Advent Calendar of Hotness Day 5: Tom Daley

Ok, so he’s just barely 18 and has a tendency towards tans/bronzer/fake and baking that is questionable – but those are about the only bad things I can tell you about British diver Tom Daley.

Look, I realize this makes me a bit of a creeper and not every pic of Tom does it for me, but you really can’t argue with this:

The above pic is from the cover of a British magazine and is also in The Official Tom Daley 2013 Calendar (currently sold out on Amazon).

Plus, he’s got a British accent. And you know how I feel about an accent!

Follow the jump to be mesmorized by a gif and join me in my boy-crush

Celebrate and remember Pat Burrell, a pillar of this site

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.

According to Google, the Ladies… have written about Pat Burrell 118 times. By no means is that the most we’ve ever covered a hottie of sport (paging Tom Brady, Ryan Lochte, etc.), but he is a part of the very fiber of our collective heart nonetheless.

In most of the rest of this post, we'll forget he has a face, too.

Future Hump Day Hotties: IIHF World Juniors

While the world of hockey has been buzzing about the upcoming Winter Classic and the 2010 Olympics, the IIHF World Junior Championships have been going on in Saskatchewan, Canada.  I’ve been catching some of the premier games on the NHL Network, and tomorrow’s big match-up is USA vs. Canada. (Check it out live at 8pm on NHLNet in the US, and TSN in Canada)  In honor of this so-called clash of the titans, I thought I’d introduce the Ladies… readers to, what will some day be, a few future Hump Day Hotties. 

Right now, these boys are just cutie-patooties because they’re way too young for me (now – ahem).  So follow me after the jump for some up-and-coming hockey hotties, and stay for a mini-preview of tomorrow’s match-up.  (I promise the boys after the jump are hotter than the ones before it!)

Hottie Prospectus: The F’s Up With the Giant Pretty Dude?

Rey Maualuga, 6'3", 255, LB for USC.

I was under the impression that linebackers were, you know, rather lumpy. Not pretty, or at least not appealing to my own sensibilities. Then this cat from USC started showing up in ads and on my television.

Why was I not made aware of this sooner?

More Rey, and other hottie prospects for next year’s NFL and NBA drafts, after the jump.

Basketball Grabbag: Team Spain!

The Olympics are for chicks, and I mean that in absolutely the best way possible. We love the Olympics, and they love us – all the boy athletes we love to lust after have girl counterparts for us to root for, and everybody gets equal time. It’s the best time for hottie-spotting and for women’s sports. What’s not to love? Me, I love the Olympics for the same reason I love so many things: basketball.

See, I adore Team USA, I really do. I love Melo and Wade and Bron, I love Tayshaun, I love Chris Bosh. But I also love international competition, because it allows me to see so many hotties I never would see otherwise. Case in point: Team Spain. Case in point on Team Spain: Ricky Rubio. Does anybody know the Spanish for “wunderkind”?

Ricky Rubio, 6'4" starting point guard for Spain.

Friday Afternoon Cheesecake: Guilty Crushes

The Olympics are here!…Well, on a tape delay, at least. Still, they’re very welcome – the natives have been getting restless on the interweb with, as my fellow Lady mentioned below, only baseball to keep us busy. But the Olympics won’t really be here until tonight, unfortunately. It’s Friday afternoon – who’s read to turn off their brains a little?

You see, this morning, I happened to turn on ESPN. Hmm, I thought absently, readying my breakfast, that guy’s kind of hot. Imagine my horror when I woke up a little to realize I had been admiring Mike Greenberg. These kinds of guilty little crushes happen to me all the time, as you’ll see under the jump. How about you, lovely readers? You got them too, right?

Joey Porter: Sucker-puncher, all-around jerk...attractive man. Alas.

Welcome Home, Derrick Rose

Congratulations to Chicagoan Derrick Rose who will once again represent the 312 after he was picked first by the Chicago Bulls in last night’s NBA Draft. Your city has missed you, and we’re glad to have you back!

If the shotputter wants his money y’all should give him his money

An article in today’s New York Times (sidebar: where Ladies BFFs and all around awesome dudes Enrico and Matt P of The 700 Level are holding down the fort this week at the Fifth Down blog) talks about the recruiting challenges faced by nonrevenue athletes and coaches.

It’s an enlightening read; the glamour sports, basketball and football, have changed the college sports recruiting landscape and now even nonrevenue athletes are approaching the process as aggressively a linebacker or a power forward would.

And now for something completely different: Hot shotputters.

NOM NOM NOM!

