Absolute Ridiculousness
This Is What You’re Doing Tonight
I know. I haven’t written very much lately. Thus, I am in no position to tell you what to do. But let’s pretend for the sake of this very moment that the reason I haven’t been writing is because I’ve been preparing myself for this amazing monstrosity of a basketball game, the Feels Like Hardwood Classic.
Yes, people, it’s tonight. The big day has finally arrived. We’re determined to put on a show for you. We’ll sing the national anthem, have a Will Ferrell-esque starting lineup announcement, provide halftime entertainment, and yes, indulge you with our skills on the hardwood. It’s free and it’s amazing. You might even get to see Ryan Divish have a Ron Artest moment or two (and just a reminder, the Ryan Divish Workout Plan is 25 pushups per missed layup, as well as 25 pushups per emotional blow-up).
So come on out to the game tonight (details are below) and join the fun. We’ll be getting drinks at a local watering hole after the game and look forward to hanging out with all of you.
Filed under: Other Sports
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Feels Like Hardwood Classic, Other Sports
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The 2012 Feels Like Hardwood Classic
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Athletic Supporters, Feels Like Hardwood Classic, Other Sports, Team MLT
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Top 11: Absolutely Ridiculous 2012 Seattle Sports Predictions
One year is gone and another is just beginning. We experienced quite a bit in 2011. From college football scandals galore, to divine quarterbacks, to dual lockouts, to more whimsical things, like every local sports team finding its way to a mediocre finish.
So where do we go from here? Great question. I don’t have ESP, but I like to think I do. Here are my predictions for everything that may or may not happen in the coming year. Just remember, sixty percent of the time, these work every time. Unless they don’t. In which case, at least we had fun pretending.
Without further ado, here are your absolutely ridiculous 2012 Seattle sports predictions. Because predicting the future is super fun.
11. The Seattle Mariners will shock everyone and win the American League Western Division.
The Angels’ Albert Pujols will regress dramatically after switching to the American League. The Rangers will be stricken by a bevy of injuries. The A’s will be…well, the A’s. And the Mariners? Behind the leadership of MVP candidate Dustin Ackley, Cy Young winner Felix Hernandez, and offseason free agent signee Prince Fielder, the M’s will become 2012′s surprise team in Major League Baseball.
On top of all that, the team will pull off the move of the century during Spring Training when they sell Chone Figgins to Japan for 80 yen, which is equivalent to one U.S. dollar. The Mariners will then use that dollar to buy a pack of Bazooka Joe bubble gum, validating the deal entirely because Bazooka Joe is awesome and comes wrapped in comics.
Oh yeah, and Larry Bernandez will finally make his big league debut. So get ready for that.
10. Ian Furness will receive a well-deserved extra hour of airtime on Sports Radio KJR, but…
It’s no secret that Furness’s daily, two-hour radio show is not unlike frequent guest Ryan Divish in that it’s a little short. That will all change in 2012, however, when the Furness Show gets a fifty-percent raise in airtime.
The extra five hours each week will start off well, what with the recurring segments for fresh faces in media — like Erin Hawksworth and Alex Akita, perhaps — but quickly spiral out of control as it becomes painfully clear that Josh Sabrowsky is ill-equipped to handle the extra daily hour of production duty. Between leaving early to go shopping at H&M, spinning music that is borderline good on Bad Music Friday, and struggling to play a mean air guitar the way he once played it, Sabrowsky’s downfall will cost the show its extra hour just two months in.
But don’t worry about Sabrowsky. He’ll continue to produce those two hours at an A-plus level. He’ll then utilize the newfound extra time to get his hirsute modeling career off the ground. Just what the world needs.
9. The Washington Huskies Men’s Basketball team will win the Pac-12, receive an automatic bid to the NCAA Tournament, and make it all the way to the Elite Eight.
After a slow start to the season, the Dawgs will post a record of 14-4 in Pac-12 play AND win their final non-conference game against Seattle University, bringing their overall regular season record to 23-9 on the year. They’ll win the Pac-12 Tournament, gaining automatic entry to the Big Dance, and proceed to overwhelm opponents with relentless athleticism and a speedy, four-guard lineup.
Upon finishing the season, both Terrence Ross and Tony Wroten, Jr. will be viewed as first-round NBA prospects and debate entering the draft. Both will ultimately return for another season, however, when they come to grips with the fact that college is arguably the greatest experience of any person’s life ever.
While each will want their shot at a 2013 National Championship, Wroten will also come back to help the university promote the Wroten Workout Plan, a fitness regimen that will sell millions of DVDs worldwide. The WWP will eventually supplant P90X as America’s favorite workout video.
8. The 2013 Men of Seattle Sports Media calendar will be the must-have stocking stuffer of the 2012 holiday season.
With unique beach scenes, neon clothing, humorous poses, and little left to the imagination, the Men of Seattle Sports Media calendar will revolutionize the charity calendar game and blow up across the nation. All proceeds will benefit a couple of special foundations that are near and dear to our hearts. The photography will be high-class and professional. There will be wardrobe and lighting. Models will coach the media members on how to pose. Women will inexplicably flock to the public signings. The married media members will get more love than they’ve ever received from their spouses previously. The single media members will be among the city’s most eligible bachelors. It will be, in a word, amazing.
Now to talk everyone into it…
7. The Seattle Sounders FC will win the MLS Cup.
I have no basis for this prediction. I just think it’s time. And there’s a track record to support the success. Make it happen, Sounders.
6. The Seahawks will select Robert Griffin, III in the first round of the 2012 NFL Draft, then go on to win the NFC West behind…Tarvaris Jackson.
They’ll trade up to nab Griffin, then give him a year to study under Jackson. Jackson, in turn, will seize the opportunity to become a capable, playoff-caliber starting quarterback. His solid performance throughout the 2012 campaign will cause Hugh Millen to go on a profanity-laden rant on the airwaves of Sports Radio KJR, the likes of which the FCC has never seen before. In the process, Millen will drop 15 F-bombs and invent three new profanities which had not previously been introduced to the English-speaking world.
Jackson won’t be alone in his endeavors, as Marshawn Lynch, who was re-signed to a lucrative contract in the offseason, will become an All-Pro running back in his third year with the ballclub. Second-year wideout Doug Baldwin will emerge as a 1,000-yard receiver, safety Kam Chancellor will continue down the path towards greatness, and the entire defensive unit will find itself among the league’s elite.
In spite of all this, the Seahawks will not win the Super Bowl, as the world will be ending on December 21, 2012. This, according to the Mayans and various Hollywood films of a similar theme. Also, this song by Jay Sean and Nicki Minaj:
You know what? F**k it. For the sake of this article, let’s just assume the world won’t end. To hell with it, just give the Seahawks the 2012-2013 Super Bowl title right now. Boom. I’ll go on record with that optimism.
5. Mike Leach will lead the Washington State Cougars football program to their first winning season in nine years, then promptly retire to become a real-life pirate.
Shortly after winning the 2012 Las Vegas Bowl, Leach will move to Somalia and adopt the nickname Captain Mike Black Raven Leach. As a pirate, Leach will command the high seas on a yacht that he purchases with the money he earned during his one season at WSU. As most pirates navigate the waterways on slow-moving ships, Leach will have a clear advantage over his competitors in this respect. He will dub his vessel “The Spread,” a nod to the high-flying, fast-paced spread offense he employed during his days as a football coach.
Stunned Cougar fans will lament the abrupt departure of their fearless leader. They will decry his name at first, but eventually come to grips with Leach’s destiny, even going so far as to brew a liquor in his honor. While Captain Black Raven Spiced Rum will become a hit in Pullman, the nation will be hard-pressed to buy into the low quality of the Cougars’ attempt at alcohol. Black Raven will sit at the bottom of most store shelves, right beneath the likes of Admiral Nelson.
