What your view of sports and life would be if you had too many concussions
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For MLB’s #CapsOn thing for Opening Day, I saw you wearing a Giants cap and a Twins cap. What’s up with that?
~New York Dave
This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with this. First of all, this is baseball, not Nazi fucking Germany; I’ll wear any cap I want. Second of all, you can have more than one “favorite” team…within reason. The bottom line is your relationship with a baseball team is like your relationships with women.
First, you have your “wife” team, the one you stay with no matter what, often times it’s your childhood sweetheart. Sometimes you love them, and other times you want to bury them in a shallow grave by the railroad tracks. But at the end of the day, you’ll always come back. Mine: Los Angeles Angels
Then there’s your “mistress” team. Your relationship with the “mistress” team can be as meaningful and as long-lasting as the one with your “wife” team, except you don’t go to their parents’ house on holidays. Mine: Minnesota Twins
Further into the hierarchy is the “girlfriend” team, which is just what it says. “Girlfriend teams can also be in your line-up for a long time if need be, but changing the affiliation is far easier. If you’ve ever dumped a chick via text message, you know what I mean. Mine: San Francisco Giants
That leaves us with the “fling”…that team who catches your eye, for whatever reason, and as quickly as it started, the interest wanes. For me, this is usually a baseball team with a ton of young talent that’s fun to watch, but after a while you realize they really aren’t that good yet. This is like that smoking hot twenty-something who sits a few cubes down form you at the office. You end up getting a room at the hotel having your company Christmas party where a night-long suck-and-fuck fest reminds you that twenty-somethings may look pretty fucking good, but they don’t really know how to use what they’ve got. Current Fling: Philadelphia Phillies
Are you worried about the fact Trump just made it legal people to sell all your internet information?
~ The Una-blogger
Ever heard of WikiLeaks? Just because you aren’t famous, don’t think anybody who wants to know anything about you can’t get it. I’m not even going to get into the politics of this, because that will only confuse the message I need to send here.
Let me be blunt. If you think there’s any semblance of “privacy” in the internet world, quite simply YOU ARE A FUCKING MORON!
Doubt that? Ask yourself a question. What could anybody possibly sell about you that isn’t already available because YOU ALREADY FUCKING GAVE IT AWAY? Do you have a Facebook page? Have you ever bought anything on line? Tax day is right around the corner…did you file electronically?
If you still don’t get it, here’s a perfect example. A while back, Mrs. J-Dub worked for one of the world’s largest hotel chains. That meant we could stay at those hotels for pretty cheap on her employee discount, which in turn meant that became a factor in vacation planning. A passing comment was made about this chain having locations virtually everywhere, which then led to a bet as to whether or not there was one in Mongolia. For purposes of full disclosure, I lost the bet and to this day, a major vacation planning website sends me emails with airfare and hotel deals to the capital of Mongolia, Ulan Bator.
Let me be even more blunt. What everybody is really worried about here is their browser histories, which is a just a nice way of saying people are worried about anybody knowing what kind of porn they like. America is a nation in which pornography is a business twice the size of the NFL, and yet somehow it makes all that money with nobody watching it…well, admitting to it anyway. Think of it this way. The next time you are arm-wrestling the bald-headed champ to something on Pornhub, there could be 5,000 people spanking it to the exact same thing, and the guy running the server knows you’re all a bunch of twisted ass freaks. He knew it once you grabbed your dick and double-clicked. It’s the same technology that gives you the “because you watched” thing on YouTube, your cable box, or whatever streaming service you use.
In other words, you really can’t go to your next family gathering being 100% sure your mother doesn’t know you like to rub it out to Chinese midget amputees.
Does this most recent college basketball tournament and the increasing level of success small schools have mean there is more parity in college basketball?
~The Bracket is a Racket
Yes and no. In order to break that down, you have to understand the NCAA Tournament is really two different events; one in which the answer is yes and one where it’s no. The first weekend is all about “David v. Goliath,” where inevitably a small school will take down a big one, and I will get asked the “Will a #16 beat a #1?” which I’ve already answered. That’s the event which is second only to the Super Bowl in terms of dollars gambled, and it’s the one that drives this conversation because there are more “Davids” with accurate sling-shots in that four-day hoops-tacular.
But the second weekend is where we separate the pretenders from the contenders. This is where the “Davids” tend to get Goliath-stomped. There are the rare occasions in which a “David” makes the Final Four such as #9 Pennsylvania (1979) or #11s VCU (2011), George Mason (2006), LSU (1986). But no team seeded lower than #8 has ever made it to the top of the March Madness mountain on Monday Night, and it’s not likely anytime soon.
Have you noticed ESPN’s new love of what I call the “fake statistic?” For example, you read the crawl and it will tell you shit about a “quarterback rating” or some other crap that they cooked up. What the hell is that all about?
“Fed Up” is becoming our de facto “ESPN Sucks” guy based on the number of questions he sends us. The “Fake Stat” is nothing new; Bill James invented it years ago with that SABRmetrics nonsense in baseball. What Wins Above Replacement (WAR) is to baseball is what the World Wide Bottom Feeder’s “Quarterback Rating” (QBR).
Again, this doesn’t require a trip into the details because there’s only two kinds of people who quote statistics when it comes to sports: the people who didn’t see the game or the people who don’t know what they are looking at. Judging by some of the brain-numbingly stupid things I hear the blow-dries at ESPN say, I’m certain Bristol is a monument to the latter.
It takes a “fake stat” guy who knows NOTHING about football to tell me Dak Prescortt was the third-best quarterback in the NFL last season. You read that right…the very same shit-hemorrhages who said “Aaron Rodgers is playing the quarterback position better than it’s ever been played ” are now trying to say that Dak Prescott is better than Rodgers. Is there a better exposure for a “fake stat” than the people who created it don’t even buy it?
This is what ESPN has become. QBR is the World Wide Bottom Feeder’s own version of “climate change;” it’s a bunch of “fake stats” jumbled together with quasi-legit science all done with an ulterior motive which can all be destroyed by even the simplest of common sense. The “climate change” nudniks tried telling me ten years ago that by now Cuba would have disappeared because of rising sea levels. The inconvenient truth in that is Cuba has a mountain range which tops 6,400 feet, which means if sea levels rose that much, the “Mile-High” city of Denver would be under 1,200 feet of water. That’s not happening.
It takes that kind of leaky thinking to believe the third-best quarterback in the NFL is a guy whose record against winning teams when he threw the ball more than 35 times was 1-3.
What are the two best jokes ever?
Comedy is about death, pure and simple. My comedic hero Don Rickles just began his eternal booking at the Pearly Gates Club where he says things like “So God, you say you made us in your image, but how drunk were you when you made Phyllis Diller?”
But seriously folks, death and comedy are as hand-in-hand as pizza and beer. When comedian bombs on-stage, the term is “he’s dying out there.” So for starters, here’s a death-proof joke about death.
Two hunters are out in the woods when one of them collapses. He doesn’t seem to be breathing and his eyes are glazed. The other guy whips out his phone and calls 911.
“My friend is dead! What can I do?”
The operator says “Calm down. I can help. First, let’s make sure he’s dead.” There’s silence, then a shot is heard.
The guy gets back on the phone and says “OK, now what?”
Conversely, and somewhat nonsensicly, when a comedian is swinging for power, his material will make you die laughing. That’s how the British won the war with the world’s funniest joke.