Um, I live 15 minutes from UDel. I think I need to start going to track and field events. You know, to see how UDel’s spending their scholarshop money.

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.

The Game Plan: A Primer

So I took a break from my thrillicious morning (read: applying for middle management jobs at Tire Kingdom) to check out the The Game Plan, the latest escapee from the Disney DVD vault, starring The “Dwayne Johnson” Rock. Mr. Rock plays Joe Kingman, the QB of the Boston Rebels who loves himself, football, and Elvis—in that order—although his Elvis worship is perhaps based on their mutual nickname, “The King”. The Rebels have plowed through their opponents to reach the playoffs of the Unnamed-For-Copyright-Reasons football league and Joe is a big part of their success, mainly because he refuses to pass to his teammates in favor of running in all of the touchdowns himself.*

It just takes one glance at the suitcase-toting pixie beside him on the DVD case, and we can surmise that things are going to change for Joe**, that he won’t be spending many more evenings alone, watching and re-watching Sportcenter segments about himself (which is how I imagine Terrell Owens spends his free time).

The night after a party involving Russian models and, um, teammates leaving early to get home to their families (Right, like you expected Playmakers), Joe answers a knock at his door and learns that the girl standing in the hall is the result of one of his, um, naked bootlegs. Now before you spew some Tom Brady/Matt Leinart-style snark, allow me to point out that Joe was married to her mother, Sarah, and they were divorced before she knew she’d been quarterback sneaked. And she’s now off providing fresh drinking water to the drought-ravaged children of the Sudan***, so don’t hate.

2008 National Duals

For the first time since 1996 the University of Iowa won the National Duals. At this meet, there were D-I, D-II, D-III, NAIA, NJCAA, and NCWA schools for a total of 80 teams. On Saturday, they had 18 mats going all day. Since I wangled myself a press pass, I got to be right down in the action. It was sensory overload. I have never in my life been around so many completely jacked guys. I’ve also never felt more Brobdingnagian. Wrestlers tend to run on the…short side. Wading through the crowds, I was like Godzilla attacking Toyko. Tiny muscular men were bouncing off me every which way. I’m pretty sure there are still a couple 125-lb wrestlers stuck to my shoe.

Champs Sports The Musical: Once More, With Feeling!

Michigan State and Boston College both tried their damnedest to lose this game. 7 turnovers in all, 5 by Michigan State. And yet, at the end, the Spartans had a real shot to win it. They kind of pissed it down their legs, though, with “tricky” plays like the QB running backwards for 12 yards on a 4th and inches instead of handing the ball to the damn fullback and punching it through. Big Ten Bowl record: 1-1. Sigh.

In part 2 of what is sure to become a regular series here at Ladies where I ogle barely-legal football players (seriously, these fellas are born in ’87 and ’88), I’d like to share with you the festivities from the Champs Sports Bowl Kickoff Luncheon. Following the Quiche Course, Spartan freshman linebacker Jon Misch played the piano. I don’t recognize the piece; I’m assuming it was written by some gentleman who wore a powdered wig at one time or another.

Wow…is it hot in here?

Revin’ My Motor At the Motor City Bowl

So, I’m suddenly very familiar with Dan LeFevour. Hello you. I’m sorry your second-half surge fell short and you lost to Purdue on a last-second field goal. But you still threw for almost 300 yards and had 4 touchdowns. And you’re hot. Here’s my tribute to Mr. LeFevour. Because I’ve got a fever and the only prescription is…more LeFevour.

Leaked: LoDuca Pictures from the Mitchell Report

My phone is toast!

My source (remember him?) just gave me some new photographic evidence of Paul LoDuca’s steroid use. They’re right after the jump.

Saturday Morning Hate Sex: The Hit Parade

And this’ll about do it for the 2007 season. (Was it good for you?) One day of conference championships and rivalry games, then that’s all, she wrote.

(Programming note: Five Ladies’ teams have wrapped their seasons. If you care to follow along with us, we’ll be glued to Tennessee vs. LSU on CBS at 4:00 Eastern, and Pitt vs. West Fuckin’ Virginia at 7:45 on ESPN.)

I know better than to try and wrap my head around the past three months. (I mean, my boys are about to play for the SEC Championship. The hell?) But there’ll be long months of analysis and head-scratching in the offseason, and we’ve still got games to play. So kick back, pour a drink, and enjoy a little afternoon delight with the finest of the season’s hate sex recipients…gentlemen we’d love to hit, in one fashion or another.