4. Heisman Trophy winner Keith Price will lead the Washington Huskies football team to their first Rose Bowl appearance in more than a decade.
Self-explanatory, really. Three letters and a number to sum this up: KP4H.
3. Two former Huskies will represent the United States at the 2012 Olympic Games in London.
You may have heard about my buddy Norris Frederick. He’ll be tearing up the track in London come summertime. Bank on it.
You may not have heard about my other friend, Jeffrey “Crossbow” Anderson. Crossbow is a future Olympic archer and one of the most skilled marksmen in the entire world. He’s like a modern-day William Tell. We call him Crossbow because it sounds cooler than Bow-and-Arrow. We’ve also tried to get him to bring his weaponry out in public on numerous occasions, which he sadly refuses to do. Regardless, he’s the next great American archer and once earned All-American honors shooting targets at the University of Washington. To prove to you how badass Crossbow is, here’s a picture of him eating a sandwich:
Ladies, he’s single. Now’s your chance to get in on the ground floor.
In all seriousness, I couldn’t be more proud of these two friends of mine. I’m pulling for them all the way and hope to see them in London a few months from now. Get ready to book that vacation…
2. Plans for a new multi-purpose arena in the Seattle area will finally come to fruition.
This should give everyone a little hope. It’s bound to happen.
1. The Sonics will return to Seattle.
You’re probably wondering how this will all go down. I’ve thought it out in great detail. Here you go:
David Stern will fall into a coma after choking on a pastry at a Starbucks in Oklahoma City. His lunch partner, Clay Bennett, will attempt to perform the Heimlich maneuver on Stern, only to fail miserably when he slips on a coffee jacket and knocks himself unconscious. The blunt force damage to Bennett’s skull will cause him to develop amnesia; the resulting memory loss will render him incapable of holding his position as head of the NBA’s Relocation Committee.
With both Stern and Bennett incapacitated, Deputy Commissioner Adam Silver will assume everyday operations of the Association and, in a panic, appoint Mark Cuban as head of the Relocation Committee. This will set off a chain of events that eventually leads to the New Orleans Hornets exiting Louisiana, headed for the Pacific Northwest.
A friend to fans everywhere, Cuban will entertain a sit-down meeting with the guys from Sonicsgate. The Sonicsgate crew will then convince the Mavericks’ owner to overthrow the incompetent Silver as acting commissioner of the league. Cuban, enamored by the prospect of ultimate power, will oblige to the suggestions of the Seattle faithful.
Armed with seemingly endless pockets, Cuban will hire a posse and stage an old-fashioned coup of the NBA offices. Scared out of his mind, Silver will flee the building naked, screaming like a little girl. Onlookers will wonder why he removed all his clothes before running away. For this, we will have no answer. Silver will never be heard from again.
With the league under his control, Cuban will do a solid to the gentlemen who helped conceive his reign by forcing the Hornets out of their less-than-ideal circumstances in New Orleans. The team will be relocated to Seattle, where they’ll adopt the Sonics name, logo, colors, and history. The city will rejoice in the midst of its good fortune.
Shortly after the move is made official, Stern will awake from his coma and try to seize control of the league once again. The coalition of owners, having been paid hefty sums of hush money from Cuban, will instead transfer Stern to a nursing home in suburban Oklahoma City where he will spend the rest of his days.
Bennett, meanwhile, will never regain his memory, yet still live a long and productive life as a drag queen named Glitter. Dancing in front of millions of tourists each year under the lights of Las Vegas, Glitter will become one of the most renowned and respected transsexual celebrities in the history of the world.
Sonicsgate. Believe it, baby.
Filed under: Top 11
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Husky Basketball, Husky Football, Sonics, Top 11
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The Ruling on the Field is Confirmed: Pac-12 Officials Suck
It’s almost not fair. Why should we have to make concessions for them? They are the ones who suck. They are the incompetent ne’er-do-wells who can’t do their jobs. They are the malcontents who draw our ire. And yet like a giant traipsing among a crowd of midgets, we’re the ones constantly tiptoeing around their shortcomings. Where’s the justice in that?
For every ill-advised whistle, every hastily-thrown flag, every muddled attempt at an explanation, every boo-inducing, venom-inciting, vein-popping, mind-boggling, dumb-shit-effing-mother-crapping-what-the-hell-was-that-are-you-KIDDING-ME?! call they make, we acquiesce. It’s a manic, unhealthy experience having to deal with these morons. We flip out at their utter asininity one moment, then are forced to bring ourselves back down to earth seconds later when the game resumes. Every time they screw up, we’re left reluctantly rolling over in the wake of their ineptitude.
We’re all subject to their unmistakable follies. For microcosmic evidence, look no further than a head-scratching second quarter from Saturday night’s Washington-Arizona game.
In what should become Exhibit 1A for the reason stupid people shouldn’t procreate, our striped nihilist foes did everything they could to leave their imprint on a contest that was being broadcast to a national television audience. Never mind the fact that football fans would rather watch, you know, football. The clowns in black-and-white didn’t wake up to sit idly by and play the role of Carlton to the game’s Will. Damn it, they wanted to be from West Philadelphia born and raised, they wanted to be the Fresh Prince, they wanted the Independence Day lead. They wanted all that. And no one was going to stop them.
A trio of questionable rulings ensued in that mystifying second period, punctuated by the most surreal incomplete pass one has ever witnessed. Allow me to briefly recap the madness of the play:
A deep, downfield toss from Huskies quarterback Keith Price (KP4H, to the uninitiated) landed in the waiting arms (or, rather, arm) of tight end Michael Hartvigson. The redshirt freshman from nearby Bothell corralled the pigskin in one paw, palmed it with undeniable control, then staggered towards the end zone as he struggled to keep his feet. After taking no fewer than four steps towards paydirt, Hartvigson succumbed to gravity and hit the deck just short of the goal line. As he landed, the ball popped out of his grasp. Whistles blew. The play was dead. The call: incomplete pass. The crowd reaction: anarchy.
The ruling on the field was dead wrong. Everyone knew it except the people in charge of making the call. Catch? Definitely. Catch and fumble? Maybe. Catch and down before the ball came out? Most likely. Incomplete pass? No freakin’ way.
In an ultimately futile attempt to persuade the officials to change their mind, Washington burned a time-out. The officiating booth — which one can only assume is a section of the press box off-limits to all humankind; it’s probably inhabited by monkeys — reviewed the play. They upheld the call. Everyone and their mother voiced their displeasure. It was the worst call I’ve ever witnessed in any sport in my 27 years of existence. It was disgusting. A disgrace to the game.
We’ve relented to these godawful Pac-12 officials for far too long. The aftermath from that single play, that one badly-botched verdict, is a testament to my point. Fans we’re left to shrug their shoulders when the hometown Huskies went on to win the game. Media members were relegated to joking amongst themselves and making witty, snide remarks on Twitter. The broadcast crew was tasked with trying to explain a blatant, egregious error made by the stooges in stripes. And coaches — including Washington’s own Steve Sarkisian — were forced to hold their tongues, make mention of the fact they were holding their tongues when asked, and otherwise do all they could to say, “Yes, these guys suck” without actually saying, “Yes, these guys suck.”
We shouldn’t have to hide behind our politically correct veils for any longer. It’s one thing to complain about a call here or there, whine about an outcome every now and then, lament an entire game, perhaps. But every fan in every Pac-12 borough from here to Tucson knows that these referees are the bane of our collective existence. It’s not acceptable to just scoff at their foolishness any longer. They need to know that they’re terrible. They need to know that they don’t deserve paychecks. They need to read this and they need to be upset and get mad and hate us for hating them.
