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.
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“It’s a major award! I won it!” –Ralphie’s dad, A Christmas Story.
There is this devilish part of me that wishes I had the wherewithal to walk up to a group of attractive ladies at a bar and say, “Hey, ladies. Have you met the Best in Western Washington yet?” Thankfully, that part of me is currently being subdued by own Jiminy Cricket conscience. Pickup lines aren’t my forte anyway. By the way, anyone know how much a polar bear weighs?
Honestly, though, I never thought I’d be the best at anything, let alone be voted on by my readers as the Best Sports Blog in Western Washington. That’s freakin’ crazy. It means so, so much to me. You have no idea. I’m trying to put my thoughts down in a structured, cohesive format but I’m having trouble doing that.
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Editor’s note: From time to time we like to feature guest writers on the site. Today we welcome Ryan Scally to Seattle Sportsnet. Ryan is an avid soccer fan and accomplished scribe, providing matchday reporting for Goal.com, among other publications. You can find him on Twitter @NWSoccerGuy. If you’ve ever wanted more soccer coverage, here it is. Let us know what you think.
By Ryan Scally
“Playoffs!? Playoffs? You kiddin me?” These words were famously uttered by Indianapolis Colts head coach Jim Mora in a postgame news conference and has been used as a sound bite by every major sports network in the United States.
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Let’s be real here. Rob Gronkowski deserved to have a great bye week. The Patriots’ second-year tight end is in the midst of a fairly decent season; a season so decent, in fact, that one might argue it warrants hanging out with a porn star. Which, as it turns out, is exactly what Gronkowski did.
Yes, the University of Arizona product was lucky enough to find himself in the company of one Bibi Jones on Monday evening, thanks to a mutual friend from Gronkowski’s college days. Jones isn’t really all that much of a porn star, so much as she is a porn actress. Sure, she’s had sex with dudes…on film…for money. But a star? That’s a generous use of the term. For starters, the most famous athlete she claims to have slept with is Atlanta Braves second baseman Dan Uggla…yeah. For another, I had to Google her. And if I have to Google her, well, hah…okay, let’s just leave it at that.
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The gang member to the right is my friend Norris. He’s not actually a gang member. But he can jump high. He’s also pretty good at basketball. But mostly, he can jump high. So high, in fact, that our country has tabbed him to jump for America. (Cue Van Halen. Or Kris Kross.)
Yes, that’s right, Norris will be jumping at the 2012 Olympic Games in London, England and he needs your help in getting there. Things you should know about Norris: he’s a University of Washington alum, an 11-time All-American, a Seattle native, and can almost guard me on the court. At least three of those things are true.
If you want to help get Norris to London, you can start by attending his celebrity date auction at Citrus Restaurant and Lounge (shout out to my hoop teammate and Citrus owner, Danny Yarbrough…he goes hard to the rack) in Seattle’s South Lake Union neighborhood on the evening of Wednesday, October 26th. Win a date with the likes of Isaiah Thomas, Spencer Hawes, Jon Brockman, members of the Lingerie Football League’s Seattle Mist, and even Tad Hamilton. Yes, THE Tad Hamilton*. Proceeds go to benefit the Dawgs for America Fund (aka, the Get Norris to London While Simultaneously Supporting Your School and Your Country Fund).
Furthermore, if you’d like to help out but can’t attend Wednesday night’s event, you can still contribute by going here and making an online donation.
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Once upon a time, there was this little show on ABC called Growing Pains. What a great effing show that was. Basically, it was the all-American situational comedy, or “sitcom,” as those of us who remember such shows fondly call them.
The premise of Growing Pains was simple. You had this family, the Seavers, and they grew as a unit, albeit painfully. Okay, maybe that’s an oversimplification of the title, but whatever.
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The NBA is in the middle of a lockout and you don’t care. No one can blame you for that. In fact, I’d like to go ahead and reinforce your decision to remain apathetic.
Why don’t we care about the lockout? It seems like we should, right? Wrong. There are just so many reasons why we shouldn’t. And I’m here to give you all of them.
In no particular order, here we go.
There are no heroes
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When I was nine years old, I played baseball for a team called the Orioles. Just like the real-life Baltimore Orioles, we wore goofy orange jerseys with a goofy orange bird on our caps. And just like the real-life Orioles of present-day, our team was horrible.
My god, did we suck. I think we may have won one game that year. We had too many right fielders, if you get my drift, and as a result we just failed, failed, and failed some more.
