This post brought to you by the letter ‘E.’

As in, Group E. Oh, yes. It’s time for another installment of ‘Seriously, there’s a reason folks the world over love the World Cup, and it ain’t all about the footwork.’

But before we start with the glorious, glorious eye candy, we just have to ask, since this is going live before the (unholy early) 7 AM EST Korea Republic v. Greece match: Does anyone feel like, you know, winning a World Cup match? Just saying. Ties are like kissing your sister. Or, well, brother, in our case.

Anyway, the hotness.

The Netherlands own Robin Van Persie.

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It’s almost here!

Torres

The rosters have been set. The teams have played their friendlies before making the trek to South Africa. Heck, we’ve even made it through Eurovision. (Congratulations, Germany.)

A week from now? It’s finally time. The group stage of the World Cup kicks off, and even America cares about soccer for at least five minutes. Me? I’ll be eating, sleeping and breathing international soccer until the very last second runs down.

Yes, I love soccer, but there’s just something about International play (and the World Cup in particular) that elevates the game. It turns the already rabid soccer fanbase into a bunch of flag-and-bunting-bedecked lunatics. I challenge anyone who doesn’t like or understand soccer to start watching the World Cup from the beginning. Trust me, you’ll come out at the other end swearing at the Abruzzi for being a bunch of diving whiners or being amazed at just how fast Portugal can move (Damn you, Ronaldo. Damn you to hell.) or harboring a secret love for the Orange.

And you know what else is great about the World Cup? International Eye candy. Above? Spain’s Fernando Torres.

More hotness after the jump.

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Happy Anniversary, Ladies…!

I would like to take this opportunity to wish a very HAPPY ANNIVERSARY to my fellow Ladies… – this week marks many of our one year anniversary when we joined the Ladies…family!  So to Lady Bee, Lady Liz, Crane, Maggie, Raven, THE Blonde Bomber, CuteSports, and Buffalita, here is our favorite set of abs popping out of a cake :)

Special thanks to Games Mistress and Miss Minda for inviting all of us to be a part of this family of lovely Ladies… and keeping things going between the two generations!

And another special thanks is in order to our readers – we couldn’t have done this without all of you, so thank you for your continued support – keep coming back for more, and here’s to another great year of sabermetrics, football booties, and much, much more!

We interrupt this hiatus for…uh, wrestling.

Okay, we know we’re on vacation and everything, but sometimes something so unspeakably awesome happens that we just have to say something.

Today? Mick Foley happened.

Let’s catch up on Mick Foley, shall we? He’s gone by ‘Mankind’ and ‘Cactus Jack’ and ‘Dude Love’. He’s wrestled using a baseball bat covered in barbed wire and once lost two thirds of his ear in the ropes. Oh, and his finisher before he retired from the WWE was Mr. Socko: a dirty sweatsock shoved into the mouths of his opponents. We are not making that up.

But that’s Mick Foley the performer. Mick Foley the wrestler. Mick Foley the showman.

Mick Foley the person?

Is donating the ENTIRETY of his latest book’s profits to Children’s Fund International (benefiting rape victims in the Sierra Leone) and RAINN, the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network.

Oh, and he’s volunteering his time to work as an online counselor for RAINN’s support line.

We ladies may ogle, and we may joke, but in the end, we are a bunch of women writing about sports. We’re women.

We may not ever write about wrestling ever again, but we’re women. And as women, we salute Mick Foley.

And now we’re back on vacation.

Oh, look! Another lesson in how to train your girlfriend-bot!

So on my commute home, I decided to play around on Twitter, where I stumbled across this gem. How to Get Your Girlfriend Into Sports.

Now, leaving aside that the obvious answer to this time-honored problem of being a sports nut partnered with someone who doesn’t enjoy the old athletic display is to just date someone who likes sports. God, men (and women) of the world, if sports are important enough that you have to condition your partner into liking them, FIND SOMEONE WHO ALREADY LIKES SPORTS. Your partner is not a puppy. Don’t train them like one. God.

Let’s address this nonsense point by point, shall we?

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Send in the clowns.

So if you’re following me on Twitter, you’ve discovered that I have a bit of an unhealthy obsession with figure skating. (Okay, okay, that’s like saying John Mayer has an obsession with saying spectacularly stupid things in public.)

Given that I hate most girly aspects of sports (pink anything and everything, Ladies Nights, and the existence of Alyssa Milano’s Touch line, to start) like burning, some of the other Ladies…were mildly confused when I started shrieking about toe loops and salchows. I mean, it’s figure skating, right? I should like manly things, like the biathlon and moguls. I should frown on feathers and sequins and Dick Button.

But here’s the thing. I love figure skating. I loooooooove figure skating.

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An exercise in drawing cartoon hearts.

So by now, you may have seen this profile of Saints linebacker Scott Fujita.

If you’re me, you’ve now spent the last twenty minutes drawing hearts around his name while daydreaming about skipping through New Orleans hand-in hand and dispensing bon mots about social justice and equality.

Then again, if you’re a normal person, you thought ‘Huh, cool.’ and went on with your daily life.

Let’s just jot down the reasons why Scott Fujita is my new boyfriend who just doesn’t know it yet, shall we? Continue reading