There is no other officiating constituency in the entire nation that does as poor a job as the one from the Pacific 12 Conference. They are bumbling blowhards with a clear-as-day vendetta against the spirit of athletics. They shouldn’t be allowed to call a friend on the phone, let alone a major college football game. They need to be ripped. They need to be brought to trial. They need to be incensed and embarrassed and accountable for every ridiculous ruling they’ve ever spewed unto the masses.
Pac-12 officials, after further review, the ruling on the field is confirmed: You guys are f**king idiots. Welcome to your nightmare.
Filed under: Featured Articles, Husky Football
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Featured Articles, Features, Husky Football, Pac-12 Football, Pac-12 Officials, Pac-12 Refs
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Catching Up on the World: A Letter to Amanda Knox
Hello, Amanda. We’re glad to have you back. Italy can have Kobe Bryant. He’s a dick. We’d rather have you here in America than that jerk.
Anyway, I’m here today to give you something. I know most people are trying to take from you now that you’re home. They want your time, your words, your story…they want a piece of Amanda Knox. I wager there aren’t too many folks out there giving you something with no strings attached. So I’ll try to start the trend.
What I’m here to give you today is knowledge. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Knowledge can be a very broad, ambiguous topic. So allow me to elaborate. I’m here to bequeath unto you my understanding of the past four years’ current events. These are things you absolutely need to know to catch up on the world around you. I’m not quite sure what life is like in Italian prison, but I imagine you weren’t nearly as well-informed as you should have been. I’d like to be your catcher-upper.
There’s really no need to for me to keep blabbing. Let’s just get right to it. I’ve done my best to summarize 48 months’ worth of material for you in one article. Here we go…
First, you’re going to want to delete your MySpace account. Don’t ask questions. Just do it.
Once that’s complete, feel free to replace one social networking account with another. Go to Twitter.com and register. Twitter wasn’t even alive when you left. Yet in just a couple years, it has become the biggest thing on the planet. It’s like one giant Facebook status update, except you only get 140 characters to use and people are incessantly bantering back and forth to one another. It sounds really stupid, and frankly, it kind of is stupid. What can you say. That’s just Twitter being Twitter.
Don’t check your Facebook until you’re in a very calm state. Unlike the rest of us, you’ll be forced to view about two-dozen platform changes all at once. If you knew how many people had bitched about each one of these alterations as they individually debuted over the years, you’d likely never go back to that site at all. There is some good news, however. You know all those uneducated friends you used to only be able to keep up with on MySpace? You can connect with one another on Facebook now! Enjoy that.
Do yourself a favor and avoid Glee. It’s a TV show that will steal your soul and keep you from ever having a social life on Tuesday nights.
While we’re at it, here are a few other things to avoid:
- Twilight. Not the dusky time of day. The movie and book series. Avoid this at all costs. AT ALL COSTS!
- Coldplay. I know. They were around when you left. But they still suck. I just thought you should know.
- Starbucks. It’s a long story. We’ll get to that later.
- Venoy Overton. You may remember him. He was a freshman back in 2007. Skinny guy, played on the UW basketball team. No matter what happens, don’t hang out with him. I’m trying to look out for your safety here. You do not want to get caught on that hot track. And this guy, he can be very persuasive.
- Jersey Shore. It’s not a bad show. Quite entertaining, in fact. But Italy’s already scarred you once. No need to reopen fresh wounds.
Fashion has obviously changed quite a bit in your absence. You’re probably wondering where to begin with your wardrobe. I can help with that, too. Let me give you two words of advice: yoga pants. That’s right, yoga pants. Do not question my wisdom in this area. You will thank me.
You may be in need of a new cell phone. Thing is, everyone has “smart phones” now. When you left, smart phones were for special people. Now, though, everyone has a smart phone. Look, I’m not here to tell you what to do. But for God’s sake, if anyone offers you a Nokia smart phone, do not take it. You will end up wanting to shoot yourself most days. How do I know this? Well, let’s just say I panicked at the T-Mobile store.
Your iPod could use a few updates, I bet. You’ll probably gravitate towards the Katy Perrys (she’s new) of the world, but along the way you might notice something interesting. These days, every song sounds like a techno ripoff of the crap we used to listen to in the mid-Nineties. You know what I’m talking about. The “eun-sit eun-sit eun-sit” music. Black guys, white guys, black chicks, white chicks…they’re all making this music. It’s the weirdest thing. I keep waiting for Jack Johnson to come along and kill the fad, but that guy’s still probably trying to find a pair of shoes to wear. Not that I’m complaining. I kind of like these jams…
Funny story. We have a black president now. Barack Obama. He was a senator when you left. I don’t really concern myself with politics, but he seems like a cool dude. It’s like, as soon as Puff Daddy stopped telling us to “Rock the Vote,” we just decided to put a brother in office. The irony.
You missed the entire Jon and Kate Plus Eight saga. Congrats. You’re better off than the rest of us as a result.
Bad news: Michael Scott left The Office. Sorry. Someone had to tell you. I figured I’d take the bullet on that one.
Lil Wayne’s really popular now. So is the paraplegic dude from DeGrassi: The Next Generation. Yes, I’m trying to keep you up on the rap game. We don’t need you bumpin’ Mike Jones as you roll through the hood.
Speaking of the rap game, we’re going to need you to obtain some swag as soon as you can. Once you’ve achieved that, I’ll arrange for someone to teach you how to Dougie. You missed the Soulja Boy era, thankfully. And you’re kind of at the tail end of the Dougie phenomenon as it is. But it’s probably a good idea to learn how to Dougie, anyway. Everybody Dougie, ev-everybody Dougie. Except you. Until now.
You know that thing about Starbucks earlier? Yeah, well, they’re responsible for taking our basketball team. You may have noticed that the Sonics are gone. But here’s the thing. If you start wearing Sonics gear everywhere, they’ll be back soon enough. I know, I know. I said there were no strings attached with this article. There’s one. Get us back the Sonics. You can do it. You’re as big as Oprah right now (figuratively…). If the Sonics become one of your “favorite things,” they’ll find their way back to Seattle. Just a thought.
Besides the departure of our beloved Sonics, not much has changed on the sports landscape. We haven’t won anything of note while you’ve been away. You can pick up where you left off in your fanaticism. Just like old times. We wanted to make sure you had at least one sobering thing to provide comfort upon your return.
Although, the Husky football team did go to a bowl game last year. First time in nearly a decade. Behind the leadership of Jake Locker. Unbelievable, I know. You also missed an 0-12 season in there. The juxtaposition of those two polar opposites is absolutely mind-boggling.
Finally, I implore you to look out for bicycles when walking around Seattle. We have a new mayor. He will run your ass over on his Schwinn. And there will be no remorse for the casualty, either. Be careful, Amanda. It’s a dangerous world out there. And bikes are at the forefront of our destruction.
Thanks for being the Marty McFly to my Doc Brown. You’re all caught up on the past. Let’s get back to the future now.
Welcome home. Go Dawgs.
Filed under: Other Sports
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Amanda Knox, Other Sports
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Legitimizing KP4H
My friends and I were at the strip club the other night when I got around to some wishful thinking. Not about the women getting naked before my very eyes. I’m more or less immune to that. I don’t even go to strip clubs ever. We just happened to be there for a bachelor party.
Something about knowing that these women are willingly removing all their clothes without you even having to ask changes your mentality toward their complete lack of inhibition. So no, I was not doing any wishful thinking about the well-endowed brunette climbing up and down the pole, performing acrobatic gyrations at unsafe elevations. Okay, maybe a little. But mostly, it was other stuff.
