enough for Eddie Murphy. (Note: If Cristiano Ronaldo ever gets caught with three tranny hookers, you will hear my whoops of sheer glee from space, because I hate that bastard and I hope he hurts himself in spectacular fashion in just enough time to lose Man U the championship. And I'm an Arsenal supporter, so the fact that I want Chelsea to win? Should say something.)
My point is, this week has been a bit crazy for athletes that can't keep their dick in their pants. I'd advise noted manwhore Kyle Farnsworth to maybe keep it zipped up while he serves his suspension for nearly beaning Manny Ramirez. Who knows what could happen if that crazy motherfucker got into trouble? I'm guessing it would involve several surface to air missiles, an army of midgets, at least six donkey shows and a trumpet, just for fun.
Here, have a picture of reformed manwhore Pat Burrell. (I say reformed only because he's a newlywed. I don't really believe it.) That's not sweat glinting off his shoulders. That's the funny syphilis.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
The epically boring first round of the 2008 NFL Draft is over, and thus ends our liveblogging. I know you all are devastated (or thrilled, depending on whether or not you're a humorless asshole). And now, because that travesty that didn't even feature ONE PERSON I COULD LAUGH AT sucked away four hours of my life that I can never get back, I'm going to go take a nap and waste two more hours of my life that I can never get back.
Maggie: Aqib Talib is a pothead? I kind of love this.
Lisa: HAHA. REDSKINS GOT PWNED
Maggie: WAIT, WHAT HAPPENED?
Lisa: Aw, Sean Taylor. They just replayed the Pats/Skins game. The 52-7one.
Maggie: Oh. That game was beautiful.
Lisa: Sean Taylor still makes me sad.
Maggie: Well, it's kind of a whole depressing thing. Has it been, like, a half an hour since the last pick, or is it just me?
Lisa: It seems like it. GOD DAMN, QUIT TRADING. Sam Baker looks Amish.
Maggie: What the FUCK is Atlanta doing? GOD DAMN, WHY ARE YOU THROWING PICKS AFTER THIS? Wait, have we seriously not seen any WRs drafted?
Lisa: I do not believe we have, no.
Maggie: THAT? Is deeply strange.
Lisa: This draft is kind of boring.
Maggie: You're just bored because you can't mock Brady Quinn this year.
Lisa: There's NO ONE to mock this year. Very sad. Oh, here we go. This had better not be a trade.
Maggie: For real. I will cut a bitch. Dude, Felix Jones looks like he's forty years old.
Lisa: He does. Perhaps we have another Miguel Tejada on our hands.
Maggie: I think we have to. No way is that guy 23 or under.
Lisa: Perhaps we need to do some investigative journalism.
Maggie: Like what? 'Hey, anyone know how old Felix Jones is?' Oh, hey, Steelers drafted a running back. Sweet.
Lisa: I fell asleep for a minute, this draft is so boring.
Maggie: This is, in fact, boring as shit. How many fucking picks do we have left in the first round.
Lisa: Devin Thomas looks pissed at the world. Eight. What is the purpose of Keyshawn's tie clip?
Maggie: To make my brain bleed. Why is he SHOUTING? And why is his pocket square green? Nothing else in that outfit is even close to green.
Lisa:To match the color of nausea one feels when they see his outfit. And the little checks on his shirt are green. It's GREEN GINGHAM, for God's sake.
Maggie: Okay, they look navy. I have been fooled by the gingham.
Lisa: Does Chris Johnson have gold teeth?
Maggie: Either that, or a terrible dentist. Jesus. Note: Still no Devin Thomas selection. I feel like he might start getting a little mad if they keep putting him on camera.
Lisa: Even I feel bad, and I enjoy other people's misery.
Maggie: Seriously, wasn't he supposed to go, like, fifteen picks ago? Aqib the pothead went before him. And this is officially the dumbest conversation ever on my TV. Drafted wide receivers rarely make an immediate impact? SAY IT AIN'T SO.
Lisa: Seriously, all I hear is 'BLAH BLAH BAL, BLAH!'
Maggie: Oh, poor DeSean Jackson, playing with his phone, like, 'Well, maybe it's broken.'
Lisa: Houston should take him. Wait, LIMAS SWEED? WHAT THE HELL IS WITH THESE NAMES?
Maggie: I have no idea. Dallas takes Mike Jenkins and we STILL haven't drafted a single WR. What the fish?
Lisa: It's an overrated position.
Maggie: Still. Apparently, this is the year of the defensive back. Is it funny or horrifying that Seattle gets Pearl Jam for its music?
Lisa: Horrifying.
Maggie: Which makes it funny. Oh, GOD, this is the longest first round ever.