Saturday Morning Hate Sex

I have a confession to make, for those of you who’ve stuck with this feature all this time. It’s been a source of much discussion, caused a couple of you gentlemen to inexplicably criticize my housekeeping, and it’s time to know the truth: That is not my bedroom, over there to your left. I Googled “unmade bed” the day I started this series and the rest is history. We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused. (That said, I do love the sheets, and I’d kill a man for those shelves.)

Home stretch, girls. And what a ride. If there’s one comfort we can take into bowl season, it’s that the number of upsets and disasters is such that no one’s humiliation remains front page news for long.

(If there’s a second comfort, it’s that we get pretty faces and forearms of boys marginally too young for us to ogle before soldiering on the following week.)

Lean with me, rock with me, jump with me:

Saturday Morning Hate Sex

Not a bad week for us here at Ladies, all told. To review:

Rutgers rolling over Army in primetime. Iowa holding on for bowl eligibility. Tennessee putting serious hurt on Arkansas at home. Texas rolling through a shootout with Texas Tech.

Those two losses, though? Ouchtown, population: us, and we never saw it coming.

No one could’ve predicted Clemson would field a viable football team this year…least of all Wake Forest, playing like I-AA imitations of their former ACC Champion selves. Sorry, Cousin J-Money–at least you had the big WFV win for solace.

Same for SA and Michigan…unlike Clemson they’ve been sleepwalking all season, but who knew Wisconsin would pick Week 11 to start playing football? (But who’ll remember this if they beat Ohio State?)

Let’s send our two lovely Ladies on their way to bigger and better things this week with some eminently beddable boys from the opposite sideline:

Saturday Morning Hate Sex

The season is waning!  This year has simply flown by in a haze of ludicrous upsets and marquee comebacks.  And it finally feels like fall, even in southern California.  Perfect day to curl up with a good book, a glass of wine, and reflect on the changes of the past year chain one of your most attractive nemeses to the bed and commence to forgetting your worries.  Bit of a nail-biting weekend for us last week…of the seven Ladies’ teams playing, we had two three-point margins of victory (Texas and Pitt), a four-point win (Michigan), and a one-point loss (Wake). We were 5-2 on the week, and that’s something to celebrate, particularly in 2007, the Year of the What The Hell. It’s Saturday morning, though….time to go from nail bites to neck bites.

Welcome to the weekend, dear readers.  Let’s get it on….after the jump:

Saturday Morning Hate Sex

Last week saw the rarest of Saturdays for college football in 2007: A day where half the top ten wasn’t unceremoniously disassembled by less-than-deserving squads. The weekend was not without nail-biting, however, as two Ladies’ teams played games into overtime (Tennessee and Iowa), two won by merely a field goal against teams they should’ve put away handily (Tennessee and Texas), and two suffered devastating losses (Pitt because they were So!Close!; Rutgers because it was never close, At All).

We spent so much of the summer in giddy anticipation of the season, only to be knocked on our collective asses week in and week out by the madcappery of upset after upset after upset…and now, with the closing of the year on the horizon, you know you’d do it all over again. And by “do it”, I mean “bed gentlemen of the opposing team to banish the sting of defeat”. Let’s hit it.

Saturday Morning Hate Sex

THAT’ll teach me to play nice. The Scarlet Knights, Panthers, Longhorns, Demon Deacons, and Wolverines all benefited from a little TLC…but serial heartbreakers the Hawkeyes and Volunteers are bound and determined to drive Andie and me to drink. (To more drink. Yes, that’s saying a lot.) If there’s one upside, it’s this: It’s 2007, and so far this season, both Iowa and Tennessee have avoided being the jaw-dropping SportsCenter-leadoff Crushing Defeat Of The Century Of The Week. There’s enough ridiculosity to ensure we’re not the story. Does that lessen the pain of my trip to Tuscaloosa last week? It does not, but I comfort myself with the knowledge that it could be so much worse…and with the pretty boys all in a row, after the jump.

Saturday Morning Hate Sex: Kiss and Make Up

Last week, on SMS: I look forward to the day when no Saturday Morning Hate Sex post will be necessary. When every Lady’s team finds themselves on the shiny happy end of the scoreboard…

Last week, on the field: Tennessee, Texas, Wake Forest, Michigan, Rutgers, and Iowa, victors all. [Pause while I stare in wonderment at my own hands and wish very, very hard for a pony.] So this morning, let’s leave the handcuffs in the bottom drawer. No frustrations to grind out, just the sweet memory of triumph and the fervent hope for another win.

No, I’d like to use this morning for makeup sex. My boys came through for me last week in a big way, and one in particular is finally reminding me why I loved him in the first place.

