Let's Call this "Fenway Formal"

Thanks to some guy on twitter, we can all share in this one fan's amazing braided rat tail.

Normally, I'd yell for someone to call animal control, but even the most accomplished officer could only hope to contain this one.

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HHR at the NFL Draft Classic

We mentioned it earlier, and now we have something a bit better than fuzzy pictures taken on a Blackberry to give you the full NFL Draft Classic experience. A few videos below - with more to come - courtesy of our friend Ben at Beryllium Pictures and Rob of rrbaker.

This first one gives you the best idea of the environment. Sadly I could not get the women with the sparklers to take a moment to discuss the important issues of the day. Which in my mind were the patron shots they were carrying.


When asked what the rookies had to look forward to, I never got an answer like, "They will be treated with the utmost respect and concern for their image." Half the time they would just cackle, and keep their lips tight. Ray Rice at least had advice beyond 'shave your head now because it's gonna get cut anyway, meat.'


This gentleman was probably the most articulate dude in the club. Which is why his well reasoned, logical, and thoughtful answers belong nowhere on this site.


And finally, we have a great montage that shows why I think the Jacksonville Jaguars locker room may be one of the most fun, well-dressed, and 'deceptively' well-read in the NFL. I just realized now that Uche actually says, "Cause the Goose gon' get loose!" at the end. Even with the new unis? That may be too ambitious.


We have more to come, including a very unfiltered Brandon Jacobs as well as Uche himself saying he would give all this up to go to BLOGS WITH BALLS.

All in all a great night, and as someone said to me earlier, "I think I found my Cheers." I've never done the reporter gig before, but aside from the insane hours, the sobriety, and being hated by some of the people who you were there to see, it's all around a good time.

Related question - do I go somewhere to pick up my Pulitzer Prize now or do they just send it to me? I don't want to get stuck with any shipping charges.

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Have You Gotten Your BlogsWithBalls Tickets Yet?

The A-Roid Cocktail Part I of II

Living in Boston has its advantages. You know that numbness your ankles get when you go in the ocean? We get to feel that through our whole bodies all winter. We have a subway system with little or no handicapped access. Also, once in a lifetime U2 plays a secret show 8 blocks from my house --in Somerville. Offtopic: When I told my dad I was going to move to Somerville, he rolled his eyes and thought back to the days of Whitey Bulger, sighing, "Somerville? That's where all the bodies are buried." Awesome.

Living in Boston is additionally awesome because we love sports. We even make up holidays to promote the return of a sport. What we Bostonians especially love is deep-seeded loathing of our athletic enemies; we are exceptionally conditioned for hating others (NO ONE DENIES THIS!). Take A-Rod for example (in fact take a 2x4 full of nails to his dome-piece); god we love to rip on that douchebucket.

It's not enough to jeer him at Fenway, or via email, or through his kids at school. No, we also must ensure that if he dares risk a venture to even our finest brahmin establishments, he will be mocked mercilessly. Thank you, fine cocktail purveyors of Bonfire for joining the cause.

Because of you, I am now committed to going to the Plaza for Opening Day this year. Why? Because they will be serving up my new favorite drink I have never tried: the A-ROID.


Here's what it's made of. Besides sweet delicious Yankee-hate

The A-Roid starts with a shot of El Mejor Tequila, served straight up. To give the shot a little something extra; a spicy smoky splash is served on the side in a convenient syringe…minus the needle. Inject the Performance-Enhancing Boost of Spicy Tomato “Juice” right into the shot or use it as a chaser. However you use it, come clean and acknowledge it…don’t deny it.

Enjoy The A-Roid ($11) with any of Bonfire’s new Red Sox inspired menu items. Available on opening day, April 6^th, served throughout the Red Sox season.

• Shot: El Mejor Tequila (Silver, Reposado, Anejo)
• Performance-Enhancing Boost of Spicy Tomato “Juice”: Bonfire’s House Smoked Tomatoes, Tomato juice, Lemon juice, Tabasco sauce, Jalapeños

The only thing they left out is the part where your cousin has to serve it to you.

