Pat Burrell is retiring, which means this site now has to exist in a world without him. Ladies… without Burrell is like Seinfeld without Jerry, like a flower without petals, like Grady Sizemore without that one coffee cup. Just…totally naked, but in like a really sad way.
Today is not a national holiday… but it should be.
A day to get up to watch a ballgame being played halfway around the world, that starts at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. (5 a.m. for those of us here in the Central timezone.) A day to agonize over batting orders and rotations and scratching due to injury and stats and averages and fastballs that don’t zing fast enough and sliders that don’t kiss the paint close enough and whether to put on the shift and managing the middle relievers in the pen. A day to rejoice over the crack of the bat and the smell of the grass (err… turf) and the freshly chalked lines and the newly broken-in leather gloves and the announcement of the starting lineups and the sparkling clean new uniforms and pitching from the stretch and stealing that extra base and smashing the ball through the gap and careening into the outfield wall for a catch and laying the perfect curveball right over the plate.
It’s time for baseball. And boy have we missed it.
People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and that’s certainly true for baseball fans who have to endure the long and lonely offseason that stretches through the cold, unending months of winter. But those dark days are officially behind us now: it’s P&C day, y’all.
It’s positively poetic that pitchers and catchers report on Valentine’s Day, because quite a few of the Ladies have ongoing torrid affairs with baseball. And let’s be honest- we’d much rather be treated to the boys of summer than yet another lame box of candy. So we’ve put together a few love letters to baseball – little Valentine’s treats for our favorite teams and players, and the game itself… all after the jump.
It’s time to show some love for the backup – the #2 guy, the benchwarmer, the alternate plan, the man who sits at second on the depth chart. While the starters are out there getting all the love and the limelight, the backup rides the pine waiting for his time to shine. But Mr. Alternate deserves love, too.
Take for example the case of one Johan Hedberg – backup goaltender for the Atlanta Thrashers. The sexy Swede (I have always wanted to write that in a post) may play second fiddle to Kari Lehtonen on the ice, but he definitely wins in the looks competition. Johan was named one of the 50 Sexiest People in Atlanta – and where was Mr. Lehtonen on that list? Nowhere, that’s where.
Plus, his nickname is “Moose” (thanks to Pittsburgh- whose fans gently mocked him for wearing his old Manitoba Moose helmet when he got called to the Penguins at the last minute), which is awesome. And he is super sweet to the kid fans, too:
[A fan] asked Hedberg if he had a moment to take a photo with her daughter at a Thrashers practice. She got more than a picture. “He picked her up and talked to her and snuggled her,” said the fan, sporting a No. 1 Hedberg Thrashers jersey before a recent Thrashers home game. “That’s a big deal for a mom.”
That picture now has a permanent home in her purse and Hedberg cemented another lifelong supporter in a fan club that grows with each person he meets.
So you can have first crack at tending the goal, Kari – and Johan will just have to be satisfied with being sweet and handsome. And don’t look now- but Johan’s getting more playing time lately, so maybe he’ll take over #1 on the ice soon, too.
Ah, the first of the new year. It’s that great day to kiss your sweetie (or that really hot guy standing to your left) at midnight, watching the bowl games (or outdoor hockey), and to make a fresh start in your life.
Or something like that.
Yes, last week was that time to make a whole bunch of resolutions to yourself. I know, you’ve already resolved to lose weight and to stop drinking as much and finally start saving your money for a rainy day. Let’s be honest, you’re not going to do any of that. You would have already. How about making some logical resolutions this year? I will not hate the Yankees with a white hot fire. I will appreciate Alabama for its continued devotion to a dead coach. I won’t defecate in a cooler. All the things you know you can do.
If you’re at a loss as to what you should resolve this year, read the Ladies… 2008 resolutions for some ideas. I’m sure you’ll be able to adopt some of our ideas. And if not, good luck with that whole less drinking thing. Continue reading →
Braylon Edwards has been a victim of what I like to think of as the “Cleveland Effect”: if you play for a Cleveland team, your hotness is camoflaged by wearing a uniform with “CLEVELAND” on it somewhere. Braylon looked hot playing for Michigan, and he still looks hot playing for Cleveland– but a guy has to be extra specially hot to overcome the Cleveland Effect and get his own HDH (see: Sizemore, Grady). Everyone has been busy fawning over the new kid taking his shots for the Browns at QB, but I maintain that Braylon is the best looking guy on the team. He even has his own fan club (of sorts) – the Braylon Bunch… started by eight guys. Such is the hotness of Braylon, even straight men recognize.