After the fifth or sixth waitress emerged and asked us if we wanted drinks (non-alcoholic drinks, mind you…thanks, State of Washington), I couldn’t help but say aloud, “Why can’t we get service like this in a restaurant?”
My buddies laughed, but I was dead serious. Think about it. You go get a nice meal at a fine establishment and they rarely pay this much attention to you. You’re just another patron to them. But at the strip club? We weren’t even really spending money and they were all about the hospitality. You have to appreciate that. Even if they are just doing it for the cash. I get it. I’m weird. I know.
Regardless, all that wishful thinking reminded me of a moment roughly one year ago when I crowned Keith Price a future Heisman Trophy winner. I went out on a limb with my imagination, never expecting that just twelve months later, Price would start down the path to legitimizing my ridiculous proclamation.
In recent weeks, the hashtag “#KP4H” has seen a noticeable uptick in publication on Twitter. KP4H, as you might imagine, is short-hand notation for “Keith Price For Heisman.” It began as a stupid gimmick created by a stupid promoter of gimmicks (me). It has come to life with each touchdown toss that Price, who leads the nation in that category with 14, lands in the hands of one of his receivers.
I’ll admit that when I first backed the Keith Price bandwagon out of the driveway, I only did so as a joke. You see, I was a little upset over the University of Washington’s futile campaign to promote Jake Locker as a Heisman Trophy candidate. Not because Locker didn’t deserve it. He’d certainly become worthy of any and all accolades over the course of his stellar collegiate career. I was a little hung up on the fact that a) this team frankly wasn’t good enough to produce a Heisman winner in 2010, and b) we didn’t need to put any added pressure on a player or a program that was already under the microscope. Why do that to a ballclub on the up-and-up? It bugged me.
And so I started promoting our backup quarterback as a legitimate contender for college football’s most prestigious award. One year later, it doesn’t look so far-fetched.
Keith Price is only a sophomore. He may be the very best player at his position in the entire Pac-12. Which is saying something when you look around at the other 11 signal-callers in the conference. Or at least, you know, six or seven of those guys. Let’s be honest, a couple of them really suck. Yes, Richard Brehaut, I’m looking at you.
To date, Price hasn’t done anything to remove himself from the “best quarterback” conversation. He’s efficient, throws a nice ball, limits his mistakes, and has a 3-1 record in 2011. And as mentioned previously, he just so happens to lead the nation in touchdown passes, as well.
Having thrust himself into the spotlight as an underclassman, who knows where Price will end up in the next two years? Undersized for the pro game, the Compton, Calif. native will almost certainly play a full four seasons for the Dawgs. Could he be a future Heisman winner? Why not, right? He has the tools to make it happen, the charisma to help his cause, and a team on the rise as backup singers. Anything is possible.
It started out as wishful thinking and somehow, some way has blossomed into a believable cause, a divine movement. I can’t take all the credit, naturally. I mean, Keith may have had a little to do with all this. Who knows for sure.
Jokes aside, all I really know is this: KP4H actually means something right now. And like Travis Henry with all nine of his illegitimate children, I unwittingly created this potentially-amazing thing. It was up to Price to make me look like some sort of prophet, and thus far, whether you want to believe it or not, he’s done that.
Keith Price For Heisman. KP4H.
In the words of Brad Hamilton, “Learn it. Know it. Live it.”
Filed under: Husky Football
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Husky Football, Keith Price, KP4H
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What Seven Points From Your Entire Fantasy Football Team Looks Like
Click image to view full size.
Behold the once-proud Compton Honkies, owned and operated by one Alexander Akita. They scored seven (7) points today. It’s all up to Jason Witten now.
Filed under: Fantasy sports
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Compton Honkies, Epic Fail, Fantasy Football, Fantasy sports
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A Dissertation on Stadium Trough Etiquette
It started with a simple thought when I was in the bathroom. I’ve found that most simple thoughts originate there. The bathroom has never inspired great debate, analytical dissemination, or even philosophical discussion. The bathroom, as it turns out, is perfect for simple thoughts.
So it was that I thought to myself, Hey, why don’t those pretentious eco-friendly hipster jerks ever consider personal waste (and you know what I mean when I say personal waste) when calculating one’s carbon footprint? Are they too scared to ask the question? Are they too classy to admit that everyone, themselves included, produces personal waste? What’s the deal with that?
I was a geography major in college. And if there’s anything I learned in becoming a geography major, it’s that a lot of other geography majors are holier-than-though world-savers who flip shit over plastic Solo cups and can’t handle the fact that humans drive cars. For six (yes, six) years of undergraduate study, I heard all about carbon footprints and environmentally conscious habits and all sorts of Captain Planet-y garbage that wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t communicated to you by someone who, frankly, considers themselves to be better than the common man. So I know about carbon footprints. And I respect carbon footprints. I just think it’s a bunch of BS that carbon footprints don’t include one’s propagation of digestion. Is that so wrong?
I took my question back to my coworkers and asked them what they thought. They agreed that this was a joke. “Think about it,” one coworker surmised, “those hipsters are all vegetarians.”
“And when you’re eating all those vegetables,” I concluded, “you’re always going to the bathroom! In doing so, you waste a gallon of water per flush AND leave a mess upon society.” Rat bastards with their rat bastard tricks. Framing their questions and manipulating data to make us omnivores look foolish, while simultaneously abusing the facilities and making this world a dirtier place. Effing douchebags.
Somehow, this led us to a loosely-related discussion of trough urinals.
(You may very well notice that everything leading up to the previous sentence has almost no correlation with the remainder of this article. I might have been able to slip this professional segue past the little goalkeeper in your brain, but I figured I’d call attention to my own fallacies as a writer, instead. Why? Why not. Most writers try to sneak things past you enough as it is. I’m here to be your friend. And friends don’t betray friends. Just remember that next time you’re reading an article and the turncoat author segues without letting you know that he or she is segueing. That’s betrayal. We don’t do that here at Seattle Sportsnet. Back to the article.)
For those of you who frequent sporting events, you may be quite familiar with trough urinals. For those of you who either don’t frequent sporting events or aren’t privy to the inner workings of the men’s bathroom, trough urinals are rectangular basins that hold communal urine. It’s pretty simple, really. I’ve included a visual aid up and to the right.
Our discussion on trough urinals eventually led to a spinoff conversation about trough urinal etiquette, which as any male sports fan knows, is a fairly important issue. That led me to pen this, a collaborative dissertation on the proper means upon which to use the trough urinal.
If you have a penis, I urge you to read ahead. You may find yourself in agreement with many of these points, or discover that you are in fact a violator of proper trough urinal etiquette.
If you do not have a penis, I urge you to read ahead, as well. While you may not be able to sword fight or spell your name (whilst peeing, mind you), you may come to find out something about the man you claim as your significant other, will claim as your significant other, or have claimed as a significant other in the past.
Without further ado, here are my findings on stadium trough etiquette.
Point of Etiquette No. 1: It goes every other.
The stadium bathroom almost always begins with a line. You will find yourself standing at the back of a queue, proceeding ever closer to your relief-inducing destination.
In many cases, your line will mirror that of another line on the opposite side of the restroom. Your lines will converge before the trough urinal, where you will peel off one at a time, every other — your line, then my line, then your line, then my line, and so on — until everyone in both lines has found his way to the trough.
Ah, but wait. What happens when two parties from the same line hightail it towards the trough simultaneously? Good question. I’m glad you asked.
This is an infraction punishable by death. Or if not death, then at least public humiliation.
Everyone knows that you are to break from your line only when a) you are at the head of your line and b) a person from the opposing line has broken off before you. This is a standard rule of thumb. Should two men from the same line break off together, you should yell at the perpetrator — something like, “Hey, f**ker! What do you think you’re doing? Get back in line! I’m up next!” should suffice — and use as much force as is necessary to assert yourself in the vacant slot at the trough.
