Choose Your Own Adventure

From the insane amount of “Riley Skinner” searches over the past couple Riley Skinner of days, it’s obvious what you want: uncensored naked pictures of the Skinner flute. Unfortunately, we can’t find them, despite spending approximately seven hours googling him (not a euphemism).

But because we love you the mostestest, we’re offering you the next best thing: the chance to make your own with our official Ladies… Build-A-Skinner.

Print out the template after the jump and draw your own, um, little Deacon. Or big Deacon. Or an “I promise, this hasn’t ever happened before. I guess he’s just shy.” Deacon. Your call. Continue reading

That Escalated Quickly

So maybe you’ve seen the nekkid pics of Wake Forest QB Riley Skinner that have been racing around the internets. If not, you can probably find it…oh…maybe…here.

Riley Skinner is Naked.

Now that you’ve seen them, I would like to apologize. I didn’t mean to for this to happen. See, I was at Riley’s playing Scattergories and watching The Dog Whisperer when he asked if I’d like to see his collection of camouflage hats. We went to his bedroom, one thing led to another, and we ended up checking each other for ticks. Innocent enough, right? But before he could say “does this rash look like a bullseye?”, I’d accidentally taken a picture. And then, like, my Sidekick was hacked or something. But, since that one shot is already out there, I guess you should see the other ones I took too. Continue reading

The Game Plan: A Primer

The Game PlanSo I took a break from my thrillicious morning (read: applying for middle management jobs at Tire Kingdom) to check out the The Game Plan, the latest escapee from the Disney DVD vault, starring The “Dwayne Johnson” Rock. Mr. Rock plays Joe Kingman, the QB of the Boston Rebels who loves himself, football, and Elvis—in that order—although his Elvis worship is perhaps based on their mutual nickname, “The King”. The Rebels have plowed through their opponents to reach the playoffs of the Unnamed-For-Copyright-Reasons football league and Joe is a big part of their success, mainly because he refuses to pass to his teammates in favor of running in all of the touchdowns himself.*

It just takes one glance at the suitcase-toting pixie beside him onThe Rock the DVD case, and we can surmise that things are going to change for Joe**, that he won’t be spending many more evenings alone, watching and re-watching Sportcenter segments about himself (which is how I imagine Terrell Owens spends his free time).

The night after a party involving Russian models and, um, teammates leaving early to get home to their families (Right, like you expected Playmakers), Joe answers a knock at his door and learns that the girl standing in the hall is the result of one of his, um, naked bootlegs. Now before you spew some Tom Brady/Matt Leinart-style snark, allow me to point out that Joe was married to her mother, Sarah, and they were divorced before she knew she’d been quarterback sneaked. And she’s now off providing fresh drinking water to the drought-ravaged children of the Sudan***, so don’t hate. Continue reading

NCAA Soccer: Wake Forest > Everyone

It Wins the National Title.

If you listen closely (or you’re so drunk you can no longer feel your palms), it does sound kind of like Freddy Mercury’s singing “Deeeeeacs are the champions, my friends!”. Or at least it did to me for a couple of hours yesterday after watching Wake Forest’s insanely hot men’s soccer team win their first national title with a 2-1 victory over Ohio State.

Junior Marcus Tracy and sophomore Zach Schilawski each scored for the Deacs in the second half, with Schilawski netting both the game winner and a 40 point Scrabble score.

Jump with me, readers, for more about the game, more Wake Forest trivia sure to impress…um…other Wake Forest graduates, and for some delicious pics of men who aren’t allowed to use their hands. Continue reading

Friday Football Foodie: Add Meat, Add Cheese, Repeat.

Welcome to my very first Football Foodie, a post that gives me an excuse to take photographs of my kitchen and to make a meal that doesn’t involve corn dogs. Or this.


