There are less than 2 months until the London Olympics people: today’s links start with another great slideshow of Team USA (distance runner Barnard Legat is just a sample). Hat tip to The Hairpin, whose staff are clearly our Olympic soulmates.
As a female sports fan, you often get challenged about your fandom. Sometimes, people try to make you “prove it” by asking you trivia questions. Or, like the NFL, MLB or NHL, they assume that you’re only in it for the rhinestones and pink jerseys. People assume whatever you’re saying can’t be right, that your stats are wrong or that you just in it for the cute boys, fun mascots or jersey colors.
Follow the jump for more…
Heading to Miller Park for tonight’s Brewers/Cards game I was in a sports funk.
My Wisconsin Badgers had lost the hockey National Championship, the Bucks had lost to the Celtics – and I work with two obnoxious Boston fans, and the Brewers had lost two straight to division rivals the St. Louis Cardinals – the first on a blown Trevor Hoffman save and the second in embarassing 7-1 fashion to a rookie pitcher on Fox Saturday baseball.
To top it off, the Brewers are historically awful during nationally televised games and they were about to face Chris Carpenter.
If it weren’t for the bobblehead giveaway, I might not have gone to the game at all.
Follow the jump to find out why I’d have hated myself if I’d stayed home
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?
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.
There is a statistically-inclined rant after the jump that I think you all need to hear.
So y’all know how much I love AJ Burnett. And you also probably noticed this yesterday. But even though his pitching was pretty damn good, I have a question for you: Did you see the shirt he was wearing in the postgame press conference?
Well, in case you didn’t — or in case you need a reminder — he wore this:
It’s just… I don’t even know. First of all, I can’t figure out whether it’s pink or orange. Second of all, it’s not even buttoned properly (not that I necessarily have a problem with that, but y’know). Third of all, it has rhinestones on it. And fourth of all, he’s wearing gaudy chain necklaces.
The whole thing just sort of screams “I lost a bet with Nick Swisher”, doesn’t it?
*hides from all Mets fans, some Jays fans, plenty of Yankees fans*
(Incidentally, you don’t need a white horse to steer you back onto course.)
For each one of you that sees the “Read the rest of this entry” link here and doesn’t click on it, a child is taught that Saves are useful statistics and that Derek Jeter is worthy of this year’s All-Star Game start. (So that’s a maybe. But do you really want to risk it?)
It’s rivalry week here at Chez Sox. I’ve had the Sox v. Yanks games on, and have been alternately shouting and laughing at my TV. Everything that could possibly be picked up and thrown has been taken away from me, and the husband has been banished to his computer to listen to his big rivalry games, the Phils and the Mets. Suck it, New York, more or less.
I was going to write this big, magnanimous post about rivalries and how they’re good for the sport and good for the fanbase because a rivalry gives even the most casual fan something to talk about. I was going to be the bigger person and say that my mom is right (and not completely insane) when she says that she kind of likes the Yankees, because Sox/Yanks games are just bigger than the other 144 games for those of us who list our home address firmly in Red Sox Nation.
I was going to do all of that bigger person-type stuff, but the idea of saying anything nice about the Yankees fills me with utter, utter revulsion. I don’t have it in me. I can’t do it.
Good morning. I think my Los Angeles time zone just kicked your ass. And hey, you can stop making fun of my headline now, because I do actually speak French.
You can also stop making fun of it because you’re going to be too in awe of what inspired it to form coherent sentences. Strap your jaw closed so you don’t drool on your keyboard, and read on past this almost totally unrelated photo of Brett Cecil.
9 IP, 7 H, 1 BB, 14 SO, .378 WPA, 88-133 pitches-strikes. Observe.
*whimpers, flails about helplessly*
That is all.
I’m postponing my epic post about Trevor Bauer because right now, I just need to vent. (You’ve been warned.)
So. The Dodgers. Yeah, you guys, over there, in the hats that match the one I’m wearing right now. One of your bench players really sucks. His name is Juan Castro, and he has a career OPS+ of 56. That’s right, his offense is 44% worse than the average Major League player. So what is he doing in the Majors? Well, posting a 7.6 UZR/150 at shortstop, but that isn’t really my point.
But let’s put that in terms that are easier for most people to understand. From 2002-2008, he’s provided a little less than a third of a win — one third of one win, over the course of 7 years — to teams on which he’s been. Let that sink in for a moment.
Whew, what a week this has been. We lost so many Ladies… on Monday, which was sad. (Confidential to all the now-departed Ladies…: I will miss you!) And also, that was Monday, and those are always stupid.
So let’s all console ourselves with a hockey hottie, shall we? Say hello and “hey, come here often?” to Boyd Gordon.
Some of the baseball Ladies… are watching their teams in successful circumstances: Metsy’s Mets (duh) and Chitown Chick’s Cubbies are in first place; Lady Andrea’s Cardinals are in the hunt for the NL Wild Card; Cinnamon Girl’s Twins are looking for the same thing the AL.
Not me. Last night, my Royals had a chance to maybe win a game, and lost it when my favorite pitcher dropped a popup. Our overpaid, underperforming outfielder/DH has shifted from yelling at the media to yelling at fans (while his manager is on the can, no less). Furthermore, the top draft pick KC fans were all so thrilled about signing? Well, turns out his contract may not have been legit.
Today, I accompanied my sister, brother-in-law and nephew to Bourbonnais, Ill., for Chicago Bears training camp. Being there reaffirmed one of my strongest beliefs: nothing is hotter than a football player in pads. I also learned that is much harder to get an autograph than you would think. (They weren’t for me – they’re for my nephew!)
On Wednesday, a pair of Cubs tickets came my way. This season, Cubs tickets are about as hot as a ticket as you can get in Chicago, so I said yes faster than you can Kosuke Fukudome. I asked a few friends to go with me, but work got in their way. (Suckers!) My sister suggested that I take my six-year-old nephew, which turned out to be a fantastic suggestion. (Much better than the time she suggested we cover the pot of spaghetti and turn up the heat to high. That suggestion ended up with us mopping pasta off the ceiling.)
My nephew – Cubs fan, Fukudome man