Back on the NHL Wagon

You win, Leafs. I mean, you didn’t last night, but in the battle for winning me back over? I’d say you win.

Jake Gardiner made it fun to be a Leafs fan for a few minutes Monday night.

So remember last fall when I was pissed off with the NHL? And my utter apathy when it returned earlier this year? I truly managed to go an entire (shortened) season without watching a complete game. I ignored favourite hockey blogs. I occasionally snubbed Sportscentre. I shrugged when I heard the Leafs may possibly be in playoff contention. I watched people who swore up and down on social media that they’d never forgive the NHL forgive the NHL and tune in with days of the league’s return. I was teased by my friends. “You’ll be back,” they said.

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.

Hump Day Hottie: Novak Djokovic

Tennis is about the only sporting comfort I have to get me through the long dark offseason. Ain’t many gents take a finer picture than Novak Djokovic. And he beat Fedy darling in the Australian Open, but went on to win the damn thing, so I suppose that’s all right.

A note for our tennis fans before we commence to ogling:  Interested in winning tickets to that Sampras-Federer matchup?
Kaleidoscope of djeliciousness after the djump:

Pro Bowl LiveBlog

Holly and I are going to attempt to live-blog the Pro Bowl from a local watering hole this afternoon. You have the next five hours to plan accordingly; prepare snacks, finish the laundry, secure bail money.

I assume we’re totally going to gossip about Brady and Favre since they’re not going to be there.

And away we go:

Poetry Slam: Fuck Tiki Barber, Over And Over.

After a year of playing FanHouse Poetry slam, I’ve come to expect many things from AOL’s comment threads. Racism. Misogyny. Homophobia. Dallas Cowboys threadjacks. But I never dreamed they would one day spread their wings, fling themselves out of the nest, and begin to fashion their own poetry. Yet there they were, when I came running shortly after time expired in the Super Bowl to see what madness awaited. I have excerpted some modest examples for your pleasure:

He boosted the signal then he looped it he looped it
(oh he came from New England oh he hooped it he hooped it)
then got caught kinda STUPID

cheaters,cheaters, pumkin eaters, taped our signals and still couldnt beat us…..

Yea Baby, Yea Baby, Patriots lose, Patriots lose.
Colts, Colts, Colts, LOL, LOL, LOL, YES, YES, YES, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Couldn’t you just burst from pride? (Or is that contempt?) They’re taking over. But what follows, I’m almost certain, is unintentional art. (Standard disclaimer: I did not make any of these up. Original spelling, grammar, and punctuation have been preserved. All [sic]s implied.)

I call it “Fuck Tiki Barber, Over and Over”.

Super Bowl XLII: The Ladies React

Holly: NOW IS THE SEASON OF MANNING.

TSW: Short of the Steelers winning SB XLII, this is best outcome. (And I am proud that three out of the four Ladies who made picks, picked the Giants.)

Clare: I cannot believe what I have just seen.

TSW: So glad it wasn’t a blow out. I cannot believe how many people said this game was going to be lame.

Andrea: WOOOOOOOOO!!!!! Best Super Bowl since Rams/Titans! Holy crap! WOOOOOOOO!!!! [falls over, asleep]

das Super Bowl Post

Game time! Kegerator primed? Fridge stocked? Ambulance on speed dial? Excellent. Join us after the jump for our weekend plans, favorite gambles, predictions, and pictures of grown men looking goofier than Eli Manning (no, seriously).

Sadly, we cannot claim responsibility for this artistic masterpiece.