Sideline staple Andrea Kremer swooned over Tom Brady in an interview following Sunday night’s Bills vs. Pats game.
Kremer buckled at the knees as Brady stared seductively into her eyes, creating a babbling brook to flow beneath her satin undergarments.
It was the ultimate antonym for the Namath / Kolber incident.
With good reason, the Chicago Bears’ “Super Bowl Shuffle” is easily the most popular sports music video that has ever been put to film. As any smart American knows though, just because something is the most popular, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the best. Sure, it/he/she may have made the most money, won the most awards, or conracted the most herpes, but “great popularity” does not equate to “the best.”
Where was I? Ah yes. Sports music videos. It may just be my opinion, but these pair of music videos penned, recorded and directed by sporting teams are the best of their kind:
“Red Hot” (performed by the 1987 Calgary Flames)
If words fail you, fear not, for you are surely not the first. From the horns in the beginning, to a youthful Jeremy Roenick, to the utter lack of enthusiasm near the end, this is simply a tour de force. I find myself humming the horns section every morning while I’m taking a shower. And can you believe the stunning special effects?! Adios mio, esta incredible! It’s true, you may be able to climb the highest mountain, but how do you touch a flame when it’s RED HOT?! Especially when you are fake playing a trumpet?!
“Untitled” (Performed by a late 1980s Arizona Wildcats basketball team)
Shit man, where do I even begin. This is full of classic players, including Sean Elliott, Steve Kerr, Tom Tolbert and Don McLean. There is an underlying “Don’t do drugs” current and it even features a 1980s special effect making head coach Lute Olsen do a pissed off double take. My favorite line has to be Kerr’s, when he goes, “I’ll hit it from three-point laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand … ” Incredible stuff. Enjoy and post more classic videos in the comments or in the sports forum.
Gimme dat weed!
The oh, so kind commissioner Roger Godell of the tyrannical National Football League has decided to show a gentler side today, reinstating Ricky Williams after a suspension that lasted 18 months for violation of the leagues substance abuse policy for the third time.
Aside from lame-ass tattoos, there isn’ t much in this world that pisses me off more than jerkoff fans that walk around sporting the NFL logo (or any league logo) on their clothing, as opposed to that of their favorite team.
So, as you might imagine, the guy above really grinds my gears. What would possess someone to have the logo of a corporation tattooed on their body? Do you really love the NFL that much, buddy? I mean, shit, we all like football, but let’s get real. Does this guy pump his fist when Roger Goodell hands out fines? Does he get a bonafide stiffy when he hears the “no replaying without the express written consent of the NFL” commentary at the end of ballgames? Does he exhume Vince Lombardi’s corpse every Halloween and skullfuck him?
This is just as bad as the dickweeds that get a Nike “swoosh” inked on. It’s pathetic. Actually, it’s not, I’m going to get a Nissan tat because I love my 2000 Maxima SO MUCH!
But, going back to our original case study above, it’s pretty apparent that Mr. Viking is not playing with a full deck of cards. The guy looks like he spent the morning tailgating at an Anabolic Steroids BBQ, and it also appears as if he is lactating from that nipple that is playing peek-a-boo with us. One can only imagine the issues he has that are not detectable from this sole snapshot.
So, I guess we pity him and his terribly cliched choice of tats, which include multiple sports logos (is that a Cowboy star too? Fucking prick … ) and the barb wire tattoo, always a telltale indicator of a juiced-up moron trying to be cool.
In conclusion … fuck you, guy. But, a big “fuck you” also goes out to all those fucks in the world that are rocking that NFL t-shirt or winter jacket. Do us all a favor and pick a fucking team so we can judge you appropriately. Presidential election season is upon us, you don’t see people with bumper stickers that say “American Politics”. No, normal people choose one person or team to hitch their wagon to. You should do the same.
AND THEN SOME!
I thought we would start out with something simple for my first entry; a list of my top five all-time favorite white basketball players. We all know the NBA has white guys for one reason, right? The 3-point shot. NO! It’s so that during team showers the brothers can laugh at how funny the genitalia of the honkies look in comparison of the rest of their gangly, awkwardly long-limbed, genetically overgrown bodies. Let’s go!