Coming Soon - Part II - a review of the cocktail and my unyielding Opening Day Hangover

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Win Stuff: What's RIGHT with this picture?

There was such a great response to our earlier call to identify things that were normal in a given picture, we decided to do it again. In the comments, identify five things that are completely normal about this situation (other than if you are at a Royals/Indians spring training game you deserve such a fate).

(Photo by Kevork Djansezian/Getty Images)

This time the schwag comes courtesy of Mountain Dew Voltage, which remains consistent with our theme of giving away stuff that will keep so you amped that you need to click the refresh button 10, 15, even 50 times just to channel all those jitters. Go ahead, try it right here. We'll wait.

Prize Pack includes

• Voltage T shirts
• A Case of Mountain Dew Voltage**

**AED Defibrillator sold separately

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Pioli fattens up on Pats Open Buffet

The New England Patriots standout linebacker, Mike Vrabel, is headed to the Chiefs, according to ESPN. But it's a blog at ESPN, so I'm sure it's just some guy in his mother's basement making it up - and dear God I hope that's the case. Because if true, this might be a sign of things to come for the Pats.

We'll get a good sense from the upcoming free agents who New England players really played for all these years - the grumbly, hobbity, curmudgeon of a coach or the awesome, smooth, genius former player of personnel who's now a GM and is throwing money at everyone while firing Herm Edwards.

Aw Crap.



Now who am I going to taunt Steeler's fans about losing?

IMMEDIATE UPDATE: Yes I know he was traded. But that just reinforces the premise that Pioli wants what the Pats already have.

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John Kerry Suggests Not Breathing on Tom Brady

In a wide ranging, and surprisingly silly interview, former presidential candidate and current Senate Foreign Relations Committee Chairman John Kerry lets would-be pass-rushers opposing the New England Patriots know how things would be if he were president... for a moment:

Q: You’re president of the United States for enough time to make only one executive decision. What is it?
A: Any opposing player who sacks, tackles, touches, breathes on or looks directly at Tom Brady is declared an enemy combatant.

Now this scenario is unlikely to ever occur, but as Chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, don't forget the fact that John Kerry has the power to write a sternly worded letter.

But he is correct in a sense. In order to protect our most treasured national treasures, we sometimes must impose sweeping and outlandish punishments to deter attacks. So the logical solution here is to put Brady under bulletproof glass and allow him to only be viewed at specific times in a controlled environment. If it's good enough for the constitution, it's damn good enough for Tom Brady.

Either that, or he could be encased in Carbonite a la Han Solo. He'd be shielded from contact and it probably wouldn't affect his mobility much at all.

[via Politco's Answer This]

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He's No Gino, But He'll Do

At many a Celtics game, the audience is graced with the hypnotic dancing of Gino. But I think the Garden may have a new dancer to emulate. Granted, it requires the lethal combination of Bon Jovi and Budweiser, but that's OK.


You know, I think this guy might have been at my wedding. Come to think of it, the reason he looks so familiar is he's been to every wedding ever. And for those of you who have not met our friend Gino, please check him out at the 16 second mark here.



via Bostonist.

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Because "Bristol" Just Won't Cut It

Upon seeing this epic name fail, I had to know if this was an isolated incident; perhaps a glitch of some kind in an aggregator gone awry. Unfortunately, that is not the case. There are people, nay, parents who are naming their kids after the four-letter.


I'm not sure what was going on in 2005, but how it jumped several thousand spots in these completely arbitrary rankings will probably always remain a mystery. Clearly the lack of little "ESPN's" in 2008 has something to do with the quality of the network. Personally I'm blaming it on bass-ackward Page 2 redesigns and the "Who's Now" that were more forced than a hot gravel enema.

Now this website suggests other names such as Remington, and Espen, but if you are going to name your kid in homage to the WWL, you might as well make it a little more specific, right? My suggestions for parents-to-be:

• Woop! (unisex)

Yeah, that's about it. You got ideas? Let's hear 'em.