Today we’re going to make a variation on the muffuletta sandwich. “Muffuletta” is an Italian word that means “I hope you own a defibrillator”. It is also the title of a movie I once saw on Spectravision. This ginormous sandwich is can be prepared up to 24 hours in advance, requires no actual cooking, and will give you the opportunity to purchase a variety of meats and cheeses. Let’s get started… Continue reading

I Can Has Wurld Serees Tikets?

Approximately 13 hours. That’s how much time Texas Gal and I each–each!–spent trying to buy World Series tickets on Monday and Tuesday. Granted, I’m unemployed and probably would’ve just spent those hours rearranging my fridge magnets or seeing how many Teddy Grahams I could fit into my mouth at once, but still…

See, the Rockies were selling Series tickets on their website starting on Monday but the servers crashed faster than Kiefer Sutherland on a three day bender. After many postponed press conferences and a cryptic reference to “malicious attacks”, they tried again yesterday. Lots of people managed to get tickets…just not us.

What could we do, except document our quest for tickets? Join us for “The Five Stages of ColoradoRockies.Com”

Monday: Day One


aka “Maybe If We Just Keep Refreshing the Page…” Continue reading

Down & Out-Douchebagged: The Whole Story

I Eat Dick Salad

Last night was better. Obviously the onfield action wasn’t a high point, but the situation in the stands was much improved from the Disaster That Was Game Three. Texas Gal and I got what we expected as visiting fans, what we wanted all along–the right to root, root, root for the Red Sox without being cursed at, harassed, and treated like we’d committed some unforgivable, anti-Ohio sin like saying Drew Carey isn’t funny or that Bob Evans gives us diarrhea.

That said, I would like to thank everyone who let us just be Sox fans, who let us cheer and let us mourn without criticizing us for either one. Thank you to every Indians supporter who did nothing more than shout loudly for their team, a strong team that played another great game in what has been a magical season. That’s what we tried to do too. Continue reading

Bringing the Heat: The Boston Red Sox

SoxxxEven though he broke my heart, broke my crock pot, and eventually left me for a woman who wears slouch socks, my last boyfriend gave me something that I’ll cherish forever: bitterness. Bitterness and the opportunity to see my beloved Red Sox win the 2004 World Series.

On the night that the Sox beat the Yankees in the ALCS, completing their historic comeback and putting them in the Fall Classic for the first time since watching new episodes of 227 and Amen made for a sweet Saturday night, we had the following conversation:

Him: So tonight was pretty important?
Me: Hells yeah! The Sox won the ALCS!
Him: Isn’t that what Lou Gehrig had?
Me: No, that was Lou Gehrig’s disease.
Him: Nevermind.

Continue reading

Good Morning Baltimore

Brady AndersonWhen I was in the eighth grade, my family took a trip to Baltimore which I was, honestly, not looking forward to. It was one of those vacations disguised as a learning experience which, when you’re a kid, is the only thing more disappointing than watching a cartoon and realizing that there is a thinly-veiled religious message and that the talking zucchini may, in fact, be Jesus. My parents selected Baltimore as our destination because it is a city rich in American history, literature, and homicide. Actually, the latter was less a selling point and more an excuse to make me wear one of those child leashes in the rare case that there was an unhinged individual in our Fort McHenry tour group who would’ve flown into a rage at the sight of my crimped hair and pleated Duckhead shorts.

The early highlight of the trip was when the waiter at one restaurant gave me a theatrical wink and handed me a brochure for the aquarium. He’d written his name and phone number in black Sharpie on the shell of a sea turtle, undaunted by the fact that I was thirteen and on a leash. (Note to self: Start wearing leash again). On the last day, perhaps tired of stepping over chalk outlines or trying to delicately explain why I couldn’t have an “I Got Crabs in Maryland” t-shirt, my dad suggested that we go to an Orioles game.

