It’s been awhile since one of my favorite teams won it all, and I’ve missed the feeling. I’ve been on a high since the Ravens beat Denver last month thanks to Jacoby Jones’ “Mile High Miracle,” and I’m not about to come down. The momentum from that game carried the Ravens into Foxborough, 9 point underdogs for the second week in a row. The Patriots did not stand a chance.
Brad Smith may be new to the Buffalo Bills this season, but he just had to get in on Buffalita’s Bachelorette Party. Lady Bee put Part 1 on her post for a reason, people: we are not done with the revelry.
Ryan Miller of Buffalita’s beloved Sabres also wanted to, ahem, pay his respects. Knowing Buff works in the music biz, he decided on a theme outfit:
Seriously, I’m ashamed that I had no idea that Scott Baker was this hot until this past weekend. My beloved O’s played the Twins in Minnesota, and Mr. Baker had the pleasure of pitching – and earning a win, of course – against them. I had the pleasure of watching him pitch.
Now you, too, can enjoy the pleasure of ogling Scott after the jump.
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.
If you read this site, you know that I’m a hockey addict. That is why today is one of my favorite days of the year: NHL Trade Deadline Day! With all the new technology available, Deadline Days have become even more fun. Text message alerts? Check. Twitter updates? Check. Live Blogs? Check. Trade Trackers? Check.
If you, like me, enjoy a fun day of speculation and mind-blowing trades, then take a trip with me down the rabbit hole…
I can’t help but roll my eyes at all of this. You can’t build a development program overnight, and let’s face it: these athletes are obviously doing something right. Much was made of the fact that we had never won gold in Montreal or Calgary. Today, we have eight gold medals. And we still have curling and mens’ hockey to go!
Look, I never expect Canada to be overly dominant at any Olympics. The U.S. and various EU countries regularly kick our asses in the medal count: fact of life. We accept it. Remember, this is a nation that lost its Expos and hasn’t seen the Stanley Cup travel down Yonge Street since 1967. We’re used to not having it all in the sports realm. And that’s OK. We have a rich hockey history and public health care and we can boast that Neil Young, Joni Mitchell and Gordon Lightfoot (NOT DEAD!) all hail from here.
What was the point of this post? Oh yeah: CANADIAN OLYMPIANS WE LOVE, EH?
I have some very happy neighbors, not to mention fellow Ladies, this morning. (And one not so happy Lady — my condolences, Maggie!) The Yankees won their 27th World Series last night; Hideki Matsui won the series MVP after tying the record for RBIs in one World Series game (6). But before we officially adjourn to the baseball off-season, let’s vote on some stuff!
In case you haven’t noticed, the Dodgers just traded a PTBNL and cash for Jim Thome.
That’s right, the one and only
They say he’ll be a bat off the bench, but I say they should just put him at first base and let him play. But that’s not even the point. The point is, THE HERO OF THE DUGOUT IS COMING TO MY TOWN. HE WILL SMASH TATERS THAT WILL GO LIKE THIS:
OFF THE BAT, OFF AN AIRPLANE, AIRPLANE EXPLODES, PASSENGER CLINGS TO BALL AS IT FALLS, PASSENGER FALLS TO DOOM, OUT OF THE STADIUM.
Or maybe even like this:
OFF THE BAT, THE BALL DISINTEGRATES, THE ATOMIC RESIDUE TRAVELS FAR FROM THIS MORTAL PLANE, REFORMS IN HEAVEN, OFF THE FACE OF OUR LORD, OUT OF THE STADIUM.
Suddenly, I care about the Dodgers again.
Let me ask you something.
Team A won their 11th Premiere League title just last season. (The second, mind you, in a row.) They’ve been essentially unstoppable for years, and you can always depend on them to be at the top of the standings every year. They’re the Yankees of the Prem League, in essence.
Team B hasn’t played a home game in the Prem in 33 years. In fact, the team that last defeated them, leading to Team B’s loooooooooong slog in relegated hell? Team A. In fact, Team B hasn’t managed to win one single solitary game against Team A in 41 years. (And I bitch when the Sox lose four in a row to the Yankees.) Oh, sure, Team B wasn’t in the Prem for 33 of those 41 years, but that’s still eight years of getting their asses handed to them over and over again. Team B was so terrible they almost left the Football League entirely ten years ago. (The post-Bond Pittsburgh Pirates of the Prem League, as it were.)
Anyway, Team B is finally promoted. They’re going to get to play with the big boys again. What do the scheduling Gods do to them? Naturally, schedule them to start against Team A.
Who wins the game?
Congrats to U.S. Women’s National Team member Abby Wambach who scored her 100th international goal yesterday in a friendly against Canada in her hometown of Rochester, NY.
The achievement was made all the more impressive by the fact that Wambach was playing in just her second international game since breaking both her tibia and fibula just days before the national team began play in the 2008 Beijing Olympics.
Wambach tied fellow U.S. International Tiffeny Milbrett for the eighth most goals ever scored in women’s international soccer. She scored the 100th goal in just 129 international appearances, making her the second-fastest to the century mark in US women’s soccer history.
Well, it’s all over, including the shouting. Voting in the Final Vote contest has ended and the results have been tabulated. This year’s All Stars, after days of furious campaigning (more on that later) are Philadelphia center fielder Shane Victorino (and his million kilowatt smile) and Detroit Third Baseman Brandon Inge. (This lady is convinced that Inge is actually thirteen years old and potentially ineligible to work, much less in the Majors, but that is neither here nor there.)
Victorino finished with the greatest amount of votes for any single player in the history of the Final Vote campaign with 15.6 million. (The previous record holder was Evan Longoria with nine million. Once again, the Phillies roll to victory over the Rays. Suck it, Tampa.)
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.
I can proudly say that I beat cancer. It is undetectable and my tumor marker is zero. It feels great to sit back and say this: My name is Adam Frey, I am 22 years old. I am a cancer survivor.
Obviously, all the Ladies… are quite happy for Adam, and we can’t wait to see him out on the mat again.