OK, y’all. I try not to be too much of a homer for ACoH, but surely I am allowed one Cardinal — especially this year. So, I hereby appoint as Day 3 ACoH your 2011 World Series MVP, David Freese.
Category Archives: glory days
Every. Game. Counts. (A Regular Season Wrap Up and Playoff Preview)
Let’s just put aside the fact that I had an actual rooting interest last night — everything that happened in baseball over the last 24 hours makes my brain scream this song:
As someone who has spent the last two weeks watching the Cardinals wait until the last inning to win or lose what seemed like 95% of their games, one of the most surreal things about last night was that St. Louis was the only team that got their game settled right out of the gate, batting around in the first inning and scoring five runs before recording a single out. Which left me free to enjoy the one day MLB.tv subscription I paid 3.99 for Tuesday night as a mostly impartial fan (possibly the best 4 bucks I’ve ever spent, even if I couldn’t get the Rays-Yankees because of blackout restrictions, and had to switch to the Phillies-Braves radio feeds for the latter innings because of too much traffic on the video feed (and my crappy bandwidth). At one point, I had three GTalk conversations going and was on the phone to my parents; 99.5 % of the discussion revolved around baseball (I did manage to discuss Christmas arrangements with my folks. I’m not totally obsessed.)
So THAT happened.
I don’t even know if this should be an Advent Calendar of Hotness post or what. I’m a Phillies fan and I still don’t know what just happened. All I know is that Cliff Lee turned down a whole shit-ton of money, and I know that the rotation is absolutely disgusting and I DON’T UNDERSTAND THIS.
I went to my first baseball game in 1993 when the Phillies played the Rockies. Back then, the Phillies literally gave away tickets to games in packages of hot dogs. Seriously, I remember 14 year old Maggie negotiating with her dad that if we bought TWO packages of hot dogs, my siblings could come to the game, and if we bought THREE, Mom could come too.
I can’t even.
Look, I know the world hates the Phillies and everything because they’re the new Red Sox or Yankees or Patriots or whatever, but this is…mindblowing.
Ladies and Gentlemen…
…Roy Halladay. Do I even need to say anything else?
HI EVERYONE ROY HALLADAY THREW A NO HITTER IN HIS FIRST POSTSEASON APPEARANCE AND I HAVE LOST THE ABILITY TO USE PUNCTUATION
PS IT WAS ONLY THE SECOND ONE IN A LITTLE THING WE LIKE TO CALL HISTORY
PS NUMBAH TWO: OH AND HE THREW A PERFECT GAME THIS YEAR ALREADY.
For real, I kind of think my husband would be okay if I left him for Roy. Actually, I kind of think he might leave me for Roy. I’m not sure I blame him.
Down To The Wire
It seems like only yesterday we were squealing with delight about the arrival of the 2010 Major League Baseball season. Now here we are in the final weeks of the regular season. Some fans will be packing away their Pirates and Mets tees away with their capri pants and strappy sandals, reflecting on a season that should have been. But others will be biting their nails and rocking back and forth on their couches, popping Tums and living in fear that the stupid Rays will take the AL East (OK, maybe that’s just me)
Here’s a quick look at how the race to the postseason is looking heading into tonight’s games, and how this prognosticator (HAHAHAHA!) sees it going down:
Everybody calm down!
What is it about April baseball that brings out the panic in all of us? Continue reading
Happy Fourth of July from the Ladies…
It’s that time of years, folks, when we celebrate the birth of America by stuffing our faces full of barbecue and ogling explosions in the sky.
We here at Ladies…have our own hot date with some marching bands and sparklers. (Not at the same time, kids. Practice safe parading.) As such, we’re taking a bit of a break to celebrate America, apple pie, moms and baseball.
And good looking men doing delightful things involving sports.
Happy Birthday, America. Here, have Mike Rowe singing the National Anthem at a Bowie BaySox game.
Today we’re gonna party like it’s 1999!
It was supposed to be a new year for us, new stadium, new pitching, new ridiculous salaries that only we could pay, but after this past weekends heart-wrenching sweep by the Sox, I think it’s time for a little throw-back action. Ten years ago- maybe it was chemistry, maybe it was fate, but it was full of hotties and full of wins! I bring you the hotties of yester-year and the team I still wish was drenched in pin-stripes! Your 1999 New York Yankees!
Was it the gold chains, was it the appearance in one of my favorite Seinfeld episodes, was it his 19 homers, 110 RBIs or .285 batting average? We’ll never know!