I was totally unprepared for the hotness roamingBrady Anderson Again the outfield that year, the hotness that was Brady Anderson. Those sideburns. Those biceps. The lack of tuberculosis (which made him infinitely more attractive than my previous Baltimore crush–Edgar Allen Poe–who admittedly should’ve been less desirable since he potentially had rabies. Oh, and was dead). Anyway, that day I fell hard for Brady, a man so hot he made my braces sweat. After the game, I immediately bought a #9 t-shirt and couldn’t wait to write “Dr. & Mrs. Brady Anderson” on my Trapper Keeper, because I was sure that he would attend classes at night and eventually become the best-hitting neurosurgeon in his practice group. Continue reading

Friday Hit & Run:Whatcha Whatcha Whatcha Want

There are eleven McDonald’s within a ten mile radius of my apartment, all of which have identical hours. They all open at 5 a.m. and close at 2 a.m. which means that every day, I have twenty-one hours and almost a dozen options for getting a Big Mac (and perhaps some Apple Dippers). This also means that the only time I ever want a Big Mac is approximately 3:28 a.m. For my entire life, I’ve noticed that I only ever really want the things that I can’t have, which explains why I’ve always developed irrational crushes on married celebrities (Good morning, Hugh Laurie!), why I blow out the candles on each birthday cake while silently wishing I would grow a tail (for myriad reasons, all to be explained upon request), and why every time I lose a 10-K (which is every time I run a 10-K), I long to be a born-again Kenyan.

Today’s Hit and Run is filled with athletes who all want stuff that they aren’t going to get either, and you readers probably all want transitions that aren’t quite as lazy as that one.

StormTake, for example, the round one leader of the PGA Tournament, Graeme Storm, he of the most spell-checked name in the field (although phonetically, it’s pretty sweet and by “pretty sweet”, I mean “sounds like he may have starred in Orgy Party 6“). He’d just like to get through the rest of the weekend without soiling his pants, being mistaken for a Harry Potter character, or have every mention of his name followed by the word “Who?” I’d like to see Greaeaeameae to at least make the cut…he could probably use his winnings to buy an extra consonant or two. Continue reading

In Memory

Skip ProsserAs sports fans, we know the hyperbole that can surround a game, as seasons are seemingly made or broken between the buzzers. Today for the first time those exaggerations seemed an understatement. Today we in the athletics community truly suffered a devastating loss.

We at Ladies… would like to extend our deepest sympathies to the family of Wake Forest coach Skip Prosser, to his current and former players, and to anyone who had the honor of having known him.

Coach Prosser, you will be missed.

Friday Hit and Run: All Beckham Edition

Well tomorrow’s the big day. If you’re like me, you’ve already made a t-shirt, bought plenty of pudding, and cannot wait for 8 p.m. to get here so you can finally watch what you’ve waited months for: the American premiere of Ghost Cat on Animal Planet.

I kid! I kid! Unless you fell down a well, have been kidnapped and bound by Kathy Bates or are my mother, you know that on Saturday David Beckham will won’t will make his MLS debut. But he won’t be starting and his playing time may be minimal, so you can enjoy the synchronicity that comes from knowing that you and Becks are watching the same game at the same time! Stars are just like us! Except he’d probably be less likely to skip his Rooms-to-Go payment this month.

So here’s your wrap of all-things Golden Balls… Continue reading

How To Make Love To A ______ Fan: The Boston Red Sox

Wrapping up (for now) our joint series on bangin’ the baller fans in your lives…it’s been a hell of a ride, y’all. We’d like to thank the incomparable Orson Swindle of Every Day Should Be Saturday for heading up this little operation; it’s been a filthy privilege, sir. Finally, inevitably, we give you Texas Gal at EDSBS with How To Make Love To A Texas Longhorns Fan, and below, we’re proud to present the Ladies… closer: J-Money in the house, lighting the way to the naughty bits of the Boston faithful.

Continue reading

Hit and Run: Friday Edition

Morning, kids! I hope you’re all taking advantage of National Bike to Work Day
to get some exercise, get some fresh air (check local listings), and to get tested for steroids as soon as you walk in the door. You can’t be too careful with those cyclists… that’s why I sometimes bump them with my car. Share the road, my ass.

