How to Deal


This is how I deal with bad sports: Adam Levine.

Like Lady Bee, I’m still reeling from watching my beloved hockey team, the Washington Capitals, crash and burn on Monday night. It’s so bad, that I can’t even watch hockey. I know, it’s really bad. Since I’m used to this annual heartbreak, I can’t understand why, this year, I’m so depressed about it.

It’s not like the Caps don’t do this to me every single year. This year I was so indifferent about hockey. I was mad about the lockout, but as a season ticket holder, I was excited to get back to Verizon Center and spend time with my hockey family. That was what I looked forward to: happy hours, victory beers, inside hockey jokes, good times with friends and making fun of our players – not so much the hockey.

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Your 2010-11 NHL Hotness Preview: Pacific Division


(Wicked Cool Photo of Ilya Bryzgalov: Getty Images)

Yeah, I suppose most sports sites do their previews before the season starts. But we think different here at Ladies… Also, we’re hella busy and I needed a few days to deal with that whole ALCS outcome, obviously. I spent the weekend doing a lot of intentional walking. I trust Girardi did the same.

Let’s focus on hockey now, shall we? The Pacific Division, y’all!

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How Sweet the Sting…

It’s been a little gloom and doom in the bomber household these past few days…

You see there was this semi-important professional sporting match on Sunday, and despite my best efforts of yelling and screaming at the tv, my boys did not come away with that Lombardi trophy.

While I hold no ill will towards those gents in black and gold, I can’t help but wallow in my loss.

It got me thinking about championships and fandom- more specifically what impacts us more, the wins or losses?

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So that happened.

One sentence. That’s all it took. Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz, the sluggers who propelled the Boston Red Sox to end an 86-year World Series championship drought and to capture another title three years later, were among the roughly 100 Major League Baseball players to test positive for performance-enhancing drugs in 2003, according to lawyers with knowledge of the results.

Who cares about Manny Ramirez? Everybody already knows he’s a cheater and a prima donna manchild who will dog it on his own teammates to get his way. But David Ortiz? Big Papi? Say it ain’t so.

Oh, sure, the evidence was there. Anyone who watched him hit in Minnesota and then watched his complete turnaround as a hitter in Boston had to wonder. Was it enough to point to how much he’d drastically altered his swing once starting for Boston? Was it enough to chuckle when he told us that the only drugs he ever took were beans and rice? Was it worth it to ignore just how massive he was in Boston, how he became the ‘Big’ part of ‘Big Papi’? Could we just pretend all that wasn’t there because he seemed like everything that was right about a player- that he was a guy who’d put the whole city on his back with a twinkle in his eye, a gleaming smile and a swing like thunder? Well, yes. Yes, it was. Papi couldn’t be that kind of guy. He’s Papi, for God’s sake.

Well. We were wrong. And whether you believe his story that he had no idea he’d ever tested positive and doesn’t know how he could (even if you buy his cover that he may have bought some energy products from the Dominican in his youth) have tested positive for anything, or whether you so desperately want to believe this couldn’t be true, it is. Sure, nobody knows what he tested positive for yet. Sure, it was six years ago and there wasn’t a policy and accidents happen (just ask JC Romero) and blah blah blah excuses excuses. You know who else tested positive in 2003? Barry Bonds. Alex Rodriguez. Sammy Sosa. Manny Ramirez. Jason Grimsley. Not exactly innocent company.
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Last night was a sad night in basketball and today is my mourning/hangover period. Stupid San Antonio. Stupid defending champs. Stupid Manu Ginobili! (I irrationally dislike him. It’s mostly the name I think.) Now it’s time to face reality. He’s gone. I can’t believe he’s gone. How will I watch the rest of the NBA season without his smile? His speed? His almighty awesomeness? Chris Paul, I mourn the loss of thee on my television set.

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Goodnight Lou*

It’s that time of year again.

When I avoid sports news for weeks because it’s just too painful, lose a whole section (309) and row (L) of comrades until the fall, get my fix from a crummy little arena where my brother and cousins like to play, and– gasp– have to start paying attention to baseball.

For me, and the rest of these teams and their fans, hockey season is over.

So join me in lamenting and saying goodbye to four fine teams. Because there was nothing worse than seeing Henrik Lundqvist cry.

Come back, Jaromir!

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