Hot Stove Hottie timeout: Farewell to Mad Dog
Normally at this time we’d be covering the things that went on in the MLB markets in the past week, but this week we’ll stand aside to tip our caps to one of the most brilliant pitchers our generation has seen or will ever see. Winter meetings are going on right now, and you can get all kinds of updates from MLB Trade Rumors, as well as great updates directly from Vegas from Will Carroll, John Perrotto, and Kevin Goldstein of Baseball Prospectus.
Now, on to the very sad business of Greg Maddux announcing his retirement today.
Jared Allen: When Good Girls Love Bad Boys
The Minnesota Vikings traded away a first round pick and two third round picks to get Jared Allen from the Kansas City Chiefs last week. (And they still managed to get the Booty in the draft.) His contract could be worth up to $74 million over six years if he reaches certain incentives, including a guaranteed $31,000,069. (His jersey number is 69.) The signing bonus was $15.5 million. (He had 15.5 sacks last year). He is 26 years old, 6’6″, 270 lbs., he used to compete in rodeos and he owns riding horses. All the other hot, and not so hot, stats and information after the jump… Continue reading
We’re This Many! The Ladies… Turn One.
One year ago, a group of female Deadspinners got together and built a website that would forever alter the sportswriting landscape. Some delusions of grandeur, but whatevs.
Artwork, as always, by the one, the only, the incomparable Lady J-Money, who credits our success to the quality of our ingredients.
When we last saw our heroines, we were raising glasses to six months of this contraption. Since then….where to start? We got out of the house a little, and brought a few friends along for the ride. We stirred up a couple hornets’ nests and got our knees dirty. We launched a blatant homerism lovefest and let lust rule our fantasy drafts. We went undercover with the Mets and the Mitchell Report and got inside with the Tigers. We turned back time and had ourselves a total eclipse of the heart. We pledged our hearts to the World Series, and just about killed ourselves trying to get there, and just about GOT ourselves killed once we were…but that all worked out just fine, didn’t it? We got down and dirty with the history of Rock and championed the little guys. We came heroically close to covering every single bowl game. We said fond farewells to a fine crop of college boys, and found new targets for next year.
And the snacks. Oh, TSW’s snacky goodness. The legendary Buffalo Chicken Dip. The homemade corn dogs. The 9-Layer Ranchero Dip, K2 of snack foods. Pork with more pork. The genesis of our quiche obsession. The other Ladies got into the act, to the tune of Pudding Shots, Beer Bread, Cheese Straws, and a variety of meats and cheeses.
We celebrated (properly) the apex of football season (and then some), and marked the turning of the sports season. We got our gamble on. We gave thanks, wished on our stockings, spread holiday cheer and strove to be better fans. We found humor in the worst of times and stood up for boobs everywhere. We rassled and clawed and even screwed each other.
After the jump, some poetic and prosaic reflections on our year together.
Blood Makes The Grass Grow
I have a kind of tunnel vision when it comes to sports, and I wear it proudly. I have mountains to fling myself down in the spring and tennis to occupy me in the summer, but there’s nothing gets my blood going like the divine brutality that is football season. (What? Our god is a vengeful one. Look it up.)
During the offseason I spent an inordinate amount of time composing lists of ways to make baseball more compelling (“Article I: Infielders can tackle baserunners. Article II: But that’s fine and dandy, since the baserunners can take their bats with them.”), but not even Bacon Pants could ease the pain of the waiting game for me. Maybe if he’d taken a swing at the catcher’s dome.
So welcome back, fall. Welcome back, sunburn and frostbite and concussion hits. Welcome back, tailgating and GameDay and Coach O. Welcome back, blood season. Welcome back, football.
And, because this is Ladies…, after all, in honor of tonight’s SEC kickoff, look after the jump for some current and former LSU hotties in those tight yellow pants we so adore. Oh, and there’s a tiger. Rrrrrowwwr.
“I Want to Look Like a High School Cheerleader Again” – CMT
CMT, (the hip name designed to make you forget it is the Country Music Channel), has announced that they are launching a special eight-episode series this October that follows 10 former high school cheerleaders as they workout with Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader trainer Jay Johnson in an effort to recapture their former-selves. Since men like Ray McDonald carry around laminated cards of their high school baseball stats, it is not surprising that there would be women walking around wishing they could go back to the the top of the pyramid or get one last “liberty” in. Continue reading