UPDATE: So apparently Sarah Palin actually went the Bristol route. The potential VP of the United States named her daughter after ESPN. There are. No. Words. (via Wonkette)

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HHR is the Any Given Blogger

We can stay here and get the shit kicked out of us... Or we can fight our way back.

Vote for HHR.

The Ultimate Iron Ref - Winner Took All

Since June, we at HHR have asked the best of the sports blogosphere to compete in our very own Kitsch-en Stadium. We took the winners into a playoff, and from there two finalists emerged. We now present the 2008 winner of HHR's Iron Ref:



Evan from Stanley Cup of Chowder. His final posting on Winner Take All clinched the trophy and extended his unbeaten streak. As you can see, he is already suffering the agony of fame and victory.

We have a special prize for Evan, which consists of a monthly column here at HHR on a subject of his own choosing, and a mystery prize that, unbeknownst to Evan (until now), we are still trying to work out. This is the kind of honor that gives and keeps giving. Like the lottery. Or scabies.

So please go over to Stanley Cup of Chowder and congratulate the guy.

Our many thanks to the multitude of contestants this year:
Chris Mottram, Lady Andrea, Dewey Hammond, Coley Ward, Chris from Blog of Hilarity, Rob Iracane, Isaac, DmtShooter, HartBrachen, Eric Gargiulo, Ethan Jaynes, Grimey, ECB, Jeff Pyatt, Joe Student, Scott Sargent, Andrew Rosin, Brian Bassett, Jarrett Carter, Jon Pyle, Michael Rand, Spencer Kyte, Ruper, Sean Leahy, Mike Hayes, The Russianator, Dr. C, Brian Powell, Evan, and Ryan Hudson. Also to our esteemed judges - AJ Daulerio, Jeff Pearlman, Matt Ufford, Dan Steinberg, and Dewey Hammond.

You think you got what it takes in 2009? Email us!

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Game On: The 2008 Iron Ref Final(e)

After months of Colosseum-quality gladiator battles, HHR is happy to provide you with the final Iron Ref of 2008. The winner here claims a title of course, but so much more when you think about it. They can say they won something on the internet! That's not easy to do. We've got a special something in store for the winner, so we're excited to see who pulls out a victory here.

No judges this time - you were the people who got them this far, so we will leave it to you to either bestow them the greatest title this internet website has to offer, or denying them this 'honor' and in a sense, preserving their dignity. So there are no losers here, save those of us who post on this site.

The Secret Ingredient for this Final Round is
WINNER TAKE ALL

------------------------------------------------------
Stanley Cup of Chowder


Roughly 72,000 thoroughbreds will see the inside of a starting gate each year. Less than 1% of those will ever win a stakes race. The rest will toil in low grade maiden, allowance, and claiming races in front of sparse crowds filled with degenerates and creepy old men who reek like mothballs and stale cigar smoke.


The lucky ones might end up being a toy for some rich brat whose daddy is trying to make up for years of not being there for his little girl.


Some will end up as a part of your kid’s arts and crafts project.


Others might end up helping to end hunger in third world countries…


…or at an elementary school cafeteria.


The horses that end up in the winner’s circle of the sport of kings’ premier races are the ones that truly get to live like kings. These horses will race for a few years before enjoying the greatest retirement this side of Del Boca Vista. These proven winners will go out to stud and be rewarded with a never-ending supply of the finest fillies around. That’s right, these lucky bastards get to spend the rest of their days just hanging out, nailing some Grade A horse tail. That sounds like a pretty sweet life to me… you know, if I were a horse.