But it was this picture in Sports Illustrated that finally convinced me to overlook the Cleveland Effect and make Braylon an HDH – because not only is he beautiful to look at, and talented on the field, but he pledged $1 million in scholarship money for 100 needy eighth-grade students in Cleveland. With that list of qualifications, who cares if he plays for the Browns?
How that group of eighth grade girls can look so bored with that pretty sitting so close by, I’ll never know. Oh, right- they live in Cleveland.
For lots more of Braylon, follow me after the jump…
Your designated Big 10 representative for the evening (Lady Andrea) and the only Big XII representative around these parts (me) were both tasked with a difficult job: watch the Alamo Bowl. Doesn’t sound hard- except that every single other person in the country was watching the Patriots take on the Giants. But Lady A’s allegiance to the Big 10 and my hatred of the Aggies is so strong that we persevered.
Since I’m 99% sure no one else watched the Alamo Bowl- here’s our play-by-play of the important action. You will notice we did not make one single “Remember the Alamo!” pun.
Why, hello, Colt McCoy. Aren’t you looking all fine with that Offensive MVP trophy and those awesome Texas guns? I’m so glad to see you show up in San Diego at the Holiday Bowl without bringing along those friends of yours Mr. Int and Mr. Erception — you know, the ones that have been hanging around you all season. (Although I did notice that you couldn’t get rid of the other member of the Suck Trio, Mr. Fumble – but considering the scoreboard, I’ll forgive you.) You’re like our own Matt Saracen, all grown up – wide-eyed and full of small-town boyish charm. I am required by Texan law to lavish schmoopy praise on our QB- especially when his name is Colt McCoy, as clearly he was destined to lead us to victory with a name like that. (See? There I go again!)
Heck, now that I think of it, just about every member of the Longhorns team that stepped on the field last night looked pretty darned hot– winning will do that for you. Why don’t you all take a step forward so we can appreciate your hotness. NOT SO FAST, CHRIS JESSIE.
I’m pretty sure that you should never, ever, EVER step foot on the field of play again, unless you are specifically instructed to do so by a member of the coaching staff who is not your stepfather. I’m also pretty sure we need to outfit you with one of those child leash things, so that the coaches can yank you backwards like Phillip the Hyper Hypo if you try to run up and grab a live ball again.
Now that we’ve covered that unpleasantness, we can move on to all the pictures of hotties, after the jump…
Just over a week left before Christmas and you’re still not sure what to get the sporty woman in your life?
Tired of at least four “diamonds for the journey” during every commercial break? Does your brain shut off the second you walk into the local mall? Does your wife grit her teeth every time she remembers the year you bought her a boom box for Christmas, which was returned on December 26th at 9 am?
We here at Ladies know how hard it can be to pick out the perfect gift, so we’ve made ours lists and checked them twice, and figured out which presents are naughty or nice for the female fans in your life.
AND IF THERE IS REALLY IS A SANTA CLAUS THAN HE CAN MAKE SOME OF OUR WISHES COME TRUE! Continue reading →
Ladies…is proud to introduce the one and only 2008 Men of the Mitchell Report Calendar: All ‘roids, all year ’round. This morning, we invite you to join us for exclusive previews along with excerpts from our liveblog of yesterday’s circus.
Roll call! What are we drinking, Ladies?
[10:27] Andrea: yeah, I gotta get my wine. I have some X Y Zin, heh heh
[10:28] TheStarterWife: I have some coffee
[10:28] TheStarterWife: but am eying the booze in the bar
[10:28] Texas Gal: I’m drinking Abita Christmas Ale
[10:28] TheStarterWife: or the beer in my fridge
[10:28] Holly: I have…water and Emergen-C. Sigh.
[10:28] Texas Gal: Louisiana swamp water beer = yum
Without further ado…I give you…Mr. January. U-S-A!!
The Ladies… count two Phillies homers among their ranks, so Texas Gal and I were hoping that our meaty, darling, grinder Aaron “Bacon Pants” Rowand would resign with the Phillies. His face-smashing entusiasm and team-first attitude were part of what made the Phillies so much fun to watch this season. Also, he wears his uniform pants really tight. We liked that.
2007 was a banner year for Bacon Pants, and with the cheapskates in the Phillies front office shying away from long-term contracts, Bacon Pants signed today with the San Francisco Giants. He’ll patrol the outfield for the next five years, taking home a cool $12 million per year.
