Sports and music go together like nachos and beer, rum and coke, Maggiesox/CuteSports/Lady Bee and red wine (sensing a theme here?) With NHL playoff hockey fever running rampant around these parts, I started thinking about all the music I dig that references hockey. These songs have been running through my head at one point or another these last few weeks, so I thought I’d share them with you. No Stompin’ Tom this time around, but I assure you this list is 100% CANCON.
2009…was it good for you?
Ah, the heady memories! We drank Dr. Pepper and made Super Bowl predictions. We said goodbye to many dear Ladies… and welcomed new ones. We toured Citi Field, Yankee Stadium, Nationals Park, Kaufmann, Busch Stadium, Appleton and the home of the Staten Island Yankees. Oh, and Wimbledon! We analyzed playoff beards (I still maintain this was the worst), sports movie crushes, pitching mechanics and AJ Burnett’s fashion choices. We swapped recipes. We shunned Brett Favre, with no future signs of unshunning. We witnessed history, Steve Nash playing soccer and a Bills win. We stared in adoration at more than a few pitchers. We said thanks to a pioneer. And who could forget our epic MLB All-Star Game liveblog, not to mention hotties too numerous to list.
Thank you, readers, for a fabulous year! We look forward to more of the same in 2010. And if the Yankees repeat, even better!
In 1997, Brian Sims helped lead his high school (and, in the interest of full disclosure, mine) to the Pennsylvania State AAAA football Championship. In 2000, he was named an All-American defensive lineman and helped lead Bloomsburg University to its first ever national championship game.
Brian’s since graduated from law school and has become a practicing lawyer in Philadelphia who serves on the Board of Directors for Gay and Lesbian Lawyers of Philadelphia. Since first telling the story of playing football as an openly gay man to OutSports.com, Brian’s received thousands of emails from both out and closeted athletes, all wanting to talk about the terrifying concept of not only coming out, but doing so in arguably the most macho setting possible.
And really, it’s hard to downplay how intimidating and downright discouraging it must be for a gay athlete to even contemplate coming out to their teammates. For every Brendan Ayanbadejo (a vocal supporter of gay marriage equality) there’s Larry Johnson. For every survey that finds that nearly 3/4 of professional baseball players would have no problem with a gay teammate, there’s bigoted assclowns like Todd Jones. (Seriously. Ugh.)
So how did Brian Sims’ teammates handle it? By not giving a damn.
In which I am not any more repetitive than I need to be, when I say,
ROY HALLADAY IS THE BEST PITCHER IN BASEBALL
ROY HALLADAY IS THE BEST PITCHER IN BASEBALL
ROY HALLADAY IS THE BEST PITCHER IN BASEBALL.
9 IP, 1 ER, 6 H, 7 K, 0 BB, 105-78 pitches-strikes.
He’s averaging 3.95 batters faced per inning.
Ricciardi, if you trade him, I will seriously consider getting my passport renewed so I can personally come up to Toronto and kick your ass. (Theoretically.) I mean, it’s just like, have you heard your fanbase, at all? And plus, read this. Like, just read it. You don’t need to go and make good people worried about stuff, do you?
Anyway, in the event of any further anger, y’all should go here and type in “JP Ricciardi” (or the name of whichever GM has wronged you recently) and just keep on clicking “Generate another Rumour” until you’re too busy laughing to bother remembering that your fist may have a date with a pillow on which you’ve taped a crude drawing of their face.
Also, look how well they’ve been doing without Vernon Wells! Looks like he doesn’t feel so Wells, eh? Oh damn I am funny. (/defense mechanism’d)
Good morning. This has turned into a rant. I’m going away now.
We here at Ladies…love Twitter. There’s something kind of twisted and voyeuristic and slightly stalkerish about it that we just adore. (There’s also something to be said about the ability to roll our eyes at Ashton Kutcher in real time. Oh, admit it. You follow him, too. There are two million of us.)
Of course,there’s a downside to being a celebrity on Twitter. For one thing, everything you say can be turned around and announced in the mainstream media. (Newt Gingrich’s Tweet calling Judge Sonia Sotomayor a racist went from ill-advised tweet to conservative nutjob talking point almost immediately. Gossip sites ran with the announcement that John Mayer had *gasp* announced his breakup with Jennifer Aniston on Twitter.) There’s no privacy.
But then, there are the impostors. Ohhhhhh, there are impostors. For some ungodly reason, people amuse themselves by making up fake Twitter accounts and pretending to be celebrities. We don’t quite understand it, but some people will do anything for attention. (Just look at Spencer Pratt. Don’t worry, we hate ourselves for making that joke, and for knowing who he is in the first place.) Usually, a celebrity will catch wind of one of these accounts, sign up with their own account and declare that the impostors are fake. No harm done, takes about five minutes, everyone moves on, right?
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.
Want an iPhone? Who doesn’t? They’re sexy, and all the big boys have them. Well, AA is introducing the Awful Announcing Pick ‘Em Challenge for the chance to win an iPhone. Sounds like fun, and who knows, you too can get your own 300-page bill from AT&T. (Seriously, go play – or we’ll hurt you.)