A bird pooped on my car this week. My week is usually filled with strange things happening, however this week started with a bird letting one fly on my window. So, needless to say, I’m feeling lucky. Despite the fact that I have absolutely NO Italian heritage, I learned this week that it is a sign of good luck, this is according to Italians, for those finding it hard to keep up.
I am going to have to give due credit here, I had no idea that flying excrement was a sign of good luck until I was finishing up reading Bill Simmons’ Now I Can Die In Peace. Ironically enough, both of us were thinking of the Sox at the time of impact by flying bird poo, weird. Continue reading Eat My Sports: Call it in the air
We all remember that glorious fastball thrown by Randy Johnson that made a pigeon explode. The fact that it was caught on tape has cemented in the annals of history. Currently, it sits at the top of ESPN’s list of Greatest Highlights of the War on Animals. Now, there’s a new one.
A golfer killed a protected hawk because it was making noise during the filming of his show. Tripp Isenhour was filming a television show when a red shouldered hawk began squawking loudly and disrupting Isenhour. He got mad, drove over to the tree the hawk was in, and started hitting balls at it. Clearly, the bird was stupid, because it never flew off.
When the hawk came in closer, Isenhour said “I’ll get him now,” and hit the bird, killing it.
Now for some reason, the Humane Society is getting all uppity about it, and Isenhour could get fined or sent to jail for 14 months. This blog really doesn’t see why. Everyone who has ever golfed, regardless of their stance in the War on Animals, enjoys making birds scatter with an errant shot. Isenhour just had the drive to accomplish his goal–the sign of a true athlete and dedicated warrior.
There was a time when I was a U.S. Olympic hopeful, my event: drinking. I would practice for hours and hours on an almost daily basis. I was good–really good. It didn’t matter if I practiced at home or at a bar. Often it was sometimes both. Nor did it matter what I and my teammates drank because we were pretty diverse in our tastes.
However, those days are over. Continue reading The McBournie Minute: I am past my prime
Forget college basketball. Forget Roger “I didn’t take no freaking steroids” Clemens, forget the NBA, forget it all. This week we’re tackling romance, but not in that kind of awkward “son, we need to talk” type of way, no, I’m sick of celebrity sports dating. This needs to end.
Honestly, since when has a sports icon’s career been defined by People Magazine or Tiger Beat (is that still around?) covers as opposed to their on field performance. Important figures like completion percentage and assist-to-turnover ratio are being replaced by daily taglines of “what they did on their magical week in Mexico.”
The madness needs to stop. The sports world needs to keep from becoming a mock version of E! Continue reading Eat My Sports: Wherever I may Romo
In regards to Valentine’s Day, and amongst the swirling rumors that Bryan McBournie and I are in a “tiff,” I’m putting down the gloves this week. I’m also leaving the NFL alone … until the draft.
Last week the NBA’s version of the Miami Dolphins, ironically enough the Miami Heat, traded All-Star Center Shaquille “Nick Nolte, I’m sorry about ‘Blue Chips'” O’Neal to the Phoenix Suns. I would under normal circumstances mention who those players were, but the Heat suck, so they get nothing, not even in love week. So, The Big Aristotle got dealt, and I feel like the only one who thinks that this was bigger than the trades that got the Big Three into Boston. Side note: Dear New England, I don’t hate the Celtics or Bruins, I love the Sox, it’s just the Pats, Boston’s a baseball town anyway. Continue reading Eat My Sports: Love Shaq
I promise I will get off of my football kick after the Pro Bowl. I mean does anyone really pay any attention to anything else this time of year? Well, other than Maria Sharapova, but she doesn’t play until 3:22 am Eastern, trust me, I know.
First off, I know, I was wrong. I had the Chargers-Pats game nailed down to a L.T. (lame?) except the Bolts, like a sophomore on a prom date, choked and couldn’t punch it in past the goal line. And never in my life have I ever overestimated a team (Packers) and quarterback (Eli Manning) so grossly as I had last Sunday. To Manning and the Giants, you’ve proved yourself and paid your dues, even if you lose in February, you’ve earned a nation’s respect. We’ll get to Super Bowl predictions next week though. This week, we are going to analyze and rate all 12 playoff QBs and rate them. It’s kind of like rating a Hooters’ walk off, just less hot.
Continue reading Eat My Sports: Playoff quarterbacks