The fans of the San Francisco Giants have to be happy — there’s somebody fun to watch out in the outfield again.
I, however, am taking this news a little harder. I am — if you will — a sad panda.
Picking the hottest Heisman finalist from the field of official photos this year was an easy task- the hottie favorite Colt Brennan disqualifies himself by sporting a wicked bad haircut (and looking like that doofy receptionist guy from Private Practice), Chase Daniel manages to look like an unemployed hobo and/or psycho shop teacher, and Tim Tebow could be a member of the Geek Squad from your local Best Buy. Darren McFadden reigns supreme and wins the official photo battle in a walk.
But Tim Tebow emerged victorious from the Downtown Athletic Club on Saturday, claiming the actual Heisman hardware – which, oddly enough, was not awarded based on how hot he looked in his official press photo. So I’m calling uncle, Mr. Tebow. You won the Heisman fair and square (and were the first underclassman to ever win the award), and so I’m finally giving you your very own HDH post. Even though you play for the hated Florida Gators, I must grudgingly acknowledge that you’ve got gorgeous baby blues and a body that just won’t quit. And when you add in the Heisman hardware (whether I thought you deserved it or not), that’s one mighty appealing package. I might even be able to overlook the Florida colors- as long as you promise not to do that stupid Gator chomp thing with your arms.
Just please, please quit taking hair styling tips from Urban Meyer, OK? Less gel and spikes, more natural tousle.
Normally, Frenchys don’t rate very high on the hot scale– they’re just so… French. But I can make an exception for French-Canadians — especially hot, 6’4″ French-Canadian hockey players like Vincent Lecavalier.
Vinny (yep, his nickname is “Vinny”) was born and raised in a suburb outside Montreal, and then went on to attend high school way out in Saskatchewan- where he must have picked up a wicked French-Saskatchewan accent. He was drafted #1 overall out of high school at the age of 18 by the Tampa Bay Lightning, and was labeled as the “Michael Jordan of hockey” by TB’s owner (eat your heart out, LeBron). He was named captain of the team at the ripe age of 19, helped the Bolts score a Stanley Cup at the age of 24, and won the very prestigious Maurice ‘Rocket’ Richard Trophy as the NHL’s top goal scorer last year.
That hockey skills stuff is all well and good, but the coolest thing about Mr. Lecavalier is that he appeared in “Happy Gilmore” at the age of 15 (as a hockey player, of course). Maybe even cooler than that? Just a month ago he donated $3 million to a new children’s hospital in St. Pete, Florida, to help build a cancer pediatrics unit.
So, to recap: he’s hot, tall, talented, speaks French, most likely has a sexy accent, has a championship ring and donates large sums of money to help kids with cancer. I really need to watch more hockey.
I give. Uncle. I’m finally caving in and doing an HDH on Dreamboat, ok? I still haven’t forgotten how our nice happy Tony Romo post turned into some kind of battle royale, with legions of Dreamboatettes turning out to hate on my QB1. But I also recognize this ode to Mr. McScores-a-lot is long overdue, what with him and the Patriots wiping the floor with the rest of the NFL like they’re a dirty old mop.
So Tom Brady gets his HDH. Just don’t expect me to like it. Even if he is awfully dashing. Yeah, I said it – dashing. Debonair, even. It’s that chiseled jaw and perfect scruff, a lethal combination… even on a guy in a Patriots uniform. Even on a Michigan Wolverine.
The baseball offseason is a long, lonely and chilly period. Baseball fans are forced to obsess over the minutiae of Hot Stove baseball: whether the third-best middle reliever on your team will file for free agency, the theoretical pros and cons of a six-man rotation, how many different teams will diss A-Rod before he goes crawling back to the Yankees.
So when the folks over at The Sporting News approached us with the opportunity to participate in a Strat-O-Matic recreation of the 1986 baseball season (1986: Take Two), we naturally grabbed ahold of that opportunity like a drowning man to a liferaft. We didn’t even really care what team we got (there is enough baseball love amongst the Ladies… to go around for just about every team)- so when we were given the Toronto Blue Jays, we were quite tickled. They’re so plucky! And so Canadian! And they have RANCE MULLINIKS- with a guy named that on our roster, we were bound to win.
