And, just like that, you’ve have made it through another treacherous weekend of football. High fives all ‘round, darlings!
Chelsea snatched three points at the Bridge while we all secretly willed God to strike Michael Ballack down in a dramatic scene involving lightning, Rocky theme music and Didier shouting, tears streaming down his face: ‘Don’t let go Mikey! I swear I’ll let you take the free kick next time!’
Or maybe that was just me.
The Toronto Reds crushed – crushed, I tell you! – Kansas with their (newfound) footballing prowess. Well done boys but I fear that your real trouble might start once you hit the road again. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.
Most of my weekend was actually spent partaking in the viewing of the NFL Draft o’ Sex (get this: no actual sports to distract you from the hotties! Brilliant, who invented this? Give ‘em a medal, I say!), live-blogging it over at SportsbyBrooks with my fellow Ladies. I’ve emerged a new woman. Yes, one dangerously obsessed with Chris Long and slightly creeped out by PETA’s new spokesman, Matt Ryan. Another post, perhaps…
[Dame’s note: I may also, at any moment, spontaneously morph into either one of the two: an enormous bag of Cheetos (the crunchy kind) or Mike Mayock (gem of the NFL network, dispatcher of brilliant lines that even the finest of orators, Nelson Mandela and the Dalai of Llamas included, would be hard-pressed to come up with - eg. ‘Getting hurt didn’t hurt him.’)]
Anyhow, enough with the chit-chat – shirtless footballers await.
And please, girls, do keep your drooling off the keyboard. You left quite a mess last time and even though I’ve only been here about a week, I’m tired of putting up with your shit. Diva-slam!
