Bryan Schools is still learning what it’s like to go the rest of his life without sex, so I’m filling in for him this week. Here’s “Take These Sports from Snee and Eat Them.”
I’m not about to say that the entire sporting world is in trouble. But, certain teams and players could use a–ahem–boost:
That was the stands from last night’s Baltimore/Kansas City game at Camden Yard. Granted, it had rained all day and night, but even if you lived next door, would you bother to attend to watch the Orioles and the Royals? The title card alone sounds like it was pronounced by Foghorn Leghorn after a stroke.
They’re not alone. Detroit fans were already hesitant to spend money of Lions games, but now they’re abandoning the city and surrounding suburbs. How do you justify spending cash (we assume they still sell tickets) to a Kid Rock crowd?
You give them exactly why they watch Syfy and USA, and it’s not for Eureka or Psych; it’s for professional wrestling. Continue reading Eat My Sports: Can’t spell ‘sports entertainment’ without ‘sports’
You know how it’s the post-holiday season and it’s January, cold and sucky? Well, it’s also nearly Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Which for some people means a long weekend! This, after all, was one of his most famous speech lines, “I have a dream, that one day, the federal government and stock exchanges of this great nation will have the Monday off that is closest to my birthday. I have a dream!” If you were busy blaming voodoo for the Haitian earthquake, odds are you missed it.
So it wasn’t milk after all
To the surprise of literally no one anywhere, former St. Louis Cardinals (of baseball) slugger Mark McGwire admitted he used steroids during his 1998 run to break Roger Maris’ single-season home run record. He cried on television, probably because he was on the female hormone side of the cycle at that point, and said he wished he was never a part of the steroid era in baseball. Unfortunately, he forgot he was the poster child for it. Because he admitted to using illegal drugs, McGwire was promptly arrested and put in jail.
What’s going to happen to Max Weinberg?
NBC’s late night schedule is in flux, yet again. This time, they are canceling the failure that is the Jay Leno Show and moving him back to the Tonight Show, after Tonight host Conan O’Brien said he would not be willing to move the show to 12:05 a.m. to make room for Leno in his old time slot. The LenO’Brien (TM) situation got worse this week after both hosts made a mockery of NBC for the situation. And every other network’s late night hosts focused their displeasure on Leno, who is medically, a bag of douche.
The big, lonely Oval Office
In a recent interview with CBS News, President Barack Obama said he’s very lonely serving as president, because he is alone in his responsibilities and he is separated from regular people because of his office. Loneliness? This man needs some tips from a certain former president.
St. Louis Cardinals manager Tony LaRussa will be back next season, but that’s not all. He’s bringing Mark McGwire on as the Cards’ new batting coach.
Hm, wonder which pharmacy nutritionist will sponsor his lesson plan.
But, seriously, what can he teach these young batters that isn’t already written on the back of the bottle?
And when they’re having trouble, can they trust him to actually tell them the truth, no matter how unpleasant it may be? (The “silent treatment” doesn’t work in America’s quietest pasttime.)
It’s October 17, 2004, a miserable excuse for a Sunday. I’m tired as hell from my trip to New York, and its production night for Bryan McBournie and me at our college newspaper, The Tartan. We go in to start our layouts, and hardly say a word to anyone, people want to ask us if we’re ok, but even the non-sports fans knew that today was not the day to talk. Today is our death march. Today is what we have come to expect as individuals. Today we have our souls carved out again. Today is hell. Today the Red Sox get swept, and there is not a damn thing we can do but watch.
Normally when we go to our watering hole, BT’s, its all smiles. We know the bartenders, know the waitresses, and are occasionally rewarded for our patronage with a warm shot of house tequilla for free. Not tonight though. Even our most familiar bartender Todd has a grimace on his face when we come in during the sixth inning. He fills a pitcher of Keystone, hands us two mugs and forces a smile. McBournie and I sit in the semblance of a dining area that only a college “restaurant and fine dining” bar can offer. The game is on the big screen, it’s 4-3 New York, and we know were its headed, this is our fate as Red Sox fans. Doom. Elevated hope that eventually crushes even your will to want to even get up the next day. It’s sick that we get this way as fans, but we’re a different breed, and fate is a fickle broad. Continue reading Eat My Sports: Boston translation
Listen, people. If the FDA and we’ve told you before, we’ll tell you again: don’t use synthetic steroids. They don’t work, except for the liver cancer part.
If you want to make your testicles look smaller, use natural, American-grown steroids instead. And make sure you take them with plenty of clean urine!
It’s especially important in these tough economic times because steroids are a growth industry.