On to the hotness…

d wrightLadies’ favorite David Wright came in as a pinch-hitter and left with an RBI during the Met’s amazin’ 5-run ninth inning as they beat the Cubs 6-5. Chicago manager Lou Piniella was immediately wrapped in a blanket, shoved to the ground, and doused liberally with water to prevent him from combusting. Remember kids, only you can prevent forest fires.

The Mets enter this weekend’s Subway Series against the struggling Yankees, whose only recent highlight is catcher Jorge Posada’s 12-game hitting streak. To celebrate, his father Papa Mouskewitz gave him a new hat. And not just any new hat. A new hat that has been in the family for three generations. Don’t worry, Jorge. You’ll grow into it.


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Mother’s Day Potpourri – GordonShumway

DSC01206I know my mother’s favorite athlete without even asking. Unfortunately, she bleeds Carolina Blue and said athlete is Tyler Hansbrough, which makes me feel like eating oven cleaner. To her, Psycho T is the most adorable boy ever. She thinks his big eyes make him look like a Precious Moments figurine, while I think they make him look like a cow. Potato, potahto.

The ‘rents were in town this weekend so I thought I’d take the time to ask her about her all-time favorites, mainly because that gave us something to talk about other than my unemployment…

Continue reading

Hit and Run: Friday Edition

Bad Maverick
Do you see that? Danny Tanner is laughing at you.

From Oakland to Sacktown, the Bay Area and back down, Cali is where they put they Mavs down. The eighth seeded Golden State Warriors beat the shit out of the Dallas Mavericks last night, 111-86, and won the series in six games. Let’s all just agree that I didn’t paraphrase 2pac, k?

Don't call me mighty
Ryan, did you really quack at the principal?

The Anaheim Ducks moved on to the Western Conference finals by beating the Vancouver Canucks 2-1 in double overtime. Ducks, Canucks…there’s a dirty limerick in there somewhere. Former coach Gordon Bombay could not be reached for comment. Continue reading

Hit and Run: Friday Edition

The Headband is a Bit MuchFrom the “Hot Body, Goofy Head” File: Spaniard Rafael Nadal extended his winning streak on clay courts to 70 games by defeating Italy’s Potito Starace and advancing to the semifinals of the Barcelona Open.

I can’t say I find Rafa (his official nickname, perhaps to avoid confusion with Raffi and to minimize in-game interruptions caused by persistent requests for “Baby Beluga”) that attractive. His haircut’s a bit too Jungle Book for me and there is no reason for a man to wear capri pants unless he survived a shipwreck. That said, I’m a sucker for a guy with nice arms.

And apparently it runs in the family.

Mother Nadal

Seriously, Mrs. Nadal. I think his hair looks awesome. Mowgli was always overlooked as a sex symbol and yes, I’d love a piece of cake but please, ma’am, please don’t hit me again. Continue reading

Bringing the Heat: Los Angeles Dodgers

OK, I don’t have a clever introduction. I went to a Widespread Panic concert over the weekend and since then I’ve done nothing but lay facedown on the sofa, trying to force my red eyes to focus on another “Press Your Luck” rerun on the Game Show Network. Yeah. I admit it. Halfway through “Disco”, a man named Pegasus gave me what I’d been trying to score all night: some fucking Claritin. After dancing around in a field for five hours, I left the show with wicked allergies, an Oxfam sticker, and a newfound loathing for songs that last longer than most of my relationships.

That said, today we’re studying the Dodgers who may lead the majors in wins, but aren’t exactly frontrunners in hotness. I went deep into the archives trying to find the tastiest treats to wear Dodger blue. Here goes. No whammies, no whammies.

Steve Garvey
First base, 1969-1982

Steve Garvey

You can purchase this and other Steve Garvey pictures from a company called Mounted Memories. I believe there are several women who already have Steve’s Mounted Memories. They’re called children.

Continue reading

I Did It: The Half Marathon

My running partner says that doing a half-marathon is like having sex because it’s always over too soon and you wonder when you’re going to get to do it again. My running partner is full of shit. I’ve never had a sexual experience that ended with shinsplints, an IV and a handful of Aleve. Well, there was that one time on Spring Break but I’m pretty sure I took Tylenol then.

