FAREWELL GOOD SPORTS FLICK

by dswinder, Sons of Sam Malone

Okay, so here’s the scene — We’re somewhere in inner-city, urban, USA. Gymnasium packed to the rafters. The crowd is going absolutely insane. The home team is down 1, .3 seconds left on the clock. The first-year coach just called a timeout to try and rally the troops; the same troops that a month earlier wouldn’t listen to him in a life or death situation. You see, they know death. They know what it’s like to live on the streets. These kids have grown up in chaos. No coach is going to come in and tell them what to do. They’ve made it on their own for all these years, and that’s how it’s going to stay. But somewhere along the line, Coach So and So got through to these troubled, disempowered youth. He’s found their soft spot. They feel that they can trust again. For the first time in their lives, these kids feel like the world is their oyster. Right now, at this very moment, they’re being given their opportunity to shine, and it’s up to the scrub, who started the year unable to run a single suicide, to hit the game winning free throws. Intense wouldn’t do this situation justice. Hell, not even the most eloquent prose in the history of literature could hold hope to describe the level of excitement in this gym tonight.

Sound familiar? If not, it should. You see, what you’ve just read is the basic outline for sports movies as of late, and if it’s not the troubled youth being tamed by a tough love coach, then it’s the classic underdog story. Or even worse? The “I can’t believe I’m watching this. Oh my god. I just laughed. Shoot me now.” “sports” comedy (see Talladega Nights/Dodgeball/Blades of Glory/etc.)

That’s the problem with sports and film today. Somewhere along the line, I’d say Hoosiers, someone came up with this genius plot outline for a sports story to be shone on the silver screen, and since then the whole concept has been bastardized and copy catted to the point of plain ridiculousness. You would think we would realize there’s a problem when we can walk into the theater, at least 75% certain we know how it’s going to end. Yet, we still walk into that theater, and we still walk out thinking, “Hey, that was pretty good.” All the while, we fail to realize that we’ve seen that same damn movie twelve times in the past two years. It’s pure laziness, and it’s running sport films into the ground.

What? Nay say you doubt. But just in case, let’s take this time to lay your speculations to rest — You know, right next to the dying sports flick.

Remember the Titans vs. Glory Road

Let’s down this baby with a checklist…

Obstacle?

Remember the Titans: Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the integration of a school a pretty big change, that at the time caused some pretty big problems? Check.

Glory Road: Five black starters in the days of Adolf Rupp. Big Check.

Tough Coach?

Remember the Titans: Coach Boone was a bad ass, and Denzel Washington is what some would call, “The Man.” Check.

Glory Road: Don Haskins had to be tough. Hell, he led Texas Western to a national championship over “My Jelly’s KY” Kentucky. Check.

Overcoming Hardship?

Remember the Titans: I’d say a state title is pretty good. Wouldn’t you? Check.

Glory Road: Hmmm…Beating Kentucky in 1966 to win the National Championship with the first all-black squad. Oh yeah, it was Texas Western. Check.

Going down that list, it appears to me that not only do both films fit the criteria for the stock sports movie, but they both seem to be eerily similar, and by eerily similar, I mean the same damn movie. I know. I know. “But they’re true stories.” Have you ever heard of “based on”? They’re both made by Disney. So, basically the Big D double dipped in the honey jar without getting caught. Until now. Same movie. Different sports. That ain’t going to cut it.

But — Just in case your still holding on to that dreaded speculation, here’s another instance.

Coach Carter vs. Hardball

Obstacle?

Coach Carter: New coach, coaching kids that don’t really give a damn what he’s got to say. Check.

Hardball: Twerp in gambling trouble coaches an inner-city Little League team. I guess I should clarify — The twerp is white. Even worse — The twerp is Keanu Reeves. ENORMOUS Check.

Tough Coach?

Coach Carter: Well, for one, we’re talking Samuel L. Jackson here. Point being — He’s one angry S.O.B. Check.

Hardball: Okay, so shoot me. No, better yet, shoot the makers of this movie. How dare they stray from the path of sports movie righteousness. For shame. No Check.