Think of the American testosterone farmer next time you shop for that competitive edge.
It’s Friday, and by now your NCAA tournament brackets are messed up. Well, that’s what you get for gambling. You do know that it’s illegal, right? At this point, you are probably looking to find some sort of diversion from thinking about the massive losses you have incurred. If you were busy getting stalked by a guy on the set of “Dancing with the Stars,” odds are you missed it.
Everyone get ready for another bracelet campaign
Lance Armstong fell in the first stage of some bike race in Spain, breaking his collar bone. Along with it, Armstrong shattered the hopes and dreams of young Americans everywhere who dream of growing up and pedaling really fast professionally. Luckily, he did not break his Twitter, as evidenced by the fact that he continued tweeting leading up to his surgery. Still being investigated: if tweeting and riding caused the accident in the first place.
Gun gun be gun, gun gun be gun gun
Things are not good for Rihanna. Even though she’s now 21, a year by rights she should not have to remember, she is got a boyfriend who allegedly hits her, she is catching heat for staying with him anyway, and um, Jay-Z probably has something to say about all of it, too. Clearly, it is time for some image recovery. Rihanna knows this, that is why she got a tattoo of a gun near her right armpit. Perfect! Now we can no longer associate you with violence!
Nobody lies to Congress but Congress
Major League Baseball’s Miguel Tejada was sentenced to one year of probation, a $5,000 fine and 100 hours of community service for lying to Congress about his use of performance enhancing drugs. That’s right folks, let the word go our hence forth that if you want to do illegal drugs and then lie about it to federal lawmakers, all it takes is a fraction of your annual salary, some “Kids, don’t do drugs” public service announcements and a year of double-secret probation. Take THAT! Tejada will probably also have to buy his team, the Houston Astros, all lunch or something, too.
Now that the press is soiling itself over Alex Rodriquez’s admission to using steroids (courageously made after his failed test results hit the press), I’ve been thinking more about a piece I wrote back in 2007 when the Mitchell Report was released.
Personally, I’ve always taken it with a grain of salt anytime someone waxes philosophically about the “Clean Days of Baseball.” The history of the sport’s more saccharine than a fundamentalist’s interpretation of the 1950s: everyone got along (in their segregated leagues), they were good sports (Chicago Black Sox) and substance-free (Dock Ellis).
Now that he’s “come clean,” I was wondering when the League would get involved. I mean, either they’re against doping or they are for it. A lack of consequences is clearly a silent vote for “Please break some more crusty old records and raise our ticket sales!”
True to fashion, Rodriguez practiced with his team, uneventfully. There’s been no talk of suspension, fines or even mandatory PSA from the Yankees or MLB. Meanwhile, Michael Phelps faced criminal charges for a f#%king photograph and fortunately avoided arrest by not admitting that the pipe contained marijuana.
So, let me restate for the record: let the bums into the Hall of Fame. If professional athletes want to use steroids, HGH and whatever else sucks nads to grow muscles, go ahead. Continue reading Take it from Snee: Let the bums into the Hall of Fame (A-Rod Edition)
Alright, so the roiding scandal of one Alex Rodriguez has been out in the public for roughly a week and a half. And while the Yankees slugger is getting rightfully grilled by every media outlet, a few (*cough* ESPN, *cough* Peter Gammons) are letting A-Rod off the hook by not digging deeper into a story, or by tossing him up a creampuff question that he can slam easier than those 156 steroid-infused home runs at Texas.
So, sure the Material Boy hasn’t given us the answers we’re craving, though he did finally realize that frosted tips are sooooooooo 2001. I am here to give you the true words behind his vague answers in hopes that I can truly help you understand what it’s like to be a baseball player with lipstick. Continue reading Eat My Sports: I’m not finished with you yet, A-Roid
This past weekend was a relatively quieest one. I wait tables on Saturdays, so I went into work a bit early, and went through my Saturday routine of eating my breakfast while watching SportsCenter. First few minutes, nothing big. There were a few basketball highlights that I could’ve cared less about, the same Michael Phelps’ photo re-played about half a dozen times. Then the bottom line came up with breaking news, Alex Rodriguez, the heir apparent to restore legitimacy to baseball’s hallowed records, had tested positive for steroids in 2003.
The gut reaction was joy. I went through all the signs I could make when I go to see the Sox and Yankees at Fenway in April. “A-Roid” was my favorite, “Material Roid” and “Like A Syringe, Hitting for the Very First Time” were another couple of my timely classics. I high fived some friends and texted my fellow Sox fans, but then the truth settled in, if Rodriguez was guilty, then everyone was guilty. Continue reading Eat My Sports: No free passes
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