Mmmm. Metal.Last weekend I pinned a number to my shirt and ran the Charlotte Racefest Half-Marathon with 2,400 other idiots who decided it was a fair trade to run thirteen miles in exchange for arthritis and a hideous t-shirt that will look awesome on a rack at Goodwill. Thirty minutes before the start, we began filing into place behind the elite competitors, the singlet-clad 83-pound runners who shun iPods in favor of keeping pace with the rhythm of their own breathing. That, and the fact that the added weight of a Nano could tear one of their tiny arms out of the sockets.

I found myself standing beside two women who were each complimenting the other’s pale pink sportswear. One gestured to the race’s major sponsor, the sporting goods store whose parking lot served as our temporary corral and announced “I got it in there. I love Dick’s! I can’t stay away from Dick’s” I of course snickered and said “Who can? HAHAHAHA!” The women both shot me a nasty look and my smirk faded when I noticed that the delicate script on Dick Lover’s pastel hat said “Fuck You, Fuckball”.

The starter began the countdown, I turned on my iPod, and every one of us undoubtedly said the same silent prayer that we would make it across the finish line without chafing, without cramping, and without grimacing in any of the pictures being taken along the way. Huh. So maybe it is like sex.

Continue reading

Hit and Run: One Hitter Edition

This is going to be quick because I’m sitting in my car in front of an Embassy Suites, stealing their wireless and hoping that the guy with the Hokies dufflebag hits my car with his luggage cart again.

Confidential to the Guy with the Hokies Dufflebag: Why can’t you just carry the damn thing? Also, when people refer to “matching luggage”, they do not mean that you and your suitcase should both be clad in the same garish orange and maroon combination, although that is one classy windsuit. 

I’m visiting my parents’ new place in South Carolina, and getting here involved driving past a number of houses I recognized from the covers of Nancy Drew books, past a combination Bojangles/Pharmacy (Come for the chicken! Stay for the Lipitor!)  and eventually stopped for dinner at a place that encouraged you to place your scraps in a giant receptacle in the parking lot that was marked “Food for Cats”.  They also sold gas.

But the most distressing part of the weekend is that certified tastycakes Andy Roddick and James Blake are in my hometown! staying within digital zoom range of my house! playing for the United States in the Davis Cup! and I’m here, in a place where the hotties to Hermit Crab ratio is approximately 1 : 9,400. 

Blake Me Off A Piece

Oh James, I would’ve invited you over for dinner and pudding. 

OK, apparently Hokies guy is also a tattletale because there’s a guy with a green nametag coming toward my car.  Guess I’m leaving…and I didn’t even get to try their complimentary breakfast. 

Hottie Hit and Run- Friday Edition

Since my office blocks WordPress, I have to make these posts at Panera or other establishments that offer free wi-fi (with food or beverage purchase). Ducking out to write today’s Hit-and-Run means that I have to miss the Sales & Marketing luncheon. Actually, I would’ve skipped it on principle because I refuse to take part in any office activity that is promoted by an email full of clip art. I fail to be enticed by a giant bitmap of a smiling fork.

On with the hotness…

It’s already Friday night in Australia, which means Michael Phelps has set yet another world record, this time with the help of other hot, hairless swimmers in the 800m relay. Phelps has won five gold medals and set four world records at the World Championships, which means he breaks records faster than I break hearts. OK, that’s a lie, but it sounds better than the truth…”faster than I break yet another damn IKEA shelf by putting a potted Aloe Vera plant on it”. Even though this article doesn’t say so, Michael Phelps shaves his entire body. I just know it.

Hot and Hairless
Click me for the full size.