Lisa: Horrifying is always funny. Unless it's a clown or a tweezer to the eye.
Maggie: Thank you for that eye image. I'm calling you at 3 AM when I can't sleep.
Lisa: I wish the Germ would get traded already. Can you fail a physical because of herpes?
Maggie: No. Just ask Ron Mexico.
Lisa: I think prison physicals are less stringent. Like, they only involve a glove and a finger.
Maggie: Mmm. Smells like romance.
Lisa: Smells like ghetto romance.
Darren McFadden and Felix Jones, or your newest Raider and Cowboy, respectively. Yep. I'm going to get a lot of mileage out of this one.
MaggieI think Chris Berman is mocking Arizona. I think it's awesome.
LisaI hate them all. Dude, that suit.It gets worse with time.
Maggie: I keep hoping it's all been a hallucination brought on by too many hot wings and too much beer.
Lisa: I have had neither, and I can see it.
Maggie: Shit. There goes that dream.
Lisa: Mel Kiper Jr. reminds me of Sam Eagle from the Muppets.
Maggie: Exactly this. Except a little more dweeby. Like Sam Eagle with a pocket protector.
Lisa: Time for Matt Millen's annual fuckup. Which WR shall we take this year?
Maggie: Maybe they'll shock us and do something effective. Maybe the rivers will run red with blood, too.
Lisa:Well, Jon Kitna IS thisclose to Jesus. So it's possible.
Maggie: That's true. They are BFFs. I bet they'd braid each other's hair if Kitna had any. Oh, here we go. What? The Lions drafted Cherilus? Tackle. Well.
Lisa: GODSDER? SERIOUSLY? You should name your first child XOSDER. You know, for Red Sox.
Maggie: I totally should. And then I should name my second one 'My mom is a dumbass.'
Lisa: I like it.
Maggie: Sweet damn, Joe Flacco has one eyebrow.
Lisa: HELLO, UNIBROW. Kyle Boller, watch your butt. I will be as well. ZING!
Oh, Flaccos, you should not be this excited about your son moving to Baltimore. Trust me.
Maggie: How in the hell does UDel have a 1st round QB? This hurts my soul.
Lisa: Did these people have a Ravens hat standing by?
Maggie: I would imagine they bought all of them, just in case. I mean, the kid's about to get paid, it's not like they can't afford it.
Lisa: But...hats are expensive.
Maggie: Kid's about to get PAID.
Lisa: Well, maybe he can afford an eyebrow wax.
Maggie: UGH. Tell me I didn't just hear an Eagles chant. I hate that chant. I hate that chant with every fiber of my dark and twisted soul. And how fucking SHOCKING, Philly gets the 'Rocky' theme as their music. Shut up, all of you.
Lisa: I really hate Ron Jaworski.
Maggie: I'm not allowed to hate him. They kill people for that in Philly. Why do you think we have such a high murder rate? PS: Every one of those Eagles fans have been drunk since Thursday. Aaaaaaaaaaaand they trade the pick. Shocking. What the fuck did we even get for that? I say 'we' like I don't hate the Eagles.
Lisa: You get to suck it, Philly.
Maggie: Oh, the military is on stage. I was wondering what was up with the U!S!A! chant. What's with the guy in the Texas jersey? Does Texas love America more than the rest of us? Wait, what is with that trade? Oh, dear, I think the Eagles just did something vaguely smart. I don't think I can handle this.
Lisa: If my internet doesn't stop cutting out I will cut a bitch. Lauren just came in here and said, "What in the fuck is Keyshawn wearing?"
Maggie: That's awesome. Who are they booing? Oh, the Patriots are up. FUCK ALL Y'ALL, HATERS. Wait, we drafted Jerod Mayo? It is going to HURT MY SOUL to root for a dude form Tennessee.
Lisa: Fangirl whore
Maggie: Well, fuck you, too.
Lisa: Not you, dumbass, the actual fangirl whore they just showed clapping her hands.
Maggie: Oh, okay. In that case, I concur. Fuck that dumb bitch.
Lisa: At least she wasn't wearing pink.
Maggie: First person to make a wiseass comment about a black dude playing in Boston gets punched.
Lisa: I never knew until this season that Boston had a racist stigma.
Maggie: Yeah, well. Haters need fuel. Motherfuckers.
Lisa: Jesus Christ, that suit. Looking at Keyshawn's suit must be what people felt like when they first saw the Wizard of Oz in technicolor.
Maggie: I cannot even begin to DEAL with that suit. I also cannot deal with the fact that I just thought to myself 'Self, Steve Young is a good looking man.'