#5. Jeff Hornacek- This gringo was the main guy the Sixers got in 1992 when they traded hall of famer,11-time all star, league MVP and 2-time gold medal winning power forward Charles Barkely to the Phoenix Suns. Not only was Hornacek white, which was bad enough for us Philly fans, but he looked like Mr. Rogers with his parted hair style from the 1950s, the same way my mom combed it for me until I was 15.
4. Kyle Korver- Being the hottest guy in the NBA is a remarkable accomplishment in itself, but it takes more to make my list. The reason this sharp shooting Mormon is here is all due to Shaq. You see, The Big Aristotle, using the detective skills he learned at the Miami Police Academy, refused to take to the court in the 2004 NBA All-Star game because he thought he was about to get Punk’d, mistaking Korver for Ashton Kutcher, star of hilarious romantic comedies such as Guess Who, Just Married, My Bosses Daugher, and A Lot Like Love … I just thought this was funny for some reason.
3. Jason Kidd- Man, can this guy put up the triple doubles! He may be the best passing/ rebounding point guard ever in the Association. However, his real claim to fame is that alien son of his. I remember watching the Nets on TV when they had their finals run in the early 2000’s and I would ask my friends why a giant turd with Mr. Potato head accessories plugged into it and a 13 year-old Mexican boy mustache was allowed in the arena. Then I found out Joumana birthed T.J anally instead of vaginally, so it all made sense.
2. Toni Kukoc- This former sixth man of the year makes the list because he sums up something very important for white players. The shitty nick name. White players never get cool nick names like The Answer, Vinsanity, Dr. J, Mad Max or Shaq-fu. No instead they get nick names like the one Toni had, The Waiter. THE FUCKING WAITER! I’m sure that just the mental image of “waiters” strikes fear in the hearts of opposing players … because you know how the blacks like to tip at resturants 
#1.Shawn Bradley- The 1993 draft was not a great one, C-Webb went number one, and the rest is filled with busts and injury plagued players like Jamal Mashburn, Isaiah Rider, and Allan Houston. However, with the second pick in the lottery the Sixers’ management sat in their front offices for months, deliberating who to pick, and eventually the geniuses used the same logic middle school basketball coaches use when recruiting players to the team in 6th grade, “pick the tallest guy”. Did the Sixers learn anything from having Manute Bol on the team in 1992? FREAKISHLY TALL SKINNY PLAYERS SUCK ASS IN THE NBA! Aside from that, they look really weird. Shawn Bradley could be a character from a Tim Burton movie, who was found living in a dungeon somewhere and then taken in to society by a kind family only to be swindled by some sleazy agent to play in the NBA because he was so abnormally tall. I’m sure Shawn has had his fair share of awkward moments in his life.
Who are YOUR favorite white players (and by white I’m including Mike Bibby, Doug Christie, etc.)?
-The NBAsshole
I find “ur-blogger” Bill Simmons interesting enough when he pokes his head out of the Red Sox’s collective ass cheeks to observe the greater sporting world. I don’t find this zenith of Boston sports with championships falling from the sky on an almost-yearly basis insufferable. Those sentences are inaccurate as of this afternoon. COME ON:
All in all, the Pats were whistled for a whopping 146 yards in penalties, a single-game record for the franchise. At one point, after a rarely-seen “blocking someone while they’re out of bounds” penalty on Willie Andrews, my dad called me just to say, “They’re calling things that I never even knew were penalties!!!” It’s one thing to have incompetent officiating for a football game; it’s another thing to see nearly every call and non-call benefit the same team. In 60 minutes of play, only one borderline call went against the Colts — a holding penalty on their second-to-last drive that erased a 25-yard Addai run. The final tally for the Colts: four penalties, 25 yards. We haven’t seen homefield advantage work that well since Hitler invaded Russia.
He actually suggests the NFL is fixing it’s own games to punish the Patriots for their videotaping transgressions early this season.