Now we don’t have to obsess over that Hot Stove stuff, we can obsess over what Dave Stieb’s WHIP was against left-handed batters in June of 1986, or whether we should carry an extra DH or outfielder, or just how many ridiculous trades we can propose to Curt Schilling (who is managing the Red Sox against us in the AL East) before he blocks our email address. And we have a baseball project that will require daily management right up until May- when real-life baseball will be in full swing again (hallelujah). I would disclose how many hours and hours and hours we’ve spent researching stats and tweaking lineups and reviewing recordbooks… but it’s just too frightening. J-Money and I are co-piloting this crazy ship- but never fear, we’re dragging the other baseball-fanatic Ladies… along with us for the ride.
Our season officially kicked off last Tuesday, and we’re off to a rousing 5-3 start (damn you, Kansas City Royals!) — and to celebrate, we’re doing a run-down of the hotties on the 1986 Blue Jays. So get ready- put on your retro ’86 Jays cap (I have one) or jersey (J-Money has that)- because after the jump you’re about to behold Rance Mulliniks and the rest of the mustachioed Blue Jays in all their glory…
I held off as long as I could, but it’s high time I sing the praises of one Brett Lorenzo Favre, giving him his proper due as the feature of an HDH. He’s a Mississippi boy, born and bred, with the lovely Southern drawl to match. In addition to being a tall drink of water to look at, with outrageous skills on the field and that fabled gunslinger attitude, he’s also got a wicked funny sense of humor. With boyish, All-American good looks, a rough-and-tumble demeanor and that determination that’s as tough-as-nails, how can you not love Brett Favre?
But don’t take my word for it- in addition to the normal smorgasbord of lovely Brett photos, I’ve also added a bonus video clip from the NFL Network’s “In Their Own Words” feature on Brett…. all after the jump.
Reggie Bush, running back extraordinaire for the New Orleans Saints, is downright beautiful. And it’s a good thing he’s so outrageously good looking, because he has three huge hurdles to overcome, right from the get-go: (1) he is only 5’10”, and we tend to require 6’0″ minimum around here, except in very special cases (Dustin Pedroia and Adam Vinatieri, I’m looking at the two of you- those listed heights aren’t fooling anyone); (2) he went to USC and stole the Heisman Trophy that belonged to my darling Vince Young, (3) he used to paint numbers on his eyeblack. That number 3 may be the worst of all- if you’d like to shout out your hometown area code, why not just wear a t-shirt?
But none of that other nonsense really matters, because… abs! And also this:
Looking like that? I can forgive him just about anything… even the fact that he’s a Trojan. And that’s really saying something.
As you might have heard, our darling Red Sox won the World Championship, and the city of Boston threw a raucous victory parade for the team yesterday afternoon. All of which gives me the perfect opportunity to make the men of the Red Sox our Hump Day Hottie of the week this week- closing out the baseball season in style.
J-Money already covered the hotness of the Sox; instead I’m going to take you on a tour of the parade of hotties (a.k.a. the “Rolling Rally”) that rolled down through the Back Bay and on to City Hall Plaza. A parade full of ballplayers? Yes, please. A parade of duckboats (!) full of WORLD CHAMPION ballplayers? Sweet lord in heaven, YES. Papelbon dancing an irish jig in a kilt is just icing on the cake.
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”
Is there anyone more crushing to Fantasy Football owners than Tom Brady? (That is, unless you drafted Tom Brady?) His 188.10 total points for the season smoke second place Tony Romo (150.46) in the league.
Let’s just take a moment to acknowledge what geniuses we are by not drafting Brady Quinn in our all-hottie league. Not only is he still riding the pine, but the Browns starter Derek Anderson is in third with his 120.84 points. And, QUITE FRANKLY, he’s hotter than Brady in my book. More rugged. More manly. Poised even. Continue reading →
All the trials and tribulations and journeys through the wilds of Ohio? Down 3-1 in enemy territory, and facing elimination with just one loss standing between us and the end of our season? The rally towels snapping against our ears and the constant pounding of the drum in the Jake outfield and the rest of the horrors of the three-game stand in Cleveland? It was all worth it. Because this happened.
And then this happened.
I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a better utilization of Bud Light, because hot damn, that’s beautiful.
BOSTON RED SOX
AMERICAN LEAGUE CHAMPIONS 2007
Speaking of hot damn- HOT DAMN, that’s awfully sweet sounding.
And as for the hotties? Just kick back, put on the appropriate soundtrack (which I have helpfully provided for you), and peruse through some lovely photos of our boys celebrating amid the champagne and Bud Light and cigars and all the love Fenway could provide.
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 →
TSW – Hey Holly and SA – Did you see this headline yet? *wonders what the sound of two exploding heads is like*
Holly – HISSSSSSSSSSSSSS.
In all seriousness: No surprise this year, really, with all the new receivers the Pats acquired and the resurgence of the Colts’ running game. They’re basically running our 2005 offense, the premise of which is: Of the eleven guys on the field, be able to throw to about eight of them. Should be a lot of fun to watch.
And yes, it’s nice for Tom to finally reach Peyton’s level. A lofty aspiration for a Wolverine–I’m happy for him! ;)
Step right up and strap on your fighting shoes. The other half of the Ladies will now argue for the men of the diamond who’ve captured their collective American League-loving hearts. The incomparable SA pleads for the Indians, with J-Money and Texas Gal wrapping things up with the case for the Red Sox. [Note: Trusty editor Holly, a near lifelong loather of all things base-ball, has been recently converted to the Red Sox; however, not knowing what a walk-off homer is and frankly being a little skittish in this big new pond she’s splashing around in, she has recused herself from the discussion.]
Batter up! Take it away, SA.
I feel a little bad for the Cleveland Indians. Despite having tied for the best record in the American League, people (*Ahem ESPN*) still treats them as the second cousin once removed. Many picked the Yankees over them in the ALDS and I would venture a guess in those same people picking the Red Sox over them in the ALCS. Which means they need all the people on their bandwagon they can get. Here are 10 reasons why you should root for the Indians.
He may, on occasion, have butterfingers. He may, on occasion, throw five interceptions in a game. He may, on occasion, tag along behind American Idol contestants. He may, in fact, be the second coming of Sexy Rexy. But he is also downright beautiful. So in the wake of the shocking- SHOCKING, I tell you- victory by the Cowboys over the Bills on Monday night, and the upcoming Cowboys-Patriots clash, it seemed like the perfect time to give Tony Romo the Hump Day Hottie treatment.
Tony’s a San Diego boy by birth, but was raised in Wisconsin- so, naturally, Brett Favre was a huge influence on his playing style. This makes him exponentially hotter. He played college ball for the mighty Eastern Illinois University (Go Panthers!), where he won the Walter Payton Award… but he was undrafted coming out of school in 2003. He hung on, though, and signed as an undrafted rookie free agent by the ‘Boys. He has some Texas blood- his grandparents live in San Antonio- and he golfs up a storm, so he’s a perfect fit for Dallas. His boyish good looks and mischievously devasting smile (not to mention that gorgeous bod) are also a perfect fit for the uni of my beloved Cowboys.
Take a gander at the man who leads America’s Team, after the jump…
Week 5. Really. It is already Week 5. One-third of the regular season is done and gone.
Tom Brady remains the only undefeated QB (surprisingly in head to head QB match-ups Peyton Manning is 2-3 in this league), and Clare’s Speckhosen finally come back to earth with a loss this weekend leaving her tied with SA and myself at 4-1.
This weekend also saw GordonShumway’s Jake Delhomme go out for the season, so she might want to consider sending her third stringer Jay Cutler a few casual, “How’ve you been” emails while Drew Brees proves to be the flakiest date of the season.
October at Ladies U. Summer tans have all but faded away. The air is finally cold enough to pull favorite sweaters out of storage. Too late in the semester to drop Legends of the PGA without getting an “incomplete”.
And it time for the annual Screw Your Roommate Dance. As is tradition, each Lady selected her roommate’s date for dance. Pick someone too perfect and you miss the fun of watching the gal who keeps using your special lavender mint lotion ($36 a bottle! Buy your own bitch!) squirm. Choose someone too heinous and you’re apt to find your macroeconomics textbook being used as a bong in revenge.
Short and sweet as we go into Week 4 of the Ladies “Stand by Your Man” hottie QB fantasy league. I’m exhausted from seeing my main squeeze play in person – more on this later in the week – and let’s face it; October is when all hell breaks loose in sports. Some of the craziest baseball in ages, (Rockies, Cubs, Phillies, and Diamondbacks? Who the hell had that in the pool?), hockey has dropped its first puck, and now that we are 1/4 through the regular season, the NFL story lines are in place. Favre’s record setting season. Peyton Manning and Tom Brady continue to walk on water. Romo is for real. Grossman rides the pine. And Philip Rivers is secretly txting Marty every time Norv turns his back. Continue reading →