If you need to throw a punch, throw a punch. If you need to deliver a well-placed roundhouse kick, deliver a well-placed roundhouse kick. Do whatever it takes. WHATEVER. IT. TAKES. This jackass just violated Point of Etiquette No. 1! The very first point! Send him home crying.
Next.
Point of Etiquette No. 2: Do not look left. Do not look right.
There are only three places where your head can rightfully go when at the trough: up, down, or straight ahead.
You will either a) look towards the heavens as if to praise God, Himself, for this wonderful piss you’re enjoying, b) look straight ahead, as if to bore a hole through the stone wall that sits mere inches from your nose, or c) look down at your dick like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen.
There is no gray area here. AT ALL! Should your eyes so much as shift along the latitudinal plane, you are risking both reputation and personal well-being.
Even homosexual men understand and respect this rule. You may very well find yourself standing between two gays at the trough. It could happen. But you know what? You’d never know. You know why? Because this is guy code. It just is. And if you find yourself in violation of guy code, you are bound to get your ass kicked and bring shame upon your entire family. I’m serious about this. It’s as critical as it sounds.
Moving on.
Point of Etiquette No. 3: Streams shall never cross.
We’ve all been there. We’re a little tipsy, we’re prone to leaning, and — whoops! — we’ve missed. We’ve missed the entire freakin’ trough. Unbelievable, I know. But it certainly does happen. Let’s just pray to Buddha and Allah that when it does occur, your stream will not cross the path of another man’s stream. Otherwise, well…awkward.
Lucky for me, my drunken lean happens to be forward. So I’m more at risk of falling into the trough than I am of violating this point of etiquette. Although I will say that I’ve had fellow drunks lean into and onto me while at the trough over my 26 years of life. It’s rather uncomfortable having someone invade your personal space while you’re both intoxicated and watering the plants. There’s really no nice way to put it. It’s just…weird.
That said, never ever cross streams. EVER. This is acceptable in kindergarten and kindergarten alone. After that, it’s over. I hope you had your fun. Now grow up.
Point of Etiquette No. 4: Do not take out your cell phone.
I cannot stress this enough. There are a litany of reasons for you to heed my advice here. What could happen if you remove your cell phone? Well…
1. Everyone will assume you’re taking a picture of your junk.
“Look at that guy over there, taking cock shots and sending them to his girl. Who does he think he is? Jeff Reed?”
2. Everyone will assume you’re taking a picture of another dude’s junk.
This is far worse than the prevalent thought that you may be taking pictures of your own junk. Now everyone assumes you’re some kind of weirdo that has no moral bounds. Likewise, you’re probably going to get your phone smashed and your ass beat if anyone falls under this impression.
3. Your phone could fall in.
I have had nightmares about my phone falling into the toilet. Seriously. Nightmares. Like, you’re holding it, you’ve got a kung fu grip on that bad boy, and — oh no! — it slips and gravity takes over. There goes your $400 smart phone, submerged in a sea of yellow water. Doesn’t look so smart now, does it?
The only thing worse than dropping your phone in the toilet has to be dropping your phone in the trough urinal. My god. What a horrific thought. I don’t even need to take this any further. You know how very, very bad this would be. Nothing good could come from this. Your day would be ruined. Your only thought at this point would be, Do I leave it in there and cut my losses? Or do I flush away my dignity, reach in there, and fish it out? The true definition of a no-win situation.
So I beg of you, DO NOT TAKE YOUR PHONE OUT AT THE TROUGH! You’re welcome.
Point of Etiquette No. 5: Speak not and forever hold your piece.
The trough is no place for a conversation. About anything. It doesn’t even matter if you’re having the most manly conversation in the world.
“Hey, did you happen to watch that Chuck Norris movie on TV last night?”
“Hell yeah, I did! While bangin’ my girlfriend and eating a two-foot-long sub sandwich. It was f**kin’ great!”
Not even that conversation would be appropriate at the trough. So you can see how incongruous any other discussion on earth could possibly be.
Talking in the restroom is frowned upon to begin with. Talking while taking a leak shoulder to shoulder with twenty other sweathogs is borderline insane. You’re bound to be thought of as some sort of leper if you strike up a conversation in this situation. What the hell is wrong with you, dude? Shut the hell up!
You should have three goals and only three goals when at the trough: unzip, uncoil, uncork. The three U’s. That is it. You’re done. Move on. Get back to the game. Maybe wash your hands first. Whatever.
Just so long as you abide by the proper etiquette, you can go on with life knowing you’re a pro’s pro when it comes to using the trough urinal. Congrats.
And now I leave you with this video:
Filed under: Featured Articles
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Etiquette, Featured Articles, Features, stadium, Trough, Urinal
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Top 11: Ways To Improve Your Team’s Uniforms
Uniforms are a hot topic in sports these days. Thanks to schools like the University of Maryland, it seems that everyone has an opinion on the advent of the athletic jersey.
Here at Seattle Sportsnet, we have our own thoughts on uniforms. Namely, we seek to improve them. Which is why we’re here today with 11 ways in which we plan to do that.
Because it starts with a plan and ends with action. We just happen to be lazier than most of you, so we’ll take care of the plan as long as you act on it. Are we good? Okay, cool.
Let’s do this.
11. Wear more pink
Unless we’re fighting breast cancer or honoring one of the Care Bears, it seems like pink is completely jettisoned from all uniform designs. My question: Why?
You know what pink says? It says, Hey, I’m confident in who I am. So confident that I’ve chosen to wear a color that is more often associated with women and homosexuals. As a sports fan, don’t you want your team to be confident? Of course you do.
Zack Morris wore pink. He wore it frequently, in fact. And you know what Zack Morris was? A womanizer. He got with lots of chicks. He probably impregnated a few of them. While wearing pink, no less.
Long story short, pink equals confidence, and confidence equals success. Ipso facto, transitive property, pink equals success. There you go.
10. Instead of eye black or sunglasses, try out LeVar Burton’s Star Trek VISOR
VISOR: Visual Instrument and Sensory Organ Replacement. Boom.
Are you blind? Now you can see.
Are you having trouble reading? Now you can read on a rainbow.
Are you ogling that dude’s girl over there? I don’t know. No one knows. Because you’re wearing a VISOR. You’re as mysterious as they come.
We all grew up pretending to be LeVar Burton’s Star Trek character, Geordi La Forge. I didn’t even watch the show, yet I knew about those crazy-ass goggle things homeboy was wearing. Everybody did. You didn’t mess with a guy like that. If Chuck Norris was vision impaired, he’d get himself a VISOR, most def.
I don’t know about you, but if I came up to bat and saw a field of defenders wearing specs like that, I’d be freaked the hell out. And as we’re all aware, intimidation goes a long way in sports.
This is the original LASIK. Only better. Because LeVar Burton’s wearing it.
9. One word: Hypercolor
You blow on it, it changes color! How cool is that? You’re like a team of chameleons.
Not only did every single person EVER enjoy Hypercolor shirts, but Hypercolor shirts were made right here in Seattle. Yes, you can thank Generra Sportswear Company for that little invention. Not a bad thing to be known for.
My theory is this. Because Hypercolor fabric changes color when in contact with heat, a group of players could constantly be ebbing and flowing in hue throughout a game. That could provide just the distraction necessary to take your club to a title. You know you’re interested.
8. Exterior cups
The cup. Solid and protective, it keeps your genitals from getting destroyed by the elements, whether those elements be a wayward ground ball or a menacing opponent. To say it is an essential part of the uniform would be an understatement. Unless you lack testicles. In which case you might not properly view its importance.