Getting zero play outside Buffalo, and shockingly little play inside, Hall of Fame Quarterback Jim Kelly told the local CBS affiliate he’s found investors willing to purchase the Bills and keep them in town:
“He (Bills owner Ralph Wilson) knows how serious, not only Jack Kemp, but myself are, about keeping the Bills in Western New York. And I’ll tell you what, I know the people, I know a couple of people that have come to me and have the money to pay it in cash. I guess the best thing I can say is that I will do everything in my power to make sure the people I align myself with and the people Jack Kemp aligns himself with makes sure that team stays here in Western New York.”
I speak for all (right-thinking) Western New Yorkers by saying I hope he’s not still suffering from the concussion that knocked him out of his last playoff game.
If Kelly, et al tried to purchase the team from Wilson before he died, would they pay the octogenarian in gold or silver doubloons?
(Bonus points if you can identify what recent episode of what show the headline came from.)
We are all familiar with this attractive redhead from her role as the ESPN reporter who NEVER BLINKS (Look at all of her YouTube videos, not one bat of the eye), and who finishes off each of her segments by saying …
” … from such and such, i’m Rachel Nichols … E-S PEE OENNNNNNNN”
But what else do we really know her? And most importantly how did she get to where she is at right now?
To answer this question, I dug and I dug deep. Similarly to what the entire High School football team did to her in a sleazy hotel room on prom night.
My research started off at Winston Churchhill High School In Potomac, Maryland. It is no coincidence that Rachel chose a High School named after a man that derived most of his pleasure from smoking long phalic items in his spare time. For this is where Rachel found her niche in life.
Sucking alot of fucking dick.
I mean alot, she really really got down with smoking some major pole.
It is no coincidence that she was her class valedictorian, for the A+’s on her report card were written with the semen of her male teachers.
Her knack for slobbing the knob earned her the right to be accepted to the prestigous Northwestern University, just outside of Chicago. A city well known for thier extra large sausages and wieners.
It was at Northwestern where Rachel really got down and dirty. Rachel sucked a total of 10,931 cocks in her four years at Northwestern, swallowing and loving each load equally.
When she wasn’t ingesting baby batter, she was receiving tremendous loads on her face. Rachel was often seen at lecture halls with semen dripping from her eyebrows. On some occasions fellow students could not recognize Rachel as she was said to be wearing what looked like a white mask on her face.
After college Rachel got a chance to go for her dream job as she was flown to Bristol Conneticut to be interviewed at ESPN Headquarters.
Rachel flubbed a few lines during an on screen test, and ESPN associates told her “Better luck next time”.
While walking out disheartened, she bumped into Stuart Scott in a nearby corridor. Rachel gestured that he should join him in a nearby janitors closet to “talk”.
It has been said that during this encounter, Nichols managed to suck Scott’s dick, lick his balls, and suck a fart out of his asshole all at once.
Nichols won the job on the spot, and now Scott who was dumb-founded by Rachel’s uncanny ability, now has permanently googly eyes.
Finally to answer the question as to why Nichols never blinks on camera … well let’ just say that there is something that is 12 inches hanging behind the camera, and it isn’t a sound mic.
Scoop, the polar opposite of Daniel Pearl, wrote a column about Michael Jordan on November 6 for ESPN’S Page 2.
Well, you could call it a column, or you could call it what it really is: fellatio
I didn’t think it was possible, but Scoop actually deep throated with words.
Ever think that someone would tell you to “wait” before you walked onto the United Center floor? With the arena dark, except for the lights coming from the Jumbotron, which surprisingly has your name on it? Ever think you’d hear the same synthesized music that MJ heard before almost every home game he played in — the drums beneath that sound, the Ray Clay voice — but your name would be called out instead of his?
“Aaaand nowwww, from ESPN.com …”
Ever think that you’d be standing on the United Center floor, bouncing up and down, waiting for your “teammates” to be called out to join you? “From Slam magazine …” “From Hoops …” “From Dime …” “From Men’s Fitness …” Ever think that when they introduced the coaches, the gods of sneaker design — Tinker Hatfield and Mark Smith — would run out of the tunnel? Ever think, after they’d come out — high and low-fiving everyone — that the music would stop, then start again, then … “From North CAROLINA …”
Scoop’s vivid imagery and tone is reminiscent of Truman Capote.
He really captures the essence of what it means to be like Mike.
Unfortunately, the ESPN Page 2 readership didn’t want to participate in a gang bang.
Here are some the comments:
