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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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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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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It is never easy being the first. Take, for instance, the first-born child. He naturally has it rougher than all his siblings. The parents are inexperienced, there’s no older brother or sister to rely on for advice, and all the trouble he gets into comes as a total shock to mom and dad.
Similarly, you could look to this very article for an example of a difficult first. This is our initial stab at the Morbidly Obese Game of the Week. What is the Morbidly Obese Game of the Week, you ask? It’s the answer to all those Big Games of the Week you’ve seen from your local TV sportscasters. Big Games of the Week are all well and good, but we can go bigger. That’s where the Morbidly Obese Game of the Week comes into play.
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Hey. I’d really appreciate it if you voted for Seattle Sportsnet in KING 5′s Best of Western Washington poll. Not because I’m asking you to. But because you actually think we’re the best. If you don’t think that, feel free to vote for someone else. Or don’t vote at all. I don’t really feel comfortable asking you to do things on my behalf. You already do a lot just by coming here and reading. So here’s the most passive plea for your votes you’ll ever encounter.
However, I will say that if SSN wins Best Sports Blog of Western Washington, I’ll give everyone who voted for me a hug. Think about that. The promise of a hug. That’s something money can’t buy.
Voting ends on October 9th. Thank you, as always, for checking this out and supporting the website!
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.
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I’m not really big on the hazards of bicycling. You all know this.
That said, I can support a good cause. And in this case, a great cause just happened to team up with…cycling. I mean, it’s not ideal. Let’s be honest. Good causes plus eating contests? Yes. Good causes plus walk-a-thons? Okay. Good causes plus charity softball games? Perfect. But good causes plus cycling? Well, like all the goofy clothes you got for your birthday as a kid, it’s really the thought that counts.
All jokes aside, I’d certainly appreciate it if you could take whatever spare change you have lying around and donate to support the fight against multiple sclerosis.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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You may know about ESPN The Magazine’s Player X. It’s a column that runs in every issue of The Mag and features an anonymous athlete scribing candidly beneath the guise of Player X.
The appeal of the article is epic in nature and the idea itself is revolutionary. Allowing inside sources to divulge classified information without having to worry about repercussion is an incredible feat that benefits the consumer more than anyone else. In this case, the consumer is the reader. And the reader can walk away from each of these confessionals feeling enlightened by what they’ve just digested.
Now imagine you’re a professional journalist.
At one point in your life, you loved to write. It was great. It was thrilling. It brought you joy.
But then something changed.
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That victory was amazing. Watching Brazil get fellated by the refs, try and cheat the game by faking injuries, then lose in dramatic fashion to the good ol’ U-S-of-A is really as good as it gets.
I should mention I’m talking about the Women’s World Cup of Soccer (not Quidditch, or anything like that), in case you missed the action. I don’t even like soccer, but that was one of the greatest games I’ve ever witnessed in any sport. A story you could not script.
Or could you?
I actually think we’ve seen this once before, circa 1994, in a little production entitled D2: The Mighty Ducks.
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Me: I should really write something for tomorrow.
Matt Holt: Just write the AM/PM story.
Me: (Sigh) Okay.
First off, scroll down the page and read the articles I wrote last week. They’re better than this article, and judging by the site hits over the holiday weekend, you may have missed those pieces. So please, have a look and return.
All right. Now that that’s over with, here’s the AM/PM story.
So Matt Holt (@TheMattHolt on Twitter…ladies) and I are making a quick stop at AM/PM, when I notice that ARCO offers a $25,000 reward for reporting shoplifters. Yes. Twenty-five-thousand American dollars. That’s absolutely ridiculous.
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Because it’s not whether you win or lose. It’s how you play the game.
Rule No. 1: If you cannot properly distinguish a joke from a more serious matter, there is no reason you should have Facebook, Twitter, or anything like that at all. Except LinkedIn. You can keep that.
The fact is, you humorless bastards are ruining it for the rest of us.
You kill our comment threads, turn every one-liner into a societal issue, and frankly, should be exiled to an island somewhere where you can all fight with one another until your extinction.
You may have accidentally collected friends or followers, I understand that, but do they really like you? Do they actually enjoy being around you? Or would they rather you go jump off a bridge and sink to the bottom of the ocean? Think about it.
Social media was borne for the witty, the engaged, those who can laugh a little bit, who can smile from time to time, who enjoy living and realize that a joke is comedy and not a personal slight at something you embody or believe in.
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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.
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