Regardless, the cup is an absolute necessity. Why, then, do we shield it beneath our pants? Why not glorify the cup by wearing it on the outside?
Think about it. An exterior cup would make you feel even more secure than you already may. And security leads to confidence, which, as we previously covered, leads to success.
So what does an exterior cup mean, then, you ask? It means wins. Wins, ladies and gentlemen. I rest my case.
7. Cologne-misting fans
Hall of Fame second baseman Roberto Alomar once said, “To play good, you must feel good. And to feel good, you must smell good.” Truer words were never uttered.
We all know how crucial a pleasant aroma is to our game. Without it, an athlete can’t perform to his utmost. And who knows, at any given moment a beautiful woman may run onto the playing surface and demand a kiss. Or better yet, coitus. You can’t smell bad in that situation. You just can’t.
That’s why I propose we install fans that mist cologne.
All a player would have to do is stand in front of one of these fans and before you know it, voila, said player reeks of Polo Sport, as opposed to, say, sweat. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that women despise the odor of sweat, but love the smell of Polo Sport.
Why Polo Sport, you ask? Probably because it reminds ladies of middle school, back in the day when they had no drama in their lives and existence was basically utopia. Polo Sport. Go get yourself some. Literally and figuratively. Hell yeah.
6. Get Speedo to design LZR racer suits for all sports
Back in 2008, swimmer Michael Phelps won eight gold medals for the good ol’ U-S-of-A at the Summer Olympics. He did this whilst wearing a Speedo LZR racer suit, otherwise known as the fastest clothing item on the face of the earth.
I don’t know what makes LZR racer suits so great, but I know I want one. I’d wear it every day. I’d wear it to work, to the gym, on dates. “Wow, how’d you get so slim?” people would ask. “The secret’s in my LZR racer suit,” I’d reply. At which point they’d think more highly of me and I’d become super popular. It’s basically every man’s dream come true.
But I digress.
While my personal fantasies are reason enough to get your favorite team outfitted by Speedo, the fact is all the players on the squad would run faster, jump higher, hit harder, become more athletic, and in general, get better. Better is greater than worse. Better is greater than average. Better is greater than almost anything. Better is what we’re all striving for.
Where does better start? With an LZR racer suit. Book it.
5. Eliminate sports bras
This goes without saying.
4. Give utility kilts a try
Have you ever seen a guy in a utility kilt get his ass kicked? Neither have I. Guys in utility kilts are apparently undefeated.
What’s your first thought when seeing a dude wearing a utility kilt, anyway? I know what mine is. It’s something along the lines of, That dude must be crazy, I better stay the f**k away. Isn’t that the level of fear we’re trying to get our players to instill in the hearts of their opponents? Yes. Absolutely yes.
Not only that, but think of all the things you could store in a utility kilt. Batting gloves go here, can of chew goes there, sandpaper for scuffing the ball here, Vaseline there, contact solution here, condoms for afterwards there, the list goes on. You could be like Data from The Goonies. Only bigger, stronger, and likely better behind the wheel of a car.
All I’m saying is think of the benefits. They’re endless. Just like your potential. When wearing a utility kilt.
3. Get Lady Gaga on your design staff
There would be no bounds to what you could do with her in your corner. I can’t even fathom some of the weird sh*t she’d come up with. I’m actually kind of scared right now.
2. Onesies
In recent years, the onesie bikini has made an admirable return to the fashion scene. I don’t know about you, but every time I see a girl wearing a onesie bikini, I get happy in a special place. Nothing wrong with the onesie.
Additionally, the history of the onesie is such that when you were a wee toddler, you often found yourself adorned in onesie pajamas. There is no greater security (save for the exterior cup) than that of the onesie PJ get-up.
So why is it that we’ve shunned the onesie in sports? It makes no sense at all. And if there’s one thing I’ve always tried to preach, it’s sense.
Let’s do it. Let’s get the onesie in the game. L.A. Gear, I nominate you to try it out first. Don’t act like you have anything better to do, L.A. Gear. You’ve been laying low with British Knights for the better part of the past two decades. I’m trying to save your asses right now with my great idea. Do it. Send me a free pair of high-tops when you’re all done. Thanks.
1. Title IX + LuluLemon = EPIC GREATNESS
Let me fill you in on a little secret. When people ask me what my favorite clothing item of all-time is, I never stray from my answer: LuluLemon yoga pants, I say.
Why LuluLemon yoga pants, they wonder. Are you into yoga? Do you like the comfort?
No, I respond. Neither of those things. But you know what I am into?
What, they ask, eagerly awaiting my response.
I’m into hot chicks with nice behinds wearing form-fitting, ass-hugging, stretchy black tights. I am way, way into THAT.
There is usually a pause that follows this answer. If I’m talking to a female, she may giggle and say she has a pair. She may furrow her brown and accept my chauvinistic honesty. She may run away in fear. I’ve encountered all three reactions.
If I’m talking to a fellow dude, though, well that’s an entirely different reaction.
A sly grin will emerge on the face of my fellow dude. He will slowly start to nod. He will look me square in the eye, my sly grin matching his sly grin, and for a moment in time, we will agree. We will f**king agree! We will do what politicians and world leaders and people of different ethnic backgrounds or religions or faiths or beliefs cannot always do and we will find common ground. Where peace treaties and declarations and oaths and ceasefires have failed to unite us, one and all, yoga pants — yes, yoga pants! — will bring us together.
“Yes,” my fellow dude will say, “yes. I hear you. Word. Word. That is some sh*t right there! That is awesome! I love yoga pants, too!” We will high-five. We may chest bump. We will celebrate in the glory of the yoga pant.
And that, dear readers, is why this is a must. Hear me out. Heed these words:
Men and women, children and adults, people of all races, color, and creed, I have a dream. I have a dream that one day we will find a way to get every women’s team in every sport sponsored by LuluLemon. Why? So that all the lady athletes the world around can wear the LuluLemon yoga pant. So that they can don this testament to the female body. So that they can give every man, woman, and child the desire to watch them play. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have this dream.
Thank you.
Filed under: Top 11
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Top 11
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Relationship Advice for the Youth of America
I was sitting at the park eating my dinner when I first heard the yelling.
“All I do is cause you problems! That’s all I do! I cause you problems.”
You’re causing me problems right now, I thought to myself. No one wants to hear your bitching and moaning on a beautiful night like this.
I turned to see where the pitiful whine had emerged from and there, sitting on the hood of a red BMW, was a skinny teenage punk looking absolutely downtrodden about whatever it is that plagues a skinny teenage punk with a red BMW. Keep in mind, this is Bellevue. And the Beamer was a little outdated. So, you know, the kid had some legitimate gripes.
Anyway, this little punk-ass was sitting there lamenting about his problems to the driver’s side window of a green sedan. After a little recon work, I was able to determine that the occupant of said sedan was a teenage girl, who in all likelihood was this kid’s significant other. Her tears combined with his complaining led me to believe they were on the verge of an impending breakup. I’m a lot quicker than I look, folks.
I shouldn’t have been overwhelmed with giddiness and amusement over what could very well be the worst moments, to date, in the lives of each of these two individuals. But I was. Because let’s face it, they’re kids. And when I was a kid, this sort of thing was just as earth-shattering for me as it was for them.
That got me thinking. Back when I was that age, I wish someone older — but not too much older — had set me straight about the reality of relationships. Parents can’t do it, because let’s face it, you never listen to your parents when you’re in high school. Aunts and uncles and grandparents can’t do it, because, well, they’re too old. Sisters and brothers can try, but at the end of the day they’re still sisters and brothers. And your friends aren’t nearly wise enough to provide any level of guidance whatsoever.