(A Word of Warning: If you type “horse mating” into
Google images, make sure SafeSearch is on)

I assume that the Ultimate Iron Ref is rewarded with the human equivalent of going out to stud. When The Chief mentioned a “special surprise for the winner” that was what he was talking about, right?
------------------------------------------------------
Lady Andrea

I love competition. Not just being a fan of sports, but actually competing in things myself. I get a little bloodthirsty. I have this new boyfriend Robert and last night we were at a bar. He challenged me to a game of pool and told me that he wasn't going to let me win. I told him that if he DID let me win, I'd be forced to kick his ass.


We played and I won the first game. Because he accidentally sunk the 8 ball. So I called that game a draw. That's not a legitimate way to win. Nobody is satisfied. There's no payoff. So I challenged Robert to another game. And I really wanted to win. I like to win. I did beat him, though the game was close. He also commented that getting beaten by me was pretty hot.

What I like is that we have decided we need to join forces. We need to put our shared competitive streak to good use and crush unwitting opponents. We already have a plan to embarrass two men we work with at pool. And that's what Winner Take All is all about. Crushing your opponent's heart, mind and spirit until he is a huddling mass on the floor.

------------------------------------------------------

So there you have it everyone. The final outcome rests in your hands and your hands alone. Your vote in the comments will determine which of these two is named the Ultimate Iron Ref of 2008. So who's it gonna be?

Out of Our Element: Sesame Gangsta

Greatest video ever or Greatest-est video ever?

Iron Ref: The Champ is a Chowder Head

Congratulations go to Evan at Stanley Cup of Chowder, who according to the commenters served up the best take on Playing Dirty, and according to our judges, sucked slightly less than his opponent. He will compete in the Finals against Lady Andrea next week for the title of HHR's Ultimate Iron Ref 2008.


The Judges this round were Matt Ufford of With Leather and Dewey Hammond of Yardbarker. Justice Daulerio was called away at the last moment. So here are the following cumulative scores -

Category	Evan	Jeff
Presentation	5	3
Pic/Vid Selection	6	4
Originality	5	2

Each is out of a possible 10. Dear Lord. If I may echo Judge Ufford's comment

Evan and Jeff both committed a common sports blogger error: they focused on other sports bloggers instead of sports, and were marked down accordingly. Let's try to minimize the circle jerks, fellas.

Let's keep that in mind for the finals, shall we?

Evan
Overall Comments or Remarks: He talked about hockey, and I wasn't bored. Pretty impressive. -- The Hon. Judge Ufford

Equally uninteresting but refreshingly less arrogant. -- The Hon. Judge Hammond

Jeff Pyatt
Jeff's entry was shorter than Evan's but felt longer. "USA #1, Canada lame, hockey irrelevant" -- all true, but all very tired points. -- The Hon. Judge Ufford

Yawn. -- The Hon. Judge Hammond

----------------------
That's it. The regular season is done. The Playoffs are over. The Semi's are wrapped up. We have our finalists - Evan and Lady Andrea. Who will it be? What will the secret ingredient be?

If you have ideas for the secret ingredient to our final round, leave them in the comments!

Game On: Iron Ref - Playing Dirty

Here it is. The last Semi-final round of Iron Ref. Whoever wins heads to the finals. Whoever loses is cast aside, relegated to the blogosphere status of a leper with clubfoot and cat-aids. So basically not much changes. In fact, clubfoot is kind of an improvement, no?

This week's secret ingredient is:
PLAYING DIRTY

Who used the ingredient best? Vote in the comments. Voting closes Wednesday at 6pm

See what our panel of judges has to say on Wednesday.

----------------------------------------------
Evan


Reggie Dunlop was known for doing whatever possible to gain an advantage on the ice. He once placed a bounty on an opponent’s head (“I am personally placing a hundred-dollar bounty on the head of Tim McCracken.”), advised his teammates to commit assault and battery with a hockey stick (“Get that lumber in his teeth. Let 'em know you're there!”) and even questioned the sexually of an opponent’s wife (“Hey Hanrahan, she's a dyke!”), but the late Reg Dunlop would roll over in his grave if he knew what transpired last week.