Overcoming Hardship?

Coach Carter: The team was terrible before Coach Carter came into the picture, and after Sammy Jackson’s character took the helm, the Richmond, California high school basketball team dealt with major character issues. Buuuuuuuut, by the end of the movie, Coach Carter not only led his squad to the state tournament, but managed to instill hope and success as well – Touching…Really. I think I just shed a single tear. Check-ola.

Hardball: I mean come on. Keanu. Oops. I should say, Connor, pays back his debts, gets the girl, loses a player, but still, the freaking Kekembas won the championship. What a story. Nostradamus himself couldn’t have foreseen this gripping conclusion. Check.

I could keep going, but what’s the point? They’re all the same. Obstacle. Tough Guy. We Shall Overcome.

Really, these similarities are almost to the point of being formulaic. Oh, who am I kidding. It is a formula — A simple one, but a formula none-the-less.

It’s a five-step system: 1.) Want money. 2.) Copy formula. 3.) See dollar signs. 4.) Make movie. 5.) Make dollar signs.

I would call it piracy, but after careful contemplation, I really think it’s just a big swap meet. “Here, I made this movie, and made a ton of cash. Now you can have it.” If I were Gene Hackman or the guy that played Jimmy Chitwood, I’d demand some royalties or something. Ever since Hoosiers there has been an ever-growing state of stagnancy in the sports movie business, and until someone decides to, you know, have an original thought, it’s going to stay that way. I just hope some tough guy can reign in these troubled movie producers and overcome this hardship, because something’s got to change.

(Originally published 10/13)

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MICHELLE WIE: AGENT 0

by dswinder, Sons of Sam Malone

Well, it appears it’s time to chalk up another tally on Michelle Wie’s rise to shame. The eighteen-year old Stanford freshman was left without representation when her agent, Greg Nared, resigned Monday.

Nared, Wie’s second agent, said in an email to the AP, that he is thankful for the opportunity he has been given, but his resignation is effective immediately.

“After careful consideration for my future, I have resigned effective immediately. I’m very grateful to the William Morris Agency for the opportunity to work with world-class athletes. It has been an invaluable experience and I’ll forever cherish [it].”

The news should come as a heavy blow to Wie. Nared was there when the then seventeen-year old made the decision to withdraw from the Ginn Tribute earlier in the year after shooting 14-over through 16 holes. It may be time for Michelle Wie to rethink this whole professional golfing dream. The resignation of Nared is just icing on a cake, already mixed with high scoring averages (76.7), no rounds in the 60s, two cuts made, embarrassing performances, sketchy withdrawals, and more than her fair share of on course tears.

Maybe it’s time for Momma and Poppa Wie to let little Michelle spread her wings and fly; because it seems trekking the links isn’t turning out quite like they had drawn out in the ole retirement plan.

Source

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TORRANCE AND GALLACHER HAVE MONTY’S BACK

by dswinder, Sons of Sam Malone

Colin Montgomerie takes a lot of heat from the golf world, and Nick Faldo is no exception. Last week, Faldo, the Ryder Cup captain, criticized Monty, calling him hard to deal with and lacking in team spirit.

“Monty’s a tough one,” said Faldo. “He was the only one whose emotions I had to deal with. He had to be teased out on to the 18th green to support his team.”

Now, I obviously don’t know the Scot personally, but with a gun to my head, I’d have to say Nick Faldo is on to something with his criticisms. Sure, Monty gets a bad rap in the American media, but maybe it’s, I don’t know, somewhat accurate.

Regardless of what Colin’s attitude really was, two former European Ryder Cup captains, Sam Torrance and Bernard Gallacher, are jumping to the defense of the 44-year old Scotsman.

The 2002 captain, Torrance, was not in the least of agreement with the ‘08 captain, Faldo.

“To remotely suggest Colin’s not a team man is outrageous to say the least,” stated Torrance. “One thing Colin is, he is a team man.”

Torrance doesn’t think that Faldo acted the way a captain should by complaining about Montgomerie.

