Post swim, sitting in the jahjahcuzzi stretching while reflecting on the meaning of life.
Dude asks, “Where did you get your gloves?”
Inner dialogue. “Gloves? What on earth? Oh, he meant paddles.”
“SwimOutlet.”
“Where’s that? Around here?”
“On-line, swimoutlet.com.”
“Oh, okay, thanks, they’re cool.”
Inner dialogue. “I haven’t heard anyone trip over basic sports terminology that badly since talking to the Good Wife.”
ESPN describes its “How Alabama moved from Nick Saban to Kalen DeBoer in 49 hours” as “the inside story”. That’s Trumpian-like self promoting. Say it enough and maybe some of the knuckleheads will believe it.
This knucklehead is calling bullshit. A close reading of the “inside story” suggests DeBoer was Alabama’s second choice. An “inside story” would establish that fact more definitively.
A much more problematic example of superficial analysis is accepting at face value that DeBoer hit the ground running at the University of Washington after returning from the National Championship game. That while he guessed some programs would be interested in him given his success, he wasn’t thinking about any other job. If that’s true, why did he turn down $9m mid-season, $4.8m more than his $4.2m salary? Rule one, don’t insult the reader’s intelligence.
The most laughable part of the “inside story” is the fact that DeBoer openly admits to texting his players about how he feels about them while on the plane home from the National Championship. Maybe DeBoer just looks 49, maybe he’s really 19?
His texting of feelings fits perfectly with his sprinting out of town immediately after the Alabama offer. The final chapter for the University of Washington players that was left out of the “inside story”.
LeBron recover from his third-quarter career malaise. Damn near as consistent as LeRon, your humble blogger.
One group of friends doesn’t know and doesn’t care. They have a wonderfully whacky Super Bowl tradition that appeals greatly to the nonconformist in me. Each year they compete to see who can go the longest without knowing the outcome. Especially in a year like this one where I don’t have a rooting interest and the Dad and Daughters Club has committed February 11th to watching “Killers Of The Flower Moon.”
Truthfully, I am too plugged in to do very well. I mean, it’s kind of hard to find out who won the golf tournament without stumbling upon the Super Bowl winner.
Alison says when she doesn’t want to know the score of a Chelsea women’s game, she goes “full Amish”. That is prob what it takes. Who is in with me?
May the most Amish among us win.
“Alas, the end of Camelot came quickly. Since that moment, none of Minnesota’s four major pro sports teams — MLB’s Twins, NBA’s Timberwolves, NHL’s North Stars (later the Wild) and the NFL’s Vikings — have advanced to a championship series or Super Bowl, much less won. The span of 32 title-free years, extended at times via comically unlikely scenarios, is the longest active streak among the nation’s 13 markets with all four leagues present. It’s a decade longer than the next-most starved market in Arizona.”
The whole sordid story is here for your reading displeasure.
Not to mention having to endure Michelle Bachmann, mosquitos, and constant Canadian cold fronts.
I know what you’re thinking. . . how ’bout Ant and those Western Conference leading Timberwolves. Not so fast says Whenesota who says he can’t stop thinking about the league’s 1994 season — when the No. 1-seeded Seattle SuperSonics lost to the Denver Nuggets in the first round of the playoffs.
“I can totally see that happening,” he said. “You don’t want it to happen, but you can totally see it and you’d be like, ‘That’s Minnesota sports.'”
Thoughts and prayers for Dan Whenesota and the nice people of Minnesota.
To exit the transfer portal and return home. Let’s run it back!
Nursing the morning coffee while mentally preparing for the inaugural road ride of 2024. Check the weather app to see just how cold I’m going to be. See the following, “Wind gusts up to 3mph.” Gusts?
The Semi-Pro football playoffs begin today with two semi-finals. In light of this article, “The Best Teams That Money Could Buy” here are the matchups.
Game one, 5p EST. Walk of Champions versus Hail Impact.
Game two, 8:45p EST. Texas One Fund versus Montlake Futures.
There’s no clear favorite like in recent years. All I know is, the local team with the best name of the four, Montlake Futures, will be a tough out.
Dear Golden State,
Like many of you, I loved me the late 70s and 80s Dodgers. Steve Garvey was a nice first baseman, but political scientists have found no correlation between hitting a curve ball and representing constituents well.
Just say no to nostalgia, because at 75, he’s too old to be your next Senator.*
Don’t fall for this dated picture in Politico’s story on Garvey’s campaign momentum.
Wait a minute, that picture is from 2019?! When Garv was 71? Looks a lot younger. Maybe I’m just jelly of the hair, and of course the forearms, but I digress.
I know you have a soft spot for octogenarian Senators, so I’m probably wasting my time. Hell, you’re probably thinking Garv could serve two terms and still not be in DFeinstein territory.
Garvey is ahead of Porter and he doesn’t even use a whiteboard, so his candidacy is no joke. As a former son of the Golden State, I’ve done what I can to turn the election. My work here is done. Now, to quote today’s youth, whatevs. You’re on your own.
Ron
*Please note Dan Dan The Retired Transpo Man, the nonpartisan ageism.
The golf ball rollback. Here’s everything you need to know about it. Here’s what the writers at The Athletic did not deem necessary to include in their deep dive.
There was a time when I considered myself fairly long. I was living in the Mile High City and at 30 years-young, I was in my prime physically, and could get it out there. Not by today’s top amateur and professional standards, but for sure by weekend hacker standards.
I didn’t realize how much Denver’s thin air contributed to my distance until moving to North Carolina and playing Bryan Park’s grown ass man courses.
Then, I moved to the Specific Northwest where it’s almost always wet, cool, and well, wet. Nothing like plugging your driver. And then, somewhere along the way, I got old. So the combo of Pacific Northwest conditions coupled with my aging means I’ve gone from medium-long to medium-short. What exactly are we talking? 230 yards if I stripe it.
A year ago on the range, I filmed myself hitting driver with my iPhone. Two take-aways. Swing looked GOOD, silky smooth even, but like my meany college roommate said after I sent it to him, it looked like I filmed it in slow motion. Distance is all about clubhead speed and I’m more turtle than rabbit.
And now, in 2030, the golf suits are going to make it so my ball goes 3-5 yards less. Yes, I have six years to try to hit some bombs, but we also have to factor in the fact that I’ll be in my late 60s in 2030, meaning the swing will likely be even slower.
DO NOT suggest I use the red tees.
Some are most worried about the left taking over higher education. Some, China. Some climate change. Some whether democracy in the (dis)United States will hold. Meanwhile, no one seems to care that I’m staring in the face of 200 yard “bombs”, meaning 425 yard par 4s will require driver, 3-wood, flip wedge.
I’m not sure that’s a world I want to live in.
Pressing Pause 