I am of course speaking of the post written by Lady Andrea that appeared in this very space. Lady Andrea wrote about how she employs her not-so-secret weapons to get what she wants from journeymen pitchers and low-level casino employees. Scott Sargent didn’t have a chance once she ordered the “sweater kittens” to pounce.


There was nothing poor Scotty could do. Sure, he could have pulled a Jeff Reed, but nobody wants to see that (Search “Jeff Reed” on Deadspin. I don’t even feel comfortable linking to it.) One judge thought the move was so dirty that he described her unleashing of the “bologna bags upon an unsuspecting HHR nation” as a “cheap ploy”.

Lady Andrea now joins Sean Avery in the select society of people who have had a rule named after them. While Sean Avery waved a hockey glove in the face of the opposition, Andrea opted to use her amble bosom to distract. Much like NHL disciplinarian Colin Campbell during the 2008 Stanley Cup Playoffs, The Chief has instituted what many are calling the “Lady Andrea Rule”. [The Chief notes: I didn't call it that, but considering the two contestants, thought I would spare our readers]

“Please keep your sweater kittens to yourself.” – The Chief


I guess Andrea did what she thought she had to do to win by pandering to the young male demographic of sports blogs. Who needs writing skills when you have breasts? Being respected as a writer and a woman is overrated anyways.

Some will argue that writing this post is a dirtier play than Andrea pulling out the big guns in the first place. I say it is just part of the game if you want to play with the big boys. Unlike Marty Brodeur, I will congratulate Lady Andrea on a valiant effort after I beat her next round to claim the 2008 Iron Ref crown while she goes home with a sloppy second.



----------------------------------------------
Jeff Pyatt
On behalf of RealClearSports and the Iron Ref community, I would like to express my profound disappointment in my opponent this week, Stanley Cup of Chowder blogger Evan50. He is a snake... a dirty, dirty turd snake and needs to be stopped.

Prior to the announcement of the semi-final ingredients -- which now seem especially fitting for such a vile, hissing and disgusting creature -- Evan started an underhanded smear campaign meant to spread hate and despair throughout Iron Ref and the broader sports blogging community. In summarizing the post that led to my first round victory -- a heroic tale of leading Team USA's Beer Pong team in comeback over Team Canada -- the venomous, Un-American serpent wrote:

Jeff tried desperately to appeal to the college crowd by writing a long-winded, uninspired story about beer pong and pissed off an entire nation in the process. (Ed. Note: I have no beef with you, Canada. You have brought us the great game of ice hockey and some potent yet delicious beers. I am encouraging all my readers from north of the border to come out and vote on Tuesday.)

The problem, Evan, isn't that your dirty play was poorly executed; the problem is that, as a hockey blogger, you're entirely and comically irrelevant. Unless you're talking about your "ex-girlfriend's sloppy seconds," the simple fact is no one cares.


And so, let's stop this shitty play in its slithering tracks. Because beer pong rocks. The USA is the best damn country in the world, and Canada still does -- and always will -- suck. (Ed. Note: Canada, I do have beef with you. No doot aboot it. You are indeed evil. Labatt has nothing on Sam Adams. And I don't want -- nor do I need -- your worthless vote.)


--------------------------------------------

Well, there we have it. The most self-referential Iron Ref to date. Players talking trash to each other is great, but the lack of mud-wrestling videos is disturbing.

VOTE IN THE COMMENTS

Iron Ref: Last Semi Final

Here's the last match-up of Iron Ref before the long awaited final. Whoever wins this one will go up against Lady Andrea for the right to become HHR's Ultimate Iron Ref (of 2008). I know what you're thinking and you are right - it's kind of a big deal, and it makes all those people who get knighted by royalty look like little bitches in comparison.

Once again we have a panel of judges for the Semi Finals who are gracious enough to let us tell people they've gotten themselves mixed up in this slow motion car accident.