So that leaves it to someone like me. To the kids out there, heed my advice. I know of which I speak. To the parents out there, you’re welcome. I’ve just saved you a lot of time and energy. Give this article to your kids and tell them to pay attention. Shit’s about to get real.
Lesson No. 1: It will not work out.
You know what the odds are of you and your teenage lover spending the rest of your lives together? Neither do I. But if I had to guess, I’d say it’s somewhere around one-in-a-million, if not worse.
There are only two types of people in this world who can marry their high school sweetheart: the type who find the kind of true love you only hear about in movies like The Notebook, and the type who make a habit of settling. Most of these people are in the latter group, though they’re all convinced they have a Ryan Gosling-Rachel McAdams fictional affair in order, which is just not true at all. You f**king settled. Just admit it.
Look here, kid. If you do it right, you’ll be married once, while your heart will be broken many, many times. People who have never had their hearts broken don’t know how to love. It’s impossible. I imagine they conceive all of their children accidentally, likely through a hole in the bedsheets.
Fact is, you have to be hurt to know how great it feels to be in love. You do. Trust me.
So know this: you will break up with your first love, lust, crush, whatever you want to call it. You will hurt for a little bit. You will get over it. You will not die. You will bounce back and you will be stronger than you were before. And all that bitching and whining you did when things were headed for Splitsville will be the source of much laughter when you get old like me. Enjoy it. You’re young. The world is yours.
Lesson No. 2: Play the field.
As you age, the field gets smaller. When you’re in high school, the field is roughly the size of the Polo Grounds (Google it). By the time you’re my age (26), the field is more along the lines of a Little League diamond. The contrast is staggering.
You need to think of yourself as the Derek Jeter of your own existence. Members of the opposite sex (or in certain cases, the same sex) are like grounders; it’s your job to scoop up every ball that comes your way. Be a player and make a play.
Bad metaphors aside, your options are endless. None of your friends are married yet (at least, I hope they’re not) and everyone — seriously, EVERYONE — is available. We went over this in Lesson 1: it will not work out. So even if the person you really want to be with is dating someone else, he or she will become available sooner or later. Keep every door open. At the very least, you can be friends with benefits. That’s always nice.
Lesson No. 3: Enjoy it while it lasts.
The worst thing you can do as a kid is dramatize a f**king relationship. You are a kid. You have no worries in the world. You don’t know what debt is. You don’t know what obligations are. You don’t have a job that you can’t afford to get fired from. You have zero legitimate cares in this world. So naturally, your first care shouldn’t be the sorrows of your significant other.
If he or she is prone to being miserable, get out of that relationship like it’s Wal-Mart on Black Friday. You do not belong with someone who won’t let you be a kid. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen each other’s junk, either. That doesn’t make your relationship a grown-up relationship. Grown-up relationships have financial problems and pets and mortgages and crap like that. Kid relationships have zits and test scores and those serious, serious moments when you get caught checking out the hottie walking by at the mall. That’s all you need to concern yourself with. Anything more than that and it’s not meant to be.
You will only have one childhood. When it’s gone, you’ll long for its return. If you’ve squandered it catering to someone you won’t find yourself caring about after a few months, you’ll have wasted some of the best years of your life. Don’t do it.
Lesson No. 4: No babies.
You are not a pro athlete. You are not going to be a pro athlete. Unless you are a pro athlete, you cannot afford to have a baby at 18. And since we’ve already determined that you are not, nor ever will be, a pro athlete, it’s best not to have a baby as a teenager.
That doesn’t mean you can’t have sex. You can, no matter what your elders, your youth group, or the church may tell you. You can. In most countries, people your age have fornicated a thousand times over already. You are way behind. Get going. Just make sure you wrap up.
Let me tell you something. Condoms are scary as hell when you’re a kid. No matter what happens, you’ll always assume they’re broken when it’s all said and done. Unless your dick shoots fire or she’s housing the Sarlacc inside of her, they’re not. You’ll just think they are. Because they were put on this earth to both scare you and protect you. Kind of like guns.
So do what you have to do. Just make sure you take the proper means necessary to withhold children until you’re much older, much wealthier, and much more responsible.
Lesson No. 5: It will not work out.
This bears repeating. It is the most valuable piece of advice I can give. No matter how badly you want it to work out, or hope it will work out, or dream about it working out, you’re probably wrong. This is just one of many things you’re wrong about at this stage in your life, but perhaps the most impactful.
Don’t be like the kid sitting on the hood of the red Beamer his delusional parents bought for him, whining to a girl you think you love. It’s not worth ending up being the inspiration for an article written by a d-bag like me. It just isn’t.
It’s important to believe in love and all that comes along with it. But you’re not going to find love as a high school kid. Love, at your age, is a hummer after Tolo or a window marker message on your car.
It won’t work out. It will eventually. But in the microcosmic universe of your youthful attempt at romance, it will not. And that’s not a bad thing.
Don’t be afraid to get hurt. Don’t be afraid to take chances. Don’t worry about screwing up. Don’t dwell on the past. Don’t whine like a little bitch in the middle of a parking lot.
I should go teach a health class now.
Filed under: Other Sports
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Not related to sports at all, Other Sports
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Everything That’s Going Through That Douchebag’s Mind At The Gym
Yo. What up, everybody. I bet you’re all glad I’m here. Oh, what’s this? This little guy is using my bench. What up, little guy? You mind if I work in? All right. Why don’t you just run off because I’m gonna be a while. Sound good? Okay, good. Get lost. All right, let’s do this.
Let me get a 45 on this side, a 45 on that side, a two-and-a-half over here, and another two-and-a-half here. All right. Perfect. We’re good. Deep breaths now, deep breaths. Inhale, annnnddd…ferocious puff. Inhale, annnnddd…ferocious puff. All right. Shake my neck side to side like I’m working out some kinks or something. Now to flare my arms a few times — hey, what’s up ladies — and — I’m really glad I wore this sleeveless shirt today — and okay, let’s sit down and do this.
Okay, we’re going for ten today, ten reps, we got this. Ready, bro, ready? You ready, bro? You’re gonna do this, bro, you better be ready. Let’s get this — wait. Got an itch. Scratch your itch, bro, scratch it. All right. Are the ladies looking? Nah, they’re not looking, let’s wait. We’ll wait a minute. Tighten the velcro on your gloves a few times, they might hear that. Yeah. I know you hear that, girl. Take a look over here. Yeah, that’s what’s up. Give her the head nod and smile, ladies love that…sup, girl. Okay, lay down, let’s get this set, bro, let’s get it. Deep breaths first, though. Inhale…puff. Inhale…puff. Good, you’re good.
Ten. Going for ten. Here we goooo…..uggggggggghhhhhhhhhh…ONE!
You got this, bro, you got this!
Ugggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…TWO!
That’s it, bro, you’re killing it right now, killing it!
Ugggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…THREE!
Oh sh*t, bro, oh sh*t! This sh*t’s getting heavy! Lock it out, bro, lock it out. Three’s good, bro, three’s good. Get it up! Get it up! You got it, broooooo…GOT IT! We’re good, bro! YES! You f**kin’ did it! Whew! That was intense! Wipe your sweat real quick. Yes! That was it, right there! That was f**kin’ IT!
Did the ladies see that? No, I don’t think they did. Okay, that’s probably good, we’re good then. Let’s get up and towel off real quick. One set’s good for today. Let’s hit the sauna, bro.
But first, wait, first…walk past these ladies first. They need to see you again. Walk slow. Yeah. Stick your arms out to your sides more. Yes. That’s it. Flex your chest. Flex your abs. Now sway side to side. That’s perfect, f**kin’ perfect. Go. Yeah, they’re looking now. Head nod. Smile. Yeah, they like that, they’re giggling. I mean, bro, they are really giggling. They’re not stopping, bro, they love you. They’re still giggling! You are a hit, dude! YES!