“You’ve got to keep a nice bit of decorum in the team room and keep them all happy. I’m sure Nick will learn from this and will have seen the error of his ways by criticizing Colin like that,” said Sam Torrance.

While Torrance showed obvious disdain for the comments of Faldo, three-time European captain, Bernard Gallacher, was able to trump Torrance in his level of disgust. Among other complaints, Gallacher was quick to say that Faldo’s comments were hypocritical at best.

“I never felt Nick was a real team player but I accepted that as a captain because he gave you points. He wasn’t a player like Seve, in as much as Seve would try and rule the team meetings and be out on the course rooting for the players. Nick always wanted to play with the best players. I went along with that because he was pretty good. But sometimes tactically you need to split the best players up. Seve was always up for that but Nick wasn’t,” said the three-time captain.

In addition to labeling Faldo pot to Montgomerie’s kettle, Gallacher shared the same sentiments as his cohort, Sam Torrance, in thinking Faldo’s comments were dangerous to the 2008 Ryder Cup squad. Said Gallacher,

“Nick will need a real fired-up player like Colin next time. He’ll need everything that Montgomerie can give to the team.”

Whatever the truth about Monty is, he should feel loved knowing that the two old chaps have his back. Now maybe he can go out and whine some more with the confidence to know that at least two people will step to the plate in his defense. I know I have no beef with the spat. The Americans will need all the help they can get, and a lovers quarrel is just the spark that’s needed to shake the European squad. Go USA!

(Source 1) (Source 2)

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HOUSE OF MIRRORS: WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE ATHLETE?

by DCScrap, Our Book of Scrap

History is full of great debate. Questions that remain unanswered like “what came first the chicken or the egg?” or “can you get pregnant through anal?” Luckily for you – the huddled masses – Epic Carnival is here to settle these arguments once and for all. House of Mirrors is your favorite Carnies taking a look at one another and debating the mysteries of the universe. This week the EC writers debate “Who is your favorite athlete of all time, and why?”

Sterling Gould, More Credible: My favorite athlete of all time has to be Percy Harvin (figures right?). I suppose because I actually met him in person and I had a premonition that he was on his way to stardom at the University of Florida. I love how he plays, 100% at all time and the fact he can line up anywhere on the field and be effective. I took a picture of him and I, it’s pretty much the coolest picture ever.

The heart surrounding it wasn’t put there by me. I promise.

Adam Best, Arrowhead Addict: No contest — Reggie Miller. Growing up as a tall, skinny, mouthy little sh**, I identified with Reggie. What separated Reg from other athletes was his ability to thrive under pressure. He played better in the playoffs than the regular season, and better in the fourth quarter than the previous three. Not only did he possess the ability to takeover games, he often willed his Indiana Pacers to victory with last-minute heroics. Did I write heroics? I meant miracles. How did a kid who was born with leg deformities — he had to wear Forrest Gump-like leg braces for several years as a child — run circles around the competition? I don’t know, but Reggie did it for 18 years, and he did it for only one team. Both his dedication and loyalty were unique, and are traits that aren’t often found in today’s fickle sports landscape. And, c’mon, you watch TNT — dude’s one cool cat.

dswinder, Sons of Sam Malone: My favorite athlete of all-time is…Surprise, surprise…Tiger Woods.

The obvious, and very bandwagonish answer as to why — THE MAN IS UN-BE-FRIKKIN’-LIEVABLE! He’s on pace to shatter the all-time wins record, he has a smokin’ hot wife, and craps silver dollars and then wipes with Benjamins.

The 100% honest answer — I remember watching him win the Masters in ‘97. I had been interested in golf for awhile by then thanks to my granddad, but if there was any question as to my future as an obsessive fan of the game, that final Sunday sealed the deal and locked me in. Everything about it amazed me; from the margin of victory to the fist pump. Tiger was young, likable, and ready to take over the game. Even as a kid, I could just tell there was something special about him.

Now, I live and die with every shot the man takes. I literally hold my breath every time he takes the club away, and I feel no shame.