AJ Daulerio of Deadspin.
Matt Ufford of With Leather & KSK.
Dewey Hammond of Yardbarker

Here's our two Semi Finalists:


Evan is the founder/writer of Stanley Cup of Chowder and is one of 3 Bruins fans left in the Boston area. Having recently earned a Master’s degree, Evan is over-educated and unemployed. He currently resides with his parents, making him a self-parody of the stereotypical sports blogger… and yes ladies, he is single. When he isn’t compiling lists of Olympians with names that sound like genitalia or live blogging about racewalking at 2 in the morning, Evan can be found terrorizing goalies in his beginner’s hockey league.



Jeff Pyatt, managing editor of RealClearSports, is a former biochemist turned political flak turned sports blogger. As a college pitcher, he holds a claim for worst player in NCAA history, bringing his ERA down from infinity to a more respectable 27.00. Pyatt currently resides in Arlington, Virginia, where he spends most of his idle time at the batting cage in hopes of becoming the Baltimore Orioles next third basemen.


Monday, the gloves come off. Or on. To be honest, I don't even have a pair of gloves yet. So forget about the whole gloves thing. Serious. Let it go.

Iron Ref: The Lady is a Winner

Congrats to Lady Andrea, who moves on to the Final Round of Iron Ref. Her submission was the choice of both our esteemed panel of Judges as well as our commenters, who no doubt would like to wish her luck with hearty pats on the back and front. We at HHR cheer with a rousing chorus of motorboat sounds.

JUDGE VOTING BREAKDOWN

Category	Andrea	Scott
Presentation	9	7
Pic/Vid Selection	9	6
Originality	6	9

Judge's were asked to rank each entry on a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being the breast best in the categories above. So each number above is out of a possible 15. Ouchies. We have very well qualified judges, though none with such... umm huge... tracks of land.

Our judges for the Semi Finals are

• AJ Daulerio - Editor of that Deadspin thing we've heard so much about and are meaning to check out at some point.
  
• Dan Steinberg - He of the Washington Post's DC Sports Bog
• Jeff Pearlman - Author of Boys will be Boys: The Glory Days and Party Nights of the Dallas Cowboys Dynasty. He is also a previous HHR interviewee.

For Andrea:
It may have been a cheap ploy by Lady Andrea to unleash the bologna bags upon an unsuspecting HHR nation, but it was a smart, tactical move by a woman who knows her audience and who's willing to do anything to score a victory. Original? Not so much, but I'm giving her 3 points in that category for moxie. -- The Hon. AJ Daulerio

Maybe it's just because I'm a 36-year-old married suburban dad with two kids, but the whole I've-got-breasts-and-you'll-be-mesmerized-because-you're-a-dolt-who-likes-sports thing fell off with Pam Anderson about eight years ago. Congrats, you have breasts, and they're sorta large. But who really cares? -- The Hon. Jeff Pearlman

You know, there was probably a time in my life when I'd have been in the can for Lady Andrea. I'm racking my brain over this. It's ddriving me crazy. Get it, two Ds? Anyhow, even if some evil remnant of objectification remains deep in the soul of men, I think we should all aspire to something grander than that, especially when we delve into the creative enterprises. And, no offense, but it's not like any of us have never seen the human chest before. -- The Hon. Dan Steinberg

For Scott:
Eh -- I appreciate the effort and Colbert impersonation, but what does this have to do with the theme? Scott seemed content on doing this Colbert bit regardless of what the topic was. It didn't quite work for me. He'll score one point higher in the "originality" category, but the overall execution was a little flaccid. -- The Hon. AJ Daulerio

Wasn't funny, didn't get it, never laughed. But I guess it's more original than a photo of some woman's juggs. -- The Hon. Jeff Pearlman

Always been a Jon Stewart guy, actually. But that's beside the point. Also, "be marry?" Did I miss the joke? If not, the father-is-an-English-professor part of me wanted to give this one an F and move on. But in general, I like Cleveland and I like consumables, I think, even if I don't quite understand why they're a secret. Also, Shin-Soo Choo was, to me, the one legitimate lol moment of this contest. -- The Hon. Dan Steinberg

So there you have it. Lady Andrea in the Finals vs. Either Jeff Pyatt or Evan. Next Monday you decide which one goes against the Lady(ies).