I wanted to quit about three times that year. Once before the season even got underway (maybe I sensed the suckiness, I don’t know), once after I got drilled by a fastball for the first time, and at least once more when the losses started mounting. My parents wouldn’t let me give up, though, and thus a beautiful nine-year playing career was spawned (sadly, I would retire at age 18 due to chronic inability to perform at a reasonably high level).
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I have friends in the local media (who shall remain nameless) that have told me on numerous occasions to write about Erin Hawksworth. Erin Freakin’ Hawksworth. Every dude in town that covers a sport has noticed her and needs more of her. Problem is, I’ve never really known what to write. What do you write about a smokin’ hot sportscaster other than the obvious? It’s no easy task.
On top of that, it is not my goal in life to scare off beautiful women. I am 26 years old and single. I do not need that blemish on my record. My biological clock is ticking! Let’s have some consideration for my needs.
But frankly, I have an obligation to the people. Even if most of you are perverts. And back in the day when I gave you all your Nicole Zaloumis news, you ran around like children hopped up on cotton candy. You couldn’t possibly be more excited. Never mind the fact that I’ve been trying to run a legitimate operation over here. You’d all prefer erotica and smut. They already have that on the internet, you know. It’s free and it’s available everywhere. I don’t know why you need me to deliver it, too. Insatiable barbarians.
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Life is imperfect. In every way, shape, and form, there is nothing ideal about what we do every day.
We make mistakes, we err, we’re judged by our flaws, and we overcome adversity that serves to remind us that we are only human. In the end, we reach an equally imperfect outcome and, ironically, are remembered in death for all the good we’ve done. We celebrate life only once its ended. While we’re breathing, however, we disregard such achievement, striving instead to find perfection.
Perfection. It is something that does not exist. Knowing full well we’ll never find it, we search for it anyway. All the while we remain blissfully ignorant to what it really is that we’re searching for.
Perfection is impossible. We demand the impossible from one another. We look for the impossible in our spare time. We do everything we can to become the best versions of ourselves, never thinking for a minute that the best versions of ourselves might not be that hard to attain. We’re never satisfied. We’re rarely pacified. We can’t accept failure. We reject disappointment. We are, in a word, foolish.
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The “Suck for Luck” campaign is a popular one with a simple premise: root for your NFL team to suck, so they may find themselves in better position to draft Stanford quarterback (and expected 2012 No. 1 overall draft pick) Andrew Luck. It’s a fad that’s sweeping the nation…or at least cities across the nation with mediocre-to-bad football teams.
Your 2011 Seattle Seahawks were once thought to be among the favorites in the Suck for Luck sweepstakes. Armed with two question-mark quarterbacks, a fragile offensive line, and the youngest roster in the league, there was no denying that all the pieces were in place for a sucky Luckfest.
Alas, five games into the new year, the Hawks may very well be better than anyone expected. With a 2-3 record under their belt, they are less sucky than nine other teams across the vast expanse of the NFL.
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Today is the final day to vote in KING 5′s Best of Western Washington Poll. Voting closes at 6:59 p.m. tonight, so if you haven’t voted yet and you’d like to, make sure you do it soon! SSN is up for Best Sports Blog (and Best Parenting Blog, apparently, as well), and at last check, we were in a heated battle for first place. Every vote helps.
You can vote by clicking here, or just click on the blue banner to the right.
I really want to thank everyone for voting. It means a lot that anyone would think that much of the site to take time to do that. So for those of you who have voted or will vote, thank you. And for those of you who continue to support the site by reading every now and then, thank you, as well. Wouldn’t be here without all you guys.
When I was a kid, my parents had an Apple IIE computer that I messed with every day. Black screen with green tube graphics. It was goofy, to say the least.
Between games of Swashbuckler, Word Munchers, and Sticky Bear, I somehow learned to write on that thing. I would type anything and everything: nonsense, stories, I even made greeting cards with Print Shop (seriously). For lack of anything better to do, I kept myself occupied with that computer. I didn’t have video games. So this my outlet when it was raining outside and no one wanted to play.
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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.
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I’m sold on the Huskies. They are the hot chick you think you might be into, but aren’t quite sure about until all your friends meet her and say, “Dude, that girl is smokin’ hot.” That kind of sold. Validated and cross-checked kind of sold.
It’s not that I didn’t believe before this. I’ve always believed in the Dawgs. It’s just that this team was one giant enigma entering the season. And as a result, no one really knew how to accurately temper their hopes for the new year.
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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?
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