Brian P. Foley, The College Baseball Blog: Cam Neely.

This guy was the best power forward in Hockey during the early 90’s. He made the Bruins relevant in Boston with his grit and his great skill on the ice. He just played with so much heart and is still a great guy in the community. He even scored 50 goals in 44 games in 1993-94 season.

Simon, SimonOnSports: My favorite athlete of all time is Chris Webber. Why because baggy shorts were cool and I was 9 so I picked up Michigan as a life long love. Nothing was sweeter than watching CWebb and the Wolverines fly up and down the court and dunk on every stupid Big Ten team. I followed him as a fan everywhere he’s gone which unfortunately does not include Tyra Banks’ Victoria’s Secrets. Plus, I have a sweet CWebb Bullets jersey.

DCScrap, Our Book of Scrap: Mine changes a lot, but until someone can do better than this ———————–>

He’s my fave.

DMtShooter, Five Tool Tool: Andrew Toney, shooting guard for the great Sixers’ teams of the early ’80s.

Andrew’s game was pure and perfect in its utter simplicity: he had a quicker first step than anyone who ever played basketball. So you either had to play off him and watch him nail jumpers with this fascinating cobra-twitch of a shot motion, or come out to guard him and watch him blow past you to the rack.

Andrew’s nickname was The Boston Strangler, which is also the coolest nickname ever. I will brook no arguments over this.

When Danny Ainge used to try to guard him, Andrew had this utter disdain in his body language, like he was insulted by Ainge’s very existence. (He wouldn’t be the last to have that reaction.) So the cobra strike would! hit, Ainge would flail and foul and look like the awkward awful white guy in your pick up game, and all would be well in the universe.

Sixer fans worshiped Julius Erving like a piece of art, admired Moses Malone for his sheer plowhorse rebounding, trust Mo Cheeks to always make the right play, and identify with the gawky defensive wonder that was Bobby Jones. But Andrew? We just loved him.

Like many of the treasured athletes in people’s memories, Andrew ended fast; persistent foot injuries and disagreements with the Sixers’ coaching and medical staff led him to a bitter and early retirement, and he hasn’t been back much since. I think this actually adds to his appeal, since no one ever had to watch him without all of his gifts, and the low profile adds to the mystery. In the early 90s, as I finally had enough scratch and the means to go to Sixers games on my own and the team was horrifying, I’d just imagine what things would be like if that 22 jersey came thr! ough the doors.

Since those ’80s teams were loaded and balanced , Andrew rarely had the big scoring averages that transcend the era; it’s rare to think of a guy with a career 15.9 scoring average as your favorite player ever. Which, well, makes it even better. You had to see him.

Don, With Malice…: David Campese, Australian Rugby Team (The Wallabies) winger.

Perhaps the best winger to ever play the game, Campo had an instinctive brilliance about him. He used his patented “goose step” – a high kick stutter-stepping motion – to befuddle defenders, and get past pretty much anyone the game had to offer. Hailed by even his opponents as amazing, in his first tour of rugby powerhouse New Zealand, even their legendary winger Stu Wilson was said to have nightmares about Campese – and Campo at the ripe ol’ age of 19.

In later years, his zig-zag run at Welsh center Robert Ackerman in Cardiff, Wales is considered to be pure artistry – even the home crowd leapt to their feet to applaud… and at this stage he’s only 22 (clip of Campese turning Ackerman left & right).

Campese was brilliant, daring… but also flawed. The risks he took sometimes didn’t pay dividends, tho’ more often than not they did. He sums up what’s great about Australian rugby – the slashing back, the devil-may-care run.

Liston, Introducing Liston: My favorite athlete of all time is Jesus Christ. He was/will be a stud (again). Now, I know that we don’t have any actual proof that Jesus played any sports (Is getting crucified a sport?), but could anybody conceivably be better at anything, let alone sports, than the Son of God? Maybe Tim Duncan, but that’s about it. Come to think of it, yes, Tim Duncan is probably better than Jesus at everything. I mean, he’s Timothy-frigg’n-Duncan! He’s won like, a thousand championship and scored about a billion points! I’ve changed my mind. Forget Jesus, my favorite athlete of all time is Tim Duncan.