ESPN's Greatest Fear Realized

Earlier today at Shutdown Corner, MJD made a compelling argument as to how safe a gun makes anyone, using Plaxico Burress' situation as an example. I would extend his argument and say now we are all in danger, because now we have the sum of all fears: Armed sports bloggers.

Nestled in at the bottom of a Plaxico post on The Big Lead, I noticed a "full disclosure", that is unsettling at best.

* Full disclosure: After years of being completely anti-gun, we flip-flopped and bought a gun several months ago. Mostly as a hedge against armageddon. Enter laugh here. No carry permit yet.

Katie bar the door, them bloggers has guns. The ironic part is of course strapped sports bloggers will clearly lead to said armageddon.

And TBL, I'm pretty sure you don't need a carry permit for a Maverick, so you can probably take that thing out whenever you need to.

Iron Ref: Secret Weapon

This is it. Welcome back to Kitsch-en Stadium for the first of two Semi-Final contests. It turns out they were the two wild cards we brought back for the playoffs, which ensures that purists everywhere will be enraged by the presence of a wild card in the finals. Naturally as a Red Sox fan, that does not bother me in the slightest.

The Secret Ingredient is:
SECRET WEAPON

Just because we have judges this round, doesn't mean you don't have a say in who wins. So make sure to vote for who best used the ingredient in the comment section.

VOTING ENDS WED 6 pm

---------------------------------------------
Lady Andrea
In the sport called "life," there is a secret weapon out there. This secret weapon helped me sneak into courtside seats of a Chicago Bulls game. This secret weapon let me get a prime spot in the Las Vegas Hilton sportsbook during the first weekend of March Madness. This secret weapon got Ted Lilly to stop on Michigan Avenue and chat with me about baseball, and ultimately the Cubs-Cardinals rivalry. And this secret weapon got Matt Morris to toss me his warm-up ball from the St. Louis Cardinals bullpen. With his number written on it.

What is this secret weapon? Breasts. Sweater kittens. The girls. My Wit and my Charm.

Sorry. I know it's grossly unfair to my opponent to pull out the big guns. But as a female sports fan, I've noticed that attention from guys goes boobs first, sports knowledge second. Sure, some guys are immediately dazzled by my analysis of the Bears defense or my knowledge of Albert Pujols' slugging percentage. But more often than not, the first impression is from an eyeful (or several) of my treasure chest. So I thought turnabout is fair play. These are my secret weapons. And either the judges will be swayed by my actual upper deck, or they'll find the humor delightfully ironic.

---------------------------------------------

Scott Sargent

[Audience applause]

Welcome to The Report. So good to have you. Please, sit down. Thank you…

Dropping. The stock market. The national surplus of yesteryear. Your 401K. Everything is dropping. But while all of those things can likely rebound to provide some sort of benefit in the near future, the folks in Cleveland will have to wait a lot longer than that for a turnaround in their dropping. And by that, I mean Braylon Edwards.

You see, while most professional athletes build off of success, others choose not too. Sure, shooting yourself in the leg is pretty embarrassing as it is. But at least Cheddar Burress didn’t commit said act in front of 73,000 fans. Every week.

But while these drops have lead to a disappointing football season for the Cleveland Browns, those paying fans can take pride in one thing: Consumables. Which brings us to tonight’s “Word.”

Sure, Cleveland fans may not exactly get to watch a respectable franchise take the field every week. But the earlier you show up in the morning, the more you get for your money. And while you may not “get” good football, you can get some warm food that you get to share with countless strangers. Chili, hot dogs, even the occasional “tofu burger” for those remaining hippies… You get to eat, drink and be marry. At least until you enter the stadium. Or…

After about an hour wait in a line full of barking, puking, mask-wearing “friends,” you get to partake in the wonderful pigskin pastime of the firearm search. Guys in one line to be searched by males, and the females stand in line with the line backing lesbians at the finish line. Once you successfully prove that you are not packing “heat,” you get to proceed to the escalator.