Saturday Morning Hate Sex

I look forward to the day when no Saturday Morning Hate Sex post will be necessary. When every Lady’s team finds themselves on the shiny happy end of the scoreboard, and no one’s star quarterback weeps. On ESPN. In primetime. In HD. (Attention, Mister Tebow: I, too, hit the waterworks when the battle goes ill for my boys. I am, however, A Girl, and not a Division I blue-chipper. Take it like a man:  Bottle up your emotions until you snap years down the road in a series of unrelated incidents.)

*ahem*

Where was I? Right. In an orderly, usual season, we might have seen that day already. A day when the Ladies can kick back with a cocktail, bask in the glow of victory, and never once have to hiss, “Catch the GODDAMN BALL” at their television screens. But this is no kind of normal season, and it’s not even halfway over, and already we’re all carrying scars.

But no matter who prevails, we’re still coming out on top. Let’s get our healing on, after the jump.

Saturday Morning Hate Sex

Oh. Oh, last week sucked. (Hush your filthy mind; that’s after the jump.) Fifty percent of the Ladies saw their beloved college teams fall. Of course, we were in good company…everyone who’s anyone was on the losing end of the scoreboard. The top 25 is full of pretenders and upstarts. Chaos reigns, and I’m not just talking about my twisted sheets. I’ve been battling the nervous giggles of survivor’s guilt since Saturday night–my Vols had their usual bye date bumped up two weeks this year and I’m ridiculously grateful.

But it’s a new day. A new week. And if the college football gods are off their bender, a return to some semblance of order and right. Let’s take this morning to wipe the slate clean, and get down and dirty with our vanquishers. Join us, won’t you?

Ladies University 1st Annual Screw Your Roommate Dance

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.

Saturday Morning Hate Sex

Can it be we’re a month into the season already? That’s a lot of ticks on the scoreboard. A lot of swigs from smuggled flasks. A lot of stolen kisses in the quad, and a lot of notches on our bedposts from our Saturday morning purge romps.

Most of the Ladies’ teams had good outings, but Andrea’s Iowa Hawkeyes fell in a tooth-and-nail slugfest to Wisconsin…and two weeks later, it’s time to move past Florida and the throttling they handed down to my Tennessee Vols. Get comfy, boys, I’ll want to be on top for this.

Nolan Vs. Tomlin-Whose Team Do You Wanna Be On?

This Sunday in Pittsburgh the 49ers and the Steelers meet in an important early season match-up.

Not the teams. I’m talking about the coaches-Mike Nolan and Mike Tomlin.

I envy the woman who’ll be at Heinz Field. But the question is, who’s hotter? This was brought up last Wednesday when I said this is the Hit & Run:

Nolan > Tomlin

Needless to say, TheStarterWife didn’t agree. So we thought we’ll put it out there…

Nolan or Tomlin? Who ya got?

More Saturday Morning Hate Sex

Last week SA’s Wolverines and J-Money’s Demon Deacons were vanquished by Oregon and Nebraska.

But it’s a new week. A new slate of games. Time to conclude the healing process by vanquishing a few Ducks and Huskers of their own.

(Hey, Nike, all those Oregon uniforms you’re churning out? Any of them include tearaway pants? Because, um, it might help them break a few more tackles. Yup. That’s why. What?)

More hailing to the victors, after this.

It’s like a palate cleanser, but it’ll get you dirty.

Last week Holly’s Vawls, SA’s Wolverines, and J-Money’s Demon Deacons were dealt body blows by Cal, Appalachian State, and Boston College. But that’s yesterday’s news. Let us move on, brothers and sisters. Let us celebrate week two of the season, beginning in just a few hours. Let us heal. And what heals like a little morning hate sex? Nothing, that’s what.

Join us after the jump for a little “Hail to the Victors”, if you know what I mean.

Becksiest Man Alive: The Ladies… Endorse:

TattoedMess(iah)
“I’d be honored if I were Ladies… endorsed. That’s the gold seal of approval these days.”

Deadspin commenter, musician and all-around funny guy TattooedMess(iah) is our choice for Becksiest Man Alive. TattooedMess is a 19 year-old hunk of burning love hailing from the great state of Florida. His ultimate goal is to be a recording artist and to own his own record label. He has a great blog going on and he also writes his own music. Here at Ladies, we appreciate a good sense of humor, ambition, and nicely defined V muscles, so we’d like to endorse him in the Deadspin Becksiest Man Alive Contest.

Know Your Hot Sportscasters: Dick Vitale

With the NCAA tournament drawing rapidly to a close, it’s time we steel ourselves for the loss of one of the golden voices of the broadcasters’ booth.

It’s time we say goodbye to Dick Vitale.