So, who is your favorite, and why?

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WHY SETTLE FOR SELFISHNESS?

by dswinder, Sons of Sam Malone

With the ever-present concern with “me” that runs rampant in society, it’s not often that we really get to see self-sacrifice for the betterment of others. Athletes like Chad Johnson, Terrell Owens, Barry Bonds, etc. give a face to the growing culture of “me first”. Me before we. I before team. Stats before wins. All of these selfish ideas have encroached into sports to the point of becoming common place. Nowadays, selfishness outweighs team, and the sad part is – No one really cares, or maybe worse: No one even notices.

But while a team first attitude may be going the way of the dinosaurs, it’s not there yet.

I was inspired to write this article after hearing of a University of Tennessee golfer, Jonathan Mount. You see, Mount had a, what seems to be never ending, battle with injuries since he first stepped foot on the university as a freshman in 2004. In Mount’s first season with the Vols, he injured his hand on three separate occasions, causing him to redshirt his freshman year. Returning as a sophomore, Jonathan Mount was named to the second team All-SEC, and things were starting to look up for the soon to be junior. Mount returned his junior year hoping to improve on his impressive sophomore campaign, only to find out he had a small hole in his left knee. Eventually, his condition led him to dropping out of the NCAA Regionals.

So, what the hell does this have to do with self-sacrifice?

Jonathan Mount gave up his roster spot through reasoning that someone else would better serve the team. The real kicker? It was his decision. The even bigger kicker? He had already made a full recovery.

Now, maybe it’s just me, but couldn’t we use a little more of this “No I in team” attitude in today’s sports culture? Imagine if Keyshawn didn’t ever just want the damn ball. If T.O. had have been concerned with the Eagles. What if Pacman wasn’t obsessed with making it rain and getting into trouble? Mike Vick wasn’t so stupid? Jason Williams didn’t go against his contract and ride motorcycles? What if athletes didn’t hold out for fat checks and inflated egos? Isn’t that what sports are supposed to be about? Isn’t that the idea of a team?

Trust me, I’m not living in a bubble. I’m not blinded by naivety. Sports aren’t like that. They haven’t been. They probably never will be, and as fans, we’re okay with that. We’ve been lulled into seeing normalcy in selfishness, and I guess that’s okay as long as fans are still fans. But when I hear a story like this, it just makes me stop and wonder why.

Photo Courtesy of UT Sports

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HOUSE OF MIRRORS: WHAT COULD STOP YOU FROM WATCHING THE SUPER BOWL?

by DCScrap, Our Book of Scrap

History is full of great debate. Questions that remain unanswered like “what came first the chicken or the egg?” or “can you get pregnant through anal?” Luckily for you – the huddled masses – Epic Carnival is here to settle these arguments once and for all. House of Mirrors is your favorite Carnies taking a look at one another and debating the mysteries of the universe. This week the EC writers debate “Under what conditions would you *not* watch the Super Bowl?”

DMtShooter, Five Tool Tool: It’s Super Bowl Sunday, and my Eagles are playing the hated Patriots in a a rematch of Super Bowl 39 (I use Arabic numbers to stick it to the Ro-Man). I’m barricaded in my Basement Man Space, with the non-sports-watching family upstairs. Surround sound is pumped, I’ve lifted weights for the last two hours in a fit of nervous energy, and all of the cock-tease years are about to come crashing down — as twelve starting Patriots have all been busted on an HGH sting in the bye week. Vegas took the line off the board after it got to 20. It’s as close to a coronation as will ever been seen in a Super Bowl.

Five minutes before kickoff, I hear a knock on the basement door. I open it, and out walks ! a much older me, carrying a loaded handgun. The older me tells me that he’s come from the future with an urgent message — that the Birds are going to jump out to a huge lead, decapitate Brady, and then piss away a 31 point lead in the fourth quarter on bad officiating, otherworldly luck, and a clear middle finger from God Almighty that the team is just never, ever going to win the Big Game.