Yum. I know. But fear not. Once you survive what I like to call the “Ass-Face Express,” your $100 ice cube dressed in orange plastic awaits. There, you can partake in even more perishable items, only at about nine times the price of those that you ingested only hours ago. Here is where you are “helping your economy.”


Not long thereafter, you survive the first half of your town’s favorite game. Barely, thanks to the hope that your team can actually maintain their double-digit lead against a team that they manhandled only a year prior. Based on last year, this should be a no-brainer.

But once that lead starts to dissipate, the only thing between yourself and freedom is last call. With the fourth quarter drawing near, you must load up on the frothy investment that never lets you down, unlike those pesky things like “PSLs” or “Season Tickets.” And when in doubt, you can use that degree from Kent State or wherehaveyou and turn that investment into a secondary use.


Whether it be in response to another Braylon drop, botched clock management or simply a referee making the correct call though not one that you approve of, you can retaliate by throwing any and everything you get your hands on. A shoe. Both shoes. Shin-soo Choo. Throw it. Make those guys run off of the field in fear. At least the game will end early, thus shortening your despair. And fear not. If you must loft your consumables towards the field, I have your back, Browns fans. Woof. Woof.

---------------------------------------------

So there you have it! Make sure to vote in the comments!

Winner of Pats v Steelers is My Stomach

Yesterday, my buddy Dave and I headed to the one and only Pats game either of us will make all year. It is an annual tradition of sorts that I go to a game with Dave where it rains and our team loses. However at least time Father Time was on our side, as the Pats didn't start until 4. That gave us an extra three hours of tailgating, where I assure you no member of the animal kingdom was spared. Here's a quick overview of the tailgate: 3 tents, 1 TV, 2 tables, 2 grills, 1 open fire pit, 1 deep fryer, lots of free booze and beer, and several jealous looks from wet dudes who were pissed that the guy who showed up in a Prius was eating a leg of lamb right off the fire.

As for the menu: One whole deep fried turkey, Chili, Leg of Lamb, Spicy Lamb chops, Burgers with eggs and hot sauce on top), Chicken Wings (1/2 hot wings, 1/2 bbq), and a every kind of drink you can imagine.

Or you could just pass all this up and go to Legal Sea Foods. Yeah. I'll get right on that.

The Essentials of a Tailgate. Notice what's not there?
Money. That's because I'm broke now.

Filling up the fryer for deep frying everything.

The Turkey's last meal request was for a shot of Captain.

It seems no matter where I am, I cannot escape women in
golf carts trying to tell me that my Boston Beef is the winner.

Chicken on the grill. Side Note: Pam "Grilling?"
We are a nation of idiotic consumers

So Fried. So very very fried.

I really love these large walk in bathrooms.

Some folks were not as lucky and made make shift tents

R.I.P.
Piece of Shit Tent
2008-2008

Our walk from the tailgate lot to the stadium
requires you to walk through a train.

Bizarre.

But the other side is pretty sweet.

Finally, we're in.

Some guy named Dennis was listing a little to his right.

Second row seats. Great for watching certain kick returners
drop the ball at the 8 yard line.

Margaritas. $1 more than a beer and a hell of a lot stronger.
Or you can go to Dunkins. Note: That food review makes me
angrier and angrier every time I read it.

I am not sure why, when, or how I took a picture from the men's room.
I blame the margaritas.

I want to know who the Cheer-tator is for this squad who makes the Cheer-cisions about donning hats and track suits. What a bunch of cheer-shit.

They failed to notice my Pheeeeel Seeeeeems sign.

If you ask how much of a colassal douchebag your
average Steeler fan is, Pat Patriot has the answer.

1/4 pounder. No idea how much this cost. But according to the wet, rumpled ones and fiver I found in my pocket later, two of them cost less than $15 dollars. So that's good, right?