Lisa: But he IS, Mags. There is nothing disturbing about it.
Maggie: Yeah, but it's STEVE YOUNG. I hate the 49ers.
Lisa: He is no longer a 49er. Leodis McKelvin to Buffalo? Leodis? The hell?
Maggie: I don't even know who that is, but Leodis might be my new favorite name ever.
Lisa: It is awesome, I will give you that
Maggie: I DO NOT CARE ABOUT AUTO RACING. DRAFT, FUCKERS, DRAFT. Also, I'm just going to mock those Chicago fans. Seriously, it's a special kind of awesome when your team drafts a brand new tackle with their first pick and the camera cuts to the fans who are all 'Who?' Poor Chris Williams. Oh, look, they're playing the tomahawk chop music for the Chiefs. How deliciously racist.
Jerod Mayo is very happy about getting to play for the Pats. As he should be. Shut up, haters.
Chelsea? 2. (Both scored by Michael Ballack. I am guessing he won't need to buy his own pints around Blues supporters for quite some time after that shiny, shiny game.)
Manchester United? 1. (Scored by Wayne Rooney, my secret soccer sicksadwrong crush.)
Ronaldo? Riding pine for the first 3/4 of the game.
Look, I know nobody cares but Maggie about this shit, but this is the equivalent of the Red Sox making it to game 4 of the World Series, leading 3-0 and deciding that Manny Ramirez needs a day off. It's completely fucking inexplicable.
The frontrunning douchebags that support Man U have got to be absolutely livid. (It's worth noting, speaking of frontrunning douchebags, that the Yankees and Man U signed a ridiculous marketing pact back in 2001. Like attracts like, is all I'm saying.) I mean, a win would have killed Chelsea for the season. Hell, a draw would have put Man U solidly in position for the title.
But no. It was Ronaldo's turn for a day off, and so he sat. Well, he sat until partially through the second half when Ferguson figured out that perhaps he should play the guy that got them to this point and put him in as a replacement for Rooney. Unbelievable. How is there not rioting about this? (Wait, there probably is.)
As I complained about last night, we couldn't really watch the game stateside, so I didn't get to see it. Apparently, Nemenja Vidic was carried off the field after he split his lip in a collision with Didier Drogba's knee. I need to see this footage, people. Need.
I love soccer. It's so fucking violent. Case in point: I just watched Sunderland's Cameron Jones and Middlesbrough's Emanuel Pogatetz (who is now working on his second yellow card in about five minutes) knock heads so hard that I thought Jones was dead for a solid sixty seconds. Jones, for the record, is currently back in the game with a huge bandage wrapped around his head. (Seriously, Pogatetz is just stalking Jones now. It's kind of fucking creepy.)
Anyway, since I hate Man U about sixty times more than I hate Chelsea, let's salute Michael Ballack for his Superman-like performance against the Red Devils. Michael Ballack, I raise my Diet Coke to you, sir.
(I told you people you should watch more soccer. Dude's pretty.)
Okay, look, Fox Soccer Channel. I've offered to bear your tiny digital babies before, since you let me roll out of bed every Saturday morning and watch nothing but soccer all day long. EPL, Italian League, MLS, you name it. I can fall asleep watching you and dream of nothing but sweaty men with clearly defined calf muscles running around and shouting.
But seriously, I kind of love you. I mean, I'm an Arsenal supporter, and Lord knows you've fallen all over yourself to provide me with nothing but Arsenal matches all season. This lady's not going to complain.
Here's a question, though. This weekend? Is Chelsea/Manchester United. And it's kind of a Big Fucking Deal. And what are you airing?
Day/Date
Home/Visitor
Kickoff (ET)
Sat./April 26
Sunderland/Middlesbrough
10:00 AM
Sat./April 26
Tottenham/Bolton
12:00 PM*
Sat./April 26
Wigan/Reading
2:00 PM*
Sun./April 27
Everton/Aston Villa
11:00 AM
EXCUSE THE FUCK OUT OF ME? The clincher for the Prem is airing and you're going to make me watch Tottenham and Bolton? I...I don't even understand.
Here's the clincher, kids. The title deciding fucking game of the entire Premiere League is getting shuttled off to their secondary cable network. How secondary is the network? So secondary that there are exactly two pubs in the entire Philadelphia region that even carry the fucking channel.
I can't even begin to wrap my brain around this, you guys. This is like the Super Bowl being carried on the NFL Network.
Whatever, have a picture of Wayne Rooney, because at least he's a fucking thug. Note: He's not remotely hot, and I apologize for that, but I kind of love him anyway. Tell no one.
Note: I'm actually hoping for a plane to land on the stadium and take out both teams.