Older Me is the real deal: he can answer intimate questions about my life. He shows me pictures of my kids growing up, their grandkids. He tells me about how my writing has become critically acclaimed, and how I’ve made more money than I ever believed possible — but that the memory of the Super Bowl loss has haunted me for decades. He then says, “You know what you need to do,” and fades away.

I twirl the handgun around in my hands. I hear my kids playing upstairs. I see the Eagles come out of the locker room. I think. And think.

And then, as the kickoff is in the air, I fire the gun into the television, Elvis-style, gently put the gun away, go upstairs to play with my kids, and never watch another minute of NFL football for the rest of my life.

WCK, 100% Injury Rate: If I were dead.

Simple, yet deep.

BD, Sports Show On Mute: I’d either have to be dead or in the middle of an orgy that features myself and four women. Then again, there is one other way. If I were [doing some fun things to] either Jessica Alba or Biel. That’s about it. Otherwise I’m half drunk and watching the Super Bowl.

SportsGirl365, Strike Zones and End Zones: No way. Even in the event of an orgy, that’s what halftime is for.

dswinder, Sons of Sam Malone: Sarah’s right…In my experience, halftime orgies are, BY FAR, the best kind and only way to go so as to miss absolutely NO football action…Really, who needs to see Janet Jackson’s right tit-tay anyway?

BD: I stand corrected. Maybe I overestimated how long I’d last. Then again the Super Bowl halftime show is about a half hour. Plenty of time.

Hank Worrell, Winning the Turnover Battle: About the only way I wouldn’t watch the Super Bowl would be if it was Comboys vs. Patriots. I wouldn’t be able to stand watching the game knowing there would be no happy ending. Kind of like what a national championship game between Oklahoma and Notre Dame would feel like. Vomit.

Davey, Blown Coverage: Giants vs. Colts.

Manning vs. Manning. I will probably give up on sports should that ever happen…

The Original JD, Six Pack Sports Report: The only way that I would not watch the Super Bowl would be if Bill Belichick calls me the night before the game and asks me to video tape assistant coaches for him. Otherwise it’s by far my favorite Sunday of the year and I wouldn’t miss it for anything.

Brian P. Foley, The College Baseball Blog: If I spent the night with Jessica Alba.

Sterling Gould, More Credible: I would not watch the super bowl if I was getting some ass.

Don, With Malice…: Given that the Super Bowl occurs for me on Monday mornings… I’d have to state that the only thing that could stop me from not watching it would be… work. At least if I can’t finagle my way out of it!

Adam Best, Arrowhead Addict: I would not watch the Super Bowl if it featured those snore-inducing San Antonio Spurs. They are so good — and, more importantly, so determined to make me a miserable sports fan — that they could find a way to defy logic and meet the New England Patriots in The Big Game. That’s about the only thing that could kill my interest, not to mention the ratings.

DCScrap, Our Book of Scrap: The only way I would not watch the Super Bowl is if the Lingerie Bowl was expanded to a full three hours. And the only way any of these guys (including me) would be having any sex with Jessica Alba or Jessica Biel would be if they were actually in that very same Super Bowl, so that ain’t happenin’.

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Living in a Time of Greatness

by dswinder, Sons of Sam Malone

Before I begin, let me just take a moment to reveille in the magnificence that is being a golf fan in the Tiger Woods era. The man isn’t human. He is, simply put, unbelievable. 60 wins at the age of 31.

Rather than continue fellatiating Tiger, let’s just take a look at just how impressive Eldrick’s most recent feat actually is. 60 wins at the age of 31. Tiger has been playing on Tour just under twelve seasons, and he’s already racked up 60 wins. That’s an average of five wins per year. Some people are glad to win five times in a career.