Congratulations to the West Virginia Mountaineers who won the Mastercard NIT Mastercard Tournament brought to you by Mastercard by beating the Clemson Tigers 78-73. Hopefully, Mastercard’s ad wizards will create some sort of commemorative commercial with poignant lines like “Value of college scholarship= $112,000; Plane tickets to New York for family members= $867; Hoping WVU can afford color pictures next year= Priceless.” Mountaineers silence critics, prove they’re #66!


In cricket news, Anil “Jumbo” Kumble has announced that he’s retiring from one-day cricket. Kumble is India’s most successful bowler, having taken 500 wickets, put another two or three goo-goos on the blinky, gone ’round the widget and Bob’s yer uncle. Whatever the hell that means… dude’s still hot. And his nickname’s “Jumbo”, which you don’t get by by being a poor leg-spinner, you know? Sometimes, cricket terminology sounds dirty.

Wickety Goodness

Finally, the Ladies… give props to Ria Cortesio, professional baseball’s only female umpire, who had a “flawless” afternoon working the Cubs 7-4 exhibition win over the Diamondbacks yesterday. She has worked in AA ball for 5 years, where one manager once commented “If you didn’t see that ponytail, you wouldn’t know she was a woman out there”. Um, and that’s a compliment, I guess. She says that best-case scenario, she’ll be getting cursed by fans in the Majors by 2009.

Happy Friday. Anyone know if I can expense this Cinnamon Crunch bagel?

1-2-3-4, Get Your Booty on the Dancefloor

Who among us is immune to that damn “Jane Fonda”song? Musically, it’s somewhere between “Barbie Girl” and the Teletubbies theme song but if you’ve heard it, I’ve just guaranteed that it’ll be pingponging around your head while you try to watch House.

We’re down to our Final Four hotties here, so enjoy this week’s bracket. And yeah, sorry about having to create a Jonathan Mitchell-Gator hybrid. You try finding any other pictures of him online.


We Ladies try to be objective (save for our undying desire to cover Bryce Taylor in syrup and devour him like a Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity), but if the Bruins could prevent this from ever happening again, we would certainly appreciate it.

Nightmare Fuel

Now. Work it out. Shake it, little mama. Let me see you do the Jane Fonda.

You’re 16, You’re Beautiful, and You’re Mine

OK, so the tournament’s two rounds deep and by now your bracket’s a bigger mess than Kirsten Dunst’s smile. Not to worry, little Badgers…the Ladies have a quick fix. Behold our Sweet (Ass) Sixteen, a work of art more timeless than anything ever released by the Franklin Mint (including all 3,500 Princess Diana plates, except for the Magic Eye one), classier than the collectibles from the back page of Parade magazine, and perfect for making out with before you leave for work.

Sweet Ass 16

Click here to download the full-PDF verison.


I have already stapled mine to the front door of my refrigerator and oh yeah, I’m taking those Lunchables out of the package one cracker at a time, just so I can prolong my face time with Brian Ligon. And Jamaal Tatum. And you, guy from A&M who never takes your warmups off…except in my head.

Now. Don’t you feel better about being 4% accurate? About being last in your Facebook pool? About eating a tiny slice of ham and tongue kissing a piece of paper? I thought so. Who loves you, baby?

I Was There: North Carolina-Michigan State

Beads OK, first, I didn’t go to Michigan State. But I would rather eat a bag of aquarium gravel than cheer for UNC, so yesterday I was all “Go Green! Go White!” all the time, even though my entire family was decked out in a shade of blue that they call “Carolina ” while I defer to J.Crew’s description of “Rich Peri” in a sad attempt to feel better about the tees I just ordered.

MaskThere were about 10,000 other unique snowflakes rocking the light blue, since the game was in Winston-Salem which is only about five Cracker Barrels away from Chapel Hill. From all the seersucker, the Topsiders, and men named Worthington Fenimore Tartarcontrol “Whitey” Textilemill, it was obviously a Tarheel crowd.