All right, let’s get out of here, bro. That was good work today. Let’s get these gloves off, bro. Sauna time.
Filed under: Other Sports
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Other Sports
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Ain’t Nothin’ But A Heartache: An Ode to the 2011 Seattle Mariners
Don’t pretend you’re sorry. I know you’re not.
You are my fire. Everything I do is for you. But sometimes I feel like I’m swimming in an ocean all alone.
I just want you to know that I’ve been fighting to let you go. There’s something missing in my heart. Is this the feeling I need to walk with? Keeping it inside, it’s killing me. Sadness is beautiful, they say. But I don’t wanna waste another day.
There’s nowhere to run. I have no place to go. Some days I make it through, but then there’s nights that never end. I never thought I would lose my mind. I tried to go on like I never knew you. I’ve tried to hide it so that no one knows. But I guess it shows.
Thirty-four years gone, nothing’s been won. You can’t hide it with a lie. We’ve been waiting so long. Tell me why. What about your, your 10,000 promises? Believe Big? Refuse to lose? What’s the use in you denying that what you have is wrong?
Destiny is everything. But we are two worlds apart.
You still wonder if we made a big mistake. Chone Figgins? We need more than that. I would bring down the moon and the sun to show you how much I care about movin’ on. Send him to Siberia. I never wanna hear you say he’s never gone. Don’t let him come crawling back to you. Ain’t nothing but a mistake.
Just when I think we’re through, memories come flooding back.
Sometimes I wish I could turn back time, impossible as it may seem. To 1995. Or even 2001. Those days are gone, though. Memories. What’s the use in holding on?
I know I’m not the perfect fan. Am I original? Yeaaaaaaaah. But I don’t have Spanish eyes. I’m no beautiful woman, no poster girl. I’m not the one. I’m like a child. Boys will be boys.
Look. It’s not that I can’t live without you. It’s just that I don’t even want to try. I know that we have been through so much pain, but I need you in my life this time. You need me like I need you. We can share our dreams coming true.
So quit playin’ games with my heart. This is all I have to give. My battery is low, just so you know.
A championship? You’re gonna work it out someday. I know we can win this. But please, don’t leave me hangin’ here forever. For now, I’m incomplete.
*Special thanks to The Backstreet Boys for writing 99% of this article.
Filed under: Mariners
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Backstreet Boys
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Akita’s Average Adults
In the sports world, when an athlete makes it big, you can pretty much guarantee that he or she will start a charitable foundation.
It’s a kind gesture, founding a charity. Sharing the wealth by giving to those less fortunate is an amazing thing. It benefits both those who give and those who receive, and as a result, everybody wins.
While I am certainly no athlete, I do have dreams of starting my own charity one day. Just to be able to give back like that would be absolutely awesome. And that’s why I came up with the idea for Akita’s Average Adults.
FACT: Average adults are the most populous, yet least cared-about group of people in the entire world.
Think about that for a minute. There are more average adults than anybody else! And while those average adults are giving to kids, and the blind, and slow people, and the obese, and animals (who aren’t even people), and causes for God-knows-what, no one is looking out for the average adults. No one.
That’s where I come in.
I want to help the average adults. They’ve done so much for everyone else, it’s time everyone else did something for them. And most importantly, I want to help them do the average things they do every day in their average lives.
Need grocery money? Here’s nine dollars. Go nuts.
Want some help fueling up the beige Camry? How about a gas card.
Is it that time of the month? Let me give you this coupon for buy-one-get-one on a Costco pack of tampons. Don’t thank me. I’m just doing my part.
You’ve been getting the shaft for years. All because you’re average. How unfair is that?
You’re not different, so no one sympathizes for you.
You’re not famous, so no one adores you.
You’re just…eh. And “eh” never won any awards, got to make a wish, or profited off of bell ringers at Christmas time.
We can still give to the incapacitated, the poor, and even to kids. Kids don’t really deserve it, though. They don’t know the value of sh*t. Plus, they’ll just grow up to be average adults anyway. George W. Bush already assured us that none of them would be left behind. We should just take his word for it and move the hell on.
I want to help you, your boring family, your one-and-a-half kids, your cat and dog.
I want to make sure you have the essentials in place to get up every day and do a job you don’t really like for pay that’s less than adequate.
I want to put fast food on your table. I want to clothe you in sh*t from J.C. Penney. I want to keep that semi-overweight physique in prime shape.
You are average. Not special. Not needy. Average. You probably think the world doesn’t care. And you’re mostly right. Until now. Because I care. I care about you, Joe and Jane Average.
Akita’s Average Adults. Let’s make a dream come true.
Filed under: Other Sports
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness, Akita's Average Adults, Other Sports
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This Will Never Get Old
Seriously, it won’t.
In case you missed it earlier, this was captured right after the U.S. scored their first goal in Sunday’s Women’s World Cup championship.
What do you think the thought process was here? As a former fat kid myself, my initial inclination in an unadulterated fit of excitement would not be to remove my shirt.
I’M SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW! ALL I WANT TO DO IS SHOW EVERYBODY MY BELLYYYYYYYY!!!!!
You have to hand it to that kid. That’s confidence. And now he’s famous, to boot. Go get some, kid. You’re my hero. Even if you are a Coug.
Filed under: Other Sports
Tags: 2011 Women's World Cup, Absolute Ridiculousness, Other Sports
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Local Sabermetrician Arrested In Murder-For-Hire Plot
Authorities have arrested a man they say tried to kill a well-known local icon.
John Boggins, 54, was taken into custody late Wednesday evening after police allege he attempted to have the Seattle Mariners’ Yellow Hydro murdered.
Boggins is a member of a notorious gang of fun-stealers who call themselves “Sabermetricians.” He specializes in the manipulation of numbers to radically impose his will upon others, not unlike a Jedi from the Star Wars films.
The county sheriff’s department initially learned of Boggins’ plot through an ad on CraigsList seeking, “a talented demolition man that knows how to keep a secret and hates fun.” Police then responded to Boggins’ ad in order to mount the evidence they needed to arrest the Everett native.
In a series of audio recordings that were captured in various meetings with Boggins, undercover officers learned of their target’s immense loathing for fun, along with his extreme hatred for those things that brought people joy.
When asked why he wanted to kill the Yellow Hydro, Boggins replied that he had “never found the value in a two-dimensional computer graphic that gets people excited for no particular reason.”
Later, when a second undercover officer asked Boggins how he wanted the murder to be carried out, Boggins answered in chilling fashion:
“I want you to shove a stick of dynamite up his exhaust pipe, then blow that motherf***** to smithereens. I want no evidence of his remains. Collect the shards, piss on them, then bury them where no one will ever find them.”
Once the undercover officers and Boggins had come to an agreement on price — Boggins would be paying $10,000 for the planned execution — a SWAT unit descended upon the meeting location and took the alleged criminal to prison, where he was later booked for attempted murder.
The Yellow Hydro was not harmed in any way, and when told of the plot to end his life, he offered his gratitude to the sheriff’s department and also had this to say:
“Sweet sassy molassy, am I a lucky duck or what!”
Two of the Yellow Hydro’s coworkers, the Green Hydro and the Red Hydro, were also available for comment following the ordeal.
“It could have been any one of us,” said the Green Hydro. “I’m just glad it was him and not me.”
Added the Red Hydro, “No one would have missed that guy, anyway.”
In addition to the charges of attempted murder, Boggins was also charged with a hate crime, as the Yellow Hydro is an active member of Seattle’s Gay and Lesbian Community.
Boggins will be arraigned on Monday.
Filed under: Mariners
Tags: Absolute Ridiculousness
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