With Tiger’s 60th win he joined a pantheon of golf gods. Only Sam Snead, Ben Hogan, Jack Nicklaus, and Arnold Palmer managed to notch 60 wins, and I’m not going to jump to conclusions, but am I going out on a limb to assume that you MIGHT have heard of those guys? But let’s break it down further. Let’s say Tiger stays at the top of his game until the age of 43. That’s reasonable, right? He keeps himself in great shape, and he’s really just now hitting his prime (I just shuddered at the thought.) But let’s say he stays on top until the age of 43. That’s twelve more years. Tiger has, like I said earlier, averaged five wins per year over his first twelve seasons. So 60 wins in twelve seasons. Twelve more seasons. Double 60. That’s 120 career PGA wins by the age of 43. Granted, it’s not exactly scientific, but is it reasonable? I say yes.

Ok, so let’s say Tiger doesn’t win again after the age of 43, not likely, but for the sake of this argument, he never wins again. That’s 120 wins. The current leader in career wins, Sam Snead, won a total of 82 times on Tour. 120-82…That’s 38 more wins than the next closest of ALL-TIME. Now, I don’t know about anyone else, but isn’t a gap of 38 wins, I don’t know, just maybe a little ridiculous. In fact, let’s put that into perspective.

Phil Mickelson is a pretty good golfer wouldn’t you say? He’ll be remembered in history as one of the greats. Phil Mickelson has a total of 32 career PGA Tour wins. If Tiger finished with 120 wins, he will have six more wins between him and Sam Snead, in second place, than Phil has in his entire career. Is it just me, or is that sick?

It’s always said that records are made to be broken. You’re only the best until the next guy that’s better comes along. In the case of Tiger Woods, I’m not so sure that’s true. If he manages even 110 career victories, a very likely milestone, Tiger will have launched himself to a status unattainable. So consider yourself lucky. You too, are living in the era of the greatest that WILL EVER play the game.

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Mickelson Just Wants His Way

by dswinder, Sons of Sam Malone

Everyone has undoubtedly already heard of Man Boobs Mickelson’s (that’s for you Sooze ) plans to NOT play in this week’s BMW Championship, the third leg of the FedEx Cup, but apparently, Phil isn’t getting his way, and he ain’t happy…

According to Mickelson, he has asked PGA Commissioner, Tim Finchem, to do some things regarding the FedEx Cup, and the Commish has failed to come through.

“I’m really torn, because I feel like there’s an obligation for me to play,” Mickelson said. “I’d be paired with Tiger again. I think it would be really great for the game and the tour and the FedEx Cup. Another part of me is really frustrated because for the past year, I’ve been asking the commissioner to do a couple of things, and I told him I would play the last four events, and he has not done that.

“So I’m kind of torn.”

Well, how about some specifics Man Boobs? What do you want done? It’s been reported that Phil isn’t happy with, among other things, the deferred payment of the FedEx check and required Pro-Am participation. But what makes this story so bazaar, and frankly Phil’s probably full of the worst kind of bullsh*t, is the fact that he claims that his not playing has absolutely nothing to do with making a point to anyone…If that’s the case Man Boobs, then why did you even mention the whole Finchem doesn’t love me like he does Tiger thing?…Why even stamp your feet and pound your fists? Why whine? Honestly…Why bring attention to your displeasure if your withdrawal has absolutely nothing to do with it. Did you want the attention that bad? I mean, for God’s sake, Phil, you just beat the greatest player in the history of the game. People were happy for you. You were getting loads of attention, but I guess it wasn’t enough. The Canadian Press really put it best by saying,

“Mickelson left everyone scratching their heads during an 18-hour mystery tour in which he beat Tiger Woods in a riveting battle outside Boston; used a national television interview to air his complaints about PGA Tour commissioner Tim Finchem; showed up in Chicago for a corporate outing; and withdrew from the BMW Championship by saying he wasn’t trying to send a message.”

Honestly Lefty…What the hell?

If you really aren’t playing so that you can spend more time with your family, then that is beyond ok. Really, it is…But why not just say that?

Man Boobs Mickelson, I don’t think I’ll ever understand you…Have fun with the fam.