We got to our seats right when Carolina was warming up and Tyler “They Call Me Psycho T Because I’m Real Psycho and T is my Favorite Color” Hansbrough was alternately taking jumpers and fidgeting with his mask. I tried to get chants of “Cher’s Your Mom” and “Eric Stoltz” started but they didn’t catch on. I like to think that maybe it was just too early. Continue reading

ACC In Progress Panty Raid

Wasn’t it the Full House theme song that started
What ever happened to predictability?
The milkman, the paperboy, or the A-C-C?

Let’s get to it…and we’re starting with my school.

#11 Wake Forest 114
#6 Georgia Tech 112 (2 OT)

Make Out with Me Deacons walk-on Mike Lepore said that his favorite quote by coach Skip Prosser was “Don’t worry about us being good”. That’s something that the Deacons obviously took to heart this season as they teeter on the edge of their first losing season since 1990. Author’s note: I wrote that before the game yesterday, when I was thinking “Fuck it, we’re a football school now” and making out with a newspaper clipping about QB Riley Skinner.

Sophomore guard Harvey Hale scored 21 of his 22 points in overtime to lead the Deacs to a 2OT win over the Yellowjackets. Hale said he chose Wake Forest to “get away from New Mexico”. The Land of Enchantment sometimes called him in the middle of the night, breathing heavily and asking “Hey baby, you want me to make you feel good?”

The Demon Deacon mascot comes from Wake’s previous affiliation with the Baptist church. It is no longer a Baptist college so the students are free to dance, a mixed blessing considering that the campus is predominantly white.

Georgia Tech’s Jeremis Smith scored ten points last night and the author of his bio takes note of Smith’s big hands, big feet, and that his nickname is Big Worm. Jesus, we get it.

Confidential to Jeremis Smith: Call me. Continue reading

Southland Conference Panty…Wait? Who?

FunyunsFirst, if you tell the IT department that their new “We block WordPress” policy is stupid, you’re guaranteed to spend the afternoon locked out of your computer. But now I’m home so I can write what I want, and unlike the IT department, I don’t smell like feet, Funyuns, and virginity.

I saw a Hertz commercial that said “Hertz rents Fords and other fine cars”, which is kind of like saying the Southland conference features Stephen F. Austin and other fine colleges. Most of them have admissions standards noted as “least selective”, which means if you don’t bleed on your application, you’re in.

Thanks to IT’s PC cockblock, three of the first round games have already been played but I’m willing to bet that if you live outside of, um, the south…land, not only are the scores new to you but so are the schools. My personal favorite team, the UT-San Antonio Roadrunners, were eliminated from the tournament after they disappeared into a tunnel that the coyote painted onto a rock. Continue reading

Atlantic Ten Panty Raid

Forget it. I’m not wasting time asking “Why does the Atlantic 10 have fourteen teams?” Twelve of those teams will be in the tournament and half of them are Catholic schools, so I’m ready for some hot Jesuit-on-Jesuit action…and I’m hoping that never shows up as a search term. Grab your fish sticks and take a look at Wednesday’s matchups.

#8 University of Dayton vs. #9 UNC-Charlotte
One of the University of Dayton’s most notable alums is author Erma Bombeck, who wrote a lot of books that were irresistible to women over forty, things with titles like Is it Hot in Here or Is It Just Menopause? or I’m Tied Up But My Fallopian Tubes Aren’t. I’m pretty sure I read both of those while using the bathroom at my aunt’s house. Junior forward Charles Little was named the conference Sixth Man of the Year and will be immortalized in Erma’s next book, You Drive the Lane, I Drive You Wild, But Who’s Driving Me to the Gynecologist?

Christmas Story According to their website, UNCC was named one of two North Carolina universities where students can get an Ivy League education at a state university price”. The site also notes that the majority of campus buildings are now air-conditioned, that the campus has sidewalks, and that the new phone books are here. Suck it, Dartmouth.

Unlike the Ivy Leagues, however, Charlotte is actually good at basketball. Freshman Ian Anderson averages 4.7 points per game, despite shooting his eye out with a bb gun. Ian, you should’ve listened to your mother, your father, your teacher, and Santa. Continue reading