People often ask me which 3 people throughout history I’d invite to dinner if given the opportunity. If it’s a beautiful woman asking, I go the Jesus/Buddha/Mohammad route. If not, I give my honest answer: Greg the Hammer Valentine, Iron Sheik and Iron Mike Sharpe.
My lord what an evening that would be.
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Unfortunately, there’s no reference to caulking the wagons.
“Ferry? I’m not paying for some stinking ferry. Caulk the wagons, kids. You do know how to swim, right?”
Last night’s game between the University of Oregon and Boise State had one major surprise. It wasn’t that Oregon got shellacked on the road by a very good (and hopefully BCS busting) Boise State team or that their were some fisticuffs between the two teams and between Oregon players. The major surprise, of course, was that Glass Joe is apparently playing defensive end for BSU under the pseudonym of Byron Hout.
Some of you will exclaim, “That’s ridiculous. Glass Joe is a fictional character from the old and new Punch Out games.”
To that I say, watch the video below and tell me that isn’t Glass Joe’s trademark nosedive. When you’re done I eagerly await your apology.
I recently re-established my golf handicap this season. The process has always been a flaky one for me. Nevertheless, a handful of scores later, I acquired a number that is supposed to be the average amount I shoot over par in a given 18-hole round. As I logged into my state golf association website, I was able to view all the rules and by-laws regarding the establishment of said handicap. In big letters read, “A SCORE IS NOT ELIGIBLE IF THE PLAYER PLAYS WITH NON-REGULATION CLUBS OR BALLS.”
That’s the warning that gets the top billing?
THAT’s what the association is worried about?
That I might pull a Rodney Dangerfield from Caddyshack and nail a 30-footer for birdie using an Albert Einstein-designed putter?
How about the fact that a person can enter whatever they want for a score with zero oversight? Maybe that might be the bigger loophole? Try this the next time you’re at the course: gaze past the underage girls operating the beer carts, the disgruntled suspicious dude picking up the range balls (my first job), into the club house, between the dipshits letting us all know how great Tiger is every time he’s shown on the big screen, and you just might notice a very large elephant that no one else sees…or at least they pretend not to. And now, instead of handing in a scorecard signed by several people to another human in the clubhouse (like in the ol’ days), a person can now enter their score at a kiosk….by their lonesome.
Imagine this: as thousands of people enter their numbers after a round, a select few stumble across the notion that they can be whatever handicap they want. It’s like the problem you might get if you left a group of 4-year olds unattended in a room with a big clear jar of Oreos in the middle. Sooner or later…
I’m no rocket scientist, but it seems like it would be common sense for the gallery to stand *behind* any non-golf, sports star who’s about to tee off in a celebrity or pro-am tournament.
Especially one who has a well documented history of being as poor a golfer as Charles Barkley.
Especially if you’ve got your frickin’ kid with you.
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While I would never want total amnesia, one benefit, however, would be a chance to revisit all the routine things we do and see every day and to pick out all the stuff that doesn’t make any sense. Take a basketball game, for instance…
I’m pretty sure the first thing I would question is who in the hell are these “cheerleaders” in the goofy school-colored uniforms that don’t resemble anything a female on this planet would ever wear (at least in this millennium)?
How about the dudes grabbing their butts as they hoist them over their heads?…I guess I can partially make sense of that.
NSFW due to profanity-laced wittiness. Enjoy.
Wally Backman’s masterful rant got me in the mood to dig up Tommy Lasorda’s eloquent response to the accusation that, as manager of the Dodgers, he was telling his pitchers to throw at various Padres.
(NSFW due to sublime use of profanity.)
Currently the manager for the South Georgia Peanuts, Backman is widely know for his days with the NY Mets. Here’s his bio for those who can’t quite place him.
We missed f*cking megasigns.
(Via With Leather)
Excerpted from the Canton Intelligencer:
Sources present at the Cavaliers End of the Year Banquet said that it was an uncomfortable experience.
“My wife and I left as soon as we could,” remarked an employee in Cleveland’s front office, who wished to remain anonymous.
“When one of his teammates would walk up to receive their award, Lebron would alternate between long, slow claps and vigorous clapping.”
“It was pretty obvious he was still steamed by their lack of support during the Orlando series.”
Or, “What’s waiting behind aisle #2?”
What stops an old guy from putting on his Fruit of the Looms in a gym locker room? Too much my friends, far too much. How many times do I have to walk into my local fitness club and witness senior porn?
Putting on their socks…in the nude.
Shaving…nude.
Checking phone messages…nuderama.
Deodorant…nuder.
Going for an additional head and groin towel-off…Old McNudald.
Big arm stretch and waist twist…Bachman-Nuder Overdrive.