(H/T: Sooze, Babes Love Baseball) (Source)

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Annika is Off the Market

by dswinder, Sons of Sam Malone

Well, it’s almost official guys. Time to pack it in. All of you potential Annika Sorenstam suitors need to pack ‘em up, and move ‘em out. You ain’t got to go home, but you got to get the hell up out of here. Yes, that’s right people- Annika Sorentam is off the market….Again…

The world’s former number one woman golfer announced Saturday that she is officially engaged to her boyfriend of two years, Mike McGee. McGee currently manages Annika’s brand. A little bit of strange nepotism? Maybe?

Annika, who hasn’t won a tournament all year, is probably hoping that this new found love in the air will spark a victory so that she can take back her crown from that hussy Lorena Ochoa. No date has been set, but if McGee makes it through the engagement, let’s hope he fairs better than David Esch, Sorenstam’s first husband.

It’s good to see that there are actually golfers out there finding relationships, rather than ending them with steak knives, booze, cigarettes, and gambling…

(Source)

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Why Your Team Won’t Win a Big Game: Florida Gators

by dswinder, Sons of Sam Malone

I offer up the most feigned sincere condolences I can muster to all Florida fans, both bandwagon and true. I hate to break it to you, but your severe case of cockiness is going to receive a major blow in the coming season. I don’t know how to put this nicely, but you’re not winning a big game. Period. I know, I know, it stings, I know. Trust me I’ve been there, but I’m not going to even attempt to fake like I know 100% where you’re coming from. You see, I never had a problem of being a member of the arrogant bastardly nation that is Gators fans. As a fan I’ve always been in close contact with this little six letter word that you may not have heard of. Humble. That’s why it’s going to be so sweet this year to rub in the fact that you, Florida, are done. Done before you even get started.

Tim Tebow is nothing without overrated Chris Leak to help him along. You tell me, has a home schooler ever led a team to a SEC Championship, let alone a BCS title? Now don’t get me wrong. If the Gates decide they want to leave the SEC and head out to the greener pastures of The University of Phoenix Online Conference, then they’ve got a real shot at some success…Otherwise, it ain’t happenin’. Tim Tebow has yet to prove he can throw the ball. Sure, he has good career numbers, but I’m not too sure 33 passing attempts is much of a sample size. Ol’ Timmy boy won’t be able to plow it up the gut every time he touches the ball this season; not if Florida, you know, actually wants to play football. Tim really has nothing to worry about though. Win or lose, he still lays claim to the “Biggest Breasted Girlfriend in the History of Sheltered Children Title”. Congrats Mr. Tebow!

On top of the whole quarterback thing, there’s this little minute detail of only nine returning starters. Included in that nine are six offensive and three defensive starters returning to Urban Meyer’s squad. Only one (Tony Joiner – safety) of the three returning defensive players actually started every game last year.

Florida, as always, has to play the tough SEC schedule. The Gators have to hit the road for both LSU and South Carolina, both of which will prove to be too much for the “rebuilding” Florida squad. It only gets worse from there. The Gates will see Tennessee, Auburn, and Florida State come into the Swamp, all looking to knock off the defending National Champs, and then there’s always the World’s Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party in Jacksonville, where the Gators will try to knock off Mark Richt’s Georgia Bulldogs (don’t count on it). However, it is good to see that Florida isn’t afraid of a tough non-conference schedule, with Western Kentucky, Troy State, and Florida Atlantic all coming into the Swamp. Urban sure scheduled some powerhouses there.

Come on guys, it won’t be that bad…Get your head up…Let me see that smile. Hey, who else in the nation will be able to boast about playing in a bowl game named for their school. So turn that frown upside down. Let ‘em hear it. “Look out Gator Bowl. Here we come!” I mean, you may lose to NC State, but at least you can say you played hard.

I promise, there is nothing to fear, University of Florida. After all, a loss is just that, a loss…It’s sure as hell not anything that can’t be toked away, and we all know the Gates are good at that…Puff, puff, pass Florida